Beyond the Frame

by Sean Skyhawk

Part 2: Worry

12:10 PM, Canterlot Gallery of Modern Art

At one point a few months after she started coming to the Gallery as a filly, Twilight Sparkle found herself locked in by mistake one afternoon. She had dozed off on one of the benches deep within the exhibit halls, and by sheer bad luck none of the watchmen had noticed her presence or bothered to wake her up. At first she relished at the thought of having the gallery to herself, so that she could enjoy any artwork as long as she pleased. When evening fell and the lights went out, though, she’d begun to worry. In the darkness, everything felt so much more menacing; statues and portraits that looked innocent during the daytime now seemed to be watching her with malice at night. She found herself trying to find a way out through various exits, none of which gave way. She became scared, hungry, tired and lonely; the young filly wandered the vast hallways until she finally fell asleep in exhaustion upon the carpeted floor. Of course, as she got older, she discounted her experience as simply a product of childish fear, of seeing monsters and nightmares where there were none.

So why then did she feel that same dread, a déjà vu-like sensation that prickled the coat on the back of her neck? It didn’t make sense! After all, it was daytime and the gallery was still lit as far as she was concerned. Also, during her visits soon before moving to Ponyville, she would be hard-pressed to find other ponies, except of course on Sundays like today; this solitude suited her well, and gave her time to think. She thought she had accustomed herself to the emptiness by now, that it was nothing to worry about; why then did her instincts scream otherwise?

Snap out of it, she thought. All right, so perhaps she was locked in again; perhaps that hoof from earlier belonged to somepony passing nearby who had heard her attempts to escape, so it would only be a matter of time before someone from the outside provided her a way out, back to her friends. Still, as much as she didn’t want to admit it, Twilight could not shake away the whole strangeness of the situation. First, she could have sworn she’d seen her friends go downstairs, not outside. Unless Pinkie got out of hand again (which happened the last time they visited Canterlot), they wouldn’t have been kicked out through the lower-level emergency exits. As for the rest of the crowd, it was highly improbable that they’d all go out for lunch at the same time. Back in her days at Canterlot, she’d often end up eating out by half-past two. Right now, it was still 10 after noon.

Also, why did her magic fail her all of a sudden? After trying to escape by force, she had realized she hadn’t tried to teleport out of the gallery (as Spike pointed out) and so she’d made her attempt. However, it didn’t work… it was almost as if there was no outside; whenever she tried it, she would find herself thrown back upon the floor. Intra-teleportation didn’t work so well either; even a few feet’s distance left her panting and sweating in exhaustion. Come to think of it, anything involving her horn seemed significantly harder now, save for basic telekinesis. It was as if something was blocking her magic and keeping her here. What was going on?

She and Spike trotted back into the sculpture room, where Fluttershy had recoiled in fear an hour before. Now that she was here she was able to get a really good look at them, but then… just as before, something was off, though she couldn’t quite put her hoof on it. It was that night at the museum all over again. She knew White Palette had intentionally made these sculptures as disturbing and demented as possible, but now they were emanating a sense of hatred that she hadn’t noticed before. Their stone eyes, once seemingly emotionless when Twilight and Spike were here with her friends, now looked down upon them with cold, baleful glares. The actions they depicted also felt more real, more visceral. Twilight could really sense the sorrow of the petrified ponies curled up in agony and the violent lusts of the crude, sinful acts depicted upon the plinths; it all just felt too real. Perhaps this was why Fluttershy had cowered at the statues when they had come here for the first time.

They came to one sculpture near a distant corner of the room, one with no title at its base. As horribly twisted as the others had been, this was by far the worst. Upon the round pedestal, two ponies stood, one on top of the other. The bottom pegasus was staring up at his aggressor in abject fear and helplessness, his wings broken and useless and his hooves raised above his face in a feeble attempt to defend himself. The top pony, a unicorn, had his hind hooves firmly upon the pegasus’ tail, his back bent over his victim, and his muzzle open in a bellow of primal wrath. His left foreleg was pointing off to one side, while his right foreleg was raised upward, ready to strike. In its hoof was a stone dagger.

Spike and Twilight found themselves clinging to one another without thinking; they were transfixed at the scene before them, though they tried not to stare at it for too long. Those hateful eyes, fixed in their vile expression within the marble, were quite fearful to behold. It was almost as if the statue would come to life and turn its knife upon them next. But nothing happened. “Twilight, you’re being silly. It’s only a statue, it can’t hurt us,” she thought, before calling off to Spike, “Come on Spike, let’s go somewhere else.” He got on Twilight’s back again as they trotted out, their hoofsteps echoing throughout the hallways. Overall, it felt eerily quiet… though Twilight could have sworn she heard a slight scraping of rock as she and Spike hurried out of that room.

They felt no relief from the overall sensation as they wandered through the hallways. Even abstract artwork or paintings depicting still life were harder to watch, and they would often find themselves suddenly looking back to see whether there was someone following them. “Umm… Twilight, maybe we should check that room again?”

Twilight paused for a moment. It had just occurred to her that everything felt fine up until the moment they went to that hall. “That’s a good idea, Spike. Maybe then we can get to the bottom of this. Let’s go.” So they decided to return to the Foundations area, since that was where the entrance had been discovered. Trotting through the rotunda, they made their way to the doorways leading into the exhibit. They came up to the closed doorways, but to their surprise, both entrances were locked. “Wait…” Twilight said as she paused to examine this. A sticky-note had been hastily placed upon one of the doorways; another arrow, seemingly leading into the adjacent hallway. Who could have put it there? Was there someone else in the galleries? Setting that worry aside for the time being, and seeing that it couldn’t hurt to try it out, they decided to follow the mysterious directions.

It was slow progress. They managed to pass by the windowed area where Twilight had attempted to force her way out without much effect, but when she took a couple of steps forward, her ears perked at a tinkling noise behind them. Looking around, they noticed that a bottle had fallen onto the floor and shattered, its contents seeping into the carpet. It had fallen off a shelf of an installation comprising of a group of similar bottles a few yards back, obviously out of reach for either of them.

Spike was clinging to Twilight’s mane now as they tried to process this sight. “You think it’s… ghosts?”

“Not likely…”

“but possible, right?”

“Of course not, Spike.”

But deep down, Twilight didn’t seem so sure. On the one hoof, she knew there was no such thing as ghosts. They were as make-believe as zombies, old zebra curses, and other such supernatural nonsense. Then again, she had seen stranger things throughout her travels with her friends. Only recently in her studies did she realize just how multifaceted and unexpected magic really was. You never knew whether or not this tale or that fable was somewhat based on reality, and by now she had come to the conclusion that most if not all old mare’s stories had started out from at least some kernel of truth. Of course, she still ultimately refused to accept some explanation unless she knew without a doubt it was true, but considering all the strange stuff that she felt, it did seem as if she was being followed by a–

*cough*

She spun around, sure that somepony had just sneaked up behind her. However, there was nothing there. Just an empty hall lined with portraits and geometric sculptures. She felt Spike tug her mane gently.

“Come on Twi! I don’t like this place.”

They moved along the hallway, passing by the various paintings; Twilight tried to avert her eyes from the artwork and focus on her destination, but for some reason she found it hard. It was as if they were actively drawing her in, tempting her. At the same time, though, if something was really watching her from behind the paintings, she didn’t want to attract their attention. “Okay, Twi, now you’re just getting paranoid, you don’t see anypony around, there’s nothing there…” she thought to herself.

Suddenly, she paused; she was sure that, from the corner of her eye, something moved. Turning her head to one side, she found herself staring at an unusual landscape painting. Trotting forward, she took a closer look: this was another of White Palette’s artworks. It was an oil painting, an evening panorama of Canterlot, thrown into high contrast with his choice of colors. When Twilight had been with her friends, they had passed by this artwork earlier and Twilight had explained about its overall significance. Titled “Homeland”, it depicted the city he lived in, complete with the finely-stroked waterfalls that graced the borders of the capital…

… waterfalls that were now flowing.

Twilight blinked, and then quickly rubbed her eyes. No way could the painting be moving… could it? The sight that greeted her did nothing to reassure her, though it was strangely mesmerizing and looked so much more realistic than before.

“Twilight?”

Spike was now a few feet ahead of her, having stopped and called back to Twilight when he noticed that she had fallen behind. She started at his voice, as if waking from a trance, then began to follow him. She couldn’t help but take a last glance at the painting; this time, the waterfalls were now static, frozen within the brushstrokes upon the canvas.

Perhaps she was just getting tired and confused as a result. Yes, that would explain why she was feeling strange all this time. As for the bottle from earlier, it could have been knocked over by a random draft. Still, she couldn’t help but feel that such coincidences could be discounted so easily; after all, she’d been wrong about the Pinkie Sense. Oh, Pinkie would not be able to stop twitching if she were here…

They went their way through more rooms, deeper into the gallery, Twilight being extra cautious now for any further strangeness. Throughout this, Twilight could hear soft hoofsteps nearby and was now beginning to doubt that those were coming from the staff on site, or from some other disoriented visitor. They walked quietly into a room filled with still life portraits. It was here that Twilight saw it; there up ahead was another door that resembled the one Spike had wandered off to, right next to a painting depicting an over-filled fruit basket. Unlike the one back at the Foundations exhibit, this door was not cordoned off by bright yellow tape. It must lead to the opposite end of where they had come through last time. She hastened her pace, cantering quickly at the door, but just as she was within a few paces from it, an orange fell out of the fruit basket painting.

Twilight’s sudden cry of fear echoed throughout the room; Spike yelped in surprise as she scurried backwards several yards, almost colliding with him, but instead hitting a sculpture stand that wobbled slightly upon impact.

“Twilight! What’s wrong?!”

“Spike!! Did… did you just see that?!”

“See what?”

“The orange just…” She was staring at the painting really hard now; where the orange had once sat within the painting, there was now a colorful gap, as if the artist had never painted it in the first place. Also, it had rolled out of sight at any rate, so there was no way she could piece together what she was certain she had just saw.

“Twilight, what are you talking about? I don’t see any orange around here. Are you sure you’re not seeing things?”

Twilight remained motionless where she sat. “nononono that did not just seriously happen…” She had now shut her eyes, pounding her head and tousling her mane with her forehooves as she repeatedly murmured to herself. “it’s only a dream, it’s only a dream, wake up, wake up Twi!” She was still at it when there was an unlocking sound ahead of them. She and Spike looked up as the door ahead of them swung open into the darkness.

“Twilight? Are you okay? Is something wrong?” Spike had returned to where Twilight had sat, still staring at the scene ahead of them. Whatever feelings of uncertainty she had before, she was clearly freaked out now. “Twilight!” Spike was shaking her gently now as she continued to stare. “Look, the door’s open now; you said you wanted to check out that room, right?” There was a moment’s pause before she blinked and turned to look at Spike. She got up and straightened out her saddlebags. “You’re right… let’s go.” Maybe Spike was right; maybe there had been no orange at all. At any rate, the less she tried to wrap her mind around this strangeness, the better she felt, and besides, maybe that room held all the answers. With one last apprehensive look at the painting, Twilight followed Spike through the doorway; they quickly found themselves back in the storeroom they had come through earlier.

Clouds of dust were still hanging in the air from when they last entered this place, and it mostly looked as it was before, except from the opposite side. That was the only similarity, though. Twilight was shuddering all over, that prickling feeling of being watched increasing tenfold. She found herself treading very carefully and constantly looking around as if something would leap out at her. She felt thankful that she had taken the time to cover up the artworks before leaving the hall through the opposite door back then; whatever was going on back at the hallways, she was sure these paintings would drive her mad.

Maybe this was where all of this stemmed from? It was not unheard of (though pretty rare) for unicorn artists like White Palette to embed enchantments into their artwork for extra effect, but whatever was going on, it involved magic quite unlike anything she had ever seen, and surely beyond the capabilities of a weak, starving artist. Even Twilight Sparkle, one of Princess Celestia’s most talented students, had to exert significant effort to accomplish simple transmutations such as apple-to-orange, and here she was seeing painted images come to life and peel straight off the canvas. Could this have been why these artworks were locked away, out of sight and out of mind from the populace? She then shuddered at another possibility; what if, in Spike’s and subsequently Twilight’s actions concerning their first visit to this room, they had accidentally released this magic throughout the whole museum?

But then… now that she thought about it further, Spike didn’t seem to notice any of the strange things happening so far. Why? All right, maybe he didn’t look in time to see the weirdness, but whatever the case, they all seemed so real to her. Now that she thought about it, though, it seemed easier to believe that these occurrences could just as well have been figments of her imagination, hence Spike’s apparent inability to see what was going on. Was she going crazy? After all, it wouldn’t be the first time.

She had barely shaken her head to clear her thoughts when one of the cloths fell to the floor.

They stood motionless for a whole minute, afraid of what could happen next; however, there was nothing but silence apart from their slow breathing and the creak of the lamp swinging above. Apprehensively, they then stepped in to take a closer look at the subject matter of the newly-revealed painting. It was the same one Twilight had touched earlier, with a fresh hoofprint still in place. She felt guilty at this faux pas, but at least it did not detract from the overall image of the artwork. It was quite strange, an abstract representation, barely recognizable as some town and its inhabitants (perhaps it depicted Ponyville?). The image was difficult to discern clearly due to its bright colors and seemingly wild brush work and in all fairness it was probably the least realistic in style of all of White Palette’s artwork, at least of all his pieces that were meant to depict a real place or some portrait, rather than mere abstract, ephemeral concepts. Despite her paranoid hesitation, Twilight’s academic curiosity overruled her initial instincts and she examined the miniature brass plaque attached to the frame.

“Allegory of the Cave. Spike, this was one of White Palette’s later artworks, also thought destroyed. When he first made this, he apparently meant it as a form of satire on the mainstream artistic temperament of the time.”

“Satire?”

“Making fun of and laughing at the way normal ponies thought. It’s like… well, it’s like his own form of revenge on a society who saw him as ugly, as a freak. But when I look at this, why do I sense so much pain? It’s like... looking at this makes me feel so sad for him. I can almost feel just how miserable and lonely he felt throughout his life.”

Finding no reasonable explanation for this emotional pull, she began to pick up the cloth with her magic, but something caught her eye upon the canvas. She wasn’t too sure about it, but it seemed like the hoofprint appeared darker now. She drew a little closer…

Without warning, a red liquid began to ooze down from the hoofprint. It dripped down all the way to the bottom of the frame, and soon enough, the borders began to leak the substance into the wood and the cloth, staining them red.

Twilight’s face turned pale as she backed away from this sight. She was too horrified to even scream, and could only choke out brief gasps of horror while the liquid began to pool around the floor.

“Twilight?”

She felt the spreading puddle touch her hooves and she instinctively glanced at her forelegs, white-faced. The paint felt warm and slimy…

… as if her hooves were stained in somepony’s blood.

She let out a high wail of terror, startling Spike, and jumped up onto the wooden stool, her back arched, her eyes fixed upon the floor in front of the now-bleeding painting.

“Twilight!!!” Spike was now panicking, scared by Twilight’s fit.

“Spike! Get… away… get away from the puddle!”

“What puddle?”

“That red… stuff! Look out, it’s at your feet!”

Spike looked down in confusion. The puddle had now indeed reached him and was already covering his feet.

“Twilight? What are you talking about? There’s nothing on the floor.”

“Spike!! Can’t you see–”

She choked mid-sentence as she finally realized what Spike’s words meant. Now she knew why it appeared that only she saw any of the paintings come to life as they wandered the halls. It wasn’t that he didn’t see.

It was that he couldn’t see.

Twilight kept whimpering as Spike stared at her, looking at her as if he’d just realized she was a changeling. He backed away, trailing small prints upon the floor; he didn’t know what to think, what to do! Twilight was no better off either. No matter what was going on, she knew… somewhere deep down in the corners of her mind, she’d finally lost it.

Just as Twilight thought that things couldn’t get any worse, she heard hoofsteps coming closer. Her head turned, afraid of what was coming, certain it would be nothing good. As she watched, she heard the succession of splashes as something stepped in the red puddle. First one, then two hoofprints appeared upon the floor. More appeared until a trail formed, slowly making its way towards the far door. As she gazed in fear at the prints, she saw the prints pause at the threshold; a moment later, the door opened, leading back to the Foundations exhibit, just as the door they had entered through locked with an audible click.

They stared back, not knowing what to do. It seemed obvious what the next step was, to go through the now-open doorway and find some other path out. Neither of them wanted to stay in this dank room any longer than they had, but Twilight didn’t like the prospect of facing… whatever was probably outside. She tried to take some calming breaths to steady herself; it was a trick Princess Cadence had taught her as a filly and it had worked during the preparation for the Winter Games.

When she finally calmed down enough, she gingerly stepped off her stool, giving the pool a wide berth as she and Spike made their way out to the white-halled exhibits. Looking ahead, Twilight saw that the prints extended all the way down one end of the loop; was this presence heading back to the lobby? Just as she pondered this, she heard a distant crashing noise, seemingly confirming her suspicions. Meanwhile, Spike flinched back upon seeing her reaction, possibly afraid of another nervous breakdown. “Well, best investigate that noise first. If I’m right, then I can tell Spike what I think’s going on,” Twilight thought. He could always laugh at her jumpiness later, or something.

They proceeded in silence back to the rotunda, Twilight not being sure what to expect. She was sure that whatever was slowly trailing paint all over the floors was headed to the “Labyrinth” painting; after all, it must’ve knocked over one of the posts surrounding the canvas. But before she could contemplate this any further, they had walked through the threshold leading to the lobby, and Twilight gasped.

Red hoofprints were indeed headed into the painting, past the ropes cordoning off the artwork, except… one of the posts was missing, while the velvet ropes it had been connected to swung limply from a recent disturbance. But if the invisible presence had knocked over the post, then where was it? As Twilight stepped closer to the boundary, she saw something that she would not forget for a long time. Instead of a mere illusion on canvas, there was a real, tangible sinkhole, lined with precariously-placed tiles that would probably fall into the floor below if touched. Below was a total mess upon the carpeted floor. Among the marble and plaster debris lay the missing post, while brochures that were originally placed upon it were strewn everywhere. However, the most interesting change was that there was no longer any anamorphic trickery apparent. Every angle showed a coherent undistorted view of some underground location, including the still-falling tiles, some of which had rapidly-fading hoofprints. Twilight's mind was now buzzing with various thoughts as to what this could imply.

“Okay, don’t be a coward, Twi, so you’re supposed to go down there, maybe that’s the way forward…”

“Are you talking to... yourself? Twilight?”

“Huh?”

Twilight started in surprise. Was she so scared out of her wits that she was beginning to think out loud, just like what happened back in Ponyville the one time she forgot to write her reports to the Princess?

“Twilight, I'm really worried. I mean, I don’t know what’s getting to you here but you’ve been freaking out a lot. Twilight, what is going on?”

Twilight sighed. Might as well break it to Spike what was going on in the museum. Let him know now what they had to do next. “Very well, Spike,” and she told him about everything she’d seen, especially the pool of blood back at the storeroom and what they were seeing now. When he heard about that, he automatically looked around him, then at the soles of his feet despite himself.

“So Spike, I guess we now have to step into that painting. It seems as if whoever’s been pacing around went down there, and–”

“Hold on a sec. Down there? It’s just a flat painting; we saw it after the others went to lunch. And what do you mean ‘whoever’s been pacing around’?”

“You mean you didn’t hear anyone else? No hoofsteps, nothing?”

“Of course not! I mean, it’s weird, the gallery being empty on a Sunday. And that bottle that fell earlier. But now you’re telling me about moving, bleeding paintings… it’s not like you Twi.”

“Alright, so what do you think is going on?”

Spike scratched his chin a bit before replying. “Well,” he pondered, “maybe you’ve been so anxious all week about this exhibit that you’re just so tired; I mean, it’s messing up your mind, so you start seeing things.”

“And feeling red sticky paint on my hooves?”

“Look, Twi”– Spike sighed in exasperation – “I know it’s not much to go on, but what else could be happening? Here. Maybe if I stepped onto the canvas–”

“Spike! NO!”

“Relax, Twi! I’m not gonna fall.”

“But Spike–”

“Just trust me, Twi! Maybe this’ll prove it’s just an illusion.”

Despite Twilight’s half-articulated protests, Spike determinedly walked up to the border, ducked underneath a velvet rope, and looked at the edge of the canvas he was standing on. Spike took one step into the painting…

“See, there’s nothing there but paint and–”

The next thing Twilight saw was Spike slipping and disappearing into the canvas with a series of loud thumps. “Spike!!” she gasped, as she rushed up against the edge of the floor and looked down. He was now lying unconscious among the debris upon the maroon carpet, a cloud of dust still settling around him. This was it. She felt that nothing could dissuade her now from the evidence of what was clearly going on, no matter how much it flew in the face of all things logical and sensible. Everything really was coming to life; there was an underground realm beneath that painting.

And now there was only one option left: to step through the opening and into the lower gallery.

Author's Note:

And so it begins... this'll be GOOD :D

Comments

[Mr_Perlimpinpin]

Good ! Very Good ! please continue !

[Mr_Perlimpinpin]

I'm still hoping !