All six ponies set off at dawn in the direction of Ponyville. Even Spike was coming along. He had insisted, and Twilight Sparkle had relented. He hadn’t come on their trip to vanquish Twilight Moon, or to banish the dragon on the mountain; but he was here now. He was getting, older; and besides, Twilight didn’t feel like leaving him alone again, not with what had happened earlier.

She was also bringing the book. She had hoped to hide it, but there wasn’t any pony left in Ponyville she could trust. It wouldn’t be safe in the library either, that had already been attacked once. Twilight was reluctant to bring it to Hoofington, the apparent dark heart of the danger; but she felt as if she had no choice. Perhaps Professor Martingale might be able to use it somehow. Twilight certainly didn’t understand it.

With all the ponies present, she too a moment to review the situation. Not all of the ponies had been present throughout all of the events.

Something strange had been going on in Ponyville. Graves were being robbed. Princess Celestia had thought it was for the purpose of looting, jewelry and whatnot, but that had been a coverup. There were large holes in the ground, like tunnels, being dug around the countryside, and strangeless formless tracks in the woods and elsewhere.

Horace Martingale, former professor at Canterlot University, had been investigating the matter and had been in touch with Twilight. He had uncovered and even recorded evidence of strange rituals, and by strange beings, in the night. He had even linked some of these on-goings to strange texts hidden in collections at the Canterlot University library.

Whoever or whatever had been causing trouble in Hoofington was now attacking Martingale over his investigation. They had attacked his house, killed his dogs, and intercepted his mail. It appeared even the Hoofington townspeople were involved. So too was an erudite unicorn with an out-of-town manner of speaking.

For reasons unknown, Princess Celestia was in hiding. She had fled her palace, and sent Twilight one of her books from her collection, the dreaded Neckernomicon. Her instructions had been to keep it secret, and make no attempts at communication. Zecora had been no hope either, apparently she knew something of the Neckernomicon, but had said nothing.

Then, last night, her library and Spike had been attacked by a strange interloper. He had attempted to steal the Neckernomicon, but had been thwarted.

“This all sounds like a heapa trouble, Twi,” Applejack said.

“I know, and I’m sorry. But I don’t see any other choice but to go to Hoofington and figure out this problem for ourselves. I think everybody is counting on us.”

“And what was with those funny words on the photograph?” Pinkie asked. “What was that one word they keep using over and over? The Smooze?”

“Sch’Ma’Utz, Pinkie,” Twilight said. “And I don’t know what it menas. I kind of hope it doesn’t really mean anything either. I hope it’s just a bunch of jibberish.”

The found themselves on at a fork in the road. To the right was the road to Canterlot. It was straight, well-maintained, and safe. To the left was the road to Hoofington. It passed through the Everfree Forest. They reluctantly chose the path to the left.

The road was rough, turning muddy as the forest wore on. There was no direct sign of malevolence from the woods, although as morning turned into afternoon, the bird calls of the forest reduced themselves from a cacophony to a solo. Only the whippoorwills continued to sing. The ponies themselves grew silent. Fluttershy could not even be compelled to speak.

As the afternoon grew late, the ponies reached the other edge of the woods. Before them laid the decrepit town of Hoofington, filled with fall down, ramshackle moss-covered houses, and only a single mainstreet of dirty, unpainted, rain-streaked storefronts.

The town was deserted. The town was dead.

The checked the town’s single store first. Everything appeared normal, at least by Hoofington’s standards. The shelves were more or less stocked with cans and jars. Smoked meats hung from the rafters. Pickled vegetables and candies were all in their large glass jars on the counter, but there was simply no pony behind it. Rarity checked the cash register, and it was full of change and small denominations. The store was simply abandoned.

The checked the courthouse and police station next, again, the same thing. Papers and files were all squared away neatly on desks. There was no sign of disorder. Even the jail in the basement, kept secure by thick stone walls and heavy iron bars, and usually occupied by town drunks or wife beaters was vacant. A half eaten plate of food sat on a cot of one cell, a mug of coffee beneath it. Yet the barred door was still closed.

The grange, the blacksmith's, and the vet clinic were all similarly empty. Reluctantly, they tried one of the residences. They knocked first, loitered on the rotting porch just to make sure no one was home, and then they all entered. There was no sign of a disturbance here either, although it was hard to tell. The place was filthy. Dirty saddles and reins were scattered about the floor and stained moldy furniture. In the kitchen, a pot half full of beans still sat on the shelf. It looked like it had last been used this morning. There were many other dishes still uncleaned that left a record going back at least two weeks, to judge by the varying degrees of decay. The stinking bathroom and bedroom contained disgusting piles of dirty, wet towels, pornography and used prophylactics; but they showed no signs of violence.

The other houses proved the same. It was after searching one of them that Fluttershy noticed the trail. It traversed an unkempt lawn. They followed the trail. It lead to others. The trails converged, and they all led just outside of town, to the Hoofington Cemetery. Hoofington had once been a bustling city, far larger than it was today, or at least as it had been yesterday. Its cemetery was huge by its, or even Ponyville’s standards. There was no telling how many ponies had been buried here. They were gone now, the cadavers. Every single grave was one big, gaping hole. Not a nice rectangular hole as dug by gravediggers, but circular, organic. Each was the mouth of a tunnel, leading downwards. Although they did not search each one, they appeared to have all collapsed several meters in, perhaps due to recent rains that the local pegasi had failed to control. The entire graveyard had a sunken appearance, like a vast, grassy, morbid bowl.

“Let’s find this Martingale guy and get out of here, Twilight,” Dash said. “I don’t want to be here when it gets dark. Please.”

“Alright, Dash,” Twilight said. “I agree. Let’s go.”

They found the Martingale House just as the sun began to set. It was just past the edge of town, on a hill affording a nice view of the valley and forest beyond. There was another arm of the woods wrapping out around the place further up the hill. It was a fine old house, with an old fashioned barn out back. It probably hadn’t been a working farm in many years, but unlike the rest of Hoofington’s residents, Martingale had clearly been made an effort to keep the place maintaned.

He wasn’t home. They knocked on the door, but he didn’t answer. They waited on the porch but he didn’t come. Neither did the dogs bark. It was then that Rarity noted that they hadn’t seen any pets at all in town that day. All ponies kept pets, even degenerates the people of Hoofington. The town truly was deserted of both pony and beast. They made a cursory search of the grounds, and only found prints of various sort. Pony, dog, that strange unformed slithering type track, and a new one. There were two strange, kidney-shaped prints. Even Fluttershy didn’t know what to make of them.

Twilight tried the door again.

“I don’t want to go into this one, Twi,” said Applejack.

“I don’t either,” said Rainbow Dash. The others added their agreement.

“Neither do I,” said Twilight. “But one of us has to. Listen, I’ll go in and make sure he’s not here. How about the rest of you double check the grounds. Maybe there’s something in the barn.”

Twilight opened the door; it was unlocked, and went in. The place smelled of books. It was old, low quality paper that slowly turned yellow with age, or if left in the sun. It was a comforting smell, like back home at the library. She saw the parlor where Martingale had taken that photograph. There were indeed books everywhere. On another day, she would have liked to have visited here and studied the books in the collection. She thought she would have liked Martingale; he seemed a pony with similar interests, perhaps in another time. The kitchen was spare, but clean. She noticed the claw marks of the dogs on the woodwork then. Most of it was on the floor, the natural wear and tear that large dogs leave on hardwood floors. But it was also on the door jams. These were much deeper scratches, where they had clearly intentionally tried to claw. It was also by the the windows. Her eyes were drawn up, and she saw bullet holes in the ceiling. A few were recently patched, many more were fresh.

She entered Martingales personal library. There were more books here, but in better condition. There was a strange smell of burnt hair. Large, velvety furniture filled the room, the kind that simply wasn’t made anymore. There was a telescope here by the window, and an astrolabe. Truly Martingale was a stallion with the same passions as herself. Twilight smiled.

The door shut on its own volition, with only the slightest of squeaks. It locked.

“Hello, Miss Sparkle,” an erudite voice said.

Twilight spun around. There was somebody sitting in one of the chairs. He had been there the whole time and she hadn’t even noticed.

“I’ve been waiting so long to meet you. I’m glad you’ve brought the book.”

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