The Terror Below Hayseed Manor

by the7Saviors

Prologue

My name is Twilight Sparkle, and while normally not one to boast, I would like to point out that I myself am quite the learned mare. I've dedicated the majority of my relatively young life to the pursuit of knowledge in all its forms, or have tried at the very least.

Over the course of many years, I've become adept in both the magical arts as well as several existing sciences. I have a particularly strong passion for the written word and have amassed a veritable mountain of tomes, textbooks, and general works of fiction and non-fiction—all of which I've read through at least once.

In a strange and surprising twist of fate, I became a Princess and in recent years, have even opened my very own institution of education, of which I was—before the incident—the headmare. There are countless other accomplishments I could list here, but they are not the focus of the story I wish to tell. I merely mention all of this in an attempt to impress upon you the fact that I was not always the madmare many think me now.

No, the story I wish to tell is that of a friend I once held very dear. I've gained many friends in the years since I left my hometown of Canterlot on the day before that fateful celebration, but this tale is of a friend whom I've known for much longer; a friend I'd known since foalhood.

This is the story of Moon Dancer and how she, in a fit of unprecedented madness, sought to drag forth a nameless horror from nightmarish abysses yet unknown to ponykind. Consider this a recollection of sorts from somepony who was there to witness the gruesome tragedy unfold from beginning to end.

Be warned though, dear reader, for it's not with the intent to entice you to seek out the truth that I write this, but rather to steer you clear of dark and terrible secrets which should never be known to anypony for any reason. There are things which do not belong in this world—monstrous unspeakable things that would rend a sane pony's mind asunder from a mere glance.

I myself sit here alone, writing this at a small desk in one of the many soulless sterile white rooms within a psychiatric hospital somewhere in Manehattan. I still suffer terrifying visions of that day, the resulting fear of which has caused me to lash out many times.

These violent episodes have necessitated the heavy binding of my magic, and though it's highly inconvenient, I don't begrudge the hospital staff in the slightest. My friends and family have hope that I'll recover with time, but I know full well that despite moments of mental clarity that allow me to function enough to do things such as document my disturbing experience like this, I will never be the same.

Modern medicine is useless and memory spells do little to help. They can't fully erase a pony's thoughts, only suppress them within the deepest recesses of the mind. These memories—my memories cannot be completely suppressed, no matter how potent the spell or how strong the dosage of drugs. For reasons I can't fathom, the haunting visions I suffer daily don't follow me into sleep.

I fall into slumber only to wake what feels like mere moments later feeling wholly unrested and oddly out of sorts in a way I can't properly convey. The strange and perturbing sensations I feel and the unintelligible whispers I hear upon waking are bad enough, but the powerful migraines that inevitably come soon after are practically unbearable.

They last only a moment or two before fading away, but the pain makes it seem like an eternity. I don't know exactly what it is that sleeps beneath the surface of my waking mind, but I would sooner suffer a thousand sleepless nights, terrifying visions, and excruciating migraines than to catch even a glimpse of it, whatever it may be.

Up until now I've refused to give any kind of detailed explanation of the thing I saw in the basement of that wretched old manor beyond the Hayseed Swamplands. Even in the broken, fear addled state in which I was found, I didn't speak a word, at least no words that could be called proper modern Ponish.

It's now for the sake of my unfortunate friend Moon Dancer, who never made it out of that nightmare, that I've decided to write this story. It's for her sake, and for the sake of those who would trot the same dark and twisted path she did in her pursuit of truths which were, and are, best kept hidden from the world.

Upon completion of this work, I will request it to be sent to Princess Celestia to do with as she sees fit, though perhaps it might be best if these words never see the light of day. Regardless of the correct course of action involving this account, I beg those unfortunate enough to lay eyes upon this manuscript to keep well clear of the old manor that lies beyond the Hayseed Swamplands.

To curb one's curiosity of the unknown and unknowable is a lesson Moon Dancer and I learned far too late, but if you take nothing else from the following tale, take this lesson to heart and don't make the same dreadful mistakes we did.

Comments

[Venerable Ro]

This isn't going to end well...

[Moosetasm]

I am enjoying this story after only the first chapter. The style is very Lovecraftian: first person, manner of speech, etc. I look forward to devouring this tome in a manner similar to an ill-fated cake when encountered by Celestia.

[XzareAce]

Lovecraftian (Cosmic) horror.... check

[StubobNumbers]

So author has read both "At The Mountains Of Madness" and "The Re-Animator". I'm already giving this story a thumbs up!

[the7Saviors]

9965210
I think the only Lovecraft story I haven't read/listened to an audiobook of at this point is his Red Hook story. Though there might be one or two more out there somewhere.

[tgb089]

That was foreboding.