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~This is a non-profit fan made story. All characters belong to their respective owners.~

Within a cozy little town stood a cozy little house. Within that house, sat a cozy little mare. She sat in the middle of her living room and stared, stared at a sight almost too beautiful for words. Almost.

“Oh, Lyra…” whispered the pony to no one but herself, “you’ve hit the jackpot.” Her tongue traced over her dry and cracked lips as her pupils widened with a desire to drink in the glorious spectacle that her hoof dared to reach out and touch.

She then spoke up with a pleasant ring in her tone, “And where did you come from, my little harpy-poo?” Her eyes traced over just about every lavish curve of the instrument that stood twice the pony’s height and look to be worth more than twice as much as the pony’s house; with its deep curvatures, mahogany body, brilliantly white pearl paint, diamond-jewel tipped tuning pins, and shimmering pedals made from pure silver.

“Are you lost? Do you need a new home?” she asked as she continued to taint its holy-esque perfection with a gently caressing hoof.

“So very smooth,” she cooed in admiration and petted away with a clear desire to ease the nerves of her expressionless new guest. “Maybe you could stay here for a while.” Her eyes slowly drifted to its peak. “I’d love to take care of you. Play with you, tune you, and maybe even, dare I say...” — her blush appeared just over her perky lip-corners — “wash you. You know, if that’s okay.”

No answered followed.

“Well, looks like you’re pretty filthy already,” she lied so very blatantly before she stood up on her hind legs and leaned her torso against the harp’s superior weight, delivering one overly-comforting hug. “Now, you wait right there, I’ll be right back with a nice... big... bottle of polish.” Her sheepish smile turned into a devilish grin and she plucked a string to hear a lovely single note grace her ears. Satisfied with that bit of teasing, she dropped to all fours and turned about to look for her cleaning kit.

But she stopped. Another sound filled the room; the very faint sound of small latch coming undone.

“Hm?” She turned back around, eyes first flickering over her new-found friend. But there wasn’t a piece on him that could have made such an echo. She aimed her gaze past the harp to eye the door suspiciously.

I don’t recall locking you, or… even unlocking you.

“Hello?” Lyra called out, hoping for an answer to come from the other side of that d—

Within the dimly lit confines of a dusty cellar, Roseluck pulled a bag out from her leaning tower of storage and flung it onto her back.

“Bleh!” she spat out the bitter taste of burlap before muttering a wish under her breath for a horn on her head; a horn to help rid herself of the burden of handling bags of fertilizer with her mouth. No matter how much she spat, she could still taste that sickly straw rolling about her tounge. Luckily there was a hose for her just outside, ready for a thirsty worker like her to drink from before continuing another pleasant day of peaceful labor. She shifted around, adjusting the loose, but mildly-heavy weight on her back before starting her way out.

Her short path was carved into curves by piles of old boxes, rickety tables, and tool shelves. She was a few steps away from the staircase that led to a wide-open cellar door when something stopped her: an unusually loud creaking noise from the wood floor directly below her. Instinctively, Roseluck looked down. Before she could question why her cellar flooring wasn’t cement like she remembered it being, a dingy plank below her suddenly gave to her weight. She yelped loudly as a hole practically swallowed her entire right hind leg.

The gardener was quick to squirm and try to pull herself free, but every time she lifted, what remained of the plank’s dangling, broken and jagged edge tightly pressed against the back of her leg. She wiggled and pulled over and over, but the sinister broken plank wouldn’t stop wedging her leg with a desire to pierce her skin with its splintery edge.

“Oh come on!” She growled before deciding to switch tactics. She scootched herself back and stretched her stuck leg as far down as she could to get some leverage on the ground below.

Nothing. She tried a little deeper and still nothing. Her leg swirled about in the cool air beneath the wooden surface.

She knew she wasn’t a short pony. There was no way there could be such a deep space beneath her cellar! And... how deep did it go?

Her menacing expression quickly faded.

She wiggled once again, then froze. Something ice-cold touched her leg. Its soft, slimy texture slid just above the ankle for only a moment, then it was gone.

Roseluck’s eyes shot wide open. Her chest sharply inflated but she didn’t even find time to scream as she instantly reacted by shoving the bag of fertilizer off and down her back. The sack landed upon the broken plank behind her with enough weight to keep it pressed down so her leg could escape. Once her leg popped free from its trap, Roseluck twisted around to face it only to watch as the remainder of the plank gave away. The sack was sucked down into its lightless depths.

Her ears perked up as she listened closely for the sound of a heavy impact, or any sound at all.

Nothing.

Nothing except, the squealing sound of metal hinges as the cellar door suddenly slammed shu—

Thunderlane’s wings beat furiously as he rocketed through the dusk lit forest. He didn’t dare look back at the small town that was left in his dust.

Or what followed him.

Whatever it was, he tried with all his heart to lead it away from Ponyville.

The sounds of the howling wind, snapping branches, and beastial breathing were enough to keep Thunderlane’s nose forward and wings set to full throttle.

“No, no, no! No, no, no!” He continuously chanted like he had a ward to keep the hunter at bay as tree after tree zipped by him. Each one getting closer than the last. Once his right wing clipped a barked surface hard enough to briefly destabilize him, the racer knew it was time to take to the skies. He looked for his opening within the swaying tops of trees then bolted for freedom.

His attempt was struck down quite literally by a bare branch, almost as if the tree purposely tried to punch him into the dirt. Though the branch struck him hard enough to leave a large welt, it didn’t take him long to straighten out of his stomach-twirling downward spiral. Thunderlane then caught a good wind beneath his wings and narrowly avoided even scuffing his hooves against the ground.

From behind, an unworldly roar ripped through the air with a seemingly unstoppable force. Millions of green leafs scattered through the wind as the trees were worked into a violent frenzy of constant waving.

With the racer’s wings being struck hard from the back, his hind feathers curled, removing their ability to catch wind while sending him barreling towards a bed of grass.

Instinctively, his wings locked up against their appropriate sides and his head tucked low as he did his best to hit the ground shoulder-first to roll off most of the impact. If there was one good thing he really knew how to do, it was how to take a fall. But the pain of the impact was far more than he expected. It felt like he was being bit all over by ants! Amidst his roll, he caught a good glimpse of the droplets of blood that stained the wrecked grass in his wake before finding himself on all fours again.

As soon as he was stable, he bolted as fast as his pain-stiffed legs could carry him.

Was the beast hot on his tail and somehow delivered a blow during his tumble? He couldn’t even hear it beyond the howling of the wild winds and shaking trees.

It took Thunderlane several glances downward at his shaking legs went to realize that more than several leafs had stuck into his skin, almost like sharp pieces of metal.

His mind erupted with a flurry of confused thoughts as he tried his best to not gawk too much at the unexplainable.

Though those sharp leafs didn’t bury deep, they still managed pierce the skin; and the leafs that slid amongst the ground loudly scraped against his metal horseshoes. On top of it all, those flying razors pelted his face, tempting to break his skin. The thought of taking another fall like that made his bloody trail go cold.

Its razor wind poked and scratched him even deeper as the wind went wild with the near force of a hurricane. The swaying and loudly creaking trees were far too dense to navigate by wing. Even the light from the deep orange sky was having a hard time making it through the crowd.

There was no flying. Just running; running for as far as his heavily strained body could take him. And that he did. Thunderlane ran and ran, lungs burning like they were set on fire within his chest. His eyes squinted with hopes of not getting an iris sliced as he kept watch for any means of an escape from the floral chaos around him that looked to have stretched on endlessly. Within the masses, he spotted a rickety shack that was almost perfectly hidden behind a barrage of trees and their shifting shadows. The structure, despite its decripid wooden structure, stood strong and looked sturdy enough to shelter one from the threat of being peeled apart by leafs.

A newfound energy spurred Thunderlane to charge straight for the closed front door, half tempted to ram it with all of his migh—

BAM! BAM! BAM!

Tucked away inside a closet, Mrs. Cake’s body cringed with every devastating thrash that was delivered to the door of her bedroom.

Arms cradling a small pile of blankets tightly against her chest, she remained upright with her back against the rear of her hiding spot. Some hangar-hung cloths messily draped over her while others had fallen from their hangers and piled on top of the mess of small boxes below. It was crowded... so very crowded. But finding a comfortable position that wouldn’t have her backside pressed hard against a couple hangers was the last thing on her mind. She peered through the slit in the sliding door, down the moonlit bedroom, to the scrawny stallion who tightly pressed his back against a violently rumbling door.

She could clearly see Mr. Cake — as he wasn’t more than fifteen feet away — pressing all his might and weight to bar off what was only sealed off by several inches of wood. His forelegs had spread out on both sides, trying to brace the door to its archway while his hind legs did their best to take the shock from each devastating strike.

BAM! BAM!

It was hard to tell if what chased them into confinement was just striking the door, or the whole house as hangers on each side of Mrs. Cake’s head trembled in unison. As much as she wanted to get out of the closet to help her husband, she couldn’t. Everytime she’d feel the urge to reach out and push the door fully open, then feel the burden within the blankets in her arms that weighed her down; her two foals.

She looked down, staring at the two faces that poked out their messily-wrapped baby-blue blankets. Despite the constant nerve-thrashing sound of eminent danger that tried to throw their father from the only entrance into the room, the two babies somehow slept soundly.

The thrashing suddenly picked up pace and delivered impossibly fast blows.

BAMBAMBAM!

Then it stopped, as if to take a small break.

Mrs. Cake peered out, watching the door guard’s wild look of fear. He kept eyeing the window, their only source of light. Their only possible means of escape.

We’ve talked about this! The babies wouldn’t make it, thought the mother as she shook her head... as if he’d be able to see her. One slip up and a fall from the second story would… no. Just, no.

“H-Honey, please,” Mr. Cake whispered as loud as he could, trying hard to keep his trembling voice under control without letting up on the door. “We have to try. If we stay...”

He stopped. His eyes went wide.

An explosive force turned the door into splinters.

Mrs. Cake jumped sharply, instantly tucking her head into her shoulders. Unable to see the violent result, she listened as her husband clashed with the floor, followed by silence.

She even held her breath and listened to the eerie tranquil that filled the air. Nothing. Not the slightest scuffle; the only sound was the toddler’s light breathing, and her own heart pounding against her chest.

It was time for a peek. Her eyes, with their limited peripheral, scanned about the room. The door was still in pieces. There was no attacker. There was no Mr. Cake. Just a dimly moon-lit room with an empty hallway beyond it.

Hubby? She mouthed, her words too afraid to leave her lips.

The longer she waited, the heavier her frantic breathing got. Yet there was not a single sound. Just like that, her husband was gone.

Her eyes started to swell.

Her heavy breaths practically turned the closet into a sauna.

No. Please, no. Honey? Dear? she wanted to yell out, but all she could do was pray. But the longer she waited, the more the unbearable gut-wrenching thought came to mind: she was a widow.

Unable to make a noise louder than a whimper, she was unable to control the tears that streamed down her cheeks or the snot that seeped from her wrinkled nose. If the love of her life was truly gone, then all that she had left were the two in her forelegs. Her eyes have been given quite enough time to adapt to the dark, making the faces of her sleeping children all the more visible as more than several tears touched their exposed faces. The eyes of the young ones fluttered open.

Oh no, Mrs. Cakes sucked her breaths right back in. She decided to slowly rock her arms to lull them back to sleep. Instead, the two quietly goo’d and gaw’d as they wiggled about, oblivious to what might be lurking just outside the closet door. Mrs. Cake peeked out of the slit.

There was nothing in sight.

She looked down and a quiet hush past her lips seconds before the closet instantly became void of light. Her blood went ice-cold, and she instinctively froze into place. A heavy, but slow rapping on the closet door shook her every nerve.

KNOCK.

KNO—

Having been out cold with her back resting against a corner, Amethyst Star batted her eyes. Once she realised that no matter how many times she blinked she couldn’t see, she sat forth and her face smacked hard into a set of bars, heavily worsening an already present headache.

"Ow!" she yelped, finding just enough room between the two sets of bars she was sandwiched between for her to reach up with her right foreleg and rub at her pained snout.

Before her was a void of blackness so thick that she couldn't see her hoof in front of her own nose. Her other senses sharpened in the absence of sight, causing her nostrils to pick up a horrid, unidentifiable smell.

Where in Tartarus am I? she thought as she tried to focus on lighting up her horn. Her head then pulsed and throbbed, pounding down every effort to light up her surroundings. Unable to cure her inability to see, it was time to get a better feel for her surroundings. Another set of five inch-thick bars were on each side of her. There was a set above. There was a set below that her bare hooves grinded on with nearly every shift of her body. It quickly became apparent that she was trapped in a space so small that she was forced to stand on her hind legs. There was barely any room for her to even wind up blows for when she struck at the metal walls over and over. None of them gave away, but each strike caused the cage to sway from the single chain that it clung to over head. Before she could call out for help, a whimper from another in the darkness caught her complete attention.

"Is... s-some..."

Whoever's weak voice it was was most certainly from a female, who wasn't in the best of health.

"Hello?" Amethyst called back. "Are you okay?" Though she stopped her thrashing about to listen for the stranger, she could still feel her cage swaying about, tempting her stomach with motion sickness.

"I... I wanna get d... down now, please."

Amethyst barely made out the silent plea over the loud sound of the overhead creaking metal chain as her cage slowly calmed its shifting about. "You're gonna have to speak up. Who are you? Do you know where we are?"

The semi-coherent voice followed, "I don… don't know. I don't... want them back. Please, don't l-let them come..."

A rather unnerving answer that spawned a new and almost equally unnerving question: How did she herself get here? Last she recalled was the pain of being struck really hard against something. She even felt the bump on the back of her head, which felt large enough that she was sure the injury could be mistaken for a second horn.

Amethyst couldn’t but at least inquire, “Who are you talking about?”

“Th-the…” sharp breaths briefly interrupted the stranger. “The monsters. Please, can… can you get m-me down?”

Monsters? she briefly pondered before shaking her head. “Hold on just a sec’.” Amethyst called back. She then had to take a moment of silence and breath deep if she had any hope of using her magic at all. Once she felt like her nerves were at ease and her brain wasn’t punching the back of her skull quite as hard, her horn gave off a very soft glow.

The first thing noted was the rusty, reddish-brown cage she herself was strung up in. Strung up where? She still couldn’t tell. It looked as if she was hung up within an infinite void of darkness.

Amethyst focused a little harder, increasing the brightness of her horn’s glow.

Beyond her cage — an estimated twenty-five feet away — another similar cage came into view. Its size and shape was different, but only slightly. Within the other contraption was a figure Amethyst barely made out to be a light-yellow coated Earth pony with a green mane accompanied with highlights and a hot-pink bowtie at the end.

The horns glow increased. Something red and shiny caught Amethyst’s eye. Once she realized what it was, the horn’s glow ceased immediately. The unicorn quickly became thankful to be lost in darkness as motion sickness was no longer what churned her stomach.

“Get… me down. I beg of y… you. Please…” The weak voice called once more.

Having forced herself to take several more deep breaths and swallow her urge to unleash the contents of her stomach, Amethyst re-ignited and strengthened her glow.

The pony before her was hung within her own suspended cage. Three large rusty hooks connected by thick chains pierced mostly through her skin and kept her hind hooves from even scraping the floor of her cage. One for each foreleg. One for the back of her left shoulder. Her right eye was even decimated by a fourth as her socket was hooked and pulled back on, leaving the mare unable to look down at the gruesome image that was her lower self.

Her stomach had been split at an odd angle, letting a surprising amount of shimmering-red intestines hang freely. Below that were small patches in her skin that looked to have been torn away without mercy, exposing bits of muscle. From each hole in her battered body came a trickle of blood that heavily painted the lower half of her coat before dripping from the cage to the abyss below.

Suddenly, Amethyst’s bump on the head became an afterthought. It was a miracle — or perhaps a curse — that the mare before her was speaking, let alone breathing.

“Please, I don’t… want… to be here a-any more,” begged the brutalized mare with trembling blood-stained lips. Her one good eye fought to stay half-open and its iris shifting wildly as it desperately tried to look to whom she spoke. “I want… to go home…”

Reluctant on passing the horrid truth, Amethyst kept her lips sealed as she did her best to brighten her horn. It felt like nearly every muscle in her face tightened as she tried her best to see any possible way out through the growing headache that felt like it was trying to turn her brain inside out.

Further off there were more cages. Some empty. Some occupied. Above was still nothing but a chain that might as well have gone on for miles. To only one side was a filthy wall decorated with stained glass windows, each protected by a chainlink fence and even more bars. But, far below was the most troublesome sight: Long rectangular tables. Each decorated with rusty plates and fancy candlesticks, but sloppily covered in unknown globs of brownish-red filth that likely emitted the putrid smell that fueled the strength of her throbbing migraine.

Though vastly different, the environment was oddly familiar.

“Canterlot Castle’s Royal Dining Room?” she pondered out loud but was quick to shake off the thought. “Impossible! I haven’t even been anywhere near Canterlot in ages! What about you?” Amethyst looked back to her mangled neighbor, whose blood dripped to stain the raggedy table sheets down below.

No response.

“Hey!” Amethyst struck the front of her own cage with all of her might as she called out and went unanswered. Her headache returned with a sharp pulse. The light from her horn dimmed. Her motionless neighbor was soon consumed by the dark. The air became still once more.

A mixture of emotions stirred within Amethyst's heart as she listened to nothing but her rampant thoughts. As much as she didn’t want to believe it, she knew knew someone just died before her. Sure, it was someone she never knew, but none the less, it was someone who was dealt a fate she'd never wish upon her most hated other.

It was time for a moment of silence for the loss of one she never knew. But a sharp clang against the top of her cage cut the moment short. Her horn lit up with a very faint glow. She twisted about and looked to the the chain that dragged its way down through the roof of her cage with a giant hook on the end of it. Instantaneously, she smacked it away. It stuck out the back of her cage and clung to a bar there. For a brief moment, she felt safe till...

Clang, clang, clang.

Several more hooks slowly slid down into her cage.

Amethyst thrashed wildly, smacking aside each one while yelling out each attack, "no! Back off! Get the heck away from me!"

But the chains — or whatever they were attached to — persisted.

She managed to keep them clear of her as they drifted lower and lower till they nearly touched the bottom of her cage. The mare even kept the chains pressed to the sides of the cage with both forehooves. She expected them to shoot upwards at any moment to try to catch her and deliver to her the same fate that her fellow prisoner suffered.

The hook that caught the back of her cage sharply lifted, giving her no choice but to faceplant the front as it suddenly became her new cage floor. The hooks that she held off before fell out and tauntingly hung right below her. What confidence she found was soon overcome by panic as she tried to readjust the chains. But before she could take a hold of more than one, her eyes closed tightly as the cage suddenly dropped.

The glow of her horn was snuffed out.

A blood-curdling scream filled the darkness as the cage violently rattled over and ov—

The small pony’s eyes opened, accompanied by a loud and short gasp. Her head quickly threw itself up from the desktop it had lain on. Between it and the chair she sat in, the filly spun about and looked all around, anticipating an attack of any sort.

Hooks? Cages? Monsters?

No. None of those were in sight. Her frantic breaths quickly calmed as she realized the only place she was confined to was a completely empty day-lit classroom.

Dreams? she pondered as she looked down to the puddle of drool on the desk that obviously accumulated from the corner of her lips—that were quickly wiped dry on her bare forehooves. Those were pretty vivid for dreams.

She turned herself from her perfectly centered seat within the room with a desire to get up to pace and vent about what atrocities she just witnessed. But mid-turn, she halted and turned her attention to something that caught her eye. Her own limbs; then her own chest, main and tail. All of it was white, pure white. Not even the skin beneath her fur held its own tint of color.

"Wh-what the…” She looked over herself again and again as if anything would change during a recheck. Was there a mirror in the classroom to help her? Of course not.

"Where's all of my color?" she said aloud, but once those words left her lips, she realized that her mind got nothing but blanks as she tried to recall what color she was even looking for.

She stood up abruptly and began, pacing around the school room, her thoughts cluttered and burdened. Yet, the more she thought, the more she noticed that she couldn’t recall — not only her original color — but anything about herself.

No history of hers came to mind. Not even a name for herself.

However, as she ended up dwelling on her supposed “dreams”, the name of every place and pony came immediately to mind, from the names of the babies that were tightly held against Mrs. Cake's chest to the mare hung within her own cage.

Apple Fritter, she mumbled before taking a good look around the school room.

Lime green curtains, light blue shelves, brown wooden desks with hearts carved into them... there was no mistake about it: she was in the Ponyville Schoolhouse. But, what was she doing there? Why was it so empty? And why did her skin crawl when she looked to the front door?

She went as far as to step up to it and gaze upon its bronze handle hesitantly. Dare she open it? She peeked over each shoulder, unable to find any other legit way out of the room. As soon as her hoof grazed the handle, nearly every fiber of her being screamed at her to step back. Those horrid visions... those cringe-worthy dreams flooded her mind, pounding on her nerves as if to tell her that nothing but monsters were beyond that door; that perhaps what she witnessed was merely a warning and was truly nothing in comparison as to what awaited for her outside the school’s walls.

But that's silly, she thought before taking a deep breath. Those were just dreams after all.

The handle turned and the door clicked loudly before slowly creaking open.

My Little Ponies: Friendship is Magic
Night Terror
Written by Key Strix
Edited by BlackDenimCap