11th Candle
There was a corridor in Canterlot castle.
If Twilight walked down that corridor alone, then as she passed the midway point towards the end, she would hear a whimper.
It only happened once per day, but it happened without fail should she ever go down that corridor alone. When magic and tools failed to find the source, Twilight would have somepony with her to keep the sound at bay.
A whimper, even a disembodied one she could not find, normally would not frighten her, but the sound carried feelings of grief and pain that resonated in Twilight’s heart as if it were her own.
It was not a corridor that saw much use anyway; there were other paths to take to get where she needed to be.
There was a mirror in Canterlot castle.
If Twilight looked into it late at night, the bottom-left corner would fog up as if somepony had breathed on it. Wiping the mirror did nothing as it came from the other side, even though that was scientifically impossible.
It did not happen all the time, but it was enough of an occurrence that Twilight could predict it six times out of ten. Again, magic and tools failed to find the source and like the corridor, she could not prove it existed – it simply did not happen if somepony was nearby.
This alone was cause for alarm, but what Twilight dreaded were the feelings of bitterness and spite that scorched her veins as they flowed through to her heart. Every point in her life when she felt envious would coalesce, then retreat, leaving her emotionally exhausted in the span of one second.
Twilight avoided the bathroom mirror in the guest room she used when she stayed overnight at the castle as much as she could.
There was a chair in Canterlot castle.
If Twilight sat in it, she would hear a jarring crack like a stick of celery being snapped and feel a knot in her neck.
There was nothing to distinguish the plain chair from the countless others in the castle, and the cleaning ponies would move them around as they wished – Celestia did not mind so long as they did not look out of place. Every time Twilight came to the castle for her studies on a new day, she would be on edge, wondering which chair was the one she despised. It was almost a relief when she sat in it. Almost. From what she could tell, nopony else seemed to experience what she did when they sat in it.
Along with the neck pain, Twilight would feel a crushing sense of misery and desperation. It was all she could do to keep herself composed for the six seconds it took for the emotions to leave her body.
Twilight got used to sitting on anything but the chairs and standing when there was nothing.
There was a knife in Canterlot castle.
If Twilight so much as caught a glimpse of it, her face would grow hot and it felt as if there was something sticky coating her face.
Like the chair, there was nothing remarkable about the knife at first glance – it was a seemingly ordinary piece of silverware used to cut into one’s meal. Twilight took it home one night and carried out test after test but ended up with nothing. She secretly returned it the following morning.
Twilight had to be careful with this one – the rage and indignation that came with spotting the knife was potent and lasted for a full minute, during which she felt like she capable of doing anything to anypony. Not even the serene face of Celestia could banish the dark thoughts. Twilight found that Cadance’s breathing exercises helped, so she did those as much as she could until the storm passed.
After trying to live with it, Twilight ended up tossing it into the trash when nopony was looking.
It somehow ended up back in the kitchen.
There was a statue in the castle’s garden.
No, not the one of the strange creature that seemed to be in the middle of a hearty laugh, it was the one of a normal pony carrying a flag. Once, Twilight looked out the window from an upper floor of the castle and saw the statue swaying its head as if it were flesh and blood.
The statue was made to commemorate one of Equestria’s explorers, a mare named Long Journey. Long Journey died rather suddenly one bright morning after mentioning that she had a dream of her demise a week prior.
Twilight did not feel anything from the statue and was not sure if that was because she was so far away.
It only happened one time a year ago.
It all became too much one day, and she spilled her woes to Celestia when they were in private and sipping tea.
Celestia was quiet for a while, then told her of a building in Canterlot.
It was a tailor shop, unremarkable in appearance but coveted for the owner’s skill with fabric repairs, and every time Celestia went there, she could see the pale face of a colt staring out the upper window.
He never moved or blinked and just stared into space. Celestia was the only one who could see him, and he was not there when she went up to check. She asked the owner about it, and the owner looked confused as he told her how his grandmother lost a child in utero.
Celestia felt a strong sense of longing and regret, though it only lasted for half a minute.
When she was done speaking, Twilight asked why this was happening.
Celestia called them ‘echoes’ – remnants of a pony’s emotions that clung onto something significant to them. They were not ghosts because that implied some measure of consciousness or motive. No, they were more like ghosts of ghosts – they existed simply to exist, no different from a table or a brick keeping a house from collapsing.
A very rare selection of ponies could sense these echoes; Celestia was one of them, perhaps one of the first, and it was apparent that Twilight was one, too. There was no reason why they had this trait, nor was there any way to treat it.
But Celestia reassured her that you learned to numb yourself to the echoes’ influence.
There was a book in Ponyville’s library.
Twilight read it one evening and when she turned to page fifty-four, the pages were scrubbed clean and replaced with drawings of mares and fillies of all ages.
The book was a hardcover written by a renowned – now deceased – author who was lauded for his talent in capturing the essence of a location through words alone and admired for his rugged charm and sense of morality.
Twilight felt a tremendous surge of desire and anger when she looked at the pictures.
She kept the book in a drawer to gather dust.
There was a street in Ponyville.
Twilight saw too many anomalies to count.
The street was paved decades ago by many labourers, just in time for a deadly illness to strike the small town.
There were too many emotions to speak of; Twilight almost fainted as her body struggled to deal with the sensory overload.
She could do nothing but avoid it.
There were many things in the world that contained echoes.
Twilight learned to live with them and how to shield her spirit against their emotional surges.
Yet, at that point, she was starting to wonder why only the echoes existed and there were no true ghosts that lingered after death.
Celestia was quiet for a long time when Twilight asked, then finally responded:
“Perhaps because there is nothing after death.”
Starlight was met with stares and silence.
“I-I’m sorry! I tried my best, but-”
“Oh no! It was fine,” Twilight said quickly. “Um, well, it was just…”
“Freaky,” Rainbow Dash offered, her wings flexing. “Like, I’m actually surprised at how much that freaked me out.”
Starlight blinked. “Really? You girls thought it was scary?”
“A different kind of scary.” Fluttershy murmured.
“It imparts a sense of deep dread, does it not?” Rarity added. “Fear of inevitability, perhaps?”
“For me, it’s th’ idea tha’ something tha’ I’ve thought of as true my whole life might not be true,” Applejack leaned back and hummed. “An’ it ain’t like it’s a ‘small’ something – it’s something I hold dear ‘cause… well, if it ain’t true, then th’ world jes’ got a whole heap more terrifyin’.”
“Trixie is unnerved at the idea that everyday items she uses could be holding spirits,” Trixie shrugged. “Or, whatever it was those things in your story were supposed to be.”
Starlight rubbed her neck. “Gosh, I’m surprised that you all think that. Not that I’m disappointed, mind you. Anyway, I’ll go blow out that candle…”
Twilight performed her scheduled list-check. “Going off subject, but I think I might have found a solution to Trixie’s rampant liquorice consumption which will get us back on track.”
“Sugarcube, jes’ give it up.”
“Trixie agrees.”
Twilight sighed. “But Applejack, she's eaten sixteen as opposed to-”
“Twi', she's gonna eat as much of it as she’s gonna.”
“Trixie agrees.”
“So, let her be fat and happy.”
“Trixie- Hey!”
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Fat and Happy. I can agree with this statement.
This one is really good
I was so glad that I found someone who appreciates Japanese folklore and mythology seemingly as much as I do, enough to right stories inspired by it (I'm working on a novel). And then you mentioned my favorite type of Yokai, Tsukumogami!
So I am dealing with a mixture of emotions. While the writing itself unnerves me and causes me a bit of a chill, I'm at the same time very happy because of the idea behind the whole thing. I'm hoping to finish reading this tonight.