Bump in the Night

by TheManWhoWouldBeSteve

First published 25th of August, 2013

Something evil dwells in the shadows of Ponyville. The dark of the night brings with it malevolent creatures, and ponies vanish without a trace in the eventide. When dusk falls, a lowly dishwasher is left to face the horrors alone.

Journal entry #183

I'm told that it's all over. I'm told that I have nothing to be afraid of anymore. I'm told lies! I can feel their presence. They lurk in the shadows, sizing me up with their hungry eyes. They have not abandoned the hunt. Why would they? Their prey is at his weakest and ripe for the killing. Those idiotic doctors don't believe me, and try to convince me that I'm safe. But I will not drop my guard! They are still here! They watch me from the place with no light, waiting. They're waiting for me to falter. They're waiting for me to break. They're waiting for it to get dark enough...

* * *

This is the story of a sad pony. Fortune was a foreign concept to him. Depression and anxiety were all too familiar.

This is a story of horror. Of twisted abominations, murderous beasts, crazed cultists, unholy demons, and hellish nightmares.

This is a story of insanity. Of the perceptions of reality crumbling, giving way to horrid madness spawned from an unstable psychosis.

This is the story of how a very sad pony became afraid of the dark.

* * *

Thanks to my previous editor, Zoltanthemagnificant, and my current (and quite phenomenal) editor, Corwin Freiss, for making this thing presentable.

And a big thank you to Avatar of Madness for providing the cover art! Visit his deviant art account here to see some more of his work!

Chapter 1: Night Falls

Journal entry #1

My therapist said that I should write down my thoughts and stuff in a journal. Well, he actually said a diary, but I’m going to call it a journal. The last thing my quickly dwindling sense of self-confidence needs is gossip spreading around town making folks think I’m into little filly stuff like diaries. So yeah, here I am, writing in this journal. I don’t know how writing down what all is wrong with me is supposed to make me feel better, but here it goes. I’m anxious, despaired, depressed, paranoid, and unmotivated. That didn’t help at all.

But whatever, I might as well keep writing. I mean, it’s not like I’ve got anything else going on. And I guess it is kind of relaxing. It’s like venting to someone about my problems, only they don’t fall asleep or try and kill themselves like what usually happens when I talk about my issues. So from now on, I’ll just make daily notes in this journal and write down the things that bothered me each day. Kinda like coming home to your wife, complaining about how much of a nob your boss is, and plopping down on the couch with a beer while she makes dinner and yells at you from the kitchen about how worthless you are. Wow, I’ve got some pretty distorted views on what marriage is like.

Anyway, I’ll start with today. Another craptastic day of scrubbing floors, ponies treating me like a loser, and wasting time after work with Nougat. Same-ole, same-ole. Except for one thing that was really weird. I saw this little crying filly on the way home from work. She was just sitting in the street with no one around. I went up to her to see what the deal was, but... well, she was... Oh forget it. I'm pretty sure it was just a prank anyway.

Rags trudged towards the center of town, exhausted and smelling of soap. He had just clocked out of a hard day of scrubbing, mopping, washing, and wiping. Cleaning was the only thing he seemed to be good at, hence the dish and cloth tattooed on his butt. His brown mane was disheveled, his tan coat was shaggy, and his green eyes were tired and drooping.

Not much attention was paid to the earth pony as he meandered down the street. Everybody knew who he was, then again, everybody knew everybody in Ponyville; they just didn't care as they only regarded him as that weird sad-sack who makes everything clean at that restaurant with the really good hayfries.

But Rags didn’t really care. Well, he did, but he was used to it by now. He was always alone and feeling kind of blue, so he just accepted it. He only ever had one friend, Nougat. Speaking of, Rags could see the yellow pony sitting at one of the tables in the town square, gnawing on some kind of sweet morsel. Rags slowly approached to greet his pal.

“Hey, Nougat, what’s going--”

“I’M NOT A CHANGELING!”

“...on...”

This seemed to always be how Nougat greeted Rags. He used to question it, but soon just embraced it, assuming it was part of some kind of mental condition. Maybe Nougat’s parents were eaten by a changeling or something.

Rags sat down at the table. His jittery friend, who wasn’t a changeling, regained his composure. “I mean, uhm, nothing’s up. You know, just the same old thing,” He grinned sheepishly.

“Yeah," Rags dropped his head on the table with a thunk, glaring off into space, "same old thing."

“Hey, bro, something wrong? You look kinda bummed. More so than usual, at least.” Nougat began snacking again.

“Nothing special. I’m just feeling especially bad today, for whatever reason,” Rags droned.

“Does somebody need a cupcake?” Nougat offered his half eaten treat, to which Rags simply stared at him for a moment. Apparently the pegasus was oblivious to the fact that half eaten food wasn’t appealing in the slightest. When Rags denied, Nougat went back to eating it, speaking through mouthfuls. “You know what you need? A marefriend! Someone to hold, someone to snuggle with, someone to make out with, someone to--”

“Dude! There are kids around here!” Rags interrupted. “Besides, I’m not interested. Getting out of this rut I call life is higher on my priorities list.” Rags let out another deep sigh, and Nougat leaned back into his seat, knowing that whenever his friend did that, it meant he was about to get deep and existential... and really depressing.

“It’s not fair,” Rags said somberly while sitting up.

“Um... what’s not?”

“This.”

“What this?”

“This this.”

“What this this?”

“This! Life! None of it is fair!” Rags gestured to everything around him.

“I’m afraid you'll have to elaborate, buddy,” Nougat said, a puzzled expression on his face.

“Some ponies get it all. Some ponies get lots of money, some ponies get lots of fame, some ponies are naturally talented in things that are big and impressive, and some ponies just have lots of interesting things happen to them. And what do I have?”

“I dunno,” Nougat replied.

“I’ll tell ya what I have. Nothing.” Rags, for the second time, let his head fall on the table.

“What are you talking about, you big baby? You’re way better off than a lot of ponies. You’ve got a job, your own place, and... and...” Nougat trailed off.

“Precisely. I’ve got a job, that pays squat by the way, and a house. That’s it. Meanwhile look at someone like, say, Princess Twilight!”

“What about her?”

“She’s a princess, she has everything handed to her on a royal silver platter, she’s a genius who dabbles in things that would make our heads explode if we tried to understand them, she’s got god-like magic at her horn-tip, she’s gorgeous, she can fly, and to top it all off, she’s an Element of Harmony. So on top of being perfect and ruling over a whole nation, she’s a conduit for unfathomable magic and a national hero who has saved the world more times than I can count!” Rags took a breath, slightly worn out from saying all of that in one go.

“Well, that's why she's our princess. Your point?” Nougat asked, slightly bewildered by the long winded rant against their ruler.

“So look at me. I’m a dishwasher. That’s it. That’s my life in a nutshell. I’m living proof that life isn’t fair. There are those like the princess, an epitome of perfection, and then there is somebody like me. A dishwasher who is only farting around, doing nothing of significance, until he dies and withers away and everyone forgets about him,” Rags huffed.

Nougat, having had enough of his buddy's whining, tried to calm his friend. “That kind of thinking is why you’re depressed all the time, you know. You should quit looking at what other ponies have, because it will only make what you have look like crap in comparison. No matter what you do, there are a million ponies who are just better than you."

“Well I don’t quite like that mentality. It’s basically just swallowing the garbage you’ve been given instead of asking why you can’t have the delicious meal the ponies over there are getting,” Rags said, resting his chin on a hoof.

Nougat rolled his eyes. “If you’re so sick of being in a dull routine, then go do something with yourself.”

“You don’t think I’ve tried? Every time I try to accomplish something, I get shot down. Tried going to college, ran out of money. Tried finding a special talent that makes me unique, and I get this stupid thing.” Rags jutted a hoof at his cutie mark and scowled. “Washing crap? Really!? How is that a special talent? Anyone can scrub a dish with a sponge! That’s not something you dedicate your life too, that’s something you do as a foal because it’s part of your list of chores!”

Nougat buried his face in his hooves. “Why are you bitching to me about this? Isn’t that what your therapist is for?”

Rags stood up from his seat. “Funny, because he said the same thing you did.”

“Well then if everyone is telling you to make the best of what you got, why aren’t you doing it?”

“Because that’s like polishing a turd. There’s no point when what I have isn’t all that great to begin with,” Rags said, stretching his aching muscles. “I’m sorry for going off on you, bro. It’s just that I’ve been trying to figure things out. It just feels like I’ve wasted my life. I mean, I’ve never even been outside of Ponyville. Well, there was that one time those douchenozzles tricked me into going into the Everfree and I nearly got eaten by timberwolves, back in middle school, but that wasn’t all too fulfilling, to be honest.”

Nougat hopped down from his seat, stuffing the rest of the cupcake in his mouth and harshly swallowing. “Rags, bubala, you think too much. Just remember, the possibilities are endless. Who you are is not set in stone.”

“That was pretty profound of you, Nougat. I’m impressed... wait... you got that off a fortune cookie, didn’t you?” Rags deadpanned.

“Uhh...”

“Oh whatever.” Rags began walking, and Nougat trotted up beside him to finish up the conversation with a suggestion.

“Maybe what you need is an adventure,” Nougat said confidently.

“What kind of adventure are we talking about here? Because I already said that I didn’t find narrowly escaping the jaws of death too invigorating. Unless you were talking about living out some sort of perverted fantasy,” Rags said jokingly

“Well I was talking about exploring some kind of ancient temple or whatever adventurers do, but I’m sure a harem of hot babes would perk your spirits too,” Nougat laughed.

Rags chuckled softly with his pegasus friend. As enticing as oodles of gold in a secret room off in some ancient palace sounded, he wasn’t Daring Doo. That sort of thing just doesn’t happen to ponies like himself. He didn’t really even want something like that to happen. He would be more than happy to settle for some clarity in life. That’s what he needed, not a dragon to slay, a maiden to save, or a harem to woo.

“Anywho, I best be off. I’ve got a lady waiting for me at home.” Nougat proclaimed, his chest puffed out and head held high.

“Your mother doesn’t count, Nougat--”

“You'll see! I’ll get the hottest marefriend you’ve ever laid your virgin eyes on, Rags! Someday! Maybe not today! Maybe not next week! Maybe not next month! Maybe not next year! But it. Will. Happen! I swear on my queen's--er, I mean, on the princesses crown!” Nougat flew off, feigning righteous fury. Rags chortled at his friend. He was an awkward pegasus, always nervous around strangers and even those he already knew until he gets in motion, so to speak. But once he got comfortable in a social environment, he was a great colt to be around. Probably why he and Rags had been friends since elementary.

Getting back on track, Rags set off towards home once again. The sun began to set, illuminating the landscape and surrounding buildings in a dim orange warmth. Pink and purple splashed the sky, with pink slowly being overcome by purple and the approaching dusk behind it. Ponies moseyed back into their houses and shut down their street kiosks. Some sat with their lovers on benches, watching the orange blaze dip below the horizon. Others looked to be preparing, gathering their associates for upcoming night time shenanigans. Rags might have been a depressing soul, but even he was feeling pretty chipper in the wake of such tender atmosphere. If only he could feel so contented all of the time.

Soon enough, the night came. The moon reared it’s alabaster dome, peeking just over the buildings and establishments of the town. Street lamps provided vision for those still up and about at such an hour. Stars speckled the heavens like sugar sprinkled over a dark treat by a masterful chef of the cosmos. This was the greatest part of the day to Rags. The peaceful walk home under the thousands of watchful, glowing eyes of the soft-spoken night, with nobody around to call him a loser or scream at him to get this or that done. Whenever he looked above, his worries felt as if they were expunged from his stress addled mind.

Though the night wasn’t as potent as he wished it were when it came to alleviating anxiety. As his home came into view a few blocks down, thoughts of how the day was going to play out tomorrow slithered into his conscious thought, stirring up the familiar feelings of dread that typically came with such prospects. He shrugged, feeling defeated. The hand he was dealt in life was beaten by the full house that his opposition possessed. The following morning would bring the same feelings as the last: more pain and stress. Between his dull routine, the lack of support from most around him, and the questions of what to do with his existence, Rags was on the verge of an episode.

They would find him tied to the doorknob of his bedroom door by a necktie, overdosed on pills and smelling of alcohol, with something profound and haunting written on a suicide note. Oh, who was he kidding? He didn’t have the gump to do that. Besides, maybe his comrade was right. It’s a big, wide world, with bountiful possibilities, right? Who ever said that it was impossible for Rags to make something of himself? He could be an artist, or an athlete, or maybe pursue his secret dream of being one of the greatest physicists the world has ever known! Even if he couldn’t draw to save his life, had two left hoofs, and found getting a grasp on many of the mathematical concepts of physics to be a challenging process that could very well take up most of his li-- he’s gonna be a dishwasher forever.

Head hung in solemn thought, he neared his destination, when he heard a faint noise. It was soft and sporadic, coming only in small coughs. His ears perked as he tried to focus on the sound. He thought of several possible sources that would make such a sound at this time of the night. It didn’t sound like a cat rummaging through the trash, nor did it sound like a piece of litter skittering across the ground in the breeze. He listened intently, waiting for his brain to identify the strange sound. The breeze changed direction, and blew straight towards him. This little change enhanced the clarity of the noise just enough for Rags to pinpoint the entity.

It was a filly weeping.

After coming to a reasonable conclusion of the source, his next and most obvious questions were where was this filly at, and why was she crying. Well as for the where, she was definitely outside, Rags could tell that much, so he wasn’t just hearing the sounds of a filly in her room through an open window. As for the why, perhaps she was lost. Maybe this part of town was foreign to her. Rags decided it was time to stop theorizing and act.

He walked forward, listening. The sound came from ahead, but not quite in front of him. He stepped softly so he could hear. The closer he got, the better he was able to discern the location. Now it sounded like it was coming from the right. As he reached the end of the block, with his home three blocks further down, he could see her. A little dark-blue pegasus filly sitting under a streetlamp on the sidewalk to his starboard.

He watched from around the corner, glancing from side to side, waiting to see if someone else was around. Admittedly, it was very creeper-like of Rags to check and see if nobody else was around before approaching a filly. But this wasn’t because he was sizing her up, it was because he was naturally a very paranoid pony. He had ludicrous notions about this crying filly, like how she could have been a red herring set in place to attract unsuspecting victims for a group of bandits to ambush. And some much more reasonable notions, like how she could just be waiting for someone to come pick her up.

Suppressing his paranoia, he began to move towards her, feeling that even if someone was coming to pick her up, he should at least see what she was crying about. Sure it wasn’t really his business, but he couldn’t just leave the filly sobbing alone in the dark. Tentatively he emerged into the same patch of light the filly sat in, and gently spoke to her

“Excuse me little filly, is something wrong?” The filly only continued crying, tears lightly splashing the pavement. “Hey, are you okay?” Rags inched closer as he spoke.

“I’m having the nightmares again,” the filly breathed.

“What?” Rags said perplexedly. Not really knowing how to respond, he cautiously raised a hoof to her shoulder after a brief moment of silence. “Uhm... there there? It’s, uh, gonna be alright.” She raised her head slowly. Rags snapped his hoof back, thinking he might have upset her. She began to turn to him, her light blue mane obscuring her eyes, from which tears still flowed. She brought her head up to look at him and--

Nothing. There was nothing. There was nothing in her eyes. They were pitch black. No pupils, no irises, no whites, no life, nothing. Solid darkness stared at Rags. No, not at Rags, at his soul. Those eyes were empty of life, and yet, there was something in them that gazed into his very being. He didn’t know what it was, but it was something that made his skin crawl. It all took place in only a few seconds, but it felt like an eternity to the dumbfounded Rags. As quickly as the feeling of dread struck him, a flash of bright light washed over him and filled his vision.

He fell back on his flank, rubbing his eyes. When his watery-eyed sight came back, she was gone. He whipped his head in every direction, searching for the filly. But she had disappeared, undoubtedly sinking into the darkness around the light and scurrying off. Rags got to his hooves, still rubbing one eye.

Okay, let’s just stay calm here, Rags. Just stay calm. Now, I have no clue what just happened, who she was, or what the buck was up with those eyes, but obviously it wasn’t anything harmful. You are not hurt, you can see, so she didn’t blind you, and what the buck was up with those eyes!? No no, calm yourself, don’t freak out, there is probably a perfectly logical reason for all of that, what with the flash, and the crying, and the what the buck was up with those eyes!?

Rags' eyes had shrunk to pinpricks and darted about, his mane stood on end, and his brain chugged and lurched like a steam engine leaving the station, searching for an explanation. Finally, in a moment of brilliance, he came to a conclusion that a dedicated private-eye would nod his approval to.

A prank! That’s what this was! A prank! Some buttmunch just put that filly on the sidewalk with some kind of weird eye makeup or whatever to freak out any passing ponies. Well played, you joker! Well played! I laugh! I laugh at your joke! Because that's obviously what it was! Yep, just a joke! Clearly not a freakish supernatural event! Now take some deep breaths Rags, you big scaredy cat, you! And just trot down the street there to your house. ‘Sall good, ‘sall good...

He spun on his hooves and made way towards his domicile, putting a strenuous amount of effort into being relaxed and calm.

Did she have a horn? I could have sworn I saw a... nah.

Inhaling and exhaling deeply, Rags began to cool off. He looked at the situation, thought up a logical explanation, laughed it off (albeit rather dementedly), and resumed his journey back home... though, at a more urgent pace. He didn't bother to follow up on the peculiar phenomenon. Whatever just happened there, it was over and done with. He reasoned there was no need to pursue the oddity, but he was really just trying to justify what was essentially running away.

It was a perfect way to end the night, now that he thought about it. He was stressed and high strung, he got the giblets scared off him, and ironically, due to that very reason, he was now too tired and worn out to continue stressing over things. Now he could sleep easy tonight and not be kept up into the wee hours by his anxieties, as per usual.

He reached his home, quickly stuck the proper keys into the corresponding locks, and scrammed into his house, slamming the door behind him. Though he had convinced himself it was just a joke, those eyes. Whoever the mastermind was, they did a fine job with that eye-makeup-contact-lens-whatever. The fear he felt in that moment, with those dark pits boring into him, was a feeling most horror movies only wish they could instill. But, seeing as it was just a harmless little joke, he could rest easy. He tossed his keys onto the counter, grabbed a bottle of that fantastic cider he saved from cider season out of the fridge, and slumped onto the couch in his living room.

Though the vicious, depression feeding cycle would start again tomorrow, he felt strangely at ease. Finishing off the few swigs of cider, he tossed the bottle with perfect accuracy into the garbage can in the kitchen using skills that were a byproduct of years worth of cleaning for a living. He lugged himself into his neat and tidy bedroom and fell on the bed, too spent to even pull the blanket over himself. He spiraled into a deep dream-filled sleep, visions of something better dancing in his mind... and those eyes.

Chapter 2: Whispers in the Dark

Journal entry #2

I’ve finally got an answer! An answer as to why my life has been, and will continue to be, a big smelly load of crap! You wanna hear it, Journal? Ok, here’s the answer: the universe hates me! Seems pretty obvious, huh? I mean, anybody with a brain stem would know that by taking a quick glance at me, but I’m evidently not as observant, because it’s taken me this long to realize it.

What finally tipped me off? I was nearly murdered yesterday. Yep, that made it pretty clear that me and the universe aren’t exactly on amicable terms. The universe sent an assassin to get rid of the stain that is Rags. Well you know what, universe? You can suck it! Because I’m still here, baby! I’m not going anywhere!

Alright, I doubt the cosmic powers that be actually want me dead. I’m just a little on edge at the moment. Understandably so, I should think. The town guards say they haven’t found the guy, or, thing, or whatever it was. You’d think something like that wouldn’t be too hard to find. I’m staying at Nougat’s place today. Normally I abhor sleepovers, but in this case I’m more than willing to make an exception. Not that I’ll actually get any sleep. How could I with those howls still being so vivid in my mind?

“Rags! A kid threw up under table 3! Mop it! Now!” His boss, a slightly older heavyset stallion, bellowed from the doorway of the kitchen. Rags stopped in the middle of scrubbing a dish, shrugged his shoulders with a hefty sigh, and let the plate sink into the murky dishwater. He muttered obscenities regarding his manager’s mother and her promiscuous activities as he trudged across the room to retrieve his trusty mop and accompanying bucket.

I hate children. I really do. What’s the point of having them? All they do is poop, eat, scream, vomit, poop some more, cry, and whine. Or that’s all they do when they’re around me anyway. Well, and sit creepily on the sidewalk alone at night and freak out folks just trying to get home from work. They seem to do that a lot around me too.

Rags gave a slight shiver at the memory. It had been at the forefront of his mind all day and took up the majority of his attention, much to his boss's chagrin. He couldn’t help it, he didn’t want to remember it at all. However, something so abnormal does not simply remove itself from one’s memory banks.

“Hurry it up, Rags! Before it starts driving our customers out!” His boss grew ever more impatient with time. Rags pushed the memory to the back of his mind and rushed into the dining area with the mop, cursing at his superior under his breath the whole way.

It was lunch hour, meaning that the diner, named Mom and Pop's, was pretty swamped. Customers filed in at a brisk pace and placed orders in a timely fashion. Nearly every booth was stuffed with one to four patrons, all chatting and feasting before their time for doing so was over and they had to scurry back to their own work environs. As for Rags, this was his work environ, and he hated every waking minute of it. Mainly because most ponies severely lacked dining etiquette, making his job more difficult.

He made his way to the opposite end of the restaurant, his target, a puddle of bile straight from the bowels of a crying foal, in sight. Whipping his mop out of the bucket, he thrust it into the nasty mess, with the stench that clung to it slowly deteriorating as it was cleaned into oblivion by the veteran washer.

The little colt dumped his bowl of pea soup on the floor in his fit, right on top of the previous mess. The mother was giving out as many apologies as she could in a flustered manner. Rags gritted his teeth, resisting the urge to let loose a number of choice words to express how irked he was. Before he could open his mouth to release the naughty language, the boss appeared from behind.

“Whoops, looks like your precious little angel had a spill there, ma’am. Don’t worry, Rags here is more than happy to clean it up. Aren’t you, boy?” The bosses’ tone made it abundantly clear that it wasn’t an option for Rags to say no. The employee rolled his eyes in response, earning him a wicked glare from the boss. His superior gave a bow to the mother and the child, the latter finally beginning to calm down, before retreating back to the counter. The child threw a small salt shaker at Rags' head and giggled. The stallion tried to kill it with his eyes as he continued mopping.

Finishing off the mess, Rags took his loyal mop and bucket back into the kitchen and resumed cleaning the dishes. He stole a quick glance at the clock as he wiped leftovers and scraps off the plates and bowls. One-thirty, on the dot. Before long, this sea of hungry ponies would ebb, and the rate at which filth was produced would along with it too. He just had to resist the urge to kill himself with a spork for a little bit longer.

It was about quitting time for Rags. Nary a customer in sight, and the kitchen was practically glowing. Rags’ work in the diner was just about done, with only a few pieces of silverware left to cleanse before he could clock out. The stench of soap and cleaning chemicals burned in his nostrils as he dried the last butter knife. The bell that hung above the entrance doors rang, making him cringe as it’s infuriating chime penetrated his ear drums.

“Hey, Rags! You almost done in there?” A voice called from the beyond the kitchen. Rags could recognize it, and knew that the nervous intones could belong to none other than Nougat. The soapy stallion didn’t feel like expending the energy necessary for responding from the kitchen, and he instead hung his apron and made for the doorway, shutting off the lights as he exited.

As Rags made his way out from behind the counter, the droopy eyed dishwasher grumbled a greeting to his pal. Nougat caught on to the tone, and adopted a concerned look to match his words. “You ok there, bud?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, I guess,” Rags muttered.

“Really? Because you look anything but,” Nougat joked, drawing a light chuckle out of his worn companion. They both turned to leave the joint, but were halted by a booming shout.

“Rags! Where do you think you’re going!?” The boss roared.

“Home, you windbag.”

“Did you clean all the silverware!?”

“Yes.”

“And the bathrooms!?"

“Yes.”

“Well what about the--”

“Yes, you tubby blowhard, yes! I’ve cleaned everything! It’s all spic and span! Now if you don’t mind, I’m going to go home like a normal pony does after work!” Rags shouted back, close to matching his superior’s furious pitch.

His bosses’ face scrunched in anger. “You can’t talk to me like that! You’re lucky I don’t fire your worthless flank!”

“You wouldn’t fire me, you need someone to clean the bathrooms and you’re too much of a pus to do it yourself.” Rags stated in a matter-of-fact tone.

“That’s all you’re good for! Scrubbing those crappers! And I expect you here bright and early to do it again tomorrow!” The boss jutted a hoof in Rags’ direction to add finality to his words. The employee didn’t waste his breath coming up with a response, and only flicked his tail at his manager as he continued out. Rags could hear agitated ramblings from back inside the diner. Nougat, who had been looking on in frightened silence, finally spoke.

“Jeez, is he always like that?” the pegasus asked in amazement.

Rags rolled his tired eyes, “No, this is actually one of his better days.”

“You should really quit, man,” Nougat said, looking back at the diner that contained the fuming stallion.

Rags sighed deeply, “Can’t, I need the money. But it’s ok. I call him a chode, he calls me a maggot, but at the end of the day, he signs my checks and I clean the stalls. But lemme’ tell ya, Nougat, one of these days... one of these days!” Rags said with rage as he shook his hoof.

They both walked in silence for a moment, waiting for the awkwardness of that whole episode to fade. Once it did, Nougat spoke softly, “So, uhm, how ya feeling?”

“I yearn for death’s sweet embrace,” Rags said sardonically.

“Well aren’t you a barrel of kittens?” Nougat quipped.

“I’m serious here, Nougat. Something's gotta change! I can’t go on like this! Every day is the same thing: Get up, go to work, feel like crap, leave work, walk around with you for a little bit, go home, sleep, repeat.” Rags’ words appeared to be saddening him as he continued, “I need to know that there is something better out there, otherwise I’ll curl up in the fetal position and weep in the corner of my room until I starve and die.”

“You always know how to brighten the mood, you know that?” Nougat’s sarcasm did not bode well with Rags, garnering an annoyed glare from him.

“I’m serious, bro.” Rags stopped walking and sat down on the sidewalk with his head hung low, his eyes shut, and his hooves rubbing his temples.

“Brotha... I don’t know what to tell you. The rest of us have contented ourselves with our share in life. Why can’t you?” Nougat asked, seeming to genuinely care about his friend’s dilemma. “You’ve gone on like this for months. It’s ‘there’s gotta be something else out there’ this, and ‘is this all there is?’ that. At some point, you just have to accept the fact that this is what you’ve been given and you should make the best out of it.”

Rags shook his head, still keeping his eyes shut. “I can’t do that.”

“Why? You’re worried about wasting your life, but that’s exactly what you’re doing by spending all this time moping around,” said Nougat, with a gentle but firm tone.

Rags inhaled and exhaled deeply before replying, “I’ve tried. I really have. But no matter what I do, I just can’t help but feel like there is something that I’m not doing right.”

“Well, I can’t do anything for you. I’ve given my two bits and told you what I thought, but you’re looking for answers that I don’t have. So please, stop harshin' my mellow every day with this stuff, hmm?” Nougat offered a hoof to his friend, whose rump was still planted on the street.

Rags looked up to his comrade’s appendage, and with a tiny grin he lightly chortled, “I never did think about how my little tirades have been effecting you. Sorry for dumping my problems on you, bro. I’ll save it for my therapist.” He grasped his associate’s hoof with his own, and pulled himself back onto all fours.

“So, like, are we supposed to hug now, or what?” Nougat said, shifting nervously on his hooves.

“Do you have a death-wish?” Rags ripped his hoof away from his friend’s with disgust.

“Pardon me for not knowing how to properly end this tender moment!” Nougat snapped.

“Well now you know how to end moments like this, without any hugging. Save that kind of crap for your marefriend... oh wait...” Rags smirked as he passed, a noticeable twitch clear on Nougat’s features. But it soon faded to a placated grin, making it clear that Nougat was just happy to have his friend back to his old snarky self.

He caught up to Rags and they continued conversing, this time free of existential angst. “So, you wanna go peek at mares in the spa?” Nougat’s brusqueness took Rags off guard.

“Wait, what!? Dude, we haven’t done that since we were kids! If someone caught two grown stallions doing that, we’d be arrested or something!” Rags couldn’t help but let out a laugh.

“So? Haven’t you ever heard about being a child at heart?” the pegasus grinned. The two friends chuckled for a moment.

“Nah, I’m not in the mood. I’m pretty friggin’ tired. I think I’m gonna go home, take a few sips of the good old stuff, and fall asleep in my alcoholic vomit.” The dishwasher turned, heading towards a different street than that of his yellow companion.

“Gonna go live the dream, eh?” Nougat yawned, “I’m pretty sleepy myself. Alright, guess I’ll be seeing you then. And seriously, lighten up, man. It’s gonna get better for you soon, I can feel it.” And with that, they said their farewells and parted ways. It was time once again for Rags’ favorite part of the day. The long walk home.

The sky was that familiar shade of luscious purple that he had come to know and love, though it wouldn’t be long now until darkness overtook the sky, draining all color and replacing it with pitch black speckled with dots of vibrant white light. With any luck, Luna would raise a glorious moon to keep Rags company on this evening.

Lights in houses could be seen flicking off throughout the neighborhood, usually a sign that ponies within were turning in for the night. Rags thought this was a little peculiar. Lights out at this time was not unheard of. Many foals were put to bed at this point, but the number of lights being put out was considerable, as if everybody was going to bed early. Not an event that was spectacular in the slightest, but still, something to take note of. Perhaps Rags had forgotten about daylight savings.

Along with familiar shades of color came familiar thoughts. He began pondering his own words he had spoken to Nougat earlier. He hadn’t wholly thought them through at the time. They were far more articulate and clear in his heart than they were in his mind. Be that as it may, he still meant what he said. He wanted, needed, a change. Suddenly, an idea sprang to mind. A vacation. A trip across the land. Nothing too amazing, just a refreshing change of scenery. He did love walking under the moonlight, after all, so why not a walk under the moonlight in the majestic capital of Canterlot?

He liked the sound of that. But for the time being, it was just a pipe-dream. He hadn’t the money to support a journey like that. Nor did he possess the vacation time in his work schedule. It would have to remain a fantasy until he could scrounge up enough cash. But he had a feeling that it would be well worth the effort to pursue. He’d always heard that opportunity was wont to befall the unsuspecting on the streets of Canterlot. Maybe something would happen to him in there that would allow him to leave his current lifestyle behind, and lead a greater one in the regal city.

As expected, the blackness of night consumed the light of the sun, the ball of fire fallen below the horizon, no longer providing any resistance to the darkness. Rags felt a wave of contentment wash over him. His only other friend besides Nougat, the Moon, floated above, delicately pouring its porcelain glow upon the world around him.

thwack

Yes sir, Luna did a fine job raising that brilliant satellite. It never failed to put a smile on Rags’ face.

thwack

This time, Rags was sure to avoid any crying fillies. No more funny business interrupting his walks home.

thwack

Smooth sailing from here on out. Just a peaceful walk home with the breeze of the night cascading across his face, like the brushes of a lover’s hoof over one's cheek.

thwack

Rags’ attempts at ignoring the odd noise echoing through the air were all in vain. No matter how hard he tried, it rang in his ears clear as day. And, to his immense displeasure, it sounded like it was coming from around the area where his home was located. Flashes of the previous night popped into his mind, causing him to run through a multitude of scenarios about the source.

thwack

Were the pranksters back? What expertly executed, yet horrible trick did they have planned out this time? Rags thought that he must have been pretty funny looking last night after the incident with the filly if they were targeting him again.

thwack

Then again, there was always the possibility that it wasn’t the jokers. Rags tried not to think about other outcomes. With a noise like that? He found it much more comforting to operate under the pretense that it was just a bunch of adolescents looking for a laugh.

thwack

He rounded the corner to his street. He scanned the road and sidewalks ahead, vision focusing intently, searching for any and all movements. There, in the shadows. He saw it.

thwack

A dark figure, stallion, judging by the build, bringing his forearm up and down on an unknown object poised on a vegetable kiosk, set up two blocks away from Rags’ home on the sidewalk between him and his destination. What a strange sight. Why would a kiosk be set up anywhere but the market place? What’s more, why was a stallion chopping vegetables at this hour?

thwack

Now both more curious and skeptical, Rags inched down the sidewalk, approaching the stallion with caution, still wary of the jokers that could have been behind this. As he neared, Rags could make out several features on the pony. A coat black as dragon smoke with patches of white, a cleaver clenched in his hoof, and a distinct lack of a cutie mark. But the most interesting, and most ominous, part was what the stallion was chopping. Rags prayed to whoever was in charge that this vegetable kiosk doubled as a fruit stand, because what the stallion was chopping was red and messy like a watermelon.

thwack

The stranger hadn’t taken notice of Rags yet. He watched curiously as the stranger continuously brought the cleaver down on whatever it was he was slicing without any apparent regard for the quality of the product. Whatever it was, it was completely massacred. Gulping, Rags took a gamble and verbalized.

“Uhm, h-hello? H-how ya doing?”

The stranger stopped chopping.

“You know, I-I haven’t seen anybody around here, shouldn’t you be closing up shop and going home?”

No response.

Rags moved closer, now about seven feet in distance from the odd stallion. “Hey, pal? You doing alright? Is something wr- holybuckingsh--”

Within an instant, the stranger spun, lunged, and swiped his red splattered cleaver at Rags’ head. Rags barely reacted in time to dodge the attack. He stumbled backwards, attempting to put a reasonable distance between himself and the stranger.

“!uoy tae lliw I!” the stranger screamed.

“Hey! What the buck is wrong with--” Rags froze. He got a clear look at the stallion. No, at the thing.

It was shaped like a pony, but it wasn’t a pony. It wasn’t the coat that was black, it was a tar-like goo that covered the entirety of the body, and dripped off in small globs. The spots of white were not colors of the coat, they were patches of bone, exposed in large gashes and rotting flesh wounds that could be seen here and there across its length, through the thick layer of tar. Its eyes were blazing red, lidless and intense. But the most horrifying aspect was the voice. Or rather, voices. When it vocalized, it sounded as if it had multiple voices of varying genders and ages, all of them sounding irate. The messy red substance it pounded on with the cleaver was not fruit, but the corpse of a small foal. That was all that was discernible about it.

Rags could feel tears of fear forming at the edges of his eyes. The creature raised its cleaver. “!eiD !eiD !EID” the beast howled before lunging once more. Rags sidestepped fast enough to avoid, but only slightly. A few strands of his mane floated down to the ground, sheared off by the wild creature. The thing fumbled and tripped over itself as it skidded past its would-be victim.

Rags could not think. He could not move. He was stuck in place, only staring at the monstrosity that grunted and growled at him as it got back up. His instincts begged him to move, imploring him to run for his life. The creature wasted no time, brandishing its red cleaver above its head and preparing to bring it down on Rags’ skull. Control flooded back into Rags before the beast could strike, and with swiftness he never knew he possessed, he evaded the blow and immediately made a bee line for his home, the monster barking and snarling as it gave chase.

With control, came thought. Rags’ mind fired on all cylinders, trying to piece together what just transpired and what his next move would be. Of course, trying to calculate and process this with fear coursing through his veins like a raging herd of buffalo led to one big clusterbuck in his brain.

What!? Who!? Where!? Why!? GAH! Gotta get home! Oh sweet mother of all that is holy, it tried to kill me! It's behind me! I can hear it! Gotta get home! Guards! I need the town guards! Where are the town guards!? AHH! It’s gaining! By Celestia’s beard, I’m gonna die! I think I left the oven on! It killed someone! That was a pony on the counter! What was it doing!? Defense! I need protection! Gotta defend myself! How!? What do I do!? Luna on a bun, I can hear it breathing! Run! Run, you spindly legged dishwasher, RUN!

He put ‘regaining cohesive thought’ lower on the list of important things to do right now, under ‘just get away’. As he neared his domicile, he could hear the rage filled snorts of the thing’s flaring nostrils. He bolted up the steps to his door and fidgeted with the keys. He only had a few seconds left to live, and he was spending them looking for the multiple keys to his superfluous several locks. Only a heartbeat’s moment from death, he finally just tried the doorknob. And from that point on, he pledged to bow in respect to doorknobs everywhere before opening them, for the knob on his door permitted him entrance into his house. It looked like Rags forgot to ensure that his door was locked this morning before he left. Fortune beyond belief.

He dashed inside and slammed the door behind himself, and the instant it was shut, a cleaver penetrated the frame, right in the spot where he was standing not but a few milliseconds ago. He bolted the bolts and locked the door up tight. Thinking quickly, he darted into the kitchen and took up the biggest chef’s knife he owned. With the knife in his mouth, he ran to the telephone in the living room. He scooped up the device and dialed the number of salvation to summon the guards. Though what he heard was not the response of an operator ready to put him through to the law enforcement, but instead, something absolutely dreadful: dead air.

Cursing, he smashed the phone back onto the receiver and charted his next course. He ran to the back of his home and into his bedroom, performing the same actions he did with the front door. As if he was trained to do so, he flicked the light switch off and slipped under the bed with snake-like elegance.

There, in the darkness and silence, hidden under his mattress, Rags listened intently. The terrified stallion felt warm tears flow down his face. He pondered for a moment whether or not he would piss himself, but there were far more important things to be concerned with now than a urine stain on the floor under his bed. His ears perked and swiveled about like a radar dish, searching for any signs of imminent death.

ching

There. A sign. Though not one of imminent death, it could have been the prelude to such.

ching

It came not from inside the house, but outside, much to the quivering stallion’s relief.

ching

He tried to pinpoint it, to find out both what that thing was doing and if it was getting closer.

ching

Yes, it was getting closer. Coming towards his bedroom along the outside wall of the structure.

ching

It almost sounded like the walls were being struck with the bloody weapon the thing had gripped in its hoof. Like it was trying to get the house to spit out his prey.

ching

…

Yet again, silence fell on Rags’ ears. The noise had stopped. There was no audible trace of the perpetrator. Had he given up? Was he just trying to draw Rags out of hiding? Theories sprouted in his mind, only this time, they could not be called crackpot ideas cooked up by an overly paranoid individual. All things considered, they were perfectly reasonable assumptions. This truly unnerved Rags. The day had come when his paranoid delusions started to look like logical conclusions. Was this the beginning of the end?

CRASH

The sound of shattering glass cut through the quiet.

The windows! It came in through a window! Oh balls, it’s inside! Oh balls, oh balls, oh balls, oh balls. Ok, keep it together, man. At least it didn’t come in through your bedroom window. And you’ve got your bedroom door shut and triple locked. You’ll be fine as long as you just stay quiet. Heh, I’d like to see this freak get through a Rags-locked door!

Sharp, ragged breaths and the stomping of hooves could be heard approaching the bedroom door. From the sounds of it, the thing had stopped right outside the room.

Oh crap, I take it back! I would not like to see that!

The breathing lingered outside the threshold, as if the monster knew Rags was inside, but just wanted to scare the piss out of him. Suffice to say, it was on the verge of success. After some time, the breathing subsided, and the hoofsteps moved down the hall. Rags exhaled a huff of air he didn’t even know he was holding, when a hideous crack came from down the hallway. The sound of splintering wood was undeniable. A large thump shook the floor, and Rags began shaking as well.

A minute passed, and more splintering and cracking occurred, followed by another large thump. Rags put two and two together right quick, and began shaking even more violently than before. The thing was tearing doors off their hinges and searching the rooms. Rags hadn’t considered how intelligent this monstrosity could be. Was it smart enough to look in every nook and cranny?

The stomping came back to his door once again, accompanied by a wheezing breath. Rags was utterly petrified. It felt like an eternity, waiting for the thing’s next move. He gritted his teeth on the handle of the knife, and dug his hooves into the carpet as he prepared for the worst. His eyes were shut tight as the muffled breaths on the other side got shorter and shorter, quicker and quicker. A powerful smash on the frame. Cracking and snapping. A thump on the ground. Then it was inside.

The light left on in the hallway cast a cone of brightness through the mangled doorway, and an elongated shadow forbiddingly etched across the floor. Hooves black as coal shambled past Rags’ field of view, leaving a trail of tar in their wake. The thing stopped on the far side of the bed, still wheezing heavily. It stood stock still, as if focusing all of its energies into sensory perception.

Rags made especially sure not to make a single sound. He didn’t breath or move, trying his hardest to be invisible. If he could, he would even stop his heartbeat to keep it from beating so loudly. The wheezing came in longer intakes now. The black hooves began trembling slightly, before beginning to bend and bow, like they couldn’t support the being they were attached too. But as this oddity continued and more of the thing’s body became visible to Rags, he realized that his worst nightmare at this moment was coming true.

It was bending over to look under the bed, albeit very sluggishly.

The adrenalin was too great. The fear too monumental. Before he could even formulate his next move, Rags zipped out from under the bed, eliciting a horrendous yowl from the thing, which had immediately changed gears, from slow and unbalanced to fierce and predatory, the moment its prey was in sight.

“!uoy dnuoF” it screeched in its multiple voices.

Rags bounded over the trashed heap that was once the bedroom door and made way for the front door, the thing in hot pursuit. He flung open the door and tried to sprint out, but was foiled in his escape by a slimy black hoof coming down hard on his shoulder. Operating only on instinct, Rags thrashed his head backwards, feeling jarred when he struck what felt like a brick wall. A brick wall that sprayed black fluids all over his face as it gave an evil hiss.

The iron grip on his shoulder released, and Rags tumbled down the steps, his momentum wrenching his balance out from under his hooves. His head spun and his vision blurred, though through his dizzy haze, he could see the thing, flailing and hollering in agony with a knife lodged deep into its eye. In this short moment of rest, even if burdened by a throbbing headache and several bruised body parts, Rags miraculously regained the ability to think.

Foregoing any attempts at piecing together what just happened, or what was going on in general, Rags instead used his blessed think organ to whip up a quick plan. He hopped up and rushed up the stairs to the thing. It flung its head up, saw Rags coming, and gave a short growl before Rags plowed his two front hooves into it’s chest, sending the creature further back into the home, and sending tremors up his legs. Again, it was like punching brick. The thing was nothing but raw power.

Rags shut the door. The tactic was sure to buy him a few seconds to execute his brilliant scheme. Throwing himself off the stoop, Rags ran full blast to the neighbors door. The sounds of the thing collecting itself and regaining its composure perforated the walls of Rags’ home. It was time to put his phenomenal plan into action. Standing before the neighbors home, he puffed out his chest, mustered his strength, preparing to perform an action that could save his life.

“Help! It’s trying to kill me! Someone help! Sweet merciful Celestia, HEEEELP!” Rags screamed like a filly while bashing the door with both hooves. Phase one of the plan was complete. The cracking and snapping assaulted his ears once more. The thing had gotten up, and from the sounds of it, was not in the best of moods. When no response came from the neighbors home, Rags sprinted to the next and repeated the procedure.

And the next.

And the next.

And the next.

Nothing. Not a soul in sight. Rags wondered why none came to his aid, or even came out to see what all of the fuss was about. All lights were out in the homes. All were sleeping, stunningly enough. How could anybody sleep with all of this racket?

Smashing noises erupted from down the street. Rags let out a weak meep. The thing was out, and no doubt would be on the prowl. He didn’t linger around. Rags hightailed it down the sidewalk, heading for town square.

As he progressed down the roads, he occasionally stopped to bash on doors and shout at homes in hopes of attracting the attention of someone willing to provide assistance. A waste of time, as of yet. Things were getting more curious by the second. The homes were dark, but the street lamps were still on. Not a pony in sight, with even any guards stuck with the graveyard shift being oddly absent. This wasn’t just ponies in too deep of a sleep to hear him. Something was up. It was a ghost town.

A demented screech pierced the night. The thing was closing in. Rags hauled flank.

He didn’t have time to inspect the mystery of the missing ponies. As usual, he couldn’t rely on anybody else. Only before, the lack of support from those around him didn’t mean the difference between life and being mutilated by a bloodthirsty monstrosity. He assumed that he was all alone. Which meant that it was time to fall back on plan B. Hiding like a foal in a game of hide-and-seek. Except losing would leave him chopped to pieces in a dark alleyway. He would give anything to have a cutie mark in hiding right about now.

Thinking as quickly as his consternation would allow him, he made a mental list of all the places he could hide. Drawing on his childhood memories of narrowly avoiding the painful pummels of bullies by disappearing into sneaky locations, he came up with a few spots that could quite possibly be a safe haven. But which one was best?

The dumpster behind the bakery? No, the monster might have a sweet tooth. The haystacks in the barn on Sweet Apple Acres? Maybe. The Carousel Boutique? Definitely not. Rags was pretty sure that only schoolyard bullies avoided that place, and that monsters didn’t have such aversions to fashion. The library? He decided it was time to stop looking to his childhood recollections for ideas. Most of the hiding spots he used back then only fooled hormonally imbalanced colts, not savage abominations.

Another supernatural screech of anger. Though it was more faint than before. At least Rags was putting a respectable distance between him and the thing.

It looked like the barn on Sweet Apple Acres would be his best bet. After all, the road to the farm was close to his current position, the barn in and of itself had a multitude of discrete places to tuck himself away in, and if Rags could pick anybody to discover him in his predicament and come to his aid, it would be the Element of Honesty herself, Applejack. Rags heard a lot about the exploits of the elements, of their heroic acts and impressive feats. He once heard that Applejack stopped a speeding cart on an inverted slope. That sounded like strength that could give even the nastiest creatures pause for thought. And her stoic, yet titanic brother would no doubt be of assistance.

Of course, Rags didn’t really believe that anyone was going to help him at this point, but still, if they were, he’d want it to be the apple-bucking national hero. He was mostly focused on the cover the barn could supply. A large stack of hay in the upper portion like what he used to camouflage himself with when he was under attack by young punks way back when. He made up his mind. He was going to the apple farm. The road to take him out of town was just up ahead.

One final cry of rage. Still a fair way back, somewhere in the thrall of buildings and streets behind Rags.

Seizing the golden opportunity, he turned sharply onto the dirt road to the acres of apples, and sprinted as fast as he could down the path. Before, he had the streetlamps of Ponyville to supply vision. But now, on the rural back road, he was swallowed by darkness. The veil of black spread over the land. It was only navigable by the soft glow of the moon and stars. Without the presence of any decent lighting, the night twisted and transformed ordinary objects into shapes that looked suspiciously similar to the thing.

More than once, Rags gave a jump and a yelp like a frightened puppy when he looked to either side of himself to find a bush shaped like a murderous tar monster with a massive erection.

Within a few minutes, and close to complete fatigue, Rags had reached perceived safety. Sweet Apple Acres. He wasn’t out of the line of fire yet. He still had to cloak himself. Though it was possible that the thing would still be searching in town, Rags was taking no chances. After all, it might pull another trick like it did back at his home and come looking where the stallion believed himself hidden. No time to ponder how it knew to look under the bed.

Nearly operating on instinctual childhood practices alone, he rocketed into the open barn, bounded up the latter to the second level of the structure, and threw himself like a javelin into a soft, scratchy pile of hay, the material cushioning his landing. His lungs burned, his muscles ached, and sweat doused his body. That was all he had left in him. If the thing found him now, it was game over. He swore to himself that if he ever got out of this, he would spend his life savings on personal training sessions with that Rainbow mare, the speedy Element of Loyalty. Then he’d never be at risk of dying of tired legs again.

He didn’t like that mare very much. She always made the biggest messes when she came to eat at the diner. Rags shook his head clean of this thought. More important things to worry about.

There he lay buried in the alfalfa, taking in large gulps of air for a few moments before slowing his breathing to a much more discrete level. And like he did under the bed, he silenced and halted himself completely, focusing all of his conscious efforts into his hearing. The deafening roar of nothingness fell on his eardrums. Not a peep. Even the crickets, whose chirping was practically intrinsic to the night this time of year, seemed to be hiding from the thing.

Up until now, Rags hadn’t been able to put any extended amount of thought into the events that unfolded this evening. As he recalled the awful tragedy, tears flowed again. He distinctly remembered the howls, the shining blood-stained cleaver, the dead child. His emotions finally caught up with him. He nearly let out a whimper as he remembered the thing bending over to bore its eyes into him as he quivered under the bed. Those eyes. On the bright side, the memories of the filly from the night before were gone now. The down side? They were replaced with even more traumatizing ones.

A well of emotions, unbearable stress, physically exerted past his limit, all of this on top of the lack of energy he already had to deal with after work left him exhausted in every way one could be. He simply could no longer hold out. Vicious killer on the hunt or not, Rags found himself unable to press on. His eyes started falling like anchors were attached to them. He reprimanded his mind and body, told it “No, don’t give out now. It’s still out there.”

His mind and body only provided a brief rebuttal, “Can’t. Just can’t. Sleep. Need... sleep.”

Despite his protests, his mind and body had made up their minds. They were giving up the ghost. Rags no longer had a say in the matter. His lids collapsed. Then, that awful voice, way off yonder. He tore his bloodshot, bulging eyes open and tried to convince himself to stay awake.

No! Gotta stay awake! It’s lurking around! It’s still hunting! Still... looking... for... me... GAH! Stay awake, Rags! Is this how you want to die? Diced up in your sleep? If that thing finds you, you need to be ready to get up and go or fight back!... Fight back... fight back... fight... back...

The Sandpony did not discriminate. When it was time to sleep, it was time to sleep, hounded by a monster or not. Rags’ number was up. The indomitable willed stallion was out cold. the exhaustion of the day tore his defenses down, and the warmth and enticing comfort of the hay pile finished the job, whisking him off to the ethereal land of slumber. Strangely enough, no dreams were present in his mind.

Chapter 3: Darkest Day

Journal entry #3

Something is wrong. Something is very wrong. It happened again. I was almost killed again, just like the night before. The tar-pony came after me again. Only this time he wasn't alone. They came after dusk. I think they only come out at night. But there is another problem. Everyone else… they’re gone. They’re gone after dark. I’m alone in the evening.

I have no idea what’s going on. These aren’t just crazy ponies, and they aren’t creatures from the Everfree either. There is something in Ponyville. A darkness. Some kind of force that… I don’t know how to explain it. From now on, this journal isn’t just a means of therapy for a loser with too many self-inflicted problems, this is a record of the events to come. That is, if I live long enough to see them.

Hey...

Hey, wake up...

Wake up, ya varmint...

Get yer drunk flank outta mah barn...

The distant voice was becoming more clear with each poke. Something was jabbing Rags in the forehead, something with a thick southern drawl. His eyes began fluttering open, but he wasn’t really trying to wake up. He was trying to see who the annoying voice belonged to. He caught a glimpse of orange and yellow. He pried into his brain, trying to remember who he knew that was orange and yellow. Ah, yes. Applejack. Applejack? Rags wondered what the country mare was doing in his home.

In his home? He wasn’t in his home. His bedding was itchy, and the walls were red. His walls weren’t red. He thought long and hard, trying to figure out what was going on. He put the pieces of the puzzle together and came to the deduction that he was in the apple farmer’s barn. The apple farmer’s barn? Why was he in the apple farmer’s barn? Maybe...

Recollection of last night’s events exploded vividly into his mind all at once. The thing. The thing.

Rags shot upwards, eyes bugged out and hooves frantically flying in every direction, swatting at an invisible foe, and shouted at the top of his lungs, “THE THING!”

POW

And he was out like a light again.

Rags stirred from his coma-like state. His eyes cracked and harsh sunlight blinded him. As his eyes adjusted, he could see ponies silhouetted against the cloudless blue. He groggily began to sit up, but a throbbing headache pushed him back down. “What hit me?” he slurred.

“A pissed off apple bucker, yah looney varmint!” a familiar, southern accented voice barked. Rags tried once more to push himself up, fought throughout the process by the harsh pain in his skull. He was nearly upright when two sets of foreign hoofs grasped his own tightly and thrusted them behind his back, then plowing his upper body face-first into the ground, warranting a muffled “OMPF!”

“You have the right to remain silent,” a baritone voice began, “Anything you say can and will be used against you.” A pair of cuffs were brought down with a loud clack on Rags’ forearms.

“Wait, I’m under arrest!?” he confoundedly asked around the earth. “For what charges!?”

“Trespassing, attempted battery, and substance abuse,” the guard stated authoritatively.

“That’s what ya get for drinkin’ in mah barn n’ trying to attack me, yah lousy drunk!” AppleJack fumed.

“Drinking!? Attack you-- no no, I’m the one who was attacked! The thing! The thing attacked me!” Rags hastily defended.

“Thing?” one of the guards asked.

“Yeah! the thing! It was big, and, and it had, like, voices, and, and, and it was covered in tar, and it had a cleaver! And, and--”

“Sounds like you was just drunker than 40 buffalo and saw some sorta hallucination, to me,” Applejack cut in, and from what he could see from his constrained position, was casting him a suspicious sideways look. Rags thought about it for a split second, and realized that he sounded like an utter psycho with his talk of muscular, cleaver wielding tar beasts. He collected his facts and tried again with a greater degree of tact in his presentation.

“It’s true! There was this thing! Some kind of creature! It was like a pony, but different! It destroyed my house! It chased me across town with a cleaver! I had to hide in your barn!” Rags could hardly see the apple farmer, and the two guards behind him were invisible completely, but he had a feeling that the testimony was at least being taken into consideration, judging from the silence momentarily hanging in the air.

“It...destroyed your house?” one of the guards asked.

“Yes! It was insane!” Rags exclaimed. Another silence hung in the air

“Is your name Rags?” the other guard asked this time.

“Yes, sir! Wait, how do you know me? Have we met before? This is the first time I’ve been arrested, right? I mean, was I, like, drunk one night and didn’t remember? Or--”

“Oh dang, I’m real sorry ‘bout that,” Applejack cut in with a surprisingly soft tone. A complete change from her stance mere moments ago.

“Uhm…” Rags didn’t know what brought on such an attitude adjustment, and the suddenness threw him off.

“Call an ambulance. Tell them to meet us at this pony’s address,” one guard spoke to the other as they lifted him off the ground.

“Wait, what’s happening?” Rags asked, becoming distraught.

“Stay calm, sir. We found your home destroyed this morning. We’re investigating the matter as we speak,” the guard said. Now that Rags was sitting up, he finally had a clear view of the group of ponies around him. The apple farmers, a solemn looking Applejack, the pensive Big Mac, the wide-eyed smaller sister of the two, and a very perturbed looking elder mare, the owner of the farm. Behind him stood two tough-as-nails-looking guards, the younger looking like he was not but a few months out of the academy, while the older had the attitude of a veteran. The latter was the one doing most of the talking.

“Then… does that mean you believe me?” Rags asked hopefully.

“Well, not really, but something definitely did some serious damage to your home. Come with us, please.” And with that, the veteran officer released Rags from his cuffs, and gestured to the wagon the two enforcers hauled with them to the farm. On the back of the cart was a heavy set of iron bars, intended for the apprehension of ne'er-do-wells. Fortunately, it rarely saw use, as Ponyville was famous for its peaceful nature.

Rags was ushered into the back of the barred cart, assured by the guards that he was only in there to be lifted to his home and not the jailhouse. Applejack and her older brother approached the wagon to offer words of condolence before Rags’ departure.

“Uhm… sorry ‘bout buckin’ you in the face. I, uh, thought you were crazy,” Applejack smiled sheepishly, “If ya need a place to go, we have a guest room here for ya. Or I could always get a hold of mah friend Fluttershy n’ work somethin’ out.”

“Uhm, sure thing… thanks?” Rags said bewilderedly. The thing only tore down a few doors and broke a few windows. It wasn’t like it burned his home down or anything. Why was such kindness being offered to him? With a jerk of motion, the wagon was on the move, and picked up speed at an urgent rate.

“You take care now,” AJ waved as the vehicle made haste down the road. Big Mac mimicked the gesture and offered a “Eeyup” to support his sister’s words.

The guardsponies vanished moments later in a cloud of dust further down the rural dirt road. Applejack whistled in amazement and turned to Macintosh. “Poor fella. I saw his house this mornin’ after Rainbow told me ‘bout it. Looked like a manticore plowed through the place.”

Mac was not one for conversation, typically, but concerns scratched at his mind that demanded more words than he was used to giving. “He said it looked like a pony, and it chased him ‘round with a cleaver. Ahm thinkin’ we got a real psycho prowlin’ ‘round town.” Mac affixed his sister with a stoic stare. Applejack picked up on the suggestion hidden in his words after a moment and nodded.

“Right, I’ll get the tools.”

Rags sat on the sidewalk with his eyes wide and pupils shrunken, fixated on his home. A throng of guards stood vigilantly, keeping rubbernecking onlookers at bay. EMTs surrounded Rags and performed numerous checks and procedures on the stunned stallion to ensure he wasn’t harmed or wounded. They suspected mild shock was at play, but they couldn’t tell whether it was the prior night’s events that did it, or the sight before him. Investigators had been called in once Rags mentioned the bloody corpse in his story, and they searched for any shred of evidence that would reveal the identity of the culprit… or for that matter, the location of the cadaver. The gore splattered kiosk and the carcass of the child upon it was gone.

The crime scene was established hours ago, when the mare by the name of Rainbow Dash, the Element of Loyalty, had reported the destruction to the authorities. She said that she’d been sleeping on a cloud and woke to find herself floating above the domicile. A perfectly reasonable alibi, until she brought up the fact that she’d been sleeping in that same location all night. Rags didn’t believe her. It’s not that he suspected a national hero and element bearer of lying, but it just didn’t make any sense. How could she have been there, suspended over Rags’ house, and not have been stirred by the commotion? She couldn’t possibly have been that heavy of a sleeper. Nobody is.

But that was not the question most prominent in his mind. The bigger question was what the hay happened to his house? If the mangled heap before him could even be designated as such anymore.

It was an unbelievable development. His house had received even more punishment since last Rags saw it. The shingles on the roof were all but gone, and a gaping wound where his living room ceiling once hung spoke of something crashing through the structure with tremendous force. One wall, in his kitchen, had collapsed, bearing the twisted plumbing and gnarled wiring for all to see. The plumbing, electricity, and gas had all been shut off so as to avoid any accidents. Every window was smashed, every piece of furniture was outside and torn to pieces, and every square inch of the building was covered in scratches, slashes, and bite marks. It looked like a lynch mob stormed the place in search of Rags. Had the thing returned after losing Rags and taken its fury out on the house? Supporting this theory was the fact that none of the surrounding buildings received any damage whatsoever.

The Investigator, a stockier fellow with an accent clearly of Manehattan origins, stepped out of the front door, shook his head, and approached Rags. “So lemme’ get this straight, you say that this… thing… was some kind a’ psycho coated in black tar?” Rags didn’t register the question, still gawking at the ruins that used to be his living quarters. The Investigator cleared his throat audibly, bringing Rags’ disbelieving gaze to him.

“Huh?” Rags slurred.

“You’re gonna have to work with me here, pal, else I can’t work with you. So let’s run through this again, you came home from work,” he stated, waiting for confirmation from Rags on this fact before continuing.

“Uh-huh.”

“You came across this thing standin’ on the sidewalk, choppin’ up some poor kid?”

“Yeah…”

The Investigator took a moment before going on, the last fact about the child leaving a trace of sadness in him. “And it then proceeded to pursue you with the weapon?”

“Yes.”

“Into your own home, right? And it was covered in some kind of substance?”

“Tar. Dripping everywhere.”

The Investigator sighed and removed his fedora to scratch the top of his head in thought. “Well I’ll have to take your word on that, because I didn’t see any tar or blood or nothin’.”

Rags, still in a confused stupor, furrowed a brow slightly and quietly asked, “What?”

“Yeah, not so much as a hoof-print, ‘cept for yours,” he said, letting the words hang in the air for a second before placing his hat back onto his scalp. He peered at Rags from under the brim. “Kinda odd, ain’t it?”

Rags was no fool, he picked up on the underlying theme of the words and became perturbed at the accusations this investigator was making. He suspected Rags of lying? The insolence! His life was put in jeopardy and this stallion was putting him on the list of suspects? Of course, Rags could not justify his story with infallible proof. With all signs of the thing being strangely absent, and the foal’s body nowhere to be found, Rags supposed that he was beginning to look a tad bit fishy. Nonetheless, Rags knew what really happened, and he was going to make sure that this stallion knew too. “Are you for real with this? You can’t possibly think that I’m behind it all?”

“I’m just staying open to all possibilities, is all. I mean, this is pretty tough to swallow to begin with, bub. A tar-pony with a cleaver cut up a kid, chased you around, leveled your place, and disappeared without leaving a single shred of proof that it was even here? And not one witness to attest to any of it? That’s out there, don’t you think?” The Investigator’s steely-eyed stare did not discriminate. He was just as suspicious of Rags right now as he was of this alleged black beast.

“What motive would there be for me to make something up like this?” Rags snapped.

“I see this kind of crap all the time. Some down-on-his-luck sap gets the idea in his head to try and fake some kind of accident or hoax to get welfare checks, commit fraud, get his face plastered over every newspaper from here to Baltimare, you name it,” the Investigator explained, keeping a close eye on Rags’ face for any tells that could give away his intentions.

Rags argued, “Then what’s supposed to happen here!? I either get the book thrown at me for something I didn’t do or you guys just leave while some kind of savage creature hungry for some Rags stew is still on the loose!?”

“Calm yourself, buddy. I didn’t say that you are guilty. I’m just keepin’ an open mind.”

“Alright then, think about this with your open mind: Even if I was the one to do this, for some stupid reason, how is it that there aren’t any witnesses?” Rags said venomously. “A mess this big doesn’t pop up overnight without someone waking up to the sounds of a building being wrecked! I ran all around town last night, and I never saw a single pony get up to see what was going on!”

“Well like I said--” The Investigator began but was immediately interrupted.

“And let’s talk about the wreck, shall we? Its got bite marks. Bite marks for crying out loud! If this was the work of a regular pony, wouldn’t it look more, I don’t know, possible!? How would a scrawny, non-unicorn dishwasher be able to silently destroy his house with his teeth without a single witness!?” Rags barked louder than necessary, releasing his accumulated, pent up stress in one outburst.

“HEY! You better fix that attitude right the buck now!” The Investigator barked back, getting in Rags’ face. He took a step back from Rags, who had quieted himself after the sudden eruption from the fedora-wearing detective, and sighed. He then spoke more calmly, “Like I was sayin’, I’m just keeping an open mind. Which also means that facts, like the ones you just went on about, keep the limelight off you for the time being.” He pulled a cigar and a lighter from his coat pocket and sucked in a few relaxing puffs.

“Who knows, you might be totally right and there is some kinda monster lurking around. I mean, crazier stuff has happened, eh? This town has had swarms of hungry insects eat everything in sight, been attacked by an ursa minor, and even seen some action from the pits of Tartarus itself. Heck, there’s a resident livin’ here that once grew a hundred feet tall and smashed half the place up after kidnapping that fashionista broad. The idea of a gooey psychopath runnin’ around is not that hard to wrap your brain around now, is it?” The Investigator conceded. Rags didn’t quite know how to respond. He had just been challenged and sympathized with by the same stallion within the same conversation. So he just nodded.

Before the Investigator could continue, a yelp of great concern popped into the air. “RAGS!” Nougat cried, sprinting as fast as his legs would take him towards his friend, disregarding the agitated shouts of the guards he barreled through. He skidded to a halt mere feet from colliding with Rags like a freight train.

“Where have you been!? They sent guards looking for you this morning! Y-Your house! What happened, man!? You alright!?” Nougat sputtered. Rags was surprised at his friend’s enthusiasm, considering the crowd around them, usually something that caused great duress to the pegasus. Though it brought great relief and thankfulness to Rags to see his loyal friend vehemently charging in to make sure he wasn’t harmed.

“It’s a long story, and the punchline is I almost died. But, uhm… I didn’t, so don’t worry about it,” Rags chuckled meekly with an obviously fake smile, trying to cover up the fear and consternation that still had him in its iron clutches. The Investigator, either from seeing that Rags needed time to cope or out of annoyance from being interrupted, took the opportunity to excuse himself.

“We’ll talk later. If anything unusual comes up, gimme a call,” the Investigator said flatly while giving the dishwasher his card and turned to make his leave. Rags caught him looking back for half a second with a scrutinizing leer.

“Looks like we found somebody who’s a bigger stick in the mud than you are, bro,” Nougat forcibly joked, trying to brighten his friend up. He got the feeling Rags wasn’t in the mood. “Hey, you ok? I mean, you said you almost died. What happened?”

“Like I said, Nougat, it’s a long story. I’ll tell you later, but first, I need to check into a hotel and grab a stiff drink,” Rags said sadly.

“Check into a hotel? Why?” Nougat idiotically asked. Rags shot him a deadpan glare, which the pegasus took several moments to catch onto. “Oh… right… Well, why don’t you come stay at my place?”

“You sure about that?”

“Yeah! It’ll be like a sleepover! Except more masculine! And you’ll probably spend most of the time there drunk on the couch!” Nougat beamed.

“You got that right. Thanks, buddy. You always know just what to say to almost-victims of tar covered maniacs,” Rags said while giving his pal a pat on the shoulder. Nougat grinned at the good he had done, but then his face contorted into one of confusion.

“Wait, what?”

They started off for the pegasus’ hovel. Rags would first have to converse with the guards about his whereabouts, how things were going to be handled, and so on. But their destination was set nonetheless, and they’d be there soon enough.

5:00

The sun was beginning its slow descent when they reached Nougat’s humble abode. It wasn’t as nice as Rags’, but Nougat hadn’t worked as hard or for as long as the dishwasher has, so it was understandable. Besides, Rags didn’t have a place worth writing home about either, especially not in its current condition. But he was just thankful for his friend being one of the few pegasi to own a ground-based home in Town. He never asked him why though.

As they entered, Rags could smell signs of Nougat’s profession immediately, and could clearly see why his cutie mark was of a pile of assorted candies. The thick whiff of pastries flooded his nostrils and aroused his appetite. Nougat worked as an apprentice baker at the Sugarcube Corner, under the mentorship of a mare that Rags was none too fond of, Pinkie Pie. Rags found her to be annoyingly intrusive, annoyingly happy, and annoyingly…everything. She once threw a surprise party for Rags in his home, but stopped the practice very quickly thereafter when he gave her an irate earful about breaking and entering and minding her own business. How did she even know it was his birthday? He’d never even met her before that. Her expansive collection of data on everypony in town was...unnerving.

But Nougat seemed awfully happy with his job, particularly with working around the pink mare. He seemed to become very shifty when she was brought up in conversation, and he always came back from work in a saddened mood if she was out sick. Rags was sure that she was the one who Nougat had his eye on. While he didn’t quite approve of his friend’s taste in horrifically irritating mares, he still supported Nougat, yet he teased him relentlessly about it.

“So, bro, you asked Pinkie out?” Rags nonchalantly asked as they made their way into the kitchen. Nougat was taken severely off guard and nearly fell over himself but caught the edge of the counter just in time. He glared at Rags and tried to find the words to describe his seething rage.

“What’s it to you!?” Nougat settled on.

“It’s nothing to me, I just wanted to know how it was going.”

“It’s none of your business!” Nougat fired back.

“Okay, okay, yeesh, I was just messing with you,” Rags dismissed with a wave.

“Well go back to being traumatized or something!” Nougat spat. He reached into the fridge and pulled out two bottles of cider and begrudgingly thrusted one into Rags’ grasp.

Rags gave an infinitesimal smile. “Make no mistake, I still am. I’m just trying to ease the tension. I’m really trying not to think about it,” he said.

Nougat hadn’t noticed before, he wasn’t very observant, but he could now see that Rags’ stance was uneasy. He kept throwing glances to the window and he stood close to the drawer where he knew Nougat kept his kitchen knives. There was a slight tremble in his hoof as he took a gulp of cider.

Fearing that he might have crossed a line with his comment, Nougat risked the question, “So… what happened, anyway?”

Rags looked down to his bottle and sighed, “Let’s go sit in the living room. I’ll need a comfy chair for this.”

Rags told his story, not for the first time that day, and Nougat listened, adopting increasingly intense cringes as he did. When Rags finished, tears brimmed on the edges of his eyes. He already relived the memories several times for the ears of the law to hear, but this time, he was able to confide in someone who knew that he wouldn’t spin a false yarn for the sake of a hoax, and that knowledge somehow brought out emotions that made Rags feel childish releasing in front of another full grown stallion.

Nougat set his empty bottle on the messy coffee table covered in miscellaneous items between the two. He had hardly an inclination on how to respond. Rags and Nougat were far from the type to partake in drama. Despite Rags' overall negative attitude and the recent influx of existential bantering, which worried and annoyed Nougat to no end, they were a rather light hearted duo, barely ever succumbing into discussion of grave life matters. Hardly ever, in all the years they’ve known each other, have they shared real emotional moments beyond the occasional “moment of understanding,” as Nougat came to call them. Seeing his one and only buddy so crushed, fearful and completely defeated, made Nougat feel helpless. What could he do or say to assist the earth pony? Tell him it would be alright? Tell him not to worry? He had no response.

They sat in the waning orange sunlight of the early evening pouring through the window behind Nougat, casting a long shadow up to Rags’ chair. The latter looked to his friend, who sat perplexed and silent, and smiled. ‘Thanks, bro.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You listened. Sometimes that’s the best thing you can do for someone,” Rags chuckled. He stood from his chair and stretched. “You know what I just realized?”

“What?”

“That I didn’t turn up for work this morning. My boss will have my head on a platter for that. I should be stressed. I should be worrying and freaking out. But I don’t even care, after last night. Let that chode whine, I say,” Rags confidently stated.

“What brought this on?” Nougat asked.

“I don’t even know. Like I said, I should be concerned, but I’m just kind of numb right now,” said Rags.

Nougat, thinking the mood was starting to brighten, seized the opportunity and cautiously joked, “Maybe it’s the feeling of triumph. You just avoiding a snarling psycho and dodged the Grim Reaper!”

“Yeah,” Rags agreed with chest puffed out, “I’m invincible! This is the start of my reign as a king!”

Nougat hopped from his seat and ecstatically added, “Now is your time! Climb the tree of life and guzzle it’s sweet nectar of victory!” At that moment, the two stallions, posing heroically on top of the coffee table and shouting war cries, noticed two mares walking by the window, looking at Rags and Nougat like they each had two heads. When they passed, the two looked at each other and absorbed the goofiness they had just participated in, and began laughing. They laughed harder than they had ever laughed at anything in their time as friends. They laughed so hard they rolled off the table and both cried out in pain as they hit their heads on the furniture around them. And then they laughed some more.

8:00

Later, after they had nickered and carried on about all manners of subjects, including jobs, alcohol and foalhood escapades, the sun touched the horizon as if preparing to pull back the covers and go to bed. Which was exactly what Nougat seemed to be getting ready for as well. He yawned a wide yawn and fought to keep his heavy eyes open.

Rags arched a brow, and inquired into this. “Are you tired already? It’s only 8:00! Pansy!”

Nougat yawned deeply again, “Yeah, that’s weird. I wasn’t really that tired a little while ago. I just feel,” he yawned, “exhausted, all of the sudden.”

“Trying to comfort a clinically depressed dishwasher will do that to a guy,” Rags said facetiously.

Nougat yawned again, “I mean, I’m really tired! Jeez, I can hardly keep my eyes open.” And he did not jest. His entire aura had gone from energetically jovial to riding low in the saddle in a flash. His lids fluttered in a vain attempt to keep him awake, but they were losing the battle. ‘Oh man,” he yawned, “I guess I’ll turn in. Goodnight, I suppose,” he mumbled as he began walking down the short hallway to his bedroom. Suddenly, he jolted and turned to Rags. “WAIT! I forgot to set up a place for you to sleep! Ok, uhm,” he swiveled around, looking for the answer, his sleepy brain completely uncooperative, “Oh! I know! You can take my bed!”

“Or, I could just get a blanket and take the couch,” Rags said, nodding to the sofa.

“You sure? I got an awesome bed. And a nightlight!”

“Ok, one, you still sleep with a nightlight? And two, you seem very excited about getting me in your bed,” Rags deadpanned.

“I was just trying to be nice. Why does every little nice thing I try and do for you have to be gay? Do you have something against gay ponies?”

“No, but if I was gay, I certainly wouldn’t be attracted to you,” Rags snarked.

“Whatevs, too tired to argue. Couch is yours. Blankets in the hallway closet. Goodnight,” Nougat said drowsily. He lurched and wobbled as he slowly but surely made his way into his bedroom and shut the door behind himself.

Rags laughed softly at his friend. He could not ask for a better one. Though he wasn’t entirely certain he appreciated him enough. Nougat extended such kindness without even the slightest hesitation. Rags vowed then and there, quietly and to himself, that he’d make it up to him one day. How he would do so, he didn’t know. Maybe he’d set him up on a date with the pink one. If he could tolerate being around her for long enough to set it up, that is.

With contentment in his heart, he ventured to the closet and retrieved the wooliest, most comfortable blanket he could find. Upon coming back to the living room, Rags found himself observing his surroundings for the first time, and was mortified. The place was a mess. Trash covered the table, several pairs of socks were draped over the chair Nougat sat in earlier (he tried not to think about that too much), and pastry crumbs littered the carpeted floor. He huffed, not willing to tolerate such uncouth untidiness. Perhaps this would be a good way to start repaying Nougat.

Almost as if it were an intrinsic trait, he set his blanket down and searched for cleaning utensils and garbage bags to deal with the mess.

8:30

Cleanliness is close to godliness was the philosophy that Rags had lived by all his life… though it wasn’t one he necessarily adopted of his own accord. The point is that he was a whiz at picking up after others. And after he was done with Nougat’s living room, it was practically sparkling. Not a single spec of uncleanness anywhere in sight. He stood and admired his work, mocking dirt, and daring it to set its nasty little dirt feet into the room, so that he may smite it with extreme prejudice.

As he cleaned, he noticed a few things that were very peculiar about the room. For starters, there were no pictures on the walls. Not a single photo of family, important life events, or even a self-portrait. A small black book lay under one of the cushions on the sofa, containing a list of phone numbers, most scratched out and marked off, with the names of mares Rags had seen around town beside them. From the looks of it, Nougat was highly involved in the process of acquiring a significant other. Love was a large blip on his radar of life, to a near obsessive degree, apparently.

Rags was slightly frightened, but more so when he spotted a ghastly sight. The blinds on the window were left open, making visible a portal to the vast realm of darkness that was the outside. He knew he was safe within the home, but images of the thing flashed in his mind, filling his head with paranoid fantasies centered around the open window. He gulped down his reservations, and set to closing the shades.

A cold sweat broke out as he inched his way to the glass, taking small baby steps. When he was within range, he peeked his head up onto the windowsill, and scanned the outer world for anything suspicious. The streets were caked with darkness, only the occasional streetlamp providing a pockmark of light in the blanket of black. The moon, that watchful guardian over Rags, made a valiant effort to penetrate the darkness with its light, but only succeeded to the extent that objects in the darkness were made somewhat darker than the things around them, creating silhouettes that just barely allowed Rags to tell where things were at.

Spotting no murderers or hockey-mask wearing chefs ready to make some horse steak, Rags felt ease wash over him. He reached up to the cord and gave a tug, getting ready to release the string and drop the blinds. Before he did, he stopped to eyeball a shape in the dark outside. With squinted eyes, he could make out the figure of a mare, strolling down the sidewalk on the other side of the street. Exhaling a breath he didn’t even know he was holding, Rags let the blinds drop. Shrugging off the episode of paranoia, he stepped back over to the couch.

He pulled back the blanket and squirmed into the pocket of warmth between the covers and the couch cushions. Though it was fairly early by his standards, he might as well just go to bed, he thought. There was nothing left for him to clean and Nougat was already asleep so chewing the fat with him for several hours was no longer an option. Besides, he could use a full eight hours for once. It would be the best sleep he’d gotten in a while. He extended a hoof from under his blanket and flipped the switch of the lamp on the small table beside the couch, submerging himself in darkness.

9:00

Before he could close his eyes and fall into sleep, he was aroused by a rattling noise. The sounds of objects in the dark vibrating and dancing. He flipped the switch of the lamp again, providing light for him to see what was happening. Sure enough, every small object that wasn’t nailed down was trembling, shaking as if a train was passing by the house.

Then came the ear splitting scream.

The bloodcurdling howls of a mare in unfathomable pain, so loud that Rags wondered if his eardrums were pierced. The scream came from outside, but was clear as day. The mare walking down the sidewalk came to mind. He didn’t know what to make of it, though. This was too loud to be a pony.

Rags sprang up and hopped over to the window, throwing up the blinds with great quickness to search for the troubled female. But what he found instead was that he was the one in trouble.

Under the flickering luminescence of a street lamp on the sidewalk in front of the window was a ghoulish hag, looking starved as her pale skin was stretched tightly over her twisted and malformed bones. Her snow-white mane and tail thrashed about like a cluster of angry snakes. Tears of blood trickled from the place where her eyes should have been. Most horrifying of all was the gaping orifice of blackness that was her mouth, elongated like the unhinged maw of a python. The rim of its depths vibrated from the continuous agonizing wail

His veins ran cold with the most frigid of ices. Hot tears of terror seeped down his face. Every hair on his body stood on end. He recognized this thing. He had seen it before. In his childhood, he was fascinated by the supernatural and got books from the library on the subject of mythical creatures. Most of it was malarkey, created to keep children indoors at night. But one image always stuck with him from one of the books, vivid and clear as day. And now it came to him.

The creature before him was the spitting image of a banshee, whose shrieks foretold imminent death.

Rags screamed, his own fearful yells drowned out by the increasingly intense wails of the wraith. The window cracked and the street lamp flickered out, and the creature’s cries vanished with the light. The light returned shortly after, but the banshee was gone. Rags stood stock still, bugged out eyes darting this way and that, searching for the horror. The darkness seemed even thicker than before. To his everlasting disbelief and his eternal dread, into the light stepped a slimy black hoof, dripping with glistening tar.

No.

A gnarled figure coated in slime shambled fully into view, red eyes, or rather eye, boring into Rags like a beam of magic energy from the horn of the sun goddess herself, glowing with pure, boiling, fury.

Please no.

Rags must have been dreaming a horrid dream, because several similar figures followed suit, all equally filled with rage. The twisted ponies, mares and stallions alike, glared at Rags from the place under the lamp. Behind them, Rags could see a multitude of ruby eyes seemingly pop into existence, searing anger in all of them as they watched from the darkness, weapons dimly glinting with the insufficient light of the lamp. It was an entire mob of tar-ponies. Returning also was the several voices of the thing that would forever haunt his nightmares. The voices of foals, mares, colts, all coming from the same throat of the wounded cyclops from the previous night, spoke in some form of garbled language.

“.mih lliK”

A bolt of energy chased a rabbit through Rags and he tore himself away from the window, just in time as a shadow burst through the glass with a demonic hiss, rolling several feet and knocking over the lamp, consequently bringing darkness to the room. Rags plodded down the hall and nearly tumbled into Nougat’s bedroom.

“NOUGAT! WAKE UP!” Rags urged, slamming the door behind him just as a tar-pony tossed itself into it. Rags, with his body pressed against the door, looked to the sleeping Nougat with frantic and shrunken pupils. No, something was wrong. There was no sleeping Nougat. There wasn’t any kind of Nougat. An empty and disheveled bedspread met Rags’ pleas. That answered a few questions, none of which he could process now as the few precious seconds of reprieve ticked away and it was time to make his escape, with the cracking and snapping of the door frame acting as an alarm clock.

He desperately looked around the room for a means of escape, the only worthy one being the window above Nougat’s empty bed, leading to a space in between his house and his neighbor’s home. The upper half of the door caved inwards and tar-ponies began scraping and scratching at the barrier and each other, trying to get a foothold to hoist themselves into the room. With no time to fiddle with opening the latched window like a civilized pony, Rags did something quicker, but more primitive and dangerous. The panicked earth pony leaped onto the bed and propelled himself into the window with enough force to rival the beasts behind him. Glass cut his flesh, opening three large gashes on his back.

He hissed in pain as he plopped on the ground, but never stopped moving. The monsters were closing in on him, and couldn’t spare a millisecond dawdling. He jumped to his hooves and ran out from between the buildings and onto the street, never sparing a look back in case the tar-ponies acted as quickly as he did and were already in pursuit.

He huffed and coughed, running as fast as he could go down the street.

Again. It’s happening again!

Rags’ mind was reeling from the adrenalin surging through his body. He could hardly think of anything besides the primal instinct to run as far away from the danger as possible. He threatened his brain with idiotic, brain cell killing activities if it didn’t formulate a plan, a strategy, a better option than running blindly through town. Anything!

He ran for four minutes, gaining a burst of speed when he heard the sounds of hungry creatures rallying behind him. His lungs already began burning and air was becoming a rare commodity. Before he knew it, he was nearing the marketplace and exhaustion. He could hardly believe that he’d been able to run so fast. A horde of hell beasts giving chase would give one such prowess, he reckoned.

He asked himself why he was running to the market, and found that he couldn’t adequately answer it. He had no scheme in mind. He was just running. The market was what was ahead of him, so he ran there.

He rounded the corner of the final block before the marketplace and dug his hooves harshly into the ground to stop his forward momentum when he witnessed the sight ahead. Among the nest of kiosks, in the dim light of the moon and the street lamps, were dozens more tar-ponies, bumbling about among the stands. They hadn’t seen him yet, but the mob behind him would surely alert them upon arrival.

It was all he could do to reign in his terrified thoughts and control his mind long enough to make his next move. With delicate steps, he ducked down and inched his way to the closest kiosk, praying that the tar-ponies would continue meandering without any purpose and wouldn’t turn their heads his way. Staying as quiet, low, and quick as possible, he finally made it to the first kiosk and slid under the counter. If it weren’t for the circumstances, the meagre 15 yards he traveled would be nothing to write home about.

He assumed that since he wasn’t being dragged out by the tail and broken in half, he hadn’t been spotted.The earth rumbled as a nebulous rabble of angered shadows charged down the street Rags had been on not but a few moments ago. The tar-ponies awkwardly swaying around the market snapped their attention to their brethren and ran off to join the fray, thinking the mob had the prey in sight.

Rags waited, watching several stragglers chase after the crowd. When the last few seemed to have gone, he tentatively stuck his head out from under the counter. Seeing no lingering threats, he slithered out away from the kiosk, and into the cover of a fancier one nearby with a tent. In the darkness of the tent, he sat nearly hyperventilating.The screams of enraged monstrosities perforated the night. It was so odd to Rags how so many different sounds could come from the mouths of the tar-ponies. Some screeches sounded furious and bloodthirsty, while others sounded almost mournful. No matter their variety, they filled the air with a constant stream of unnatural noise.

What… what’s going on? Where is everyone? Why is this happening too me? How did they find me? Have they been watching? How did they all get here? When? Why are they trying to kill me!? I don’t know what-- I just-- I can’t-- I DON’T KNOW! I don’t know what is going on! I don’t know what to do! There are more of them! I’m going to die! I’m going to die here! I’m going to--

NO! SHUT UP! JUST SHUT UP, ME! Stop panicking! Just think! I may not know what’s happening, but I know what we can do! We can stop bellyaching and start focusing on getting out of this alive! Ok, let’s take this one step at a time. We can do this, Rags.

The powerful voice of tenacity in his head calmed to a more soothing, comforting level.

Alright, now let’s look at what we know. All this crazy crap only seems to happen after dark, and it looks like everyone vanishes at night. So I have a feeling that the best chance we’ve got is waiting for daylight. I don’t see why daylight would ward these things off, but I can’t think of anything better, so get off my back! NO! Calm, Rags!

He took a deep breath.

So the plan is to wait for the morning. Cool, cool. So what’s the subplan? We need to figure out a way to survive until then. Lemme think for a second…

The sound of wheezing breath and dragging hooves outside the tent stopped his brain, and he held his breath while the unseen foe lurched away. Once the danger passed, he went right back to thinking.

Weapons? Should we even bother? Those things outnumber us and they’re pretty strong individually. I don’t think just grabbing up a bat and wading into battle is a very smart idea, especially not with my wormy physique. Or maybe it is? Why shouldn’t we arm ourselves? A crowbar or a knife to the face would buy us some time, I’d wager.

But that’s not as important. If I find suitable weapon, I’ll grab it. Higher up on the list is hiding. We need to hole up somewhere. Will anywhere do? No, I’ve seen quite a few horror movies and read enough books to know that in the case of an overrun town, it’s always best to get away from populated areas. Is that why I didn’t get any fallout at Sweet Apple Acres, yesterday? Wait, the farm! Of course! Why didn’t I come back to that thought sooner!? It’s out of the way and they’ll probably have some farm equipment we could use as a weapon! Oh man, I hope that AJ chick doesn’t mind that we’re about to turn her farm into a fort. Hold on, have I been referring to myself as ‘us’ and ‘we’ this whole time? I am definitely not making it out of this with all of my marbles.

More wheezing breaths loomed outside the kiosk, followed by sharp intakes of air through nostrils. The thing growled, “...raef ruoy llems nac I”

Crap! Is it sniffing me out!?They can do that!?

Rags felt a warm sensation on his back. He touched a hoof to his lumbar region and was met with a sharp sting. He brought it to his face and made out some kind of thick, dark ooze stained on it. Tar? Mud? Hesitantly, he tasted the substance, tastebuds labelling it as coppery and metallic. Blood. He was bleeding profusely. Was that the smell the thing was detecting?

Great, now what do I do about that?

The wheezing became louder.

I gotta move!

With the utmost discretion, Rags lifted the back flap of the tent and skittered into a dark alley behind the kiosk. With remarkable stealth, he zipped through the alleys, silently bounding over trash and watching for broken glass and other noisy discarded odds and ends. He didn’t know exactly where he should be running, but he knew that he just had to get to the farm somehow.

After covering an acre’s worth of buildings, he reached the end of the alley he’d been running in and found a rather open stretch of space where a small collection of tar-ponies patrolled in random patterns. Privately owned businesses, establishments, and more expensive housing encircled an area with a large tree, decorated with furnishings and sporting a couple of windows and a large red door, jutting out of the center. The Library. Nothing of relevant use to be found within, unless Twilight happened to posses a book along the lines of ‘how to become a monster killer in five minutes or less,’ or, ‘how to stitch up cuts you got because you were an impulsive moron.’

Across from him was a road that led to the main bridge into and out of Ponyville. Beyond that was the outskirts of town, where a few more rural residences could be found. Rags analyzed the situation and rubbed his chin in contemplation.

With a little bit of finesse, I could get into the outskirts. I would have a better chance for survival out there, I think. I’d be willing to bet that these things will stay behind and keep searching town, if I can sneak out unseen that is.

It was a shot in the dark. There was no telling what the outskirts would hold for him. But he couldn’t stay in town, that was undeniable. He caught sight of bright red in his peripherals and retracted himself back into the shadows of the alley, narrowly avoiding being seen by the angry eyes of a tar-pony. Whilst hunkered down, he did his best to concoct a decent distraction. With a quick once over of the trash before him, all he found to be of any practicality was an empty cider bottle. If he could hurl it with enough force, maybe it would be a suitable distraction.

He grasped it firmly and scootched as far as he was willing to get out of the shadows, maximizing the range of the bottle. He paused to breathe. He would have to run like the wind as soon as the bottle touched down. There was no room for error here. If he was spotted on the way out, there was no way he would be able to lose the tar-ponies. With the mob already agitated, they wouldn’t let him out of their sight again after they’d already lost him once.

Mustering his reserve, he stretched his forearm out behind him and got ready for the toss. Just as he funneled the power into his arm, he halted himself. A window on the library caught his attention. He concentrated on it for a moment, then looked to the bottle in his hoof. He dropped it and rummaged around through the garbage again, searching for a better solution. At last, he found it. A hefty brick. Before he could second guess himself, he got into position and sent the brick sailing through the air, the hardened clay gracefully twirling and spinning in a delicate dance before gracelessly crashing through the library window, creating even more ruckus once inside.

The tar-ponies all immediately alighted to the tree, the sound seeming to take a moment to register with them. One brayed demonically and rushed to the library, the rest mimicking that one’s actions. They piled around the door and tore into it, smashing the barrier into splinters within seconds, and pushed and shoved each other for access. The distraction worked perfectly. Rags made his move.

Rocketing out of the alley while drawing as little attention as possible, Rags ran straight across to the main road and set his course for the outskirts. He chanced a look back to see his plan working even better than he thought it would. The tar-ponies all fought for entry into the library, believing their prey was the one making noise on the inside. Rags was flummoxed by the unpredictable behavior of the beasts. They were intelligent enough to speak some kind of evil language and use weapons like knives and clubs, but at the same time they seemed to fall for the most simplistic of tricks and red herrings. Their senses also seemed to be dulled, allowing Rags to sneak by where he shouldn’t have been allowed to. Not that he didn’t appreciate the lucky break.

They were all inside the tree now, and an unearthly yowl emanated from within. They might have fallen for it in the first place, but they were apparently smart enough to at least figure out when they’d been had. Rags didn’t think it wise to wait around for them to come out so he could mock their stupidity. He summoned his inner wonderbolt and dashed away into the outskirts.

Once over the bridge, Rags felt that he was out of the frying pan, but he had yet to deduce whether or not he had stepped into the fire. As he ran, he could swear that he saw glimpses of a dark mare watching him from the distance, from behind trees, rocks, and bushes. It wasn’t like the screaming ghoul from earlier, but somehow seemed more sinister. The figment was everywhere and nowhere at the same time. He couldn’t describe it, but he didn’t like it.

Worse yet, he heard things coming from the fields of tall grass and flowers on either side of him. Giggles of amused foals. There would be a subtle rustling, then the nigh inaudible, but unmistakable, snicker of foals. They weren’t pleasant, joyful laughs of innocence, but sadistic chortles of malevolence in a child’s voice. Rags dared not venture off the road.

Rags passed cottages and rural homes, humble little cozy huts that were so inviting and warming from the outside, but not without the same whiff of evil that the night brought to everything else. Occasionally Rags would spy a window illuminated by candlelight, with shadows of ponies inside. But the shadows were wrong. The silhouettes were all manners of unsettling, ranging from waving cheerfully at Rags, to shadows of ponies hung by the neck, lifeless corpses dangling by a rope from the ceiling. One depicted a mare getting stabbed repeatedly by a stallion, dark shadows of blood splattering the window.

He tried not to focus on the surroundings. So far, all that the gruesome phenomenons were doing was frightening him. As long as they weren’t attacking, he could overcome the creepy occurrences. Rags knew the landscape, even if distorted by the darkness, very well. He played all around town and in the meadows as a child. Whenever he wasn’t working, that is. The next right turn would take him past the Carousel Boutique and straight to the apple farm.

Coming up was the workplace of the famous fashionista of Ponyville, the Carousel Boutique. One would think that such an establishment should be closer to town, but the idea was to catch travelers on their way into or out of the village. Rags payed no mind, keeping his target of the farm in mind. But then he stopped, standing before the palace of fashionable wears, and stared at it intently.

You know, working around all of that fabric must necessitate the use of sharp implements. Perhaps I could... just take a peek inside… maybe pick up a pair of scissors, and… No! Bad Rags! You don’t know what could be in there. The farm isn’t too far away, just keep moving.

And so he did. Or at least tried to. After taking a few steps, he looked to the horizon to see the outline of a tar-pony standing on a hill, scanning the fields. He dove into a bush to avoid detection.

Those scissors are sounding pretty tempting right about now.

What would you do to those things with a dinky little pair of scissors?

Well, it’s better than nothing. Besides, who knows what else I could use them for?

Am I talking to myself in my head again? I’m trippin’ balls.

Yeah, you kinda are.

Stop that.

He crept out of the shrubbery and crawled to the door of the boutique. He slowly and silently pushed the door open, eased his way in, and silently shut it behind him. He stood fully upright, sighed contently, and turned to the interior of the room. And he immediately regretted coming in.

The mannequins the seamstress was known for working with were all lined up in rows on both sides of the room. They were desecrated, peppered with pins, needles, and scissors. They looked like pincushions. It was like some madpony grabbed up everything in the building with a point on it and harshly jabbed it into the dummies. Streaks of blood oozed from the gashes and wounds and dripped onto the floor at a steady pace and pooled around the stands holding the figurines up.

Rags was about to soil himself. He wasn’t comfortable with mannequins as it was, but now? He was surprised he kept it together as well as he did. He gulped down his reservations and slowly began walking around the room, searching for a suitable weapon, always keeping an eye on the dummies. As if he were tiptoeing around a sleeping giant, he made his way around the store, softly opening drawers and cabinets, looking for anything that would pierce rotten flesh. He came across a saddlebag that he didn’t think looked too expensive, and picked it up, hoping the seamstress wouldn’t notice this specific bag was missing. His search left him with no stabbing tools though, and his only remaining option was to pluck a weapon out of one of the mangled mannequins.

Like a child about to steal from the cookie jar, he shifted on his hoofs and eased up to the closest mannequin, the middle one in the row. Taking his time, he grasped the biggest pair of scissors he could find and gave them a quick tug, but they wouldn’t budge. He tugged harder and they still held fast to the dummy’s forehead. He used both forearms and gave one last herculean pull, finally dislodging the tool from the skull and unleashing a gush of blood from the gash. As soon as he did this, the rest of them came to life and turned their heads towards him, staring at him with featureless faces.

He squeaked and froze, waiting for their next move. But it never came. They were all motionless once again. He exhaled, relaxed his tense muscles, and turned to leave, coming face to face with a mannequin inches from him, poised to kill with a brandished pair of gory scissors.

He gasped so hard he was unable to scream. He ran towards the exit, hardly able to get any air in his lungs from his frightened, rapid breathing. He made it outside and spun around to shut the door, thinking the malevolent dummies would be where he last saw them. Yet he was horribly wrong. The mannequins were all crowded around the threshold, stuck in statuesque poses with various sharp tools raised and ready to raze flesh.

Rags slammed the door, took a few steps back, and fell onto his withers, the mannequins evidently giving up the chase after their last attempt. He didn’t get back on task right away, feeling the need for a rest. He shut his eyes and whimpered once or twice, wanting desperately to wake up from the nightmare. He just wanted it all to go away when he opened his eyes. His wish went unfulfilled. He wondered how much more he would be able to take. How much stress could a pony get from events such as these before they just collapsed? Before they were broken? How would anyone be able to cope after they’d seen these things?

He clenched his teeth and stood up, forcing himself to press on. Answers. They were what he needed. In much the same way he needed clarity in life, he now needed clarity on these strange happenings. And the only way to even have a chance of getting those answers was to survive until the morning. At the very least, that would answer his theory on whether or not the monsters would disappear with the coming of the sun. Answers were his drive, and he would do everything in his power to get them.

He stuffed the scissors in his bag and hesitantly put one hoof in front of the other and set his sights on the farm once again. The farm was his ticket to survival, and therefore his ticket to answers. He was going to make it there even if it killed him. Which might very well be the case…

It was a tiring trek, and several times he needed to think on his hooves and act quickly to avoid confrontation with the random tar-ponies that wandered the fields. Once he was actually spotted by one of the wretches, but it was hundreds of yards away and by the time it had gotten to where it had last seen him, he had already found a hiding place in a ditch. The creature was livid with this failure, and ran howling down the road back towards the town. Rags worried that the incident would come back to bite him.

When he had gotten to the farm, it was the middle of the night, with daybreak still a great deal of time away. The moon loomed above, formerly a beacon of hope for Rags, now a symbol of the deadly night. The stars were like freckles in the sky, sometimes being blocked out by a passing cloud. A cool breeze swept over the plains and in between the trees, making the leaves and grass shimmer in the moonlight as they swayed.

He was tired and out of breath, his legs felt like giving out beneath him, and his coat was sticky with sweat. Even with this exhaustion, he kept on high alert, head always on a swivel, eyes carefully taking in everything. When he felt that the surroundings were secure, he focused on his target, the farm. He stood on a hill a few hundred yards away, leaving him in the perfect position for scouting the place out.

He saw no immediate threats. No tar-ponies, no demented mannequins, nothing. Just a scarecrow propped up in the front yard of the house. He surveyed the land around him once more, making sure he would not be blindsided. Nothing. This should have pacified him, but he only got more tense. Where were all of the horrors that were so plentiful not too long ago?

He decided not to give them a chance to show up and descended down the hill. He bounded over the white picket fence that designated the property as that of the Apple family’s, and weaved through the trees. He didn’t use the front entrance to the farm out of fear of making himself too big of a target. He prefered the cover the apple trees provided.

The wind blew through the treetops and brought the familiar rustling sound of lush branches in the wind. It was such a gentle, calming noise, putting Rags in a state of peace as he walked under them. He felt safe, at this point in time, like the farm and its acres of fruit bearing trees were a haven. The gust picked up and the rustling turned sharper, more defined, almost like voices.

As he walked, the sound grew more intense. At first he attributed it to the increasing winds, but then he noticed that the wind had actually died down. The sound was becoming louder. No longer did it sound like the rattling of leaves and branches. Now it sounded like whispering. It started out a quiet murmur, slowly pitching into almost discernable speak. The feeling of peace was lost on Rags, replaced with a growing sense of dread. He hurried his pace into a trot, then a gallop. It was all around him now. Ragged whispers coming from everywhere.

“You should not be here.”

Rags’ heart skipped a beat as these words reached his ear. He stopped and listened, trying to pinpoint the speaker. More whispered words came from seemingly nowhere.

“Run for your life.”

“Flee.”

“You will be eaten by the damned.”

“You intrude in the garden.”

“They will drag you to the place with no light.”

“They hunger for your fear.”

Rags was becoming disgruntled with not being able to see the source of the hushed speak. It almost seemed to come from above him, but all he saw were the leaves of the trees highlighted in moonlight and the silhouettes of plump apples hanging from the tree. Something cold and sticky struck him in the eye as he gazed upwards. As he was wiping it away with his forearm, another droplet dripped onto his head.

“Leave this place.”

Rags’ face turned to shock as he realized what was happening. Slowly, not wanting to be right, he looked up to the apples again. He stared at them as his eyes adjusted. When they did, he found that they weren’t apples, but severed heads, hanging from the branches, blood dripping from their eviscerated necks. The milky-white dead eyes of a stallion shot open and the head whispered harshly, “Get out of here!”

Rags’ skin turned to gooseflesh as he backed away and frantically bolted out of the wood. When he exited the treeline, the farmhouse sit directly ahead of him, with the barn to the right. Again, nothing seemed out of the ordinary, but then again, neither did the trees from a distance. He was still as he surveyed the area once again, double checking for unruly beasts. Again, nothing. Not even the sound of angry roars in the distance like what he had been hearing all night. Just the same scarecrow sitting in the yard.

He progressed forward with tentative steps. He made a list of all the places that would be likely to contain tools that could double as effective weapons on the farm. The barn was where he would look first.

I wonder how many more times I’m going to come to this barn before this is over.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when a crow cawed behind him from a nearby fence post. When he figured out what happened, he chuckled at his scaredy-cat tendencies. Another crow landed beside the first. Then another. Then on top of the barn. Then on the limb of a nearby tree. Crows conjugated all around him at a disturbing rate. One landed on Rags’ flank squawked, almost as if greeting him. Then it pecked him.

“Ow.”

A harder peck.

“OW!”

A final, blood drawing peck.

Rags cursed and swatted at the feathered aggressor, but the bird flew off before he could land a blow. It landed atop the scarecrow and Rags was taken over by the feeling of a terrible epiphany.

That scarecrow wasn’t there before. And it didn’t belong in the yard.

The stuffed and stitched figure glared at Rags from under the brim of its stetson, its pupils pinpricks of red in a sea of blackness. It wore denim overalls and a tattered shirt underneath, sewn stitches running over the course of its body, trails of blood and tar-like slime leaking through them. It twisted and snapped the bonds holding it to the post, and landed in a way that suggested it had no joints. It balanced itself on straw hooves... no, not straw. The sprigs moved and writhed. Worms. It was filled with maggots, not straw! It returned its focus to Rags and raised a forearm to him, signalling its flock to begin their assault.

They fluttered all around him in a tornado of feathery fury, swooping down and swiping at him from every angle. They tore away patches of fur and tangles of mane, every so often scoring a peck that warranted a bloody trickle. Rags covered his head with one hoof and used the other three to escape the torment. He barreled into the barn and slammed the doors, only a scant few avian agitators making it in with him. In smaller numbers they were far less of a threat, only cawing madly at him as they circled around the interior of the barn.

He fell to the dirt out of fatigue, but remembered that the barn had windows and doors on the upper portion that the birds could fly through. He sprang up and darted around the room, trying to find every single opening to the outside that would allow the crows to continue their onslaught. Lady luck finally smiled down on him for once this night, as everything was shut securely.

Well, looks like hiding out here is a bust. Now I’ve really gotta find a weapon.

He scrutinized the interior and noted a cellar door hanging open. He slinked over to it and saw a light in the room below. He cautiously descended the steps and was dumbstruck as he entered the light. Ferocious looking farm tools littered the wall ahead. Scythes, shovels, mallets, pitchforks, and hoes all glittered under the dim light of a lantern. Lady luck was feeling pretty generous.

He expected to find something useful, but nothing like this. It was the best thing to happen to him all night. Adopting a determined expression, he snatched up the scythe and the leather straps that went with it that allowed for earth pony use. Attaching the wicked device to himself and taking the bit in his mouth, he was now equipped to properly defend himself.

The scythe was cumbersome and awkward, with a shaft nearly six feet long running along the length of his body in a way that allowed a non-unicorn pony to still swing it while granting optimal power. The blade was two feet long and sharpened to a deadly degree, but maneuvering the blade was just as inelegant a process as it was to hold the tool. He briefly considered switching for another, more accessible, weapon, but the nasty blade was just too tempting to pass up. Surely, the lethal-looking scythe would be the most potent tool he could use.

He unhooked a lantern from the low hanging ceiling and took it with him as he ran back up into the main portion of the barn. There, with maybe just a hint of madness about him, he plotted out his next move.

Tapping and scratching noises came from the outside. The crows were relentless. He didn’t know how he’d deal with them, but one thing was for sure: the first pony-sized monster to set a hoof in the barn would be cut down like wheat. He set the lantern down on a nearby barrel and climbed the ladder to the loft. He wanted to have eyes on the outside so as not to be caught off guard by any unsuspected threats. He made his way over to the loft doors, boards creaking under his hoofs as he walked, and cracked one open.

The murder of crows still encircled the barn, angry blurs of motion cawing indignantly. Through it all he could see the scarecrow, now slowly approaching the structure with a pitchfork pointed menacingly in Rags’ direction. A crow saw Rags peeking outside and tried to squeeze through the crack in the door, but was met with a hoof to the beak. He shut the egress and ventured back down to the lower level.

He had no clue what to do next. The demons knew where he was, so there was no hiding. The flock was waiting for him to emerge, so there was no running. His only choice looked to be a war of attrition. The sun would be raised in a little over five hours. All he had to do was hold out against a bunch of birdbrains and a freaky doll with a pitchfork until the day. Easy enough.

The barn door cracked and splintered as sharpened iron prongs ripped through them. They left a head-sized hole as they were torn out of the wood, and peering through it was the scarecrow. Rags and it glared at each other for a moment, like combatants bowing before a fight, and then the scarecrow got back to work on the door. Rags chomped down on the bit and took a stance. With a few more thrusts, the hole was now torso sized, and the scarecrow contorted and bent in ways nothing should be able to and managed to squirm through the crevice.

As it maneuvered its way through the hole, the crows forced their way past the scarecrow. Birds squeezed by the doll and into the room, spewing out from around the scarecrow like dark blood spurting out from around a leech digging into a cut. When the creature dropped into the barn, the crows now had free reign to fly in, creating a gushing flow of black feathers. They swirled around, cawing like mad, but not attacking. They instead perched atop the rafters and stared daggers at Rags with their beady red eyes. It was almost as if they held back for their master to make the kill. They acted as an audience to the coming clash.

The scarecrow picked itself up and leveled its merciless eyes and threatening pitchfork at Rags.

This is it, Rags! There’s no running this time! No place to hide! It’s time to nut up!

The silent foe lurched forward and attempted to run him through, but Rags sidestepped just in time. With its body outstretched in a position of vulnerability, he saw his opening, and he swung the scythe with all the force he could put into it. The blade was unwieldy in his inexperienced grasp, and to swing it accurately required him to twist in a painful way.

But luck was still with him, as his strike was true and hit its target. The scarecrow’s neck made a sickening fleshy sound as it was detached from the head, and worms lolled out of the headless body.

The cranium went rolling when it hit the ground and stopped with the expressionless face turned upwards. The body staggered and twitched, seemingly unaware that it was supposed to be dead. Never having worked a field with a scythe, Rags put too much force into his swing and overshot his target. The blade lodged into the soil, and he pulled and yanked on it in an effort to free it. When he jerked it loose, his backward momentum sent him stumbling back until he hit a wall.

He sat slumped against the wooden planks panting, relaxation washing over him. He closed his eyes, intending to revel in the opportunity to just sit in silence with no impending doom breathing down his neck.

His eyelids flew open at the sound of hoofsteps coming his way. He looked up and gawked at the headless, worm-ridden body shuffling towards him, pitchfork still latched to the torso by straps similar to Rags’. It threw itself at him; the dishwasher flinched out of the way in the knick of time as the prongs lodged into the wood behind him. He kicked both hind legs into its chest and sent it bumbling back. The body shivered and shook again before reacquiring its prey and continuing forward.

Rags tried to comprehend how this was possible, and was appalled to see the decapitated head of the scarecrow still gazing at him from the ground with those emotionless red dots. He didn’t have an adequate backup plan for fighting such a durable ghoul. He could only think of one thing to do - keep slashing it until it stopped.

The body came at him again like a raging bull, and again Rags dodged the jab. As it rushed past him, he awkwardly swung at its back legs, missing as it careened past him. It was obvious why his special talent didn’t involve scythes. It came again and he attempted the same strategy, somehow landing a successful hit on the back legs, taking both off at once. The upper half fell forward into the ground, but pushed itself up on its front legs.

Even with two missing legs and no head, it determinedly dragged itself at Rags. With its decreased speed, he had an easier time maneuvering around it. He slashed again, this time turning his whole body with the scythe as he cut through the air. This technique was not pretty or skilled, but it proved to be more effective than what he was doing before.

His strike chopped off the two front legs, putting an end to its mobility once and for all. Then he stabbed the thing in the torso with a downwards slash, through where its heart should have been. He hacked the thing over and over, the worms inside making repulsive squelching sounds as they were massacred. He put as much energy as he could into a final slice, grunting as he did so, adding a sense of finality to the battle. His carelessness again got the blade stuck in the soil beneath the body, and he harshly tugged on it with a growl. Similar to the last time his weapon was stuck, his backward momentum made him fall onto his rump once it was freed. From this position, he could observe the end result of the struggle.

He might have won, but he did not succeed in killing it. The parts of the scarecrow twitched and squirmed, still trying to find a way to kill Rags even when dismembered and ripped open. Upon seeing the scarecrow fall, the crows all began cawing like mad, and descended from their high perches. They circled the body before diving on to it, pecking savagely at the shredded worms oozing out of the scarecrow’s lacerations. Even with these birds devouring its innards, the scarecrow’s parts still writhed, and its eyes still remained glued to Rags.

The stallion gagged at it all. At the sight before him, at the thought of something wanting so badly to kill him, and at the act he just committed. He knew it wasn’t a pony, he knew it was for survival, but the fact of the matter was that he just sliced and diced a creature like he was some kind of psycho from a slasher film.

As he watched the scarecrow spasm under the carnivorous flock, he realized that he found an answer to one of his questions from earlier. How does a pony cope with all of this? The answer is: they don’t. He would never get over this. No matter how hard he would try, no matter how talented the shrink, no matter how much medication he consumed, the things that happened to him tonight would always be with him, attached to his brain like a tumor, eating away at his sanity. The dishwasher's hooves would forever be dirtied by brutality, by cruel acts of destruction that he would be reminded of whenever he cleaned. Tears streamed down his face as he sat down, staring at his sullied hooves. Tears of fear, of loneliness, of stress, of knowledge of what the future would bring. He knew that the annihilated scarecrow would only be the first of many more.

The night was still young, after all.

Rags stood in the threshold of the open barn door, taking in breaths of fresh air. The crows had all lost their vigor when the they had their fill of their master, and now either sat idly by or had flown out of the barn and into the dark of the eventide. He marveled at the serenity of it all. If another pony had reappeared from wherever they had all gone at this particular moment, they would think that it was simply a stunningly beautiful night. He thought about the farm he occupied and the Apples that lived there. It must be so amazing to be able to live out in such lovely country and do what you love for a living, he thought. This made him think about what would happen if he made it out alive. Would he go back to work as a dishwasher at the diner? He hardly wanted that to be the case.

He inhaled one last gulp of air before shutting the doors and returning to the interior. The smoldering remains of the scarecrow warmed the surrounding space. He set it ablaze utilizing the lantern, finally putting an end to its existence. He sat down nearby and let the macabre source of heat warm him. Before he burned the squirming remains, he used the scissors he got from earlier, cut cloth off the scarecrow’s attire, and used it for bandaging his wounds. He hadn’t had any idea that he’d lost so much blood until he got a good look at the bags resting over his back and saw that they were soaked with dark red. He had no real medical expertise, but he suspected that was part of the reason he was so weak.

His expression solemn, his heart weak, and his mind hazy with sleep deprivation, he waited patiently for that glorious fireball to rise into the sky and save him. He would not have to wait much longer, as the eastern sky was beginning to brighten. His rescue was just over the hill.

And something else was too. He heard something coming from over the hill. It started out low, a dull roar, but was steadily growing. As it neared, he could identify it. He quickly grabbed the scythe and checked all of the entrances and openings the barn had and made sure that they were shut firmly and locked up. He stacked boxes and barrels and whatever else he could find in front of the hole in the door and barricaded it. Then he waited. The roar came into the Apple property, shaking the loam beneath Rags’ quivering hooves. It spread over everything, consuming the acres in a torrent of savagery. Thunderous pandemonium erupted from all angles. Crashing and banging, demonic braying, and exasperated growls overtook Rags’ eardrums.

Biting down on the bit of the scythe, he readied for what was to come next. There was a great slam against the door, followed by enraged screaming and more slamming. The barrage of blows reverberated through the barn. The wood groaned under the immense pressure, and a hole was formed at the base of where the doors met, through which the first tar-pony stuck its head in and howled in ire at Rags

At that moment, he lost what little fire he had in his heart, and his fear attempted to convince him that running was the best option. He started backing away, sweat drenching his coat, teeth clattering over the bit, but the powerful voice in his head that helped him out of previous jams earlier that night came back in full force.

NO! If you start running now, you will die! They’ve surrounded us! There is nowhere to run! So this is it, Rags! You’ve done enough hiding and crying for one night anyway! Time to nut up!

The voice’s tone was harsh and brusque, but it was just the push he needed. He stood his ground and tightened his hold of the scythe.

You’re not going to let these things kill you know, are you? Are you going to let them end your life before it’s really started? We haven’t achieved anything! We haven’t accomplished any of our goals, made any dreams a reality! If we let them end us now, it would be a waste of the time we’ve been given in this world!

His eyes hardened and he gritted his teeth around the handle.

Who would even remember us? Nougat, maybe Mom and Dad… and? Who else? No one cares about us! We are a nobody, through and through! If we go tonight, then the only thing folks with remember about us is that we turned up mutilated in the Element of Honesty’s freakin’ barn!

The tar-ponies widened the gap and began squeezing through, but too many tried to enter at once and slowed the process.

We haven’t experienced love, success, or even real happiness! Will you let these slavering mutants deny us that!?

They tried so furiously to get inside that even in the midst of the roaring and garbled language, Rags could hear the snapping of bones. They wanted so badly to kill him that they were destroying themselves. The wood groaned under all of the pressure and the doors began to buckle.

Look at these repulsive abominations. Rotten sacks of meat covered in sickening tar! Are you going to let everything you hope to achieve, everything you hold dear, everything you are, be taken away by this hateful filth!?

Rags hadn’t thought about it before then. He hadn’t considered anything about them besides how to avoid them. But now he truly saw it. He didn’t know how he knew, he just knew. The tar-ponies, and the other creatures he had been encountering all night, were hate incarnate. Their only purpose for existing was to brutally end those they set their sights on. He didn’t know why. He didn’t know anything about them except for the fact that they were pure evil. He could feel it. It was practically palpable. The aura of sick maliciousness around them was overwhelming. They loathed Rags. They couldn’t possibly live with the knowledge that he was alive. His life was an irritant to them. They needed him to die.

The resistance of the doors was put to an end, and they crumpled under the power of the tar-ponies. The barriers were flung to either side and a mass of tainted black flesh flooded in. Rags’ muscles clenched tightly and prepared for what might be his last moments. He couldn’t pinpoint what he was feeling. A combination of anger and sheer terror. Was this how a cornered animal felt?

The ones at the head of the horde charged at him, some with weapons, others bearing broken and jagged teeth. Having become more comfortable using his troublesome tool now, he raised his scythe for a strong slash into the skull of the first when it suddenly stopped a few yards away from Rags and reeled at him, the others performing similar actions. They encircled him, snarling all the while, but they never came in for the kill. He watched in confusion, until he realized that he was standing right next to the flaming scarecrow remains.

They’re afraid of fire!

True as this may be, their hate of Rags was greater than their fear of fire, and they were closing in at a considerable pace, slowly overcoming their fright. The first foe finally leap at him from the side. he saw this coming and he swung the scythe around, sticking it firmly into the monster’s forehead with a grotesque shlink. It instantly went limp but took Rags off balance, and he struggled to remove the tool from the corpse. Another one brave enough to approach the fire tried to cave his skull in from behind with a crowbar. He twisted out of the way and the attack and it struck the head of its comrade. The cranium exploded in black gore, and Rags freed his scythe from the loosened mess and separated the second assailant’s head from its shoulders, dark fluids spurting from the neck.

A vice-like grip clamped around Rags’ midsection and he screamed in pain. A tar-pony had sunk its teeth into his ribs and tightened its hold. He threw his head back and caught the beast’s gullet with a low swing, and rotten innards spilled out from underneath it. He kicked the thing back into the slowly advancing crowd and was immediately grabbed from behind. Another of the twisted ponies had leaped over the fire and wrapped its forearms around the terrified stallion’s head, and was trying to get a good enough grip to snap his neck. Instinctively, Rags put his weight into the monster behind him and forced it backwards. A deafening squeal pierced his ears and the hold around his head released. He turned to find that the tar-pony that jumped him had stepped into the fire and had caught ablaze, flailing around in an attempt to put out the inferno that was quickly consuming it.

It ran into the crowd and the others repulsed away from their burning ally. This gave Rags an idea. He snatched up a flaming arm, burning himself, and tossed it at the mob. Screeches and cries of pain and disgust followed. He did the same with another arm and tossed it in the other direction, then he threw a hind leg in another. When he finished, his hoofs were charred and tar-ponies ran all over the interior, some on fire and others running from them. The bulk of the mob was now distracted. Some, however, were focused enough to disregard their dying brethren and still rushed Rags.

Two came at him at the same time. He was able to slit the throat of one, but the other pounced on him. They wrestled with their hooves, Rags trying to get control over the situation and the creature trying to bash the stallion’s brains in. He lost his hold of the monster’s hooves and it got a good whack in, making blood pool in Rags’ mouth. The shock gave him rush of strength and he shunted the monster off of him and onto its back, whereupon Rags got up and loomed over the tar-pony. He was swift in his dealings as he thrust his scythe into its belly. It wailed and he struck again. It twitched and he struck again. blood brimmed over the dishwasher’s lips and he struck again. And again and again after that.

A flaming tar-pony bumped into the barrel with the lantern atop it, knocking the lamp to the ground and starting a large fire that quickly spread. The atrocities all yelled fearfully at the fiery madness and retreated outside the barn. Rags wobbled as he tried to stand upright and look at the demons barking at him from a safe distance.

“Oh what!?” he slurred, “You freaks scared of a little campfire!?” He spat a mouthful of blood at them and staggered, nearly falling over. He coughed and his eyes began to sting. Smoke was filling up the barn at an alarming rate, and it was becoming difficult to breath. He did his best to limp to the exit but was stopped by an uppercut to the chin that came from seemingly nowhere, sending him tumbling to his back. With spots in his blurred vision, he could see a one-eyed tar-pony towering over him. Though its left eye was damaged to the point of uselessness, it packed enough hatred for both into its good right one. It salivated as it growled and cocked its arm to deliver the kill with a bloody cleaver. Rags, too fatigued and hurt to make a move, watched in horror as his death loomed right above him.

“...traeh ruoy tae lliw I”

You blew it, Rags. Now we’re dead.

Frightened whinnys found their way into his distorted hearing, and the ground rumbled and shook. Just then, a translucent beam struck the cyclops in the back, and it bellowed in agony. Its flesh began bubbling under the layer of tar, and steam came off in large puffs. White bone was becoming visible as tar evaporated and rotten skin sizzled. With its last breath, it loathingly hissed at Rags.

“...luos...ruoy...ekat...tI”

Its one red eye burst from its socket in a gush of ickor and it vomited vaporizing bile before its decayed, tar-covered face deteriorated into a skeletal form. And before Rags’ eyes, it turned to ash and was scattered by the draft coming from the heat of the flames. He would have liked to ruminate on what just happened, but he first had to escape the fire. Coughing on smoke and blood, he got to his hooves and teetered out of the burning barn.

It put a massive strain on his body, and he collapsed the moment he believed himself far enough from the danger. He drowsily looked around to see that the noises he heard before the cyclops’s demise were indeed that of the tar-ponies fleeing, as they were all gone. Then he looked ahead for the one who cast the mighty light spell that warded off and killed the murderous atrocities. But there was no wizard, warlock, or master mage. Just the sun.

He smiled meekly. He didn’t mean to. He wasn’t even happy in the slightest. He just became aware of the fact that he had won. He had triumphed over the unholy masses. Through all the hiding, running, and desperate struggling, all based on the assumption that the sun would somehow save him, he had finally won. He hacked up a few globules of some sort of cocktail of blood and mucus, and dropped back to the ground, unconscious.

6:00 AM

Applejack yawned and sat up in her bed. The rooster hadn’t crooned yet, but she didn’t need that to wake her up. Her body was so used to getting up around this time that she long ago started waking up naturally. She slid out from under the sheets, adopted her stetson, and began her groggy trek downstairs. She expected Big Mac to be up before her as always, with Apple Bloom still lounging about upstairs. Any second now, she expected the smell of apple pancakes and warm coffee to welcome her to the new day. When she reached the bottom of the stars, she saw neither Big Mac nor Granny Smith in the kitchen cooking. She smelled no breakfast waiting for her. Though she did smell something burning.

It was a smell she knew from years ago, when an accident with a cow and a lantern cost them their barn. The dreadful realization dawned on her and she rushed out the front door and was met with a soul crushing sight. The barn was nearly halfway consumed in fire, emanating a black billow of smoke from the charred wood. Granny Smith was standing on the porch shouting at someone to hurry up. From the smoke emerged Macintosh, dragging something, no, someone out of the fray. She ran to his side as he lugged himself and the other into safety. She knew the pony sprawled out on the ground. Yesterday she sympathized with him, but now, she didn’t know what to think about the stallion before her.

She would expect one who was just pulled out of a fire to be damaged, but not anything like this. He was covered in blood and blackened fur. Scratches, gashes, burn marks, purpled bruises, and various other wounds ran along his length. A vicious looking bite mark was implanted in his side and blood ran through it at a steady pace. A blood-soaked, makeshift tourniquet wrapped around his midsection. He looked like he was just tortured by a band of griffon bandits.

She was in mortified awe at the scene. A bloodied pony and a burning barn. What did it mean? Was he somehow responsible for this? But it looked like he was the victim, not the criminal. She asked the question that Big Mac, too, was contemplating.

“What happened here?” she asked with a mixture of concern and somber emotion.

“Dunno,” Mac simply stated, keeping his eyes glued to the fire.

She sat down beside him. “Did you already call the weather team?”

“Granny did. Rain cloud’ll be here any minute. No wind, so we don’t have ta’ worry ‘bout the trees, ” Mac said matter of factly.

“Ambulance too?” Applejack asked.

“Eeyup.”

They said nothing more after that, and watched the barn turn to cinder.

Rags stirred beside them. He could barely move. All he could do was glimpse the inferno and the two ponies sitting beside him before his head fell back down and his eyes shut again.

Take it easy, Rags. You don’t have to worry anymore. I’m here.

Author's Notes:

Over 14,000 words!? What's wrong with me!?

Me and my editor went over every inch of this thing and took out every error that we could possibly find. If you see any, they most likely came from the process of getting this chapter from GDocs to fimfiction.

Speaking of my editor, a big round of applause for Corwin Freiss for making this possible.

Chapter 4: Consequences

Journal entry #4

Preparation. That’s the word of the day. I need to start preparing for the nights. I can’t have a repeat of the episode in the hospital yesterday. It showed me that I’m far too inexperienced. I mean, I couldn’t find any medicine in a hospital for crying out loud! And I was looking for large bladed weapons IN A HOSPITAL! Stupid, Rags, stupid. Well, enough is enough. I’m done asking why these things are happening. I’ll get back to questions like those after I’ve established that I won’t get myself obliterated. It’s time I learned how to survive.

As soon as I’m done with writing this down, I’m going to gather up anything and everything that I could use before the sun sets. I hope my budding new reputation won’t stop the shops from selling to me. Folks are starting to talk. And why wouldn’t they? What better conversational piece than the guy who turned up in a hospital beaten to a pulp, babbling on about monsters and everyone else vanishing. I would love nothing more than to fend off claims of my sanity slipping, but the problem is that they might just be right.

Oh great, he’s singing again.

Rags was awoken by a shrill beeping noise periodically pounding against his ears. Every beep provoked the ruthless headache that shot through his skull. Every inch of his body was in terrible pain, all of his nerves crying bloody murder. Even the act of breathing felt like a knife was being slowly inserted between his ribs. He flexed his body parts a bit to get a feel for how bad things really were. Moving brought tremendous anguish to his sore and stiff limbs.

Despite his turmoil, he could feel that the environment around him was actually quite pleasant. A warm blanket covered him from the belly down, and his cut-up back was comforted by a soft mattress. What felt like bandages tightly cocooned his various lesions. He groaned as the memories of the night before flashed into his mind. Snippets of horrid imagery and bone-chilling sounds put a story to each of his injuries.

Feeling that the time had come, he opened his eyes with curiosity and worry to find out where he was at. Bright but reassuring sunshine raining down from behind made the blanket flare up in a blinding display of reflected light. Once his eyes adjusted, he saw that he was lying in a bed with a curtain encircling him. Assorted medical memorabilia surrounded him. An IV bag pumped some kind of fluid into his foreleg while a heart rate monitor incessantly beeped next to it. X-ray stills of his body hung over his left side, allowing him to see the damage done to his insides. Thankfully, nothing was broken, though his bones were covered in bruises and he was missing a tooth in the back of his mouth.

He jumped and simultaneously gasped when the curtains parted way and a chipper-looking stallion in a white coat stepped in. “Whoops! Didn’t mean to scare you there!” the doctor chirped.

“Where am I!?” Rags groggily questioned. The doctor opened his mouth to speak, but Rags cut in with another question before he could. “What’s going on!?” Rags immediately posed a very peculiar follow-up question. “Where were you!?”

“I’m not sure what you mean by that last question, sir, but you’re in the hospital!” the doctor answered cheerfully, seemingly not noticing the oddness emanating from his patient.

“How long have I been here!?” Rags inquired hastily.

“Oh, about ten hours, I’d say. You were really messed up when they brought you in--”

“TEN HOURS!? What time is it!? No, no, no! I gotta get out of here! They’ll be coming back for me!” Rags screamed fearfully while frantically trying to sit up, finding himself restrained to the bed by leather straps. “Hey, what’s going on!? Get me outta here!” He thrashed around, too frightened to consider the pain he was bringing upon himself with his intense movements. The heart rate monitor began beeping faster and faster like an alarm.

“Take it easy there, sport! You’ll hurt yourself!” The doctor implored, attempting to calm Rags before he could harm himself further. Failing to assuage the stallion, who was becoming more violent in his spasms, the doctor called for assistance. “Nurse! Nurse, come quick!”

A mare with a red cross on her flank rushed into the curtained area and quickly surveyed the situation. She snatched up a needle and a small container and measured out the appropriate dose of sedative. She thrusted the needle into Rags’ foreleg and injected him with the placating liquid. Forced relaxation came to the dishwasher’s muscles and he found himself losing his vigor.

With his episode subsiding, Rags began breathing more steadily and the monitor’s beeping slowed as well. “I… I gotta… get out…” he mumbled.

“Relax, son, you’re safe here,” the doctor said with the nurse at his side. “Now I would like to let you rest, but there are some ponies here to see you about some urgent business.” The doctor nodded to the nurse, who pulled back the curtains directly ahead of Rags, revealing a set of ponies, and a dragon, that didn’t seem too happy to see him - the Apple family, Rarity, the investigator, and the assistant of the princess, Spike.

Rags cringed and offered a sheepish greeting. He hadn’t met the fashionista or the royal assistant in person before, nor did he know why they were there. However, he did know why the Apples and the investigator were present. Rarity stepped up beside him and glared daggers down at him, her face one of outward control, but inward seething.

She magically lifted some ruined saddlebags onto the bed beside him. He didn’t understand her meaning at first, but quickly caught on when he scrutinized the bags. They were burnt, torn, and stained with dark blood, utterly destroyed. They were the bags he took with him from the boutique to carry his few supplies last night. He remembered thinking that they didn’t look too expensive. He could not have been more wrong.

She leaned in and hissed through gritted teeth, “These were designer bags from the most prestigious boutique in Canterlot, custom-made for me. They cost more than what you make in two years. If reparations are not made immediately, I will become very un-ladylike,” she said, venom dripping from her voice. She leaned in further, harshly whispering in his ear now. “If I am not repaid for this affront, I will use your hide to make a stunning outfit and wear it to the gala. Do I make myself clear?” Rags whimpered in response.

The dragon hopped up on the foot of the bed with a brick grasped in his claw. “What’s the big idea!? What do you have against the library, huh!? Twilight is gonna flip when she comes back to see her Starswirl the Bearded display all busted up!” Rags was about to apologize when Spike added something else. “I don’t know how you managed to do all of that damage without waking me up, but you’re lucky you didn’t! Because I would have been all over you like a horde of angry parasprites!”

Without waking him up? A question began forming in Rags’ mind.

The Apples could have taken this chance to put their gripes out on the table, but refrained from badgering Rags with their problems for some reason.

Rags spoke to the other two harping on him, “How do you even know I did any of that stuff?” He wasn’t denying that he caused them trouble, though for a good cause, but it was odd how they somehow knew it was him. From his experience, they were all gone last night. Or so he thought. How could they have known it was him who did these things?

“Common sense,” the investigator from yesterday said sternly as he stepped up to the foot of the bed and stared straight across the sheets at Rags. “Before I even get a mug of coffee in my hoof this mornin’, I’m swamped with several reports of vandalism and theft, topped off with possible arson at the farmhouse, the very same farmhouse you were found in yesterday. Low and behold, we find a blood trail leading all over town to the locations were the reports originated from. Our little trail of bloody breadcrumbs came to an end at the barn, which is where we found your flank out cold,” the investigator finished with a tone that chilled Rags’ veins.

“You know, you really had me goin’ there,” the investigator continued in a low voice. “I actually went to bed last night thinkin’ that you might just be innocent in this whole ordeal. I gotta admit, you put up one of the most convincing acts I’ve ever seen--”

“Where were you last night!?” Rags blurted.

The investigator was taken back by the random and abrupt nature of the question, becoming annoyed when he realized that his stride had been broken. “W-What!? What’s it matter!?”

“I need to know where you all were at!”

The investigator stared at Rags for a moment, exasperation and confusion clearly visible on his face. “I was sleeping like a fat baby in my apartment. Satisfied, you creepy little freak?”

“Anything else?” Rags pressed on, leaving the rest of the individuals in the room flummoxed. “What were you doing before you went to bed?”

The investigator sneered, “Oh I see where you’re going with this. No, nothing out of the ordinary happened last night. I didn’t feel any ghostly chills, see any spooky apparitions, or hear anything go bump in the night. It was a nice, normal evening.” The others nodded in agreement to this.

Rags looked over his body, momentarily forgetting the presence of the irked ponies giving him the death stare. He considered all of his wounds, all of his pain, and thought about everything that happened.

How was it possible? What happened to the ponies of Ponyville? Where did they go? And why was he left out of the phenomenon? Was any of it even real? Had it all been just the result of a psychotic breakdown? Could all of these injuries be self-inflicted? No, some were beyond what he could do to himself, like the bite mark.

He thought long and hard about his sanity. What did happen last night? What was it? Was it just some kind of hallucination? No, it couldn’t have been. It was just too real. Wasn’t it? None of it made sense. All of the logical conclusion he’d reached about the past few days had suddenly become highly illogical. Everyone else vanishing? They adamantly claimed that they were sleeping soundly. The monsters? There was no such proof that these beasts exist. All of their blood, the tar, the remains, any sign that they were even there at all, gone without a trace. His injuries? As far-fetched as it would seem, he could have been the inflictor. Why would they still remain when the rest of the evidence disappeared if they were truly left by monsters?

His headache came back stronger than ever, making him wince with pain. He wasn’t crazy. He couldn’t be. Or maybe… maybe he could. All these years of depression, anxiety, and failure. Were they finally taking their toll? Maybe it was all coming to a boil now. Perhaps his self-deprecating mind could no longer withstand the misery and created a deadly fantasy to make the act of taking his own life seem like another failure. A cruel, poetic end orchestrated by the suicidal mind of a lowly bottom feeder.

Was it all just a psychotic bid to kill himself?

No! The voice! The determined words that pushed him to survive! There was a part of him that pulled through, that wanted to see the light of day. If he was suicidal and insane to the point of creating a mad fantasy to kill himself, then why would he have been fighting so hard? Why would he have given himself the chance to survive at all?

And now that he thought about it, if it was all just a hallucination, how could everyone have been asleep like they said they were and not wake up to a madpony having an insane fit and smashing up property? They couldn’t possibly have slept through the ordeal, it was just too much commotion. Yes! It was all coming together now!

A moment of clarity… finally. It was what he fought for. Answers. Something had finally been made clear to him, even if it was something dark, and it felt like a refreshing drink of water after a long trek through the desert. At last, he had something to go off of.

He wasn’t crazy.

His headache ebbed slightly, clarity parting it like sunlight through rainclouds. It had to be real. The evil did happen. He felt calmed by this, but also disturbed. He was sure that he wasn’t crazy, but the fact of the matter was that there were still deadly creatures out there that wanted his heart roasted on a spit. His skin crawled and his heart began to beat faster. The abominations were not apparitions spawned from an overly active imagination. They were real. They were real and they were mad. And Rags had a feeling that they would be back.

But at least he wasn’t crazy.

The investigator, however, was beginning to think otherwise. As he watched Rags, he noticed all of the subtle nuances that only a trained eye would pick up on. Twitches, seemingly disoriented, long silence as if he were deep in thought, inconsistent responses and tone, panicked actions. The investigator moved in closer, eyeing Rags with as much suspicion as any one pony could feel. “Hold on a second. Do you… actually think that those monsters are real? That any of that crap you’re blabbering about… actually happened?”

Rags’ head jolted up, as if he became aware of the investigator’s presence for the first time. He looked at the detective as if he were afraid, silently crying for help with his eyes.

“That… explains a lot,” The investigator said as he pulled out a cigar and lit it. He took in several puffs, sighing out a cloud of smoke before speaking. “Friendo… I’m going to have to call some friends of mine.”

“Who?” Rags asked worriedly.

“Don’t worry, pal, they’re some real nice guys, in real nice white coats. They’ll make it all better,” The investigator said with no compassion in his voice, not even looking at the poor stallion.

Rags’ eyes widened in fearful realization. “No… I’m not crazy!” He began tugging at his restraints, causing the other ponies in the room to back away slowly, and the doctor and nurse to ease toward him. “Let me out of here! I’m not crazy! I’M NOT!” Rags was violently tossing himself around now, prompting the doctor and nurse to throw themselves on top of him, trying to hold him down.

“The sedative, nurse! Use the sedative!” the doctor ordered. The nurse readied the syringe, preparing to stick Rags. She managed to get it into his forearm, but was stopped before should could empty its contents by a booming voice.

”STOP!” The volume of the shout was great enough to rattle everything in the room and force those in it to bring their hooves to their ears. They all turned to the source and were surprised to find two soldiers standing in the doorway, adorned in the golden armor of the Royal Canterlot Guard. They walked past the threshold and parted to reveal that a very important individual had come to Ponyville unannounced.

Princess Twilight.

The investigator’s jaw dropped, letting his cigar fall to the floor before he bowed quickly. The doctor and nurse scrambled off of Rags to give their bow. Big Macintosh, Applebloom, and Granny Smith all bowed as well. Applejack, Rarity, and Spike all simultaneously exclaimed “Twilight!” and ran to greet the princess with hugs.

She warmly embraced them, her smile sincere and welcoming. Then her eyes fell on Rags, and her face became cold and expressionless. The dishwasher gulped.

She turned back to the rest of the ponies in the room, including her bodyguards, and kindly asked while gesturing to Rags, “Would you all mind giving us some time alone?”

The investigator and the bodyguards immediately protested the idea of the princess being alone in a room with a possibly disturbed pony, but she reassured them it was under control. She reminded them that she was a powerful alicorn, and that Rags was restrained and wasn’t a threat to anyone but himself. Reluctantly, they all agreed and stepped out.

When they were alone, Twilight turned and sized Rags up, taking note of every wound and bruise. She slowly made her way to his side and stared down at him, eyes unwavering and full of irritation. She was completely silent, as if calculating something in her head. Rags could no longer bare the weight of the silence and her gaze, so he decided to break the ice.

“G-Greetings, your highness,” he stammered. “Is there, uh, something little ol’ me can help you with?” he put on a fake grin, trying to cover up his worry.

“What happened last night?” she asked levelly, retaining eye contact whereas Rags was trying to avoid it.

“Uhm… did I do something wrong?” Rags asked tentatively.

“Well, you burned down my freinds property, stole from another of my friends, and destroyed a few personal items of mine in the library in the dead of night.”

“How did you kn--”

“I read the town guard’s report this morning. But that’s not what I’m talking about. Why did you do those things?” she questioned, still calm in tone and attitude.

Rags didn’t feel right. Something was weird about the princess. Everything about her presence just filled him with dread. Not her, specifically, but her arrival and her focus on him couldn’t have been just a coincidence. The nightly happenings had to have some kind of correlation. With reluctance, he told her everything. Her intentions were unclear, but why would he not tell her? Despite the unnerving connotations of her coming, he technically had no reason to withhold anything.

When he finished, he was shivering. His nerves had gone into overdrive, the mere recollection of the events sending pangs of icy terror through his body. Twilight nodded when he was done telling his story, and finally broke eye contact to stare off into space. Her look of deep thought was so intense that Rags could practically hear the cogs spinning in her head. She must have found something he said to be very interesting.

“Princess?” Rags cautiously asked. He didn’t know what else to say. Should he have asked, ‘What happens now?’ Or maybe, ‘What are you going to do to me?’ A pit was growing in his stomach. So many questions. So many possibilities. What to do?

She looked upon him once more and smiled. “Well right now, you need rest. You look pretty rough.”

“I can’t! I need to get ready! They’re coming back for me! They’ve done it twice now, and I don’t really want to see what they’ve got in mind for a third outing!” Rags said, urgency in his tone.

“You don’t need to worry about any of that. I’m going to place a protective ward over this room. No one except for the medical staff and I will be able to pass it,” she assured in a motherly fashion. Rags was confused by her change. Her tone was ominous and cold before. Now she was comforting and compassionate, like what he would expect of a ‘benevolent’ leader. “I’m going to undo your binds, but I want you to stay in this room.” She magically released his straps and turned to make her leave.

“Wait, that’s it? You’re not even going to explain anything to me? LIke maybe what the flying crap is going on? Erm… your majesty,” Rags said while rubbing his freed hooves.

She smiled at him from over her shoulder and said, “Get some sleep.” As she was leaving, she magically flipped the light switch and closed the door. Then a wall of magenta energy cascaded over the threshold. Rags laid his head back onto the pillow. He was exhausted. As concerned as he was, afraid of what the night could bring, Twilight was right. He needed rest. He hadn’t gotten any real sleep in two days, and his body was too damaged for exertion. And the shield covering the room brought him slight peace of mind, at least enough for him to close his eyes for a little while without having to worry about waking up to a bloody knife lodged in his chest.

Now, if only he could actually close his eyes.

Twilight sighed as she closed the door behind herself. The stallion was in poor condition, both mentally and physically. Her mind had been going at full speed after hearing what he had to say, searching for an explanation. Her associates approached, concern etched on their faces. Twilight predicted what their question would be, but had no answer for it which frustrated her to no end.

“Twilight, ya know we always love seein’ ya nowadays, but why are ya here? You were here before Spike could have even sent a letter to ya about what happened,” Applejack said.

“And you seemed very interested in that vandal,” Rarity said venomously, glaring at the door of the room where Rags was resting.

Twilight gestured for the guards and the investigator to leave earshot, and didn’t speak until a reasonable sense of privacy was achieved. “Now girls, I don’t want to cause any alarm, but something is wrong. I came this morning because for the past few days I’ve been feeling a disturbance. Some kind of… I don’t know what it is, but I can feel it. Something sinister. My memories become hazy at night, like they’ve been… tampered with. Whatever it is, it’s coming from Ponyville, and it seems to be centered around him.”

“Disturbance? What do you mean?” Spike asked.

‘Like I said, I don’t know. I’m not even sure whether or not it’s just a feeling of mine. He says he’s being attacked by monsters, but I don’t believe that for a second. Still, the things that have happened, the arson, the vandalism, and the strange marking on his house and around town, have occurred around the same time I started feeling like this. All of it was committed by this stallion, Rags, and the presence is strongest around him. It’s all just too convenient. I think something bad is coming, and he’s got something to do with it. Again, this might just be a funny feeling of mine, and he really is just crazy. But in case I’m right, I need you all to be ready,” Twilight finished. They all looked at her with equal amounts of unease and understanding.

“Don’t worry, Twi, we’re ready for anything,” Applejack touted. The others posed no protest to the sentiment.

“Thanks. I’ll be in my library working on this, but before I start, I should say hi to Rainbow, Pinkie, and Flutter--”

“ONE SIDE! COMIN’ THROUGH!” a voice shouted. Doctors and guards made a fuss as a yellow pegasus came charging down the hallway. He skidded to a halt in front of Twilight, eyes wide in shock. “Princess!” he exclaimed as he gave a hasty bow. “Excuse me, your highness, but I need to get in there and see my friend.”

“Sorry, but I don’t think now is a good time. He needs rest.” His face drooped at this. “You can come visit tomorrow, though,” Twilight politely added. He sat down by the door. “Don’t worry, he’s alright, just a little shaken up is all.”

“He’s been talking about some kind of monster attacking him at night. I don’t know what he’s on, but he’s really freaked out. He jumped out my window last night! I’m worried about him,” the pegasus explained.

Twilight looked at him with sudden interest. “Did you see him do this? Do you remember it happening?”

The pegasus sniffed and wiped a hoof across his nostrils. “No. I don’t know how, but he managed to bust through the window over my bed without waking me up. He’s got, like, hidden ninja skills or something. He should have a mark in stealth, not cleaning stuff.”

“You don’t remember…” Twilight mumbled quietly to herself. “Sorry girls, I’ll talk to the others later. I need to start my research immediately,” she said as she began walking quickly down the hall, guards resuming their positions at each side. Applejack, Rarity, and Spike didn’t even have time to ask what was so urgent.

Rags stared at the door across the room from him for a very long time. Half an hour, according to the clock. it was a quarter past four in the afternoon. The light of the lazy afternoon sun warmed the foot of the bed. The conditions were perfect for a nap, which he sorely needed. Sleep was becoming scarce in Rags’ schedule. But he wouldn’t let himself surrender to it, not while the danger was only a few hours away. He resolved to sit in bed and just think. Seeing that no other patients were assigned to his room, he decided that it was alright to think out loud.

“They were going to commit me. Send me off to the looney bin. How could they? Hasn’t anyone ever heard of an assault of slavering monstrosities trying to rip out someone’s heart before? You’d think with all of the natural beasts and giant animals around Equestria folks would be a little more likely to understand my predicament. I wonder if the first pony to ever see a manticore was called crazy by his people?” he mulled.

“But at any rate, I need to be careful. The day is almost as dangerous as the night now, what with all of these ponies trying to send me to the happy farm. I need to make an effort to look as normal as possible. I just gotta keep telling myself that I’m not crazy.”

Yeah, you’re not crazy. You’re just a regular guy talking out loud to himself.

Rags whipped his head around the room, searching for whoever just spoke to him. Perhaps there was another patient with him after all? “Who said that!?” he demanded.

I did.

“Who’s there!?”

I am.

“Who are you?”

You.

“What?”

I didn’t say anything that time.

“No, who are you!?”

Like I said, you. You deaf or something?

“No, I said who are you--”

I. Am. You.

“What…?”

I am you, and you are me. Get it, moron?

Rags shook his head and scanned the room again. The voice came from everywhere and nowhere at the same time. “Stop screwing with me! Where are you?”

I’m in your head. Understand?

“I said stop screwing with me! Who are you and where are you!?” Rags said exasperatedly.

Oh what, you don’t believe me? Alright, big boy, “How about this?” a voice suddenly came clearly from his side. His heart skipped a beat and he immediately turned to see the pony who was talking this whole time. The voice did not lie. It was him. Rags was looking at Rags. Like someone had set a mirror beside him when he wasn’t looking. Only, his reflection was sitting on its haunches at the bedside. It lacked any bandages, wounds, or a hospital gown. And it was grinning.

“What the f--”

“Hello, handsome,” the reflection said through his smile.

Rags stared in disbelief. He blinked several times to make the vision go away, but it remained.

“Don’t worry. I’m not here to rough you up like those nasty things from last night. Quite the contrary. I’m here to help you out of this little predicament.”

Rags only continued staring, trying to find the proper words.

“You face an onslaught of demons and I’m what gets you speechless? Man, you really are a pus,” the reflection chuckled.

“H-How? W-Why!?” Rags sputtered.

“How? You’re a quack. Why? Because without me you’d be worm food.” The reflection stood and began walking around the room, observing it as if for the first time. “Remember that voice that got you through last night? The one that made you do all of the right things to survive? That was me, baby. See, I’m like a little guardian angel sittin’ on your shoulder. Or rather, in your brain pan.”

“That was… you?” Rags dumbly asked.

“That’s what I said. Did you honestly think that you could make it on your own? If you were the one calling all the shots, we’d be six feet under right now.”

“What are you?”

The reflection came to sit by his side again, devilish grin still etched across its face. “I’m kind of like your conscience, the one who’s always wanted to make the decisions that would lead to sweet success. Too bad I ain’t been able to get a word in until now. Maybe you wouldn’t be such a miserable little sack of crap if I could talk before.” The reflection stood and leaned in toward Rags menacingly. “I’ve always been there, watching the trainwreck that is your life unfold from behind your eyes, never being able to lift a hoof to intervene. Now I’m out, baby, and you’re gonna listen to what I have to say. Trust me, it’ll be great advice.”

Rags felt threatened and confused at once. He still didn’t know what to make of the thing before him. It said it was him. Was it? Could it have been some kind of apparition that crawled into his skull last night? Or was it actually him? He wasn’t crazy, he was sure of it. So what was this odious thing? It sounded nothing like him. Its tone was harsh and its words were brusque. Was it really the voice of determination that pulled him through?

The door opened and a nurse walked in with a tray of food.

“Whoa nelly, check out the tasty flank on this honey. First bit of life improving advice: get yourself a piece of that action,” the reflection said, smiling wickedly.

“Shut up!” Rags shouted at the reflection. It looked at him knowingly, eyes darting back and forth between Rags and something off to the side. The patient turned to find the nurse staring at him like he was some kind of freak. He was about to gesture to the reflection, but it became obvious that only he could see it. Rags smiled weakly and took the tray. The nurse backed away slowly, never taking her eyes off the dishwasher until she was out of the room and the door was shut.

“Nice job, you big pile of fail. You coulda had a tasty plot for lunch instead, but you just had to go and be weird. This is exactly what I’m talking about. You always muck everything up and make your life worse. Well, you’re in luck, because I’m here to kick your life into overdrive and get you everything you’ve ever wanted. And more.”

“Just leave me alone! I don’t know what you are or how you’ve gotten into my head, but I don’t want any help from you! Leave!” Rags screamed.

The reflection’s smile disappeared, replaced by a gritted frown. “You can’t just tell me to piss off! I’m you too, and if I’m forced to share this carcass with you, then I’m not gonna put up with your crap anymore! You’ve done nothing but make all the wrong moves ever since you could walk, and I’m sick of it! I’m not leaving, baby, and you better get with the program!”

“And what if I just tell you to piss off anyway, huh!? What are you gonna do about it!? If you really are in my head, then you’re just a figment of my imagination! You can’t do anything!” Rags shot back.

The reflection got face to face with Rags and growled, “You don’t wanna know what all I can do to you. I’m in your brain, I can screw with all sorts of things that shouldn’t be screwed with. You do not want to piss me off. So consider this a friendly piece of advice: get with the bucking program, you worthless maggot.”

They glared daggers at each other for a long, silent moment. In truth, Rags was terrified by the prospect of this hostile thing living in his brain, but he didn’t want to show it. He briefly wondered if it could read his thoughts.

“I’ll be back for ya, baby, and when I come, you better be ready to rock n’ roll. Like it or not, we’re in this together now, and you’ll need me to make it out alive. And hey, think of it this way, at least you won’t be alone at night anymore,” the reflection finished, its grin returning upon doing so.

And then he was gone in the blink of an eye. Rags looked around the room, checking if the reflection was still there. It was not.

Tears found their way into Rags’ eyes. He felt that the little piece of reassuring truth which he had fought so hard to acquire, that he wasn’t crazy, was slipping. There was an ‘other’ in his mind. He was split in two. And the other was not very nice. He was worried about what it might do if he did not cooperate. Its conviction in trying to assert its own will was frightening. Was it really the same voice that got him through the night? Had the overwhelming fear somehow given the voice a mind of its own? A last ditch effort by his subconscious to create an effective means of survival?

His energy was gone. The injuries made it painful to move, but this new revelation made it painful to live. He let his head fall back onto the pillow and began to drift off into slumber. The ward over the room would protect him tonight. Maybe the spell cast by the princess would prove to be a long term solution?

Rags yawned as he awoke. He was amazed at how superbly comfortable the bed was. After two nights of no proper sleep, just falling unconscious in various places, warm silk sheets were a welcomed change. So welcomed in fact that Rags decided that he would refrain from getting up and go back to sleep instead. He was certainly tired enough to do so.

Without opening his eyes, he turned onto his side and prepared to let sleep take him again. Then he noticed the scratching sound coming from the corner of the room. Suddenly, he remembered why he had such a hard time falling asleep to begin with. His eyes flew open and he was blinded by impenetrable darkness, the light of the lazy afternoon sun from the window above his head now gone. The only source of light came from the hallway, through the open door. His breath quickened and his heart threatened to burst out of his chest.

Oh crap… it’s night. It’s nighttime. Oh this is bad. Very bad. Definitely not good. Ok, just calm down Rags. Remember, there is a shield spell thingie over this room. Nothing can get in. They will stay out there, and I’ll be in here.

Then he noticed that the scratching noise was coming from inside the room.

He didn’t know whether or not it was a rat or something uglier, but it didn’t appear to be leaving the corner, so he thought it best to keep quiet. If only the reflection felt the same way. It almost made Rags jump when the voice began speaking to him. He nearly forgot that it was now its own entity.

Rise n’ shine, numbnuts. It’s that special time again, so let’s get down to business. You remember where the light switch is, so get out of bed and go flip it.

What about the noise?

What about it? It’s not doing anything. But if it starts to, you’re gonna be in the dark when it does, so get moving.

But I--

Look, remember that magic shield thing that Princess Hot Flank put over the room? None of those things can get in here, just doctors and the big cheese herself. So this is all you have to deal with tonight, okay pumpkin? After this, it’s smooth sailing. So act like you’ve got a pair and go flip that switch.

But how did whatever that is in the corner get in here? The door is open. Did it come through the ward thing?

For the love of-- how am I supposed to know!? One thing at a time, alright!? Now go!

Rags gulped and ripped the IV needle from his foreleg. He moved as softly as he could to get out of the bed. Pain immediately raced through his body, making every flex of the muscles a grueling chore. Sore as he was, he powered through. His hoof placements were deliberate and well thought out, ensuring that no rash mistakes did him in. He listened to the scratching noise as he made the seemingly endless trek to the other side of the room. The open doorway was like a lighthouse, guiding him through the sea of darkness to his objective.

When he finally made it, he ran a hoof over the wall until he felt the switch, but before he could flip it, his eyes wandered to the hallway outside of the room. Wheelchairs, IVs and other medical equipment littered the area. Bloody hoofprints ran up and down the walls, floor, and ceiling. The bulbs flickered and sparked, barely managing to light the corridor. It was then when he realized that the door was supposed to be left shut. Had a nurse come into his room before the night while he was sleeping and carelessly left it open? It shouldn’t have mattered even if that was the case. The shield should have kept all but the hospital staff out of the room.

Still, knowing that the door was not meant to be open, he questioned the presence of the scratching noise and how it came inside. Unsure of what he was about to see, he turned on the lights. They hummed and flickered as if barely operational, but provided enough illumination for Rags to see what was in the corner.

It was a pale pony, bald and sickly looking, stallion, judging from the build. It wore some kind of white uniform, the sort a nurse would wear. Gashes and cuts covered most of its body, except for its hooves where there was no flesh at all. The meat was peeled away at the ends of the forelegs, revealing bloodstained bones that it scraped against the wall, producing the scratching sound. It faced the corner so Rags could not see its face, and scribbled something on the wall. Written dozens of times in blood was a strange phrase.

ITS EYES ARE UPON US

While not comforting in the slightest, Rags felt that the pony posed no major threat. As long as it kept to itself and paid him no mind, he would do the same.

Well, that’s very creepy, but I think I’m in the clear seeing as nothing is currently trying to tear my throat out. What now?

Find a weapon, something that could give a monster a headache at the very least.

Okay.

Rags looked back to the bed and found his eyes wandering to the IV standing beside it. It wasn’t an optimal choice in weaponry by any means, but it was better than nothing. Casting another glance to the pony in the corner, still writing its nonsense, he quietly went to grab the IV stand. Picking it up, he swung it around a few times to get a feel for it and found that the hefty base of the stand would make for a fine bludgeoning tool. But he would only be able to swing standing still. He had to balance on his hind legs, making movement while attacking an impossible task. He cursed his earth pony body. If only he were unicorn capable of levitation, so many things would have been easier. Just another item on the long list of cons of being him, he supposed. The list of pros basically boiled down to ‘he was tidy’. And even that was something that could have been more easily achievable with a horn.

He perked his ears as he heard a sound coming from down the hall. At first he thought it was something bestial, but as it came closer, he could make out speech. Actual coherent speech. A pony? A regular pony? There was another ordinary soul out at night? It couldn’t be. He was alone at night, all others vanished. Didn’t they? He moved to the doorway and stood against the wall with his IV held tightly, peeking around the frame to see. Sure enough, the shape of a normal pony came into view, and Rags felt overjoyed at the prospect of not being alone anymore. It was all he could do to contain himself and stay hidden, though it was probably good that he did.

“Dress the wound, stop the bleeding, THE BLEEDING, The bleed-- BLOOD! Gotta-- gotta get the anti-venom, for--for a-- a-- SNAKEBITE! Hemoglobin, in the BLOOD stream, nasty stuff, gotta get it out. Out. Out NOW! Get. It. OUT! HEART ATTACK! It’s BAD! Emergency care, QUICK! Victim is… CHOKING!”

The pony spoke to no one but himself, and his words were much less coherent than Rags initially perceived. His face was hidden in dancing shadows under the flickering light in the hallway, and he wore a white coat like a doctor. But the corridor was just too dark to make out anything else. The doctor kept walking forward, not paying attention to any of the rooms as he babbled inanely to himself. Rags didn’t know what to make of it, so he decided not to risk anything and let the crazy-sounding doc pass.

As the doctor was passing Rags’ room, the pony in the corner suddenly began pounding violently against the wall with so much force that its bones cracked and fractured. Shocked by the sudden outburst, Rags dropped his IV stand in the middle of the doorway. The doctor, already looking towards the room because of the thrashing, saw the stand drop and looked up to see Rags’ snout sticking out from around the wall.

The pony in the corner stopped as suddenly as it started, but out of his peripheral vision, Rags could see the doctor fixated on him, and he could now discern more gruesome features. The doctor’s face was gnarled and twisted like his face had been kicked repeatedly. Stitches and staples carpeted his bloody, rotten face. His incredibly bloodshot eyes were rolled over into the back of his skull, and a horrific smile-like slash left him literally smiling from ear to ear.

“NUUUUUUURSE!” the doctor bellowed, “THE PATIENT IS GOING INTO CARDIAC ARREST! GET MY TOOLS!” He lunged for Rags, who fumbled back from the doorway.

The ward’ll stop him, the ward’ll stop him, the ward’ll stop him!

As the doctor leaped through the doorway, a flare of magenta colored energy washed over him, letting him pass without any resistance. Time seemed to slow down as Rags watched the freak come at him in horror. In that instant, he figured it out.

The coat. The nurse uniform. The ward thought they were hospital staff. Screw magic.

The two front hooves of the doctor slammed into Rags’ chest and he was slammed to the ground, a stabbing pain burning in his shoulder as he landed. the doc attempted to shove the surgical tool deep into Rags’ eye, being stopped just inches before by the stallion’s own hoof clamping down on the doctor’s. They wrestled for control over the blade, the doctor spouting gibberish all the while.

“Just need to make a small INCISION! In the frontallllll… CORTEX!”

Blood ran from the stitches on his face and dripped onto Rags. He smelled rancid, as if he’d been in the middle of the decomposition process when he got up to wander the halls. Rags pushed against his foe with all his might, keeping the blade only an inch away from his eye. The doctor’s flesh began to rip as the stitches on his arm gave way. As though he didn’t even notice, the doctor kept forcing his hoof down, regardless of his skin sliding off his body. Was it even his skin?

What do you think you’re doing!?

He’s winning! Help me!

Help yourself! Push him off!

I can’t…

I said push him off! NOW!

A surge of adrenaline pulsed through his body. Tremendous strength found its way into his arms and legs, and with an incredible heave, he tossed the twisted doctor over his head. he got to his hooves with a stumble and snatched up the IV stand from in front of the door. He turned back to the doctor, the lunatic still on his back laughing madly, and rushed over to make sure he stayed down. He slammed a hoof down on the monster’s chest and raised his impromptu weapon.

Kill him.

He struck the doctor right on the nose, a crunching sound confirming his accuracy. The doctor still chortled and spouted his gibberish, so Rags hit him again. This time his forehead split open and blood and gore drizzled over his malformed face, and still he laughed. Another strike landed on his eye and it shoved the bloodshot retina further back into the skull, blood pooling around the socket. Another blow found its way back to the forehead and brain matter spattered out in small globules. Still the twisted thing laughed.

Rags kept striking, annihilating the already deformed doctor’s face. When he finished, he dropped the mangled stand. The doctor’s head was split in two, leaking demented brains onto the floor. Blood was splashed across Rags’ face. He staggered back and gawked at his work. He had never exhibited such power before. Were all ponies capable of this? Or was it the voice? Did it speak the truth earlier that day? Was it really there to help him? Possibly so… for Rags felt no remorse for his actions. Before, such barbaric aggression made him sick. He could hardly cope with knowing what he had done to survive, even if it was against monsters. Now, he was almost… content. Like the thought of slaughtering these things no longer bothered him.

He should have been troubled by this, but he wasn’t entirely sure what to even think. Was it simply him becoming accommodated to the smell of death and the sight of blood? Was it even he who was feeling content? Just how much influence did the voice have? So many questions. Too many. He remembered his goal, what he desired. Answers.

When his heart beat slowed, the toll of what he had just done took its physical effect. His forelegs burned with sheer agony. Every bone felt shattered, and every muscle felt like the splinters from those bones were jabbed into the fibers. His lungs were on fire, his breaths like gasoline fueling the flames. His bandages began moistening and turning red. He had exerted himself far too greatly for his condition. Another conflict like that would disable him completely, if he even had the energy to continue fighting that is. He decided that any weapon that required great stamina to use, like that of the stand, would should be discarded. He couldn’t afford wasting so much strength on something like that.

Suddenly he regained his senses and quickly looked around. He remembered that there were more where the doctor came from, and the ward, as he painfully discovered, did not provide the protection the princess promised it would. Now what? He was injured, defenseless, and exposed. He pondered whether he should stay in the hospital or venture back into town. Well, the latter he wasn’t liking the sound of at all. Running around like a chicken with his head cut off and looting various businesses and establishments wasn’t exactly a foolproof survival plan. And the hospital did have medicine and bladed tools, so there were possibilities for scavenging.

He decided on staying. All he needed was a few bottles of helpful drugs and a few edged tools and he would hop in a closet somewhere and wait out the storm. Sounded simple enough. Though when Rags was involved, things were rarely so smoothly executed in practice. Swaying back and forth on his hooves to see if he could stand and walk without too much trouble, he turned to leave the gory corpse and exit the room.

He prodded the useless wall of magic occupying the threshold to see if he too was allowed to pass. Thankfully, the shield was not a lie crafted by the princess to keep him inside, as he could stick a hoof through to the other side. Checking the room one more time, he saw that the pony in the corner still scribbled away obliviously. Rags scowled at it, perturbed that it got him in trouble, and left without saying goodbye.

His steps sounded like cannon blasts in the unrelenting silence of the hallways. The only other sound was the occasional echo of a mournful moan, a bloodcurdling scream, or demonic laughter. His skin crawled as he searched the building. He hadn’t encountered any other threats, but he had seen signs that they were indeed in the immediate area. Bite marks covered everything that a creature could fit its mouth around. His back was drenched with slimy red, as blood dripped from everywhere on the ceiling, akin to a water main bursting on the floors above. Long claw marks etched into the walls and floors in never-ending stretches. He briefly put thought into the likelihood of a heart attack.

His loud breaths were long and shaky. His heart beat never slowed. He had no clue what he was doing. He was supposed to be searching for medical drugs and weaponizable blades, but he didn’t possess a knowledge of medicine or an inclination of where a hospital would keep all of their biggest tools. Did hospitals even use tools big enough to suit his needs? At this point, he was beginning to lose interest in finding medicine or a weapon and considered just cutting his losses and hopping into a closet until daybreak.

Hearing the echo of yet another screech, he decided that he would feel much better with some form of defense in his hooves, so he opted to search just a little longer.

Coming up on his right was a large window, splattered with blood and cracked. Of course. The creatures of the night seemed to have an affinity for covering things in disgusting bodily fluids. Above the door to the room was a sign that read ‘nursery’. Rags sucked in air through his teeth. He steeled himself for the dreadful sights he would no doubt see as he passed.

Inside, cribs lined up in rows, set up to display the wonderful little angels their parents brought into the world for all to see. But instead of cradling infants, the cribs overflowed with blood and meat chunks. The floor was drenched in a mixture of blood and baby formula from broken bottles. Then he noticed all of the red hoofprints on the window. They were small, clearly belonging to a foal. But how in the world of Equestria would…

He got his answer when a screaming thing slammed against the window, clinging to it like a spider. It smashed its head against the glass again and again, adding new cracks and blood splatters to the barrier. When the pounding stopped, Rags got a good look at it.

It was a baby, but not at all like the precious little angels that mothers birthed. Its limbs were broken and twisted around in ways that should not be, and looked more like spider legs than pony ones. Out of its mouth came a long tendril, presumably what used to be the tongue, with a sharp bone protruding from the end. The horror snapped it like a whip at the glass. Its neck was broken, turned one hundred and eighty degrees to face its backside, which had become its frontside. It skittered up and down the window, trying to find a way out, snarling all the while. It was like a bloodied cockroach. A bloodied cockroach that screamed and cried like a baby, but attacked like a demon.

Rags watched the creature with horror and sorrow. The night changed everything, even the innocence of children, into something evil and abominable. Behind the imp, more things were in motion. Similar disfigured urchins crawled around the room. The ceiling came to life with squirming, writhing spawns. Truly like cockroaches, they scattered everywhere, searching for their next meal.

Knowing that they were trapped, Rags turned and continued down the hall, solemn. Nevertheless, he kept his eyes peeled for any more troubles.

Nothing. His efforts were in vain. Dodging questionable shadows in the dim halls, he came up short on everything he needed. All he was able to get was some ibuprofen, which he gulped down instantly to help with his pain stricken body. It did nothing. He did find a few other kinds of pills, but he didn’t know what their effect was.

His stomach growled. His lips were parched. The cold blood running down his back chilled him. Ironic how he was so physically troubled in a hospital. He had lost track of where he even was. The halls seemed to change and shift behind his back. He wouldn’t put it past the night to play such tricks.

Just give up.

No point in going around in circles, looking for things that might not even matter in the long run, when he was only killing himself. Another far off scream. This one sounded like it came from a small child. He didn’t even know what medicines to look for. And he doubted he’d find any good weapons larger than a scalpel.

A shadow ran through the intersection ahead of him. He froze and listened, waiting to see if it was going or coming back. Luckily, it didn’t spot him.

It was time to hide. He couldn’t remain exposed any longer, he had tempted his luck too much already. Thus far, he’d been fortunate that the only encounter was the doctor from earlier. But that doesn’t mean that he hadn’t come close to being slain again, either. The shadows were becoming more numerous and aggressive. The darkness crept in all around him, coming closer and closer to sinking its teeth into its prey.

He couldn’t help himself, so he would just have to wait until morning for the others to return. Now the question was where to hide. The night had eyes like a hawk, ears like a fox, and a nose like a bloodhound. It had a way of finding him just when he was lulled into a false sense of security.

He wondered how much time was left before the sunrise. It felt like he’d spent the whole night walking around the halls like a hyperventilating moron. It’s not like he had a way of knowing. The clocks all displayed different times, so none of them were trustworthy. The night was messing with him.

He looked in the large viewing windows of the rooms, seeing bloody surgical equipment, torture devices, and creatures hiding in the shadows, waiting for him to come inside. But no decent hiding places. As he cautiously browsed, a scratching noise came into earshot ahead, but it was not at all like the one from the corner-pony. This noise was harsh and ear-piercing, like hooves on a chalkboard.

It was coming from one of the upcoming rooms on the right side. He hugged the wall and slowed down to quiet his steps. He could see it. On the window was five long claws, endlessly scraping the glass like a bored cat. It was waiting for him. He swallowed and bent his knees, determined to stay out of the creature’s sight.

As he was pressed against the wall under the window, he could hear its breathing. Like long sighs, fogging the window as they escaped. He finally passed the window, but continued to creep along the wall slowly until he felt he was in the clear. The scratching stopped. He tossed a panicked glance back to see if the creature had spotted him somehow. While he was looking back, he bumped into something in front of him. He yelped and jumped back, landing with a loud stamp. It was only an IV bag. The real threat was now behind him.

The window exploded into thousands of flying shards, and a humongous shape landed in the middle of the hall. The flickering light of the corridor only allowed Rags to see it in very quick and very sporadic intervals, but that was enough.

It was a griffon, featherless and skinless. Its exposed muscle and flesh was blackened by small amounts of tar seeping between the fibers. Its beak was cracked and splintered, and a large chunk was missing. Every tendon on its body seemed to have been replaced with a tight metallic wire that dug deeply and painfully into its flesh. Its natural eagle talons had been hacked off, replaced with jagged shards of metal crudely implanted into the stumps were the claws used to be. It glared at him with empty eye-sockets and screeched at him with a tongueless mouth. Rags could see that its neck was clearly slashed open and that its wings had been ripped off by sheer brute force.

The abomination before him looked like the result of a mad surgeon’s sick, torturous experiment. It was as if the night brought a damned soul straight from the depths of Tartarus to slay him.

In his condition, running was very hazardous to his well-being. He didn’t care. He turned and sprinted like the wind, with no destination in particular in mind. As long as it was away from the slasher, it was alright with him.

He could hear it chasing him, the clanging of makeshift metal claws against the floor ringing as clear as a bell. Rags saw an upcoming turn to the right and skidded as he turned sharply to catch it. The creature howled and dove at him, Rags ducking his head just in time and sending the hell-spawn sliding across the floor away from him. He resumed his mad dash and continued down the next hall. The brute resumed the chase as well.

Rags frantically shuffled through all of his options in his mind. A high pitch, predatory screech perforated the hall behind him, followed by the growing sound of heavy breathing. It was gaining ground on him at a terrifying pace. If the proper actions weren’t taken within the next several seconds, Rags would be grabbed from behind and ripped in half.

Another turn came up quickly and Rags took it in a desperate bid with no real reason for doing so. As he slid around the corner, he could see a massive metal claw coming straight for his skull from the side. He bowed his head and the claw missed, the griffon thing sliding uncontrollably around the corner and crashing into some large, unseen object. Uncharacteristically, this gave Rags an idea. It shocked him how he was able to think of anything at the moment, much less an actual plan.

The monster seemed to have a very tough time with corners, what with its great momentum and the nigh frictionless floors. And though there might not have been any supplies or good spots to hide in the hospital, the one thing that Rags was able to find in spades was corners. The night had unwittingly supplied him with the weakness of the assassin it had sent.

Armed with this new knowledge, he turned and fled again just as the griffon came screaming around the corner. Rags’ body cried in pain, begging him to stop. The old familiar sensation of fire searing his lungs. He really had to work on his cardio. He could hear the atrocity gaining again, and again he found a turn and took it. Every corner gave him a little more of a lead on the griffon. He continued this practice until the griffon was more than halfway down the halls behind him when he was making the corners. But by no means did that give him breathing room. The griffon, clumsy as it was, still proved to be a fast and vicious predator. If Rags dawdled for even a few seconds, it would be upon him again. He had to keep moving.

The halls continued on forever in an endless maze. Every room was either occupied or just not adequate for his needs. There was no place to hide with the beast so close behind him. Until he turned one last corner and came across a door with words on it that might as well have read ‘salvation inside’.

A storeroom closet.

The screeches of the entity behind him suggested it was just far back enough for the spot to work. Maybe if he was quick enough, he might be able to ditch the griffon by hopping inside. Without wasting time by looking back, Rags slipped into the closet and shut the door as quietly as he could. He spun around to make sure this place wasn’t occupied as well. Empty. Only various crates and shelves loaded with cleaning chemicals and such. Rags recognized the smell. And there was a medium sized locker for cleaning supplies too, providing a place to conceal himself. A gift from the heavens.

The clanking was now coming into the general area of the closet. Rags tucked himself away into the locker. Then came the worst part of hiding; the wait. The wait to see if the next several moments will be your last when the pursuer discovered you.

The scrape of metallic talons against the floor circled the area a bit, trying to reacquire him. Then it stopped. Sniffing noises followed.

Oh no, not another one that can smell me!

Shut up! Listen!

All of the noises stopped. A palpable silence took over. The calm before the storm, Rags suspected. His prediction seemed true as the sigh of long breaths loomed outside. A wretched voice that brought terrible anxiety to Rags spoke into the door. It sounded like it was choking, like air was unavailable in its lungs.

“Know…. you…. here….”

A cacophony of destruction tore through the air. Splintered wood propelled itself into the room and viscous blows crushed the door and its hinges. Through the slits in the locker, Rags could see it. The grotesque, patchwork creature stomped into the room and began sniffing again. It choked out words that sounded like they caused it pain to utter.

“Gonna… find… you… Gonna… cut… you…”

It flipped boxes and smashed shelves in its search, stopping from time to time to sample the air. It went around the relatively small room looking under and behind everything. Rags bit down on his foreleg. Any second now the creature would tear the locker open and cut him to ribbons.

That time had come. Rags felt the locker jerk. A screech pierced his ears. He shut his eyes and waited for the sound of metal being sliced open to announce his doom. Another jerk of motion, larger this time, and he felt the locker and himself falling. As he hit the floor, he bit down on his tongue, a taste of blood detectable. Another shriek rivalling that of the banshee’s split the air. Then the metallic stomping moved outside and faded. Rags sat in the locker, listening intently. He wasn’t taking any chances. Minutes passed before he stuck his face to the slit again. From his sideways position on the floor, he saw claw marks tracing the room and puddles of various colors of chemicals pooling where the damage was done.

It was gone.

Tentatively, he opened the locker door and rolled out. He was astounded at his incredible luck. How did the monster not catch him in the small space? It had him dead to rights! Its impeccable sense of smell should have been able to locate him. After all, it found out that he was hiding in the closet, so why could it not finish the job? Rags felt something cold and wet dampen his hoof. He looked down to find a puddle of window-cleaning solution slowly making its way across the floor with other various chemicals. They burned his nostrils with their distinctive scent.

Of course! It couldn’t smell me over the cleaning stuff! Especially after it started smashing everything up and getting it everywhere! Who would have thought cleaning would save my life! I wouldn’t! Because I hate it! I hate cleaning! I hate my life! What am I even talking about!? Who cares! I’m alive!

Someone get this schmuck a towel, I think he might be a little moist.

Sorry, just a little excited over not being brutally murdered.

Hey, believe me, I’m pissing myself with glee over here, but we--

That’s disgusting! You’re in my brain, you slob!

SHUT UP! I was trying to say that you need to get your crap together and focus, moron!

Right, right… uhm, focus on what?

Not dying!

Oh yeah. So, how do I do that?

How do we do that. And that, I’m still working on. It would help if we knew what friggin time it was.

What difference would that make? Why don’t we just keep hiding until we can hear regular ponies talking instead of monsters snarling?

Because I’m thinkin’ it’s about time we work on a schedule, and I’m not gonna let you sleep in again and screw it up.

Uhm… a schedule?

Yeah. We got caught with our pants down again--

But I don’t wear pa--

FIGURE OF SPEECH! Anyway, it nearly killed us. This is the third time we’ve been jumped like this, and look at yourself. Three days of this and you’re about ready to keel over. Adlibbing is not a good plan. We can’t just go bumbling around at night with no direction, hoping to find something we can use before those things find us. So I’ve been working out some plans.

Like?

I’m not done with ‘em yet.

Oh yeah, you’re a real model of efficiency.

Blow me. Now shut up and focus. Can’t put my soon-to-be masterfully crafted plans to use if you end up a pile of monster crap.

Rags rolled his eyes and crept to the door. He could hear the sounds of creatures on the move, no doubt coming to inspect the racket. Quick action needed to be taken. He had to make a snap decision: find another place to hide, or get out of the hospital entirely.

Weighing his options, he thought getting out would be best. The quantity and aggression of the beasts would be the same in both locations, and his luck wouldn’t change either way. The only difference was that the hospital itself seemed to be against Rags. Its halls were a jumbled maze and it toyed with him like sadistic deity, altering the reality of mortals for its enjoyment.

So it was time to leave the building. Before he moved out into the dangers of the hospital's corridors, he got the brilliant idea to douse himself in some of the cleaning chemicals. Covering up his scent was sure to be most beneficial.

Stepping through the mangled closet door, he could now hear thunder from down the hall to his left and right, so the only choice was the hall straight ahead. He began running, but felt unbelievable agony shoot up his legs with each step. He slowed down to an urgent trot, hissing curses through his teeth. The other was right. After 3 nights of continuous running and fighting, he was ready to curl up and die. But how would nights in the future play out? Could whatever the other was planning really save his skin?

No time to think about that. He needed to focus. He sped up again to a leisurely run, putting as little thought on the pain as he could manage. At first, he read the signs to try and locate the lobby, but he soon found that the signs had been altered. One read ‘happy’, and pointed to a room with intestines piled to the ceiling inside of it. If he wanted to find the entrance, he would have to do it the old fashioned way: running around, screaming like an idiot until something happened. It worked for him in the past, so what would one more try hurt?

Soon enough, Rags felt that the hallways shifted again. He had no proof of it, could not see it happening, but he could feel that they did. He could only hope that the night would make a mistake and let him slip through its web of confused corridors and into salvation. A shadow whisked past through the intersection ahead. And another at the intersection beyond that. They looked for him more vehemently than before.

For the next twenty minutes, Rags shambled around in terrible hurt. He hadn’t noticed before, but the lights had almost completely died. Only a few still provided a pathetic flickering illumination, allowing Rags to see, but only just so.

The evils around him swarmed like flies, running this way and that all through the halls around, ahead, and behind him. But it seemed as though they always failed to notice him. Or maybe they had. Maybe they were fully aware of his predicament and were merely taunting him, playing with their food, basting it with fear. But until more ostentatious signs of aggression were shown, he would operate under the preconception that they simply glossed him over. The frequency of shadow sightings grew by the minute. He needed to find the exit now.

Just when he started hearing a devilish cackling sound coming from the darkness behind him, he glimpsed a two dim, bluish lights. They were gentle and inviting, not at all like the harsh artificial lighting of the hospital. They glowed from the other side of an open room. A large desk with two potted plants on either side sat off to the side, papers and office supplies littering the surface. Ugly paintings fathomed by wannabe artists clung to the walls like hideous blemishes, placed in what seemed to be a failed attempt to create a more inviting atmosphere. The surrounding area acted as a caption explaining the two blue lights.

The front door. The pale blue light of the moon. Freedom.

The cackling started again, this time much closer. Too close. It came from right behind him. He spun on his hooves and beheld the final obstacle. A stallion, covered in stitches, wearing a white coat.

The doctor. But something was different.

Rags clearly remembered bashing the freak’s skull in. Which was probably why it was no longer there. Now it was replaced with a new one. One that very obviously did not belong to him. Beginning in bloody stitches at the base of his neck was a new head, pale white in color, clashing with the doctors brown fur. The eyes, rolled into the back of the head, held no emotion, but the smile sewn into its tar covered mouth conveyed sadistic glee. Even more disconcerting, and downright horrifying, was the addition of two twitching white forelegs crudely attached to the doctor’s back, both ending in fleshless bone hooves. It spoke now in an unholy voice that did not belong to it.

“NURSE! THE PATIENT IS ACTING UP! FIVE-HUNDRED CCs OF CYANIDE!!!”

Rags cried in sudden terror and turned to run for the door, but a white hoof-bone landed hard on his shoulder. He threw a panicked backhoof behind him and was rewarded with a meaty thwack and a spurt of tar. The doctor recoiled away from the hit, maintaining his demonically happy facade. He lunged at Rags again and clamped the stolen hooves around his neck.

Choking for air, Rags saw the scalpel glimmer in the moonlight. The doctor giggled madly as he thrust the tool at the suffocating stallion’s neck. Rags managed to stop it mere centimeters away from him with his own hooves. He was in danger on two fronts. He was being robbed of air and threatened with a slit throat at the same time. The mad laughter of the doctor was beginning to burn into his brain. He couldn’t handle it anymore.

Out of nowhere, under volition not of his own, Rags took one hoof off the scalpel and slammed it ferociously into the doctor’s elbow. A vibrant crack preceded Rags’ release from the insane surgeon’s grasp. His vision was blurred and unfocused, but when his sight came back, Rags could see the doctor, still laughing, cradling an arm with a jagged bone protruding from the elbow.

Taking this moment to strike, Rags moved to grab a potted plant from beside the lobby desk, and in one fluid movement tossed it at the doctor’s head. It struck him square on his new forehead, knocking him to the floor in a daze, no longer laughing. Now was his chance. With nothing stopping him from leaving, he made for the door as quick as he could. He had almost made it when a voice reached out to him.

“Rags…”

Rags stopped when he heard his name. The way his name sounded, coming from that voice, made him want to shower. He turned, wide-eyed in shock and terror, to see the doctor sitting upright, facing the hallway. Roars and howls tore through the corridor, growing louder with each moment. The doctor’s head began to twist around, the crunching of the vertebrae in his neck audible even over the thundering storm coming from somewhere in the darkness. With its head spun one-hundred and eighty degrees to face him, it spoke again. It’s tone was calm and collected, not at all like the doctor had acted before.

“You can’t escape us, Rags. We will find you. We will always find you. It is coming, Rags. It is coming.”

It merely sat there and smiled from ear to ear as the darkness behind him birthed dozens of abominations, the charge spearheaded by the mutilated griffon beast from earlier. Rags screamed and busted through the front doors.

Off he ran into the dark of the night, cool air chilling his sweat drenched body, shrieking in terror as the wretched hordes gave chase. The sun was just on the horizon. He would survive, but only just so.

Nougat rested cozily in his warm bed, wrapped in his cocoon of blankets and sheets. He dreamed of a certain mare, dancing in her uniquely energetic yet hypnotizing way. Suddenly, he felt something jab him in the ear. Then came another jab. It took him a moment to realize that these pokes were not in his dream. He stirred from his slumber and looked up with sleepy eyes to the vandal who wrecked his perfectly good fantasy.

Within moments his eyes adjusted, and he could see that there was a pony standing over him, drenched in blood with a psychotic look in his eye. When what he was seeing finally registered, along with the fact that there was someone in his house when there wasn’t supposed to be, Nougat responded appropriately.

“WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA--”

“Nougat.”

“--AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA--”

“Nougat!”

“--AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA--”

“NOUGAT, SHUT THE BUCK UP! IT’S ME, RAGS!”

“--AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!” Nougat panted heavily upon finishing. “Rags!? What the buck are you doing in my bucking house!? And what the buck is wrong with you!? What happened!?”

Rags opened his mouth to respond, but stopped as if listening to someone talk. “What?...Yes I’m gonna ask him! Huh?... No, just, just shut up and let me do the talking, okay!?”

“Uhm… Rags? You’re scaring me, friendo.”

Rags snapped his attention back to Nougat. “Hey, bro, can I… ugh, we, stay here for a couple of days?”

Nougat stared at him for a second before responding, taking in the sight of this blood-covered pony who called himself ‘we’, and putting a great deal of thought into the question. “S-Sure…?”

“Great, than-- What? Will you ju-- JUST SHUT UP!... No, I’m not going to tie him up and throw him in the closet! We can trust him!” Rags said to someone who wasn’t Nougat. A crazed twitch was present in his eye. His ears flicked madly. His muscles convulsed with spasms. Blood coated his body and dripped onto the blankets.

Nougat was pretty sure that he’d just made a colossal mistake.

Author's Notes:

God I hate transferring these things over from Gdocs. I always find a couple of errors that wait until it's time to publish to reveal themselves. If you spot any mistakes, please point them out to me.

Chapter 5: Descending

Journal entry #25

Weeks. It’s been weeks. Forgot to write in the journal a few times and lost track of how many days. Nougat is getting worried. Won’t bother trying to explain it to him. Overall, surviving, not thriving.

But therein lies the good news: I’m surviving. Against all odds, I’ve stayed alive for longer than I could have imagined was possible for me. And to think, just a few weeks ago I was a worthless dishwasher. Now I’m a worthless dishwasher who can fend off a horde of demonic monsters. So… that’s something.

I should have kept my mouth shut. I did too much complaining about my life and the universe took it as a challenge. It’s turned the dull, monotonous routine of my life into a terrifying, difficult, and doubly monotonous one. I’m in the exact same position as I was in before only with more running and hiding and screaming and bashing and crying in the corner. Just like before this all started, I’m only existing. I’m only keeping my blood pumping with no apparent purpose or goal. I think that’s the worst part of it. I mean, before I had the option of breaking out of the rut, but now I’m not only stuck in it indefinitely, but also faced with the threat of death. I’ve got no other options.

Why am I still even bitching about it? Like Nougat used to tell me, it does no good to whine about my issues. It’s not even like the squeaky wheel philosophy applies anymore. The monsters aren’t going to stop trying to eat me because I give off more angst than a weepy teenage mare in heat who just got rejected at the prom. Then again, I might be able to make them kill themselves with my unrelenting hopelessness… must investigate...

The law is still breathing down my neck. The guards would have sent me off to the cuckoo’s nest a while ago if it weren’t for the say-so of the princess. Who, by the way, has announced that she’s staying in town for the duration of the foreseeable future. Every day she comes and does something sciency. She asks me questions, she (painfully) takes hair samples, she swabs the inside of my mouth for spit or something. I dunno. It’s like she’s… studying me. Must be why she tells the cops to hold off on arresting me. I’ve seen her around during the daytime, too. It always looks like she’s hammered, the way she meanders around, inspecting every little thing. That’s awful of me to say that. The princess doesn’t get hammered. At least, not where us commoners can see it… must investigate…

Rags peeked around the corner. Just a few yards away was the ghoulish form of a banshee, wandering the streets, searching for him with her unholy cohorts. He slumped against the building and took several deep breaths before reaching into his bag and pulling out a pair of earmuffs.

And… NOW!

He rounded the corner with his foreleg cocked, brick in hoof, and lobbed it at the creature’s head. It struck with a meaty thump and the response was immediate: an unrelenting shriek directed at him that echoed throughout the dark night.

He hated this part. He spun on his hooves and bolted down the alley. The sounds of the hordes were already bearing down on him. He swerved this way and that through many branching alleys, making his trail as convoluted as possible. With the cleaning chemicals smeared over his coat, he wouldn’t even be leaving much of a trail to follow, but better safe than dead. He removed the earmuffs as he continued running, the sounds of the beasts dwindling behind him.

He was now far enough away to begin phase two. He slowed down to a crawl as he neared the end of the alley and creeped stealthily into the street, carefully scanning the environment. When he saw no monsters around, he tore off down the sidewalk.

The sounds of abominations rampaging through the streets a few blocks over should have filled him with terror, but actually calmed him instead. He knew where they were, and knowing this put him at ease, as it told him that so far he was succeeding. He kept a brisk pace, but never ran too fast in case there was an obstacle of some sort ahead. His caution payed off when he heard a low but booming moan. He gasped and skidded to a halt. Frantically looking around, he spotted a trashcan and several large garbage bags off to his side, and dove in. The bags smelled of rot, and he had a good idea of what was in them. The night was sick like that. But even though his nostrils cried for mercy, he kept perfectly still. He wouldn’t dare make even the slightest flinch with it close by.

The heavy thwump of its stomping neared. He could see it through a small opening between the bags. It had the features of a regular pony, but as with everything familiar to Rags, the night mutated them. Its hind legs were bent sickeningly forward while its forelegs were elongated and bent back, giving it a sort of crab-like gait. From its groin up to its headless neck it was split wide open, leaving a gaping hole in its entire midsection. Worst of all, the edges of the giant wound were lined with razor-sharp teeth. The opening acted as a mouth, large enough to swallow a full grow stallion whole.

Rags held his breath as it lumbered past, moaning somberly all the while. He would have preferred to play it safe and lay low in the hiding spot for another hour to ensure that this particular creature was far enough away, but time was of the essence. He would be relatively safe as long as he remained quiet.

He slipped out of the pile of garbage bags and resumed his journey, first at a hurried trot, then a run. He slowed once or twice to check his bearings, but never stopped moving. The sounds of raucous monsters raging about in the distance died down, prompting Rags to quicken his pace.

Not much time left.

He passed block after block until his destination came into view: A house with every window sealed up tightly with layer of planks. As he reached the door, he spun three-hundred and sixty degrees, scanning for threats. Nothing. He reached into his bag and pulled out an air-horn and a roll of duct tape. He then snatched up a potato gun from inside the garbage can by the house. The sound of the monsters had completely gone now, leaving him in silence. Very bad. Beads of sweat dripped down his face as he placed a strip of tape over the button on the horn, bringing forth an incredibly loud, blaring siren. As fast as his hooves would let him, he dropped the horn down the barrel of the potato gun and fired the can of noise off into the blackness of the distance. It sailed over at least two blocks before dropping out of sight.

The roar of evil returned with vigor. With expert quickness, Rags darted into the house, locked the newly installed deadbolts, and barred the door with a long piece of timber laid horizontally across two brackets on either side. He bit down on the handle of a machete and drew it from the umbrella stand by the door. Rags raced down the hallway and dove into the closet, slamming the door behind himself.

In the dark, confined space of the hallway closet, he lit a lamp he had placed within prior and listened. A thundering stampede of howling horrors came down the streets outside. They swarmed all around, some stragglers even clawing over the roof from the sounds of it. He heard the sounds of innocent singing pass outside, like a crowd of children on a field trip. He shivered at the out of place nursery rhymes. A choir… He didn’t know what they were capable of, but something told him he wanted to avoid them more than anything else.

They were all moving in the same direction; Towards the air horn he had shot off into the distance. It took nearly half a minute for them all to pass, but they did eventually. He exhaled a breath he didn’t even know he was holding in. He was safe. For now.

He stared blankly at the flickering light of the lamp’s flame dancing behind a veil of glass. He wanted to let himself fall into a deep slumber right there, in the comforting warmth of the light. He could even grab a blanket from the top of the closet if he wanted. But he refused. As tempting as it was to let himself drift off, he needed to remain awake in case his cover was blown. There were several defenses that would keep the creatures from breaking in, but only if he were awake to man them. He needed to remain vigilant.

Rags’ eyes drooped dangerously close to the dozing-off point. He would have done just that if a knock hadn’t come to the door and made him nearly piss himself. He grabbed up his machete and threw the closet door open. He was surprised to find that there were no creatures on the other side. Just Nougat sprawled out on the floor, holding his nose.

“And a fine good morning to you too,” Nougat said nasally while keeping his hooves clamped on his snout.

Rags sighed in relief. “Jeez, Nougat, what’s gotten into you? I could have taken your head off!” Rags said, gesturing to the machete he spat out of his mouth.

“Oh yeah, I’m the one at fault here, because camping out in the closet with a machete and a lamp is something that most ponies do and I was clearly a moron for forgetting proper closeted psychopath etiquette,” Nougat snapped as he got up.

“No need to get snippy,” Rags mumbled as he turned out the lamp in the closet.

“And why not? This isn’t the first time you’ve caused me physical pain with your weirdness.”

Rags shrugged and walked down the hall and into the living room. Daylight shone through small spaces on the windows yet to be covered with boards. Which meant that it was time to sleep.

Rags yawned greatly and retired to the couch. He set the alarm by the arm of the sofa to four in the afternoon, giving him roughly seven hours to sleep. Good enough. He was just about to doze off when something prodded him in the arm. He cracked open his eyes to see a disgruntled looking Nougat standing over him. “Yes, Mom?” Rags joked. Nougat was clearly not in the mood.

“You know man, I’m just about done with this. I let you stay in my place, eat my food, board up my house for some friggin’ reason, and it’s because you say you need to, so I let you. Because you’re like a brother to me, man. But it’s time to face the facts. You. Need. Help.” Nougat jutted a hoof at Rags with each syllable.

“Oh, well I’m glad we agree,” Rags said while sitting up. Nougat sighed in relief before a hammer, some nails, and a few wooden planks were shoved into his face. “I could use some help putting up some extra boards in the kitchen,” Rags said.

Nougat stared blankly at the boards before gritting his teeth and throwing the wood to the ground. “That’s not what I meant! I’m saying you need help! Look at yourself, bro! You’re turning my house into a fortress! You’re camping in the closet with a machete! You talk about monsters and demons and all sorts of crazy crap! I wake up in the mornings and find you with all of these weird bruises and cuts! You’ve been going like this for three weeks straight! To be perfectly blunt, you’re a wreck!”

Rags stopped on his way to the kitchen and stood still with his ears perked, never turning to face Nougat. The pegasus continued, softer.

“Bro, I can’t let you keep going on like this. You’re in a bad way.”

Rags stood motionless for a moment longer and shrugged. “You just don’t get it, dude.”

“Don’t get what? What is there to get? Are you talking about this monster thing? Bro, I’d love to believe you, I really would, but there just isn’t anything to go off of. The town guard, the investigator, even the princess, the genius princess, haven’t found anything that points to… whatever these things you say you’re seeing are. At first, I did believe you. I thought it was crazy, I thought you were crazy, but I believed you. We’re like brothers, I know when you’re telling it like it is. But now, after weeks with not one bit of proof, besides stuff that any average pony could create, I still believe you’re seeing these things, but I think they’re… all in your head…,” Nougat said gently.

Rags chuckled. Not a humorous chuckle, but an exasperated laugh of resignation. “So now you’re hopping on the bandwagon, eh? Figures. Just another run of ‘Rags luck’. Everybody, from the demigods governing us to the law enforcement, doesn’t believe me, and now even my best friend is joining them. I guess I can’t blame you. I mean, for the longest time, even I thought I was nuts. But, what can I say? That you just don’t understand? You don’t, and you’re not wrong. There isn’t anyway to prove to anyone but myself that I’m not crazy. But that’s alright… because we don’t need anyone else. I’ve done this all on my own so far, I don’t need you to believe me. I don’t need your help.” Rags still faced away from Nougat.

The pegasus opened his mouth to respond, but never did.

“Besides… the princess hasn’t had me arrested yet. They’ve got a laundry list of things they could put me in the nuthouse for, but they don’t. So there’s a chance. I doubt she’s trying to help me. I doubt that she could. But I don’t need her help. I don’t need any of you. I just need you all to stay out of my business and not keep me down,” Rags said, still facing away.

Nougat stared at his friend for the longest time. His eyes drifted to the floor and he fell into deep thought. A dreadful silence hung over the room. Soon, Nougat broke it. “I’ve got to go to work. If you need me, I’ll be at the bakery, staying as far out of your business as I can.” He trudged to the door, grabbed his apron off the coat rack, and lifted the bar over the frame. He opened the door and stepped outside, but turned before he shut it. “And for the record, I think you do need someone’s help. You’ll never get far in whatever it is you think you’re doing when you push everybody away. After all, who else would let you turn their house into a fortress?” And with that, he shut the door and left.

Rags sat in the same spot for several minutes in dead quiet. He went over that last bit several times in his mind, the words echoing throughout his thoughts. Did he really need anyone else? He’d made it thus far alone… well, as alone as he could be. Speaking of which, Rags felt it was high time he had a little chat with the other.

Hey!

You rang?

Don’t play dumb with me, what the buck was that?

What?

That wasn’t all me! Who said that you could start voicing your opinions without my say so?

Who said that I needed your say so?

Me! The one who owns this body and the brain you live in!

Alright, you slab of meat, let me explain a little somethin’ to ya: you’re not in charge. We played it your way for years, but we’re done with that now. It’s gotten us nowhere. We’ve established this, right? Right. So let me tell you why what we just told that pus was the right move to make.

...I’m listening.

What good has any of them ever done for us? What good has anybody ever done for us? Your parents? Fat lot of buckin’ good they did turning you into the, ahem, successful adult you are today. The princess? That broad is only interested in her own business, and we’re just the means to an end for her. In fact, the moment she gets done with her… pft, whatever it is she’s doing, she’ll have you thrown in a happy house faster than you can say ‘but, Your Majesty!’. And your Nougat friend? All he’s ever done is make you slightly less depressed. But now I’m here to kick your rear in gear! So I let him go. I even told him off all polite-like, just to make you happy! And THIS is the thanks I get for making all the tactically proper decisions. No respect at all, lemme tell ya.

...No. We wouldn’t have been able to make it without others. If the princess was only interested in her own gains, then why wouldn’t she just have me thrown in an asylum right off the bat? If she really thought I was just crazy, and that nothing was wrong here at all, then she wouldn’t have any problem locking me up in a padded room and studying me from a window on a cell door. And what about Nougat? He let us stay here and hold out, didn’t he? We don’t have a place of our own to do that in!

Ah, but therein lies my argument. Who actually deals with the monsters? Us. Who came up with all of the strategies and plans that have kept us alive? Us. Who actually believes us and isn’t just unintentionally providing us with luxuries that we could easily acquire ourselves?... Us. The house? Who cares! We could just take one during the night while they’re all empty! Not getting arrested? All that the princess is doing is saving us effort. We could avoid a cigar-chomping wannabe Holmes and his cronies for ages!

It’s not just that, we need them to keep sane! If nobody, absolutely nobody, cared about us, then we’d completely lose it!

No, YOU would completely lose it. I’m the one telling you that we don’t need them, remember? They’re a liability, even in terms of keeping you in your right mind. But forget it. I’m done trying to explain this stuff to a suicidal twit such as yourself. You’ll figure it out soon. In due time, everything I tell ya will make perfect sense. You just wait.

What are you talking abou-- hello?

Gone. The voice had slithered back into the creases of his mind. It had a nasty habit of disappearing mid-conversation, a habit that irritated Rags beyond belief; particularly when it left without explaining itself.

Rags became aware of his surroundings once more. The morning sunlight still perforated through the window. He rubbed his temples and sluggishly got to his hooves. So far, the morning was going swimmingly. Telling his best friend that he was essentially dead to him, the voice in his head trying to isolate him, what else could go wrong?

He shook his head clear of such depressing thoughts and walked down the hall. He just needed to splash some water in his face and he’d be right as rain. Or at least able to function. He sleepily staggered into the bathroom and flicked the light switch. He could see himself in the mirror now: a shaggy stallion with baggy, bloodshot eyes, a messy mane and tail, scratches and bandages running up and down his legs and body, and a small beard and mustache covering the area around his mouth. He wasn’t even aware that he could grow a beard. Nougat wasn’t kidding when he called him a mess.

Weird as it was, Rags found himself thinking about his appearance. He remembered how he looked before he began staying up every night to fend off creatures. Now that he thought about it, he wasn’t too hard on the eyes before. Of course, that wasn’t the case anymore, clearly. Continuous attack from monsters were liable to sap one of their natural good looks. Rags chuckled at this train of thought. His life in the balance and he’s scrutinizing his looks.

He turned the hot water faucet on the sink and shut his eyes as he splashed the steamy-hot liquid over his face. He relaxed his muscles as the rejuvenating heat seeped into his dry skin. His nostrils twitched as he began to smell something. It was… coppery. He knew the smell… but couldn’t place it. It became more intense within seconds, now overpowering him. Confused and displeased, He popped one curious eye open to look around. When he saw nothing, he let his face drop back to the sink and gasped.

A thick, crimson-colored substance poured out of the faucet head. He brought his hooves his face and saw that they were coated in the warm, sticky liquid. Blood. He began hyperventilating and his heart pounded inside his chest. Then he heard a low, gurgling growl from behind him. His head shot upwards, and in the mirror he saw the reflection of both himself, face covered in red ickor, and that of a black figure behind him, oozing with dark muck, glaring back at him with blazing red eyes. A tar-pony. With a snarl, the figure bared its jagged, broken teeth and lunged at him, mouth wide open for a savage bite. With a howl of terror, Rags whirled around and threw up his hooves in defense, but when he turned to face it, the tar-pony was gone.

Befuddled and startled, he hurriedly scanned the bathroom. His mind raced and panicked, trying to deduce what just happened. A tar-pony? In the day? How did it get in? And the blood... Rags turned to the faucet, finding not a single drop of scarlet anywhere in sight. Paranoid, he stuck his head out the door to see if the beast could still be about. It was just… gone. Not even the sticky tar prints they were prone to leaving wherever they went.

Calming his breathing, he looked at his hooves and found that the blood was gone. He went back to the mirror and his reflection showed that his face was also wiped clean. He stared uncomprehendingly into the eyes of his reflection for the longest time.

A hallucination.

He sighed in relief as he realized what he’d just been through. His nerves were still fairly shot, though, and sweat drenched his coat. It occurred to him that perhaps Nougat was right about his stress buildup. Maybe all he needed was some fresh air, he thought. Gathering supplies from around town would do him good.

As he cleaned himself up, he thought about how real it seemed. He could smell the blood. He could hear the growling so clearly. Was the mind even capable of toying with these senses to such a degree? Surely this was merely a daydream of some sort. A walk around town and in the sun would clear his anxious head. At least he hoped so. The whole thing was both fascinating… and horrifying. His brain, so quickly and convincingly, produced a waking nightmare. He wasn’t even aware that he was in a state capable of fathoming fantasies like that. It was almost as if…

He decided to stop giving it thought. He would chalk it up to too much time spent barricaded inside of the house and move on, lest he come to any conclusions that might send him into an endless spiral of crying and screaming like a filly. That is to say, a more endless one.

As he walked down the street, Rags inspected everything in sight with his paranoid gaze. He should have felt safe in the inviting light of the sun, but an overabundance of caution never killed anyone.

It was only every few days that he had to gather supplies and such. He would have asked Nougat to do it for him, but the stubborn pegasus refused to take part in Rags’ rituals. Not that he blamed Nougat. Some of the items on his list would arouse suspicion in the poor baker. Rags, however, figured that his reputation too far gone to salvage anyway, not that he really had one to begin with. So for him, walking into a blacksmith’s shop and making requests like “Something that is silent and doesn’t cause a whole bunch of screaming or thrashing,” didn’t do any more harm to his status than the tall tales spreading around already did.

“Ok, next I have to get forty gallons of battery acid, a smidge of magnesium and nitroglycerine, a bottle of orphan tears, and a big pile of what the buck was I on when I made this list?” Rags said to himself as he went over his nonsensical list of necessities. Half of it he didn’t even remember writing. “What, was I asleep when I made this thing? Heh… Sleep… if only.” Rags yawned greatly at the prospect. “Whatever. I got what I really needed, lumber, bottled water, so on. So I’m pretty much set.”

Rags set out for home, yawning as shifted the weight of his heavy bags and the planks of lumber strapped to his back into a more comfortable position for the long walk. At least it would be a pleasant one. It was such a delightfully sunny afternoon. The birds sang their songs of late spring, as if saluting the season as it slowly neared its passing. A delicate breeze was just forceful enough to ensure that the day was that perfect balance of cool and warm. The sun’s rays transcended through the partially cloudy sky like heavenly spears, making the world around him feel safe. And with most folk still at work during this time, the streets were relatively empty, making the trip almost tranquil.

It wasn’t often that he stopped to smell the roses, as it were. With his very interesting schedule, appreciating the little things kind of fell off the radar. Perhaps he wouldn’t be having odd visions in his bathroom if he took a moment to let calming atmosphere like this soak in every now and then. It certainly did wonders at taking a load off his mind. Though that didn’t mean his head was entirely void of thought.

He still had those same questions that he’d been carrying with him since day one. Why? How? What to do? But he had long since resolved to save them. He had neither the smarts, the skill, or even the luck to acquire the answers to such admittedly simple yet puzzling things. It killed him inside to know that it was very possible that the clarification he sought could be out of his reach forever. “Why” was such a simple inquiry. All it would take to answer it would be a measly sentence. But for some reason, the circumstances were just right to deny him any hope of getting what he wanted.

Putting energy into asking those questions was, much to his dismay, a waste of time. The universe seemed determined to keep him in the dark. Whether it be his old life of boring routine or this new existence of danger and fear, he was always left staring dumbly into the sky, admiring the stars and endless blue as he walked back to his hovel to start it all over again. This was simply how it was, and no matter how much he hated it, no matter how many times he asked the same question, it was obvious that things weren’t going to swing his way. He was lost in a world he was clearly not accommodated for to start with, and now he’d been plunged even deeper into the pits of the unknown. It maddened him, drove him up the wall, but what could he do?

Rags chuckled. Staring into the sky always seemed to get him thinking. And thinking was something that would make someone in his circumstances unstable.

Hey there, my bosom buddy.

Rags looked to his side with a start. His reflection in the windows on the shops and houses he passed had been hijacked by the voice. It wore a devilish grin, and spoke confidently and smugly as always.

Don’t call me that, it’s weird.

Yeah, I guess it kind of is… ew, now that I think about it, it’s really weird. I don’t like the sound of that at all.

What do you want, anyway?

Look at you, not even givin’ me the common courtesy of small talk. You’re still mad at me, ain’t ya?

I’m always mad at you.

Well sir, that cuts me deep. All I’m trying to do is help.

Yeah, yeah, heard it all before.

Ah shut up, and hear me out. See, I know you think I’m selfish, so I want to show you that having me around is actually a pretty great deal. I want to finally start cultivating that crop I planted when I told you I’d help out. Thus far, all I’ve done is assist in the brutal slaughtering of a couple of demonic spawns. Granted, that’s some pretty heavy stuff and you should be down on your knees thanking me, but I told you I’d help out with your life, not just butchering things.

Its word choice was deliberate, a clear attempt to make Rags feel guilty for the horrible things he’d done to survive. The voice was… funny, that way. It must have been very confident that what it had to say would really sway Rags if it was using such provocative words.

Lemme prove it to you. Just this one time, lemme show ya that I’m here not for my own benefit, but for both our sakes.

Yeah, whatever.

Oh come on, think about it. Have I done anything that has actually brought you any trouble?

You tried to get me to tell the few folks I have in my life that are helping me to leave. How about that?

Yeah, but that didn’t cause any problems, now did it? I tried to make a decision that I thought would help, and you didn’t like my vision. Fair enough. No harm done to either of us, right?

…

Right. And what else have I done? Helped you kill nasties, helped you hold your ground against your pants-wetting childish fears, and I’ve TRIED to get you a smokin’ hot honey to keep your bed warm while you’re gone, but I’m still workin’ on that social anxiety business of yours.

It’s not social anxiety, I don’t like the way you talk about the fairer sex.

And that sense of decency is gonna need to go too.

And you’re not very nice…

So I’m a type-A personality, sue me. But hear me out. I think we got off on the wrong hoof, ya know? So let me make it up to ya by helpin’ you out.

...With what exactly?

Closure.

Closure?

Closure. Finally kissin’ that old life of yours goodbye. You got a couple of loose ends that need tying up, ya know?

Loose ends?

Really only three. Your pal, who I still think we oughta ditch, your place, which we’ll get to first, and your dear, sweet, loveable, teddy bear of a boss. We haven’t officially quit yet. And the old fart hasn’t called us up and told us we’re done either. We’re still employed at the dinner. So I figure you walk in there and really stick it to him. You know, do something to really, really, REALLY get under his skin. What’s he gonna do? Fire ya? HA!

...Closure…

So how ‘bout it, baby? You in?

…

Well?

...You’ve got one shot to prove that you aren’t a parasitic tumor on the last bit of my sanity. You mess up and I’ll get in touch with Princess Luna and have her do that walky-through-the-head-thing of hers and get rid of you for good.

Not to soil our reinvigorated partnership with a bit of chastization, but good luck gettin’ in touch with her. She’s probably got better things to do than scoop out a figment of some poor sap’s imagination.

Whatever. But let’s make this quick. I don’t fancy coming up short on sleep.

Deal. Now, for our first stop…

Rags had always thought of his home as pretty nice. It was fairly spacious, had a decent property value after all the work he’d done on it, and the neighborhood wasn’t half bad. Overall, it was a miracle that one such as himself was able to penetrate the thick aura of bad luck around him long enough to acquire the place at such a low cost. He reminisced on the memory of purchasing the home to try and deduce how he was able to come into possession of it at such a practically miniscule price. Something about several manic depressant ponies in the business of cleaning committing suicide in the attic over the course of its history. Probably wasn’t of any significance, he imagined.

The house was wrapped in plastics and safety tape, with scaffolding surrounding the outside perimeter and stretching into the narrow alleys between the house and those bunched in around it. Lumber and other materials lay around the place and on top of the platforms. But even through all the work that had been done on it over the past few weeks, it still showed a great deal of damage. It looked like the structural equivalent of a cleaned and dressed wound.

Rags found himself pondering the damage dealt to it. The night was very good at cleaning up after itself, and rarely left any trace of its evil. And even if it did, it was always something that would never lead one to believe that it was the work of nocturnal monsters. So why did it make such a stunningly ostentatious display of its presence upon his home?

Here we are! Casa de suck! Home of the suckiest dishwasher ever to suck!

You done?

Not yet, you suck. There, now it’s out of my system.

What are even we doing here?

We’re gonna tear this heap down, baby!

What!?

You heard me!

Why?

Because this home represents the old you. It’s weak, damaged, worthless. It’s a monument to the soulless routine of mere existence you dragged yourself through for the past couple of years. It’s where you wasted a good chunk of the greatest time of your life doing nothing but waiting for lightning to strike. But now, ha ha! Now you’re a new stallion who’s gonna take charge of his life! Fend off the horrors of the night and come out on top with a cold cider in one hoof and a steamin’ piece of tasty lady-flank in the other!

Tasteless as ever, I see…

Not to mention that it’s cathartic. Smashing the crap out of something without the risk of that something smashing you back. What better stress reliever is there? You know, besides the obvious…

I think you need to tug one out and just quit with the weird fixation on getting booty. You need me to oggle a Naughty Mares Monthly to help you out?

Don’t make this weird. Just get in there and start smashing stuff, alright?

Rags mulled it over for a second. He supposed the voice had a point. It would be cathartic, and he supposed he was correct about all of that monument business. And it wasn’t like he could pay for the thing anymore. With all of this structural damage, plus his medical bills what with the attacks and such, his insurance wouldn’t cover it all. And his job didn’t pay enough for refurnishing. Plus there’s the matter of him probably not even having a job anymore. So really, all things considered, there wasn’t really any reason why he couldn’t tear this thing down without any real repercussions. There were far more important things to concern himself with than a few angry bankers getting onto him for his callous financial suicide.

So why not?

He stepped under the safety tape over the front door, what was left of it anyhow, and scanned the interior of the room. It was almost ghostly, in a way. He had so many memories of this place, yet they amounted to absolutely nothing. There were no nostalgic moments, no happy recollections, no times of change where his life was going in a new direction. Just depressing memories of nothing.

Claw marks and cracks raced up and down some walls, but others were in the process of being reworked or had already been changed altogether. A few gargantuan holes still hung open here and there, glowing from the light of the three o’ clock sun. If he remembered properly, the investigator released an official report a few days after the hospital incident in which he stated that this was the result of a few crazed beasts coming into town from the Everfree that had decided to take up residence in his home for the night. Natural beasts. What a crock. Who had ever heard of a silent house-trashing at the claws of a couple of party animals from the Everfree?

Well? Ain’t ya gonna bust somethin’ up?

Rags eyed a large wrench sitting by a nearby pile of wooden boards. Tentatively, he picked it up and hefted it in his hooves.

Go on, break somethin’.

Taking in a breath, he swung the wrench at a sheetrock wall and annihilated it. He marveled at his brute strength, momentarily forgetting how brittle sheetrock was. But it still served to get his adrenaline pumping. With a grunt, he swung again and broke down another section of wall.

Yeah! Break it! Break it all!

Rags had gotten into a groove. He meandered all about the house, breaking support beams and sections of wall, undoing weeks of hard work, and reveling in the satisfaction of acting like a disruptive little teenage punk. Grabbed cans of paint and splashed them all over, turning the house into a hideous modern-art project. For several minutes he indulged himself, letting out weeks-worth of pent up pressure. It was an odd, crude, and juvenile activity, but something about it was just so pleasing.

In the midst of the destruction, as he was swinging his wrench about like a madpony, he caught a glimpse of something. It was only for a fraction of a second, but he could swear that he saw a figure down the hall. He halted the chaos and observed the hallway closely, watching for any movement. Nothing could be seen. It must have just been his imagination. He did have a pretty active one, after all.

He returned to causing mayhem, only to witness a chilling sight. On the wall, in red paint, something was being written as if by an invisible hoof.

“Lost.”

Rags shook his head violently and rubbed his eyes, also giving himself a good slap in the face just to be sure. This proved to be the solution, as the vision was gone when he looked up again. He blinked twice in confusion. Another crazy hallucination? He really had been inside for too long. Perhaps he was in more dire need for a stress-reliever than he’d originally thought. Now slightly agitated that his mind was not cleansed yet, he continued destroying the building. He was determined to un-crazify himself, and he’d do it as giddily as possible.

“Hey! What’s happening in there! Who’s here!?” a burly voice hollered from outside. Rags’ eyes went wide in shock.

Oh crap! We’re busted! Those construction lugs must have just been off on a lunch break or somethin’! Time to haul flank, boy!

Like a child with their hoof caught in a cookie jar, Rags scurried out the back before they came in and spotted him. He snaked in between houses, escaping the scene as quickly as possible. “Look at this mess! It’ll take weeks to fix this up! Who’s the snot-nosed little mother…” The words of the irate construction workers faded as Rags put as much distance between the house and himself as he could.

After two minutes of running, he slipped behind a corner and peeked out behind him. He wasn’t followed. He exhaled and slumped against the building, beginning to giggle to himself. Soon, he broke out into a chuckle, then a hearty laugh. I can’t remember the last time I had that much fun!

What did I say!? I told ya that you’d benefit from this!

I feel… relieved. Like a huge weight just came off me.

That’s the sensation of metamorphosis! You’re going into a process in which you change for the better! You’ve been in the larval stage, and now you’re slowly transforming into a REAL stallion! All we’ve gotta do is hit up one more spot…

Rags smiled deviously. The thought of what he was about to do next was simply far too tantalizing to put off any longer

* * *

Work. It was an aspect of life rooted deeply into his routine, occupying most of his attention. His existence was almost entirely centered around it. But with the recent turn of events, he clearly could no longer spare the hours to clean dishes and swab floors with unholy beasts trying to end him every night.

He hadn’t shown up for work in two weeks, so he was absolutely, positively, undoubtedly fired into oblivion. So he figured that he might as well make it official and tell the boss that he was done. But not just that. He wanted to see if he could go out in style, maybe do something that only a stallion who knows they’re about to get fired would do. He wanted to push all of the boss’ buttons in just the right order to make him explode. What would he do about it? Fire him? Rehire him and fire him again? The odds were most certainly in Rags’ favor. It was time to exact a little bit of petty revenge.

It was a little past four-thirty in the afternoon when he approached the diner. He grinned wickedly, as he was planning on using some choice words in the presence of his superior that would certainly get quite a show out of the old prick. He parted the double doors and strode in with an aura of confidence around him that was practically palpable. The boss was working the counter during what looked to be a particularly taxing rush when he heard the bell ring. When he looked up to see Rags, his eyes widened to shock and a loathsome scowl crept onto his face. The dishwasher’s smug-as-tartarus smile grew immensely in size.

The boss was usually fairly good about keeping the yelling out of the customers’ range of hearing. But this time, he simply couldn’t restrain himself. “You… sorry sack of crap! Where in the wide buckin’ world of Equestria do you get the balls to prance in here like this!? YOU THINK YOU CAN COME IN HERE AND ACT LIKE YOU OWN THE BUCKING PLACE!?”

Rags was pleasantly surprised. He hadn’t even needed to say anything to make the boss lose his cool in front of all of his walking ATMs. This was sure to strike a savage blow against the old bag. The voice was madly giggling all the while.

This is SWEET! I mean look at those customers! They’re horrified! They’re never gonna eat here again! This crotchety old jackoff is gonna go bankrupt! This is better than I could have imagined!

“ALL THIS TIME YOU’VE BEEN GONE, I’VE HAD TO PICK UP YOUR SLACK!”

Rags chuckled lightly at that image.

“WHAT’S SO BUCKIN’ FUNNY!? YOU THINK THIS IS HILARIOUS!? YOU LIKE ACTING LIKE A WORTHLESS LITTLE PUNK!? YOU SELF-ABSORBED LITTLE PIECE OF TRASH!”

Rags could hardly contain his snickering.

“DO YOU REALIZE HOW MUCH MONEY YOU’VE COST ME!? I DON’T DO PAID VACATIONS, SO YOU’RE LUCKY I’M SO LENIENT AND ALLOWED IT THIS TIME!”

The metaphorical record stopped with a scratch. Paid vacation? This time? Rags’ face fell into confusion. “What do you mean? You’re still paying me? But, I thought I was--”

“FIRED!? YOU SHOULD BE! But I’m not gonna be the one who has to CLEAN THOSE URINALS! So get your bucking uniform on and GO SCRUB THOSE CRAPPERS!!” The boss bellowed in front of all the stunned customers. Rags was utterly flummoxed. He wasn’t fired? How? Why?

The boss stomped out from around the counter after grabbing a mop and shoved it into Rags’ arms. “ARE YOU RETARDED, BOY!? I SAID GO SCRUB EM’!”

What’s going on here? I’m still employed? But we’ve been out for weeks! What the buck is this guy’s problem!?

You know… I think I’m starting to see what’s going on here. I think… he likes pushing you around. It gives him satisfaction to know that he has power over you. He doesn’t need someone to clean this place because he doesn’t want to, he needs someone to clean this place so he can live out his little power fantasy.

Rags was beginning to see it now. His boss, this pathetic excuse of a stallion, was a miserable whelp of a pony who didn’t have anything that made his life worth living. All he had was the ability to make one pony’s life worse, and he would make sure he could keep that, even at the risk of losing all of his customers because of this ridiculous show of abuse.

Rags had gone from excited, to shocked, to furious. All this time, he was just using Rags as a means of making himself feel accomplished. He didn’t care about the measly amounts of money. He just needed someone to reign over. Rags seethed inside, a boiling rage building up within. But on the outside, he was calm and collected, and never broke eye contact with the boss, who never stopped screaming.

“ARE YOU GONNA MOVE OR AM I GONNA HAVE TO MOVE YOU MYSELF!?”

I can see that you’re not very happy with this putz, buddy. Neither am I. This guy, this stupid prick, he is responsible for a good bit of the misery in your life. And this whole little escapade of ours has been about destroying the misery of the past, right? So let me show you what I mean when I say I’m here to make your life better...

“--I’M GONNA COUNT TO THREE, AND I WANT TO SEE YOU SWABBING! ONE!”

Rags looked at the mop in his hoof with a half-lidded gaze.

“TWO!”

He gently hefted it up and down in his hoof.

“THRE--”

The long, wooden handle of the mop struck the boss forcefully in the cheek. He was silent as he spat out a glob of blood and touched the tender bruise on his face. Wide-eyed, he slowly looked back to Rags, who wore a demonic smile and an awful look in his eye.

“I’m gonna make sure you NEVER SEE THE LIGHT OF DAY AGA--”

The boss was cut off by another blow to the face. He stumbled back a little bit, dazed and disoriented. Rags brought the broom handle down on the top of his head, driving him to the floor. He loomed over the boss, a wide, toothy grin stretched over his mouth. But this wasn’t a grin of smug pleasure. This was a grin of sheer sadistic glee.

The boss, blood dribbling down from around his busted lips, stared in disbelief as Rags raised the mop over his head. The dishwasher hit him again. And again. And again. He kept hitting him until the broom handle cracked across the bloodied stallions broken muzzle. Rags picked up the broken piece. It was about the size of a baton, making things even easier. The boss choked on blood and teeth. Rags kept on. He struck blow after blow, blood and saliva spattering across his chest, his unwavering smile present throughout.

“STOP!” A voice said as a pair of hooves wrapped around Rags’ foreleg. He turned, irritated that his groove was thrown off, to see a random, fearful looking stallion who had stepped up to put an end to the assault. The crazed dishwasher panted for a moment, glaring at the random pedestrian. After a little while, Rags’ breathing slowed, and he came back to his senses.

He turned back to his victim and looked over the carnage. The boss was bloodied, battered, bruised, and broken. He had nary a tooth still attached to his gums, and blood poured out of his mangled mouth like a faucet, pooling around the back of his head. His eyes were black and swollen to the point of disabling his vision. His snout was crushed and leaked fluids through the nostrils. Cuts and lacerations covered his head, and his skull was most likely fractured.

Rags dropped the handle and staggered back.

He had nearly just committed murder. In fact, was the boss even still alive?

Ponies began crowding around the beaten stallion, one pushing their way past the mumbling masses and putting a hoof on the victim’s neck. His red-cross cutiemark suggested that he knew what he was doing. “He’s still alive! Somebody call an ambulance!” The medical pony looked to the confounded Rags. “And call the town guard!” Two rather muscular stallions from the crowd slowly began making their way towards Rags with the apparent intention of restraining him. Flustered, Rags sprinted out of the diner before they could grab him.

He ran towards home, mind going a hundred miles a minute.

Hey, pal! Wasn’t that just--

No… Be quiet… Never again…

Rags sat in the closet, hugging himself and facing the corner.

Never again… Never again…

He had no words to describe the fear and regret that clouded his mind. He didn’t feel the energy or the need to dwell on it. He didn’t want to. He wanted it to have just never happened at all. He couldn’t even bring himself to face it. He outright denied his mind access to the memory. Everything about it, especially the way the voice was able to so easily talk him into it, made his skin crawl. He tried to force himself to stop thinking about it. There was no way he could approach it without sending himself into a spiraling bout of madness and guilt.

Then, three knocks on the closet door. Rags cracked it open ever so slightly and ever so slowly, peeking one eye out to see who it was. Nougat. Who else would it be? He almost looked unnerved, like he wanted to be anywhere but around Rags. Who could blame him? “T-The princess is here, R-Rags,” he stammered out before quickly disappearing into his room. His only friend, alienated.

Shivering, he feebly stepped out of the closet and walked down the hall. Coming into the living room, he could see a steely-eyed Princess Twilight and her two escorts, each glaring at him intently, occupying the other end of the room. “Rags,” Twilight said firmly. “Sit down.”

He heeded her command and sat in a chair opposite from her.

“You know I can’t let this come to pass, Rags,” the princess said sternly.

Rags tried to sink down into his chair and disappear.

“As I’m sure you’ve probably deduced by now, I’ve abstained from having you apprehended for the sake of analyzing your situation and the occurrences surrounding it. I didn’t want to trouble you by letting you know of this, but my intentions are fairly obvious. But now that you’ve become a danger to the other subjects of our land, I’m required to take action,” Twilight stated firmly.

Rags felt a massive pit growing in his stomach. He feared the actions the princess was about to take, but what really got to him was the guilt. There was almost a touch of sadness in her voice as she was undoubtedly about to state that he was going to be thrown in the dungeon for life. Perhaps it was the anemic optimist inside of him, but he felt that she was more disappointed than angry. Disappointed that one of her subjects would do such a thing, like a mother discovering that her child has bullied another. This feeling, that a great individual such as herself must have had hope for him, and that he let her down, was soul crushing.

She sighed before speaking. This is it, Rags thought.

“You are free to go.”

Rags’ face was cringed in anticipation and hurt. Upon hearing these words, he cracked an eye open and blinked twice. “Uhm...B-Beg pardon?”

“You will not be arrested,” the princess said.

Rags stared blankly at her for a moment. “Might I… ask why? I mean, I almost… why?”

“In any other circumstance, or even just a few days ago, I would have locked you away. You are unstable, and a hazard to your fellow ponies. I would have you studied by Equestria’s top psychologists in a padded cell with prescribed medication. But...” Twilight gestured for the guards to exit the living room. They hesitated, looking at the princess with unsure gazes. She gave them a quick, affirmative glance over her shoulder, and they begrudgingly left the room, giving the princess and the dishwasher privacy.

“But…?” Rags asked meekly.

Twilight sighed again. “But I believe you.”

If Rags was in the middle of drinking, he most likely would have spat out his beverage. These words echoed through his mind. He’d grown so used to his situation, to being alone in all of his endeavors, that having someone actually believe him and not just tolerate his apparent madness was surreal. “You… believe me? Princess, have you been, uhm, drinking or something?”

“I realize that this must come as a surprise, but yes, I do believe you. You see, Rags, I, like many others, assumed you were a bit touched in the head when you first started ranting and raving about monsters attacking you,” Twilight started.

Rags’ face turned to an expression of deadpan.

“But as I studied you and the town, I became aware of… something,” the princess said, furrowing her brow in thought. “I’m not entirely sure what, as my research has turned up no specific results, but there is no doubt about it: something is amiss. And this something, whatever it may be, I believe to be malevolent in nature.”

“Well I could have told you that!” Rags shouted, but remembered who he was talking to. “Y-Your Majesty.”

“I know you think it’s evil, but I couldn’t take your word for it. I needed to discover this for myself. Point being, I won’t have you arrested because I think this is something that could very well be the cause of a mental condition such as yours,” said Twilight.

“Mental condition? I don’t have a--”

It was the princess’s turn to give a deadpan glare now. It seemed to encompass everything that needed to be said. The dishwasher played it smart, and kept his mouth shut.

“Sorry,” Rags said, trailing circles with his hoof on the arm of his chair.

“Speaking of which, there is something I need to know. Tell me, have you been having any visions?” Twilight asked.

“Visions? You mean, like, hallucinations? Actually, yes. They’ve been pretty small before now, like the average stuff that a sleep deprived pony would see, a shadow moving here, a weird light there, but lately they’ve been getting… bigger,” Rags said.

Twilight rubbed her chin pensively. “I see… anything else?”

Rags thought about it, and figured it was time he shared the truth about the voice with someone. He had lived with it in his skull for too long, and had finally overstepped its bounds. Perhaps now if he were to confide in the princess, she could use some form of magic or contact Luna and remove the parasite for good. “Yes, actually. There's also a--”

Don’t.

“...A, uhm…”

Don’t. Tell. Her.

It was him, the voice. Only, something was off. It wasn’t the jovial and upbeat but horribly rude voice that he’d known for all these weeks. It was a harsh hiss, almost too quiet to hear even within the confounds of his skull. Even with its reticent tone, its words were coated in seething, and almost seemed to hold the promise of something dreadful.

Be. Quiet.

Rags shivered and stuttered, rattled by these cold and ominous words. He hadn’t heard from it since the incident. It had stayed unnervingly quiet since their return home. What was wrong? Whatever it was, Rags suddenly felt urged not to tempt it further. The way it spoke did not invoke good feeling.

“A what?” Twilight asked curiously.

Rags looked at her and tried to think of a way to abort the topic. “Nothing… It’s nothing.”

“Oh... alright then.” The princess appeared incredulous.

Good.

Twilight continued. “As I was saying, this behavior, these hallucinations, I believe they are the result of a force that is demonic in nature. I can’t pinpoint what it is, but from what little I could gather about it, this force is along the same vein as the darkest of black magics, which have maddening effects on ponies. It is possible that this is what is responsible for your state,” Twilight elaborated.

“So, what does this mean for me?” Rags inquired.

“Well for starters, it means that I’m not going to lock you up until the end of days. You have been pushed to this point by this force, so I don’t think it would be right for me to arrest you when you are under such an influence. Not to mention that several witnesses stated that your boss was verbally abusing you and even threatened you, so I could file the matter under self-defense, at a stretch. But don’t think that means this won’t have repercussions after we've got this all sorted out. And should a similar problem arise in the future, I’ll have no choice but to incarcerate you, understand?” Twilight said authoritatively, leering expectantly at Rags.

He opened his mouth to respond, but didn’t feel like spending the breath on the subject. So he simply nodded.

“Good. But it also means that I believe you are telling the truth, and that you are indeed under some form of attack. I would gladly assist you, but my magics have had no effect on the energy that dwells in town. It cannot reveal its true nature, nor can it dispel its presence. Isn’t that why you ran out of the hospital days ago when I put up a ward to protect you?” Twilight asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Yeah, those things passed through it with no problem.”

“Hmm…” Twilight droned as she rested her chin on her hoof. “Well at any rate, I wish I could help you, but as I said, my magics are of no use under these circumstances. And there is another problem. My memories at night feel... distorted. Tampered with. I am... unable to determine the cause. It's some form of spell that I have never encountered before."

“But you’re the Element of Magic! I mean, knowing magic backwards and forwards is your thing! How could you not know what kind of spell this is?” Rags said nervously.

“That’s what concerns me. I know of nearly every spell ever crafted, and I know every method of magic practice there is. So for there to be a spell that I don’t know anything about, and that might be working on me at this very instant without my even knowing, is not a very comforting notion. In fact, the tampering began shortly after you first reported your assault, and I was in Canterlot at the time you did so, meaning the spell was instantaneously cast over the entirety of Equestria. Whatever is going on, the force at work here is very, very, very powerful. Maybe even more powerful than me,” Twilight said darkly.

Rags swallowed harshly. Something more powerful than the Element of Magic herself? If one were to tell Rags that there existed something or someone more powerful than Princess Twilight, he would guffaw in their face and tell them they were insane. The princess has disposed of Ursa Minors, faced down massive changeling hordes, defeated deities of madness and chaos, and vanquished Nightmare Moon, the demon to end all demons. She was arguably the most powerful living being in the world, aside from the other princesses.

And even she was disturbed by what was happening...

“This is all well and disturbing and all, but how does it explain a horde of hideous monsters trying to open me like a bag of chips?" Rags inquired, scratching the back of his head.

“I can’t say for certain. If you could, please try to retrieve a sample for me to study from these things. I need some more concrete results in my experiments before I begin jumping to conclu--” Twilight was interrupted by a green ball of flame that flickered into existence right in front of her. It transformed into a scroll bearing the royal seal. “What’s this? A message from Canterlot?” Twilight observed as she opened it and began reading. “I’ve informed Celestia of my important work here in Ponyville, so there shouldn’t be any interrupt… tions… Oh no…” Twilight trailed off as she read, becoming visibly more and more distressed with each line. She had become a bundle of nerves in no time flat, murmuring inconsistent gibberish to herself. Whatever was on the page was terrible.

“Uhm, Your Highness? Is there a problem?” Rags asked obliviously.

“Yes… Yes, there is a huge problem…”

“Might I be clued in on what that is?” Rags asked, voice trembling.

Twilight’s head jerked away from the page and she looked at Rags worriedly.

“I mean… It’s nothing! Nothing at all!” Twilight said hastily, lying badly. “Just, uhm, pay you no mind, hehe, it’s just, uh… a new tax law! Yep, just a new, totally outrageous tax law! Looks like I’m going to have to go to Canterlot and tell that pesky council that their stupid laws won’t work, again!” Twilight laughed nervously.

“Wait, you’re leaving? Right now? But, you’re not even gonna stay and help me out somehow? I mean--”

“Sorrygottagobyebye!” Twilight’s horn began to glow.

“H-Hey! Wait! Can you at least--”

A bright flash filled the room with it’s blinding luminescence. When the spots cleared from his vision, Rags could see that she was gone, leaving only a black burn mark on her chair.

“...Toss a few supplies my way,” Rags finished sadly.

The two guards ran into the room, summoned by the commotion. Their questioning eyes fell on Rags, who merely pointed to the charred chair.

“Ah crap, she teleported! I’ve asked her not to do that before telling us!” one of the guards complained.

“Great, now we’re gonna have to take the train all the way back to Canterlot,” the other groaned. They both turned and exited the house, grumpily grumbling. Rags was left alone in the room, confused, frightened, nostrils filled with the stench of burnt upholstery, and head filled with uncertainty.

“I’m not sure if I even want to know what that was all about,” he said aloud to himself. He looked outside through the window. The sun was very low in the sky now. He looked at the clock: a quarter past six. He moaned in frustration. He’d thrown his schedule completely out of whack with the day's events. He’d be lucky to get a brief power nap before the time came to get ready.

Twilight was running toward the royal chambers before the light from her teleportation had even dissipated within the throne room. In her mind, she shouted over and over, “Please don’t let it be what I think it is! Please don’t let it be true!” Unsuspecting solar guards offered quick bows as the princess passed them on their way to clock out and trade posts with the lunar guards. Several of them bore looks of trepidation, and moved as if under a trance. Those few must have been the officers informed of the circumstances.

She dashed through the halls, hooves clicking loudly against the polished marble floors. She ran so fast that she’d nearly lost her footing on a corner or two. She’d reached the royal chambers and barreled into the room, past the four dumbfounded guards, beholding the sight of the other Element Bearers sitting solemnly inside, tears and winces on their faces. Twilight would have asked them what it was that upset them so, but the answer was clear and very loud.

Through another set of golden doors could be heard the horrific, blood curdling screams of a mare. They were not howls of pain, sorrow, anger, or even fear. They were… something else…. something awful. They were constant, never letting up even for a second. How was there even any breath left for the unyielding shrieks? Sounds of objects breaking and muffled, distressed voices came from within as well. The doors parted partially, and a hooded figure stepped out and immediately but softly closed the doors behind him, muttering some sort of prayer as he did.

“What’s the situation?” Twilight asked the figure nervously.

He looked at her with distraught eyes and appeared as though he had to force himself to speak. “As bad as it could be… There is no reversing what has been done… It is imminent.” He got down on his knees and began praying profusely.

Twilight’s veins turned to ice. She looked to her friends, all either dismal and somber or dreading what was to come with expressions of fright.

She had to think of a solution. She just had to. With the Elements gone, she would need to think up an answer. She had to… failure was absolutely not an option.

She inhaled and exhaled slowly, performing the technique to calm her nerves, just as Cadence had taught her. She cleared her throat before speaking. “High priest.”

The stallion’s attention snapped to her.

“Is it time for me to go inside?”

With a quivering lip, he answered, “Yes, Your Majesty. May the Gods be with you.”

“Be careful, Twi,” Applejack said, consoling a dismayed and unusually glum Pinkie Pie.

Twilight nodded and placed a hoof on the door handle. She would try her hardest, but somehow, she just knew her efforts would be in vain. She pondered what to do. She was… lost. Rarely did she lack the solution to a problem, nor did she usually lack the ability to even figure one out. What she was up against was beyond what most could hope to comprehend. But she knew what it was. She knew what was coming.

Curiously, she found herself thinking about that dishwasher from Ponyville. She had a feeling that, somehow, he was deeply involved in this.

She parted the doors, and stepped inside.

Author's Notes:

Alright, so this is where I'm officially going to become insanely paranoid. Ever get that feeling that you've started out pretty good, got a bit better, and then totally mucked up everything after that point? I'm getting that big time. Hmm... probably just that natural tendency towards self-criticism we all have. Well, here it is, I hope you enjoy!

BTW, the next couple of chapters will come much sooner this time. They're all done, they just need to be edited. They'll see the light of day soon enough.

Chapter 6: Still in the Dark

Journal entry #46

Ever since the princess warped to Canterlot two weeks ago, things have been getting better. The monsters are getting bigger, nastier, and smarter, so I’m coming away with more scars than ever before, both physical and mental. These weird hallucinations are becoming more frequent. They’re really random and, honestly, more terrifying than the creatures for some reason. I don’t know why, they don’t even make sense half the time. It must be the lack of sleep. I’ve been trying to get sleep during the day, but years of getting up at the crack of dawn have trained me to be resistant to sleep before I’ve had a drink or two at eleven at night.

Oh wait, did I say better? What I meant was somebody please kill me and end my bucking stupid life.

It’s not all bad, I guess. Princess Twilight is constantly sending me letters, telling me that there is a project in the works that might help me out. And that’s great! Sensational even! I’m so excited! Now if only she’d tell me what the buck it was, I might just actually believe that crock of tripe! It’s not that I don’t trust that the princess knows what she’s doing, it’s just that she really seems… I dunno. Something about her letters convey an air of “I really did all I could, but you’re kinda screwed and I’m just trying to make your inevitably painful downfall seem less horrible than it probably will be.”

My pen is a worm… Never mind.

“!DAEH SIH FFO PIR”

A dozen tar-ponies came stampeding down the street towards Rags as he scrambled to pick himself up from the pile of garbage on the sidewalk. I tripped over the garbage can!? Really!? What kind of bucking phenomenally uncoordinated idiot am I!?

He jumped to his hooves and sprinted away with the monsters gaining quickly. Wretched shouts and screams resonated from the surrounding streets. He whimpered slightly as he could hear more stomping closing in. He frantically skimmed over every backup plan he had developed for a situation like this. The alley in between the buildings up ahead coughed out a garbage can as several small creatures skittered out. Skulls attached to four skinny limbs made of muscle and veins that ended in strange claw-like digits. Stranglers. Rags skidded to a stop and turned ninety degrees, galloping away from the sidewalk.

Usually, this point was where he would be begging the Gods for breath. But as it turned out, running away like a madpony from horrid creatures every night proved to be a solid workout routine. One simply couldn’t survive such an attack with pathetic cardio, after all. He had enough breath to handle things. Now if only he knew how to handle things. He was still running through a list of plans in his mind, trying to figure out how to handle this particular scenario. Tar-ponies. Very flammable. That’s it. He knew it was risky, and probably very stupid, but it was all he had time to do. He weaved through the streets, coming very close to getting blindsided once or twice by a few monsters joining in on the chase from an alley or a road off to the side. He came within sight of home base and began silently making pleas for success under his breath.

He ran to the door and stopped before going in. He turned and faced the monsters, now only a few hundred feet away and coming in fast. He trembled as they closed in, and reached into his bag, pulling out a small paper packet. He awkwardly fumbled with the package, trying to get at the contents. They were only a few paces away, fury coming to a boil as their victim was nearly in skull-crushing range.

Rags freed a match from the pouch, clenching it between his teeth as he lit it. He tossed it to the ground with a gasp, the gasoline encircling him on the sidewalk igniting at the last possible second and setting several tar-ponies ablaze. They shrieked with fear and writhed in horrible pain as those at the head of the pack were engulfed by the ravenous combustion, spreading the consuming fire to their allies as well. When the initial shock of being caught off guard by the conflagration wore off, they irately prowled the outer perimeter of the blazing ring, snapping and growling at the shaking dishwasher that cowered behind the dancing flames.

Rags shook his head clear and reminded himself of the second step in the plan. He opened the door and reached inside what he’d come to call his ‘utility umbrella stand’ by the doorway. He pulled out an unlikely tool of defense: a colorful, plastic squirtgun with a net for a fish tank taped over the muzzle. He aimed the foal’s plaything at the squealing beasts that were still pacing back and forth outside of the circle. Rags gulped down his fear and prepared to pull the large trigger.

There are so many things either wrong, stupid or both with what I’m about to do. This’d better work, because I’m wasting some fine liquor here!

He fired a spray into the fire, causing a scorching cloud of flames to erupt from the other side and bathe an unsuspecting tar-pony in a blaze. He aimed at another and fired again, having a similar effect. During his time in the dangerous nights, Rags had learned a few things, sometimes the hard way, and what he had learned about himself was that he was quite the clever little devil when he was put into a tight spot. His experience with cleaning always managed to manifest itself in the most peculiar ways, like how he’d remembered that alcohol was quite flammable, and it was possible to project a blast of fire like that of a dragon’s breath if one were to manipulate the spray properly.

His surprising ingenuity proved invaluable, as the beasts hadn’t expected such a capability from their long-time prey. The spouts of fire swallowed any tar-ponies that didn’t have the wits to back away, and incinerated their rotten flesh that oozed with black muck. They soon got a sense of what was happening and began scattering, fleeing away from the fire-wielding stallion. Rags watched them turn tail and run, and let a gleeful grin and a maniacal laugh escape his throat. “HA HA HA! Suck on that, you freaks! That’s what you get for trying to open me like a bag of chips! I ain’t gonna let some whatever-the-buck-you-are rip my flank apart! Why don’t you go grow some balls and try again you pansy girly pansies!” Rags never was very good at coming up with fighting words.

He felt a burning sensation suddenly overtaking his hooves and looked down. The heat was too great for the barrel of the makeshift weapon to sustain itself. The dollar store plastic deformed and warped to the point of being unable to spray liquid anymore. In hindsight, he thought, perhaps using a plastic water gun in the middle of a ring of fire wasn’t the most efficient idea. It looked to be a one time sort of thing. His lack of foresight was compounded by several stranglers that surpassed the fire by crawling on the side of the building and on the roof, getting in behind him. They all screeched as if mocking his stupidity, and lunged at him, attempting to live up to their namesake.

Rags cried fearfully as he ducked and dodged dozens of the small skull-creatures and made his way towards the door. Several of the monsters flew into the fire as they hurled themselves at Rags, trying to get a hold of him before he escaped inside. Rags reached the doorknob just as a suffocating, vice-like grip clamped around his neck, followed by the sensation of warm fluids dripping down his torso. Undoubtedly blood from the creature, as these were wont to secrete fluids from their arms as they exerted pressure on them.

The force from the thing propelling itself into the back of his head sent him tumbling through the door. In his mad thrashing, as he lay on the mat inside the doorway, grabbing on the thing that tightened its hold on his throat, he accidentally, but fortunately, kicked the door shut behind him. The force of his kick also managed to loosen the large wooden bar sitting upright on a hinge, causing it to fall across the frame and barricade the threshold, preventing any unwanted visitors from entering.

Though Rags was by no means safe. The tiny but fierce monster on the back of his head squeezed his windpipe like a python. He clawed at it in a vain attempt at getting a hold of it, but even if he could, it wouldn’t work. This kind of abomination, from Rags’ experience, only released its victim under two conditions: either it would die, or Rags would.

The stallion flopped about on the floor like a fish, twisting in every manner he could. Still, the thing would not let go. The pressure in his head began to take its toll on him. His skull felt like it was about to burst like a cap off a soda bottle at any second. Panic began filling his mind and sweat and tears streamed down his face. There was nothing he could think of that would get him out of the situation. There was no one around to help him get it off. His lungs had depleted their last bit of oxygen and left him with the encroaching feeling that he’d breathed his last. In that way all living things do when faced with imminent death with no alternative way out, he began thrashing about harder than before. He managed to get to his hooves and he started swinging his head against walls and tables and anything that was around.

The creature’s hold only continued to tighten. With only enough energy for one last attempt, and a surge of fear induced adrenaline fueling it, Rags flung his head backwards with such force that the rest of his body went with it, and he was thrown into the beginnings of a back flip. Though it was an incomplete flip, as he landed squarely on the back of his head, garnering a loud crack. Stars filled his vision and his breaths were long and slow. His breaths… he was breathing!

He hopped to his hooves and wobbled back and forth, dizzy beyond comprehension, what with the shortage of oxygen. When he stopped seeing double, he could see that the strangler lay motionless on the floor, blood and hibiscus fluids pooling around its carcass, with fragments of bone drifting on the slow waves of ooze. He must have landed right on top of the thing’s cranium and smashed its brains in. A body slam. Well, it was just a skull, after all. So landing any sort of blow on it would surely be fatal in most cases.

Rags huffed angrily and stomped on the strangler, splattering blood across the floor like he’d just stepped on a water balloon. He continued applying pressure to the hoof, forcing it into the dead beast, only to gasp and pull his leg away in a hurry. He wasn’t usually prone to such outbursts. They’d become more and more common since that day with the boss…

Before Rags could ponder, painful wails perforated the walls from outside, followed by the thunderous sounds of a running crowd moving away from the house. Things clawed their way frantically over the roof and creatures gave off death throes as something annihilated them in a most agonizing way. This could only mean one thing.

Daybreak.

He sat in the kitchen with his head hung low, eyes on the floor. He wasn’t thinking about anything. There was nothing to think about. Everything happening was still an enigma, and the questions had long remained unanswered. He achieved nothing but nourishing his anxieties through rumination these days. The answers were to forever stay hidden from him, and that was that.

No, his mind was empty. He merely basked in the silence. The good silence. Not the silence of the night. Silence in the night meant he was about to die. Silence in the day was almost surreal in its peacefulness. But he never found peace in the day. Not real peace. The dark cloud was still above his head. The day was just a countdown timer. There wasn’t much time. He had to adhere to the schedule. He slowly got to his hooves and sighed.

He glanced back down to the crushed body and scowled at it. The body… The body! His eyes widened in surprise. There’s still a body! It hasn’t vanished! Proof! Proof that I’m not crazy! Nougat would be back with the sun. He could show it to Nougat, make him see!

Rags ran out of the kitchen, down the hall, and burst into the bedroom. Nougat jolted upright in his bed, shock and slight fear on his face. He’d stopped really talking to Rags ever since the ordeal with the boss. Rags explained to the pegasus that he wasn’t insane, that he wasn’t a murderous psycho.

Nougat remained skeptical.

This wasn’t just a matter of showing another pony that he wasn’t crazy, this was a matter of showing his friend that he was still himself. His friendship was on the line. His longtime pal thought he was utterly nuts. He was afraid of Rags. He believed him to be an empty, dangerous shell of his former self. He needed to show Nougat that he was still there, and that he couldn’t go on alone. He wasn’t going to let the night deprive him of what little he had.

“Come in here, bro! You gotta see this!” Rags urged cheerfully.

Nougat looked the dishwasher over, eying him with clear suspicion.

Rags rolled his eyes and walked over to the pegasus, grabbing his wing and dragging him out of his room and into the hallway. “You need to see this. I’m gonna show ya I’m not mental! They all called me mad! Insane! Looney, even! HA! I’ll show them, I’ll show them and you! You’ll see! You’ll ALL see!” Rags prattled as he dragged his friend, still looking at him with fear and worry, into the kitchen. They neared the entrance to the kitchen. “It’s got, like, these legs, these really long, bloody legs! And it’s just a skull! The legs go, like, into the skull, you know? And it grabs you! It grabs you and it chokes you like a gimp!” Rags explained. Nougat’s pupils shrunk as the description went on.

“Feast your eyes on THIS!” Rags gestured dramatically to the empty space on the kitchen floor where a demonic abomination once lay dead.

Nougat looked at the spot, and then back to Rags, who was frozen in a statuesque form, still pointing at the area with the same expression of gleefulness stuck to his face. The dishwashers eyes wandered over to his companion, who leered at him with a disturbed gaze.

“Ok, I know what this looks like,” Rags started meekly. He felt Nougat’s hoof touch the back of his head, and then saw a yellow hoof covered in blood hover before his eyes. Rags mimicked the motion and found that blood was indeed pouring from the back of his skull.

Nougat was now trembling, still staring at Rags with quiet horror. The earth pony knew what his pegasus friend was thinking.

“You don’t honestly think I did this to myself, do yo--”

“Go see a doctor.”

Journal entry #50

You know what I just noticed? Something that actually kind of scares me? Ever since I started boarding this place up, to Nougat’s never ending irritation, they haven’t broken in once. I mean, once in a while one will get in, like that strangler incident, but they never bust their way in. In fact, I’m surprised they aren’t attacking this place every night.

I don’t get it, why haven’t they cracked this house open and sucked out the creamy Rags filling inside? I’ve seen what they can do. Doors and windows are nothing to these things. Less than nothing. A few extra wooden planks and a little gasoline on the sidewalk shouldn’t be enough to stop them from barging in here and stomping me out.

And why aren’t they blitzing this shack every night? They’ve found me here before, they know I’m here, and yet… I’m able to trick them into thinking I’m somewhere else with a distraction of some sort most of the time. What’s wrong with them? One night, they’re sniffing me out like a bloodhound, and the next, they forget where I’m at like goldfish.

I just don’t understand it. What’s their deal? What are they doing? Why don’t they just kill me? They can, I know they can, and I know they want to more than anything, so why don’t they? Are they building up for something? Basting their food with fear? What is it!? Why don’t they just end it!? Why don’t they just kill me!?

Rags stared at the clock with bloodshot eyes. Almost nine. He clenched his teeth tightly around his machete, inducing a slight twinge of pain in his bandaged skull. Any minute now they would come down on him like murderous hail, squealing their delight at the prospect of eating his innards, as usual. But he was in the house. He wasn’t supposed to be in the house. Every nerve in his body screamed at him to get out before they appear and force him to defend the home for the rest of the night instead of tricking them into amalgamating far away. But that’s exactly why he wasn’t leaving. He needed to know.

He needed to know why they did that. Why they seemed to never attack the home. He knew they could. He knew they should. He remembered what happened to his own house. He remembered what happened in this house before he fortified. There was something strange about their activities. There was some unknown reason as to why they never just assaulted the admittedly frail fortress and dragged him into the street where they could rip out his spine.

They were smart. Perhaps not as smart as the dishwasher, as evidenced by the blood still flowing through his veins, but at least smart enough to learn from their mistakes. Several times he’d nearly been killed due to an unexpected tactic employed by the creatures. There was one incident where he found one of the hideous, deformed babies from the hospital hiding in the trash bin where he kept the air horn launcher. He nearly lost his foreleg that night. There was absolutely no excuse for him to still be alive. He should have been murdered long ago. Still, he remained. It was time for a little bit of experimentation.

Rags stood and began checking the perimeter of the makeshift-fort. He patrolled up and down the lengths of each room, analyzing his defenses. He was not a very good carpenter, that was for sure. His barricading work was shoddy at best. A few wooden boards over the window? Just one of them could tear a door down with no problem. A large bar over the front door? That would probably only add a few seconds of delay to the time it would take for them to rampage in. All of it, absolutely pathetic. Nougat’s home didn’t even have a basement or attic to fortify.

His hoofwork was the stuff of ‘what not to do in doomsday scenario’ books. If his fort were to be given a name, it would most likely be something along the lines of ‘Fort Comeinandslaughtermeoroga.’ Rags wagered that these barricades were so worthless that the monsters could casually stroll through them without a hassle. So why didn’t they?

All his analysis told him was that it was a complete and total miracle that he wasn’t butchered weeks ago. He only began noticing his amazing luck after the previous instance of a monster coming inside. None of its allies even attempted to follow. It probably wasn’t even the intention of the beast to come inside. Was he just that good at diverting their attention elsewhere? Was there something in the home that prevented them from entering? Were they… afraid? No, that wasn’t it at all.

The clock struck nine and tolled its ringing bell. Rags slapped a hoof down on top of the alarm clock and turned out the lights, aside from a dim lantern. He carefully inched over to a window and peered through a sliver in between the planks. The darkness was nigh impenetrable. The street lamps used to shine in the evening, but they no longer cast their helpful glow at night. Perhaps that was a result of the creatures’ rising intellects. His eyes adjusted soon though, and he could partially make out objects in the dark, at least enough so to fulfill his needs.

A shadow scurried here. A figure ran across the street over there. Soft noises, tapping, scratching, whispering. It was quiet. They were here.

A red set of eyes flared to life in the dark. Similar pupils joined them. Dozens. Tens of dozens. The number steadily grew every second.

Rags’ breathing became slow and shaky. He watched them, focusing on the evil presence and attempting to slay it with his gaze. They did the same. His legs shivered slightly. His heart tried to free itself from his chest and run off to hide. It felt like he’d been watching them for hours. Those eyes still held the same hatred they always reserved just for him. The loudest silence he’d ever heard took over. The beasts didn’t growl or snarl or begin dashing for the window. They didn’t even jitter with pent up, murderous excitement. Not a single one even flinched. They all sat like an army of statues, waiting for something.

At first Rags was incredibly nervous. Right in front of him, only a few dozen feet from the window, was an army of hellish monsters that before now had dedicated every waking moment of their existence to hunting him down and tearing him apart. Before now, if they even lost sight of him for an instant, they flew into a berserk rage, furious over not having bones to suck the marrow from. But now, with the wretched battalions of atrocities piled up outside simply looking at him, Rags was quickly becoming perturbed. Why would they hold back? After all of that? They simply stop after they’ve brought him so much pain and fear? Were they mocking him? Laughing at him in their own sick way as he cowered in his pathetic fort?

“Come on, you miserable freaks… do something! You haven’t given me a break before, why start now?... What are you waiting for!?”

Still they held their positions.

“What is it? What are you doing!?”

They could hear him. He knew they could. They could always hear him.

“Come on! Do something! I’m right here! Do something already!”

Nothing.

“AAAHHH! YOU MOTHERLESS BUCKS!” Rags screamed at them. He violently pushed himself away from the window and sat back on his haunches, sucking air through his teeth. What do they want? What are they waiting for? They’ve broken into this place before, back in the first nights, why not now!?

The roof clattered with the noise of claws, talons and blades. The boards around the building creaked and groaned. They surrounded him, making the house speak as if to taunt him. He rubbed his temples in a circular fashion to ease the pressure on his mind as he contemplated a possible explanation.

Why? Why would they stop? What’s holding them back!? It’s like they’re pointing and laughing at me. They’re playing with me! Toying with their food! They’re going to kill me, they’re just waiting, aren’t they!? They’re just cracking the eggshell now, before going after the yoke!

A headache was beginning to form. He stood and began pacing the room. At one point he walked over to the window again and found that his view was obscured by two pure-black eyes, belonging to the pale form of a choir foal. It was just a filly, but it was covered in scratches and scars that resembled symbols of some kind. It stood on its hind legs, pressing its face up against the window, singing its seemingly innocent tune. It shouldn’t have been able to sing. It’s mouth was stitched shut, preventing it from parting its lips. And it sang clear as day.

Rags shivered with fear, but fumed with anger. They couldn’t stop! Not now! They couldn’t just halt their attack without finishing what they started! He didn’t know why he was angry, when in reality he should have been counting his blessings. They weren’t trying to kill him. He’d tried to stop that from happening for weeks. But they were just sitting there watching him… they shouldn’t have been doing that! Their intent was to kill him however they could before, and now they just stood outside. It was almost an act of arrogance! That was why he was enraged. They were gloating!

No… they couldn’t be. Get a grip! Them? Gloating? Why would they? They’ve never done that before. They might be getting smarter, but not in that way. All they’ve ever wanted was to kill me. They’ve never shown signs of having a conscience before. Something is keeping them out there, but it’s not arrogant bragging. Besides, why would they play with their food now? They’ve always been capable of killing me and they’ve always tried their hardest to do so. Why has this not happened before? Why didn’t they let me wallow in my own fright before!? It’s only when I stayed inside and purposefully held my ground that they decide to wait!? I’ve willfully made myself a giant target and they don’t take the opportunity to strike!?

It was true. Before, Rags was actively trying to defend himself. But now, under his own volition, he was completely exposed. So why would they hold back when faced with the greatest chance for success they’d ever had? His headache grew more intense, creating a constant throbbing that sent out pangs of pain with each pulse.

Suddenly, a knock on the door. It wasn’t a powerful blow, like if they were trying to take it down, but simply a normal knock like any average pony would give. Rags turned to the front door and riveted his eyes to the spot where the repeated taps came from. This was the strangest thing Rags had seen all night. One of the monsters, the bloodthirsty demonic spawns… was knocking?

Knocking… why? Was it just more mocking? Or was it… asking to be let in? Why would it try to urge Rags to open the door for it? Unless… was it possible that they couldn’t come inside unless he somehow permitted them entrance? Were they incapable of passing into the home under their own accord? No, that was ridiculous. They’d come in before, only it was before he set up his defenses. Did that have something to do with it? No, it couldn’t. They’ve even gotten inside after he started barricading. Although… it was never because they broke in. It was always when they followed him inside. Could it be that they were unable to come in unless he let them in?

Another string of knocks joined the first, and then another, and then several more. It sounded like someone had set off firecrackers outside the door. As if they could hear his mind and feared his conclusion, they filled his senses with a plea to be let in, a constant barrage of appendages rapping the barrier.

They could not come in. They asked for permission. Why? This made no sense. What stopped them? What was it that prevented them from entering forcefully? Rags’ headache worsened still, making thought difficult. But he still managed to probe his memories for recollections of typical monster behavior from past assaults. He remembered the screams of the hag, dousing him in fear and calling the abominations to him. He remembered the trees that bore severed heads, instilling doubt in him. He remembered the figurines that came to life at the height of his worry. He remembered the doctor that told him things that left him with more terrifying questions that he couldn’t answer. He began noticing a pattern.

It was almost conspiratory in its absurdity. He wondered if he was seeing connections where none actually existed. But at the same time, with what had happened to him so far, was it really such a stretch? Over the weeks he’d been in emotional limbo, perpetually hopeful that an end would come while still drowning in endless fear. He was in a constant state of worry and anxiety, self-loathing and uncertainty. The night knew how to play off of each of these faculties. It always found a foothold in his fortifications and tore them down.

Could it be that everything that was happening was dependent on his own mind? On his own subconscious?

His headache increased its output to a skull-splitting level.

Yes… in a weird kind of way, it made sense. Since he fortified the house, they’d never gotten inside. The fortifications brought him slight peace of mind. Not completely, as he still hid and cowered at the sounds of the beasts outside, but having what he believed to be solid barriers between him and the dangers outside was comforting. It gave him with a small sense of confidence. He felt like he was in control in the house.

This home wasn’t just a means of shielding himself from a most painful death, it was mental security. It instilled him with a bit of tranquility in knowing that the boards and nails would keep him safe, even though they wouldn’t. Though he could easily tell that he was just as vulnerable in his little fort as he was outside, his subconscious was not as observant. There were reinforced walls between him and the monsters, and that, on some level, made him feel protected. Was it really that far fetched, considering the circumstances, that his mental and emotional well being may very well have dictated the proceedings all this time?

After all, everything the night had done had only fed his inner demons. Perhaps that was why the intensity of the attacks had grown over time. He’d only been on a downhill slope, and the occurrences had only become more dangerous.

It must have been why they waited so patiently outside. They knew he was cracking, beginning to doubt his security. They pressed from all sides, straining the shell that preserved him. They knocked because they knew that he was figuring it out. They couldn’t stop it, so they practically begged to be let in. He was losing his fear, he was stripping them of their power over him. They pleaded to be let in, to be given back their strength.

His headache jumped up another octave and put a pressure on his skull the likes of which he’d never felt before. He curled up on the floor in a twitching heap, clutching at his head.

More questions came. What were the ramifications of this discovery? What could he now accomplish? What did this mean for his mental stability? Did this indicate that this was a manifestation of his twisted neurosis after all? Had he only learned how to control the gruesome shards of his shattered mind? All this time, had he been truly broken and only now figured out how to piece the parts back together?

He could feel them creeping in, searching for a crack in his shield, reaching out for his mind, trying to drag it back into shadow. Dark puddles of tar seeped through the walls, the ceiling, the floor, portals for dark hooves that rose up and clamored for him. A whisper in his mind sung a malicious tune, lyrics speaking of terrible things and rhymes that could only have been written by something truly unspeakable. The whispers became louder and louder, causing him excruciating pain. He began hearing them clear as day, and could pinpoint a source. The window.

He shambled to all fours and stumbled to the glass in an uncoordinated way. He peeked through the planks and saw the one who recited the malevolent theme. The little choir filly who still stood outside with her coal-black eyes pressed against the window, only now with infernal red pinprick-pupils emerging from the dark voids. Her music was different from before, though. It was no longer the innocent voice of a child, but the demonic intones of an abominable beast. It was quiet, but unholy in its sound.

It was her. He could hear her now. He could really hear her.

Her wretched music sunk into the creases of his mind and amplified his fears and his doubts. She was why they didn’t attack the home. They wouldn’t have to. She would reach into his mind and take him apart from the inside. She would get him to let them in.

Rags was at once terrified and enraged. With his head feeling as if it would blow apart at any moment, he staggered back and looked for his machete that he had dropped sometime earlier in his daze. He literally stumbled upon it on the rug, and did the best he could to grasp it in his teeth. With a glare that spelled death, he lurched toward the window and, without a second’s hesitation, thrust it into the glass, simultaneously putting an end to the mind-destroying music and replacing it with the sound of glass cracking and bone and flesh being pierced.

He yanked the blade from the window and dropped it, falling back on his flank as the immense pressure in his skull began slowly dissipating. He remained confused though as his thoughts were still a scrambled mess of nonsense and outrageous things. It was as if the previous several minutes, in which he tumbled through utter madness and seemingly discovered more about his situation, had happened in a dream. Nothing was clear. He felt tired. The taste of copper filled his mouth and blood dripped from his nostrils.

He collapsed on the floor, vision hazy as he tried to stay conscious. An eardrum-blowing roar shook the foundations of the house and made the remnants of Rags’ migraine flare up in pain.

They were very angry.

Nougat stirred from his sleep, yawning as he exited another wonderful dream featuring the mare of his dreams. He scratched his sides as he slid out from under the blankets and sat on the edge of the bed. He wrenched his eyes open and was stunned to see that it was still dark and that the sunlight which usually signified it was time to get up was missing. Had he awoken early?

He got his answer when he spared a glance to the window and sighed in indignation. Boarded up, just like the rest of his home. He mumbled something incoherent as he tried to imagine what ridiculousness his friend would do to his house next. Perhaps he would imagine giant bat creatures that only eat virgins flying overhead and try to light a bonfire on the roof to ward them off.

He shook his head and frowned as he considered Rags’ state. He couldn’t fathom what it was that kept the princess from committing him and giving him the help that he needed. He wanted nothing more than the best for his oldest friend, and seeing him in such poor condition was painful. Was the princess using him as an experiment? Studying the effects of insanity on the average depressed dishwasher’s brain? The thought made him seethe. How contemptible a thing to do.

He stepped out of his room, smacking his dry lips, with the intention of taking a quick shower and preparing for work when he happened upon something that coerced a gasp out of him. Rags lay sprawled out on the floor in the living room, blood staining his muzzle. He was out cold, but what put him in such a state was what concerned Nougat, especially when blood was involved.

“Rags!” Nougat exclaimed as he pounced over to the floor by his friend’s side, shaking his shoulder forcefully. Not possessing any medical experience beyond what he saw other ponies do whenever there was a medical emergency, Nougat began hyperventilating with panic. He placed an ear down on Rags’ chest to listen for a heartbeat. At least he thought that was what he was supposed to do. Next he placed a hoof on the dishwasher’s leg, feeling for a pulse. He shrieked in a rather feminine way when the leg came to life suddenly and grabbed him by the fur on his chest, yanking him towards Rags’ head.

The formerly unconscious earth pony had a look of complete and total terror in his red, sleep deprived eyes. His hoof trembled uncontrollably on Nougat’s chest. He reeked of copious amounts of sweat that clung to his coat, undoubtedly stress induced. He looked Nougat right in the eye and whispered, “I am never leaving this house again.”

Journal entry #55

I’m safe here. I don’t need to leave. I just need to stay alert. I need to make sure I always feel like the house is secure. That’s the secret. It’s all in my head. I think. I don’t know. I just don’t need to think about anything. The more I try and venture too far into the matter, try asking questions that I can’t figure out, the more afraid I become and the weaker the house gets. I just need to stay strong. They can’t hurt me if I just stay in here. I don’t know how anything works. I don’t know the rules. And I don’t plan on performing any experiments to find out. They can’t hurt me in here.

They can’t hurt me in here.

Rags stomped yet another nail into yet another board. He grabbed more nails and another board and began to repeat the process. The windows were now entirely sealed off, not allowing even a single ray of sunlight inside. The only light in the room was from bulbs and candles.

Nougat walked into the living room, combing his hair and preparing for work, when he beheld his friend and sighed. Rags’ coat had become sickly and paler from the lack of natural light. His mane was matted, greasy, ungroomed, and had grown out to nearly shoulder length. A full, bushy beard had now grown on the messy stallion’s face.

Nougat cringed at what the dishwasher had been reduced to. Somehow, he felt sort of guilty about it, like he was at fault for allowing it to perpetuate. Reluctantly, the pegasus decided to reach out to the earth pony. “Hey, Rags?”

Rags spun quickly and looked him dead in the eyes with his own bugged out optics. He didn’t appear angry or confused, just… waiting intently. After being taken off guard by the crazy-eyed pony’s look, Nougat cleared his throat and continued. “I, uh, couldn’t help but notice that you’ve been spending a lot of time inside, and, er, I don’t really think it’s healthy.”

Rags stared at him in silence for another five seconds, twitched the corner of his mouth, and went back to putting up boards without a word.

Nougat shifted awkwardly on his hooves. “Maybe you should take a walk, or… something?”

“No. Too dangerous. They’re watching. They’ll sneak in while I’m gone.” Rags never turned to face Nougat while he spoke.

“What are you talking…” Nougat’s face fell as he realized that he was probably just wasting his time. But he couldn’t just give up on him. Though, what could he honestly do? Nothing he ever said or tried to do sunk in or actually made a difference. He felt like he was about to start shedding tears. He had spent the past several weeks watching his best friend spiral into madness, letting him barricade his home in an effort to make him feel better. But if anything, he was just enabling him.

“Well… if you need me, I’ll be at work.” Nougat trudged toward the door and began unbolting locks, releasing chains, and lifting up the bar. He opened the door and stopped before leaving, casting one last glance over to Rags, who still worked like an ant building up its hill and didn’t acknowledge Nougat’s presence. With one last sorrowful sigh, he departed for the bakery.

Rags slapped the final plank onto the hodgepodge of different shapes, types, and sizes of other boards that encased the window. He reached for another and got a big hoof-full of air, finding that he had run dry on fortifying wood. He groaned in agitation and sat down with a huff. This’ll have to do for now, I guess. But that was the last of the stuff I’d bought. And I’m not going out to buy more. Maybe I can get Nougat to pick some up for me. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.

He shut his eyes for a moment to catch his breath and recuperate. It was so nice to just sit down for a second and relax. He hadn’t realized how hard he’d been working himself. The embrace of relaxation was so nice, he thought he’d stay there for just a minute longer. His head began dropping and he could feel himself slowly being lost to slumber, but he couldn’t fight the sensation off, it was just too comforting. It was when his head dropped so low that his backside teetered into the air and his chin hit the floor that he jolted awake with a yelp.

No! Can’t sleep! I gotta stay awake in case they try anything! I gotta be up to fight them off! But I’m just too tired… I gotta find a way to keep myself awake.

Rags thought about it, and he was already doing everything normal ponies do to keep themselves energized. Drinking copious quantities of coffee, energy drinks that were more sugar than liquid, splashing his face with cold water. He just wasn’t going to be able to hold out by any conventional means. So perhaps… something a bit more… unconventional?

He considered it, then reprimanded himself for even humoring the thought. It was totally out of the question. Although… it was for a good cause, his own survival. He bit his lip as he wrestled with his conscience over the matter. He walked out of the living room, down the hall, and into the bathroom. He opened up the medicine cabinet and pulled out a particular bottle.

It was an orange cylinder with a white top and a large stamp on the front that read off basic information about the patient, Nougat, and the condition for which this certain medication was subscribed to him for. Nougat, unbeknownst to most, struggled with ADD. To combat the symptoms, he was prescribed a drug known as ritalin. Rags, having known Nougat for years, knew that the drug was a stimulant, and had an effect similar to caffeine, only more intense, somehow having the opposite effect on Nougat’s condition. It would be a great asset in helping him to stay awake…

But he couldn’t steal medicine from Nougat! And he had no real knowledge of the drug beyond what it’s intended effect for ADD patients was. He knew it was both risky and unethical… But did either of those things really matter given the situation? He needed to stay awake, and this was an effective way of doing it… Surely Nougat wouldn’t notice just a few little pills missing?

Rags popped the cap off and shook two tablets out of the bottle. “Uhm… that’s the amount Nougat usually takes… so maybe… three for added effect?” Tapping the bottle, he rattled out one more into his hoof. He had many conflicting feelings over what he was doing. So much was just wrong about it… But, what would be worse, his friend missing out on a few doses, or him waking up to find monsters standing over him? He NEEDED to stay awake. So…

Journal entry #60

Pills workingfine. Keepin g me aw ake. Hardto wri te th ou gh. Hoo v e s jitter y.

Ok, I’m good now. Like I said, pills working great. I’m SO aware now! I can hear their every move, their breathing, their whispering! They can’t get the jump on me now! Nothing can get past me! I can hear everything! I can hear everything right now! I can hear them all! I can smell them all, feel them all holy GODS they’re yelling at me! Make them stop! tell them to LEAVE, Journal! Tell them to stop TOUCHING ME!

*The page is torn in the middle*

Whoa. Ok, I’m alright. I’ll be fine. I just need to take a few more, then I’ll stop seeing things.

Journal entry #61

It’s hard trying to keep up my facade of confidence and sense of security. Every night they press their mouths to the walls, speaking in their dark tongue, trying to make me do things. They listen to my every move and revel in the delightful sound of my trepidation. They savor my smell as they lick their chops. Their patience is unbelievable. They’ll wait until the end of time for me to let them in. I’ll never do it, of course. I won’t let them win. But they share that sentiment, I imagine.

I’m slowly losing my footing. I’m slipping, I can feel it. I try to find the cracks and plug them, but I just don’t know where to look. I don’t know what it is. Why am I falling back down? After I’ve just figured out how to manipulate the situation, the odds begin stacking against me again? What’s going on? Where’s the intruder that tries to tear down my walls? I know he’s here somewhere. The hallucinations are worse than ever. They’re mocking visions that dangle my anxieties in front of me like a younger sibling with a fake spider on a stick. There is a saboteur in here, but he hides under false pretenses like a mental cockroach scurrying away from the light!

Jeez… I’m tired. What did I just write?

Rags stared intently into the reflection in his glass of orange juice on the kitchen table. He’d kept it under his watchful gaze for the past half hour, making sure nothing and nobody could escape.

A recently washed Nougat walked in and, with the same expression that always seemed to find its way onto his face when he saw his friend nowadays, he sighed. “Morning, bro. Might I… ask what it is exactly that you’re doing?”

Rags glanced at Nougat with his peripheral vision, never turning away from the glass. “I’m trying to see if… uh, on second thought, never mind.” Rags finally tore his eyes away from the citrus liquid.

Nougat pulled his head out of the fridge and looked at Rags with genuine surprise. Had he just stopped himself from saying something crazy? The dishwasher buried his head in his forelegs on the table. Nougat saw his chance. Rags appeared to be having a moment of clarity! He wasn’t completely nuts at this instant! A rare opportunity indeed.

“Hey, bro?” Nougat asked.

Rags made some form of primitive noise in acknowledgment.

“I think today is gonna be ‘take your best psycho-crazy-as-balls-friend to work day.’”

Rags lifted his head out of his forelegs enough to shoot Nougat a deadpan glare.

“Come on. I think spending some time out of the house and surrounded by hot mare--I mean, uh, hot pastries, will do ya some good. Come on man, how ‘bout it?” Nougat asked with a bright smile.

Rags continued glaring at him, eventually standing up from the table and rubbing his bearded chin in a pensive fashion. He mulled it over for the longest time, head-gears grinding harshly against one another. Nougat almost wished he could see into the dishwasher’s mind to see how his odd brain worked.

A second later, he remembered all the things Rags had said and done over the past several months, and thought better of it. Perhaps some things were best left unseen.

The earth pony vehemently scratched his foreleg, very deep in contemplation. He looked to be overwhelmed by the prospect of having to make such a decision. “Well… I don’t know… I’m not supposed to go outside… But… The problem, I don’t think, is out there. I think it’s actually in…” Rags looked back to Nougat, who waited eagerly for an answer. Rags let out a long sigh. “I guess some fresh air wouldn’t hurt--”

“YES! THERE WE GO! ATTA BOY! Don’t worry, bud, it’ll be all serene-like at the bakery, totally peaceful, you’ll see. Nothing there that’ll hurt you. Unless of course you find laughter painful, in which case Pinkie will kill ya! She just got back from her trip to Canterlot! Isn’t that great!?” Nougat declared with a chuckle. His smile faded though as he saw Rags’ scowl. Undoubtedly, he wasn’t very excited about seeing Pinkie.

“Or, you know, maybe not. She doesn’t have to kill you. She can just, uh… assault… you?”

Rags’ scowl did not let up.

“Or she can not do anything to you. That’s fine too.”

Rags rolled his eyes and began walking to the front door.

“Uh… bro?”

He stopped and turned back to Nougat.

“Can you, uhm, take a shower first?” Nougat asked politely.

“What for?”

“Well, you kind of… sort of… just a little bit… smell like a roadkilled skunk that’s been stuffed down a homeless guy’s pants. And you look like it too,” Nougat said with a sheepish smile, hoping not to offend.

Rags smelled himself and cringed. Holy-- That’s what I smell like!? Jeez, I could kill with this stench! Maybe I should let those monsters take a bite and see if they poison themselves off this funk! When was the last time I took a shower?

Cheeks reddening in embarrassment, Rags changed course and made way for the bathroom.

“By the way,” Nougat started. “Have you seen my meds? I’m missing a bottle.”

Rags kept walking, the scarlet color on his face turning into a pale one.

Rags’ eyes rapidly scanned every direction, keeping watch for creatures. He shivered slightly as every little noise put an image of something terrifying in his head. He twitched as ponies passed, preparing for them to shed their skins and rip him apart at any moment. He became especially perturbed whenever he passed an alley.

“Take it easy, bro. There isn’t anything out here that’s going to hurt you, ‘kay? Also, you’re making a scene,” Nougat said, trying not to look the passing pedestrians in their judgmental eyes.

“I can’t help it, man! They’re waiting! They’re just waiting for me to slip up! Gotta stay alert!” Rags stammered out, eyes wide and frightened. “I shouldn’t have left the house! They know! They’ll be there when I get back now!”

“Look, everything is fine. If any nasty beasties start coming at us, I’ll let you know,” Nougat said almost patronizingly.

Rags jerked his head as an old mare walked by and hissed at her. Nougat slapped his forehead in shame. “I’m starting to think you shouldn’t have left the house either.”

Rags sat at a table inside of the currently patron-less bakery, sitting as still as he could. Nougat told him that what he needed was a delightful dessert of some kind to ease his nerves, so he went in back to prepare something for him. Sugar free, of course. He didn’t need the extra energy. Rags appreciated the sentiment, he really did. One could not ask for a better friend than Nougat. But the more he thought about it, the more the whole venture seemed like a waste of time. Why was he strolling about town with Nougat? Confections and fresh air wouldn’t help him, though the gesture itself was a bit of a spirit lifter.

“HEY!”

Rags jumped clear out of his seat with a scream and fell to the floor. THAT’S IT! THEY’RE HERE! THEY’RE GONNA KILL ME NOW! He sat up as quickly as he could to face the monster that had come to attack him, but found something far worse than any abomination: Pinkie Pie.

“Wow, you’re really jumpy,” the pink one said with a snorting giggle. Rags groaned and got up, working a crick out of his neck. He sat back down without speaking to her. She apparently noticed this.

“Ah, you’re not still mad at me for trying to throw you a surprise party, are you?” she asked with big eyes.

Rags leered at her, a twitch present in his eye. “You broke into my house with a crowd of STRANGERS, you psychopath! Yes, I’m still mad at you!”

“Ahh… Well let me make it up to you!” Pinkie beamed, grinning from ear to ear.

“No,” Rags growled, resisting the urge to make her eat her stupid, physics-defying, cotton candy mane. That mane was seriously agitating him, the way it was being so… poofy. It taunted him with its fluffy, wavy ways. He hated it deeply.

“Pleeeeeaaaaase? I know you didn’t like my surprise party, so how about a ‘I’m sorry for breaking into your house and jumping out at you from the dark and yelling surprise and almost giving you a heart attack which made everyone laugh at you and you probably cried yourself to sleep that night’ party!”

“Wait, what--”

“Maybe it can be anti-burglary themed!”

“I said no--”

“OH! Or maybe I could bake you a cake in the shape of a door lock!”

“I already bought plenty of those after your first visit--”

“OH! OH! Or maybe I could--”

“NO! You dense, irritating, bubbly little freak! What happy farm did you escape from!?”

“Silly, I didn’t come from a happy farm, it was a rock farm!”

“AHHHH!”

Nougat poked his head through the doorway to the kitchen. “Is there a problem out here?”

Rags, shaking with absolute fury, slowly raised a hoof and pointed at the pink one’s face. She apparently still hadn’t caught on that Rags was not overly fond of her, as she mimicked the gesture with a bemused smile.

Nougat’s eyes went wide and he leaped into action, aiming to avert a possibly very painful accident before it started. Rags was not the sort of pony to be messed with at this time. Nougat remembered what happened to his boss, and hadn’t considered what all it would take to push Rags to that level again. But he wasn’t about to take any risks. “Erm, uhm, uh… h-hey, Pinkie?” Nougat stammered.

She turned to him and he visibly tensed up. “Yes, number one assistant baker buddy?” Pinkie said in her typically cheerful fashion. Nougat practically melted.

“W-Would you m-mind taking care of the, uhm… the… thing… in the back?” the pegasus said with a meek smile.

“Oh nuts, is the thing broken again?”

“Uhhhh--Yes! Yes, the thing is definitely broken again! The, uh, spinny… part is… busted?”

Pinkie threw her head back and sighed. “I just fixed that YESTERDAY!” She stomped into the kitchen with a scowl to carry out Nougat’s vague, unspecific, obviously false request.

He wiped the sweat from his brow and exhaled. He turned to the counter to find Rags foaming at the mouth. “So… catch up with Pinkie?” Nougat chuckled.

“The fires of Tartarus hath no fury like mine…”

“I see… well, how about a little something to calm the nerves?” Nougat vanished into the kitchen for a moment and reappeared with a steaming pie. “Here, bro, on the house.”

Rags stopped shaking and sized up the pastry, stomach growling fiercely. “I… er, thanks. Sorry about that, I just, uh… I don’t enjoy her company,” he said venomously.

“Who, Pinkie? Dude, she’s awesome when you get to know her! She’s funny and fun and nice and… caring… and sweet… and when the sun hits her mane in just the right way it…” Nougat trailed off, a dreamy expression on his face.

“Keep it between your legs, you weirdo, I have enough reasons for not getting any sleep at night,” Rags cut in with a grimace. “Anyway, thanks for the food. It feels… nice… to be outside in the day and just… be normal… I guess?” The dishwasher seemed uncomfortable saying these words, as if they were some sort of taboo for him. His instincts screamed for him to run home, lock himself inside, and go to his happy place. He was forcing himself to stay at this point. It was good for him to get some fresh air, he knew this, but he didn’t feel it.

But he wasn’t going to let himself regress. If everything that happened to him was dependent on how he held up mentally and emotionally, then he needed to force himself to have a good time. If he gave into his feelings, then it would only be a matter of time before he was killed. He couldn’t let his fears run him.

Of course, it was so obvious that Rags was uncomfortable that even the most oblivious of ponies like Nougat could see it. The pegasus’ expression saddened. “Hey, how you holding up?”

“Well, I haven’t collapsed into a heap of tears and alcohol, so I guess that means I’m still functioning,” Rags said, trying to control his fidgety hooves long enough to get some pie.

“I’ve gotta know, why hasn’t the princess helped you out at all? A psychiatrist, a sanity potion, something! I mean, don’t take this the wrong way bro, but… you’re in a bad way. And you’re even sort of… dangerous.”

Rags cast a glance up to his friend and sighed. “She is helping me… I think. Look, it’s complicated, alright?”

“You think I’m stupid? What’s so complicated about it? You’re not well. You need a shrink,” Nougat said, unsheathing a knife from one of the many pockets on his apron and slicing a piece of dessert out for his rather uncoordinated friend.

“Do you think I’m stupid? If that was what would solve my issues, then clearly the super-genius princess would figure it out and send the best psych that royal funds could get. I’m telling you, my problems are real. And like I’ve said a million times, I don’t know how to make you understand. I don’t know how it happens, but I’m left completely without evidence after it’s over, so I can’t show you what goes on. I just need you to have a little faith in me. Can you do that for me, pal?” Rags said, becoming snippy.

Nougat opened his mouth but closed it soon after, his eyes drooping in sadness.

“I’m… sorry. I’m not the happiest of campers, if you couldn’t already tell.”

“It’s alright man… I’ve got nothing. This is just way over my head. I think you’re criminally insane, and whatever the problem is, I can’t help… But I guess I can stick by you until you pull through.”

Rags froze, looking to his friend for confirmation of whether or not he had heard right. Nougat wore a sympathetic expression and held a hoof in mid-air over the counter. Rags was stunned. A massive load had just been taken off his shoulders. He no longer had to worry about salvaging his friendship with Nougat. His pal wasn’t going to give up on him, even after everything Rags has said and done and all of the crazy he’d exhumed. A smile tugged at the corner of the dishwasher’s mouth, and he met his associates brohoof with contentment and joy. Rags had told himself this before, but he would be damned to the deepest pits of Tartarus if he wasn’t going to say it again: he truly could not possibly ask for a better friend than Nougat.

“FIXED IT!”

Both Nougat and Rags jumped as the shrill, overjoyed voice split the air in exclamation. They both looked to see Pinkie standing in the doorway, proudly presenting a plunger with a pineapple lodged within the suction cup.

Nougat and Rags looked to each other for suggestions on how to proceed, with Nougat eventually stammering out a hesitant praise. “Uhh… nice… job… Pinkie?” She thrust the device into the pegasus’ grasp and shoved him into the kitchen.

“WE NEED A DOZEN CUPCAKES FOR A BIRTHDAY PARTY! AND YOU MAKE AWESOME CUPCAKES, SO IF YOU COULD MAKE THOSE, THAT WOULD BE GREAT!” Pinkie shouted at the top of her lungs.

“Why are you yelling!?” Rags asked, ears ringing like bell.

“YELLING? Oh, whoops, I didn’t even notice! Sorry!” she said with a giggle. Rags felt his fury coming to a boil again.

“Whatever. Hey, Nougat! Thanks for the food! I’m gonna wrap the rest of it up and take a walk, okay?” Rags hollered into the kitchen, taking the remains of his pie in a doggy bag from the stack of them on the counter.

“Yeah, sure thing! See you later, bro! Hey, Pinkie? Did you bring back any of that special frosting from that bakery in Canterlot?” Nougat asked just as the dishwasher was about to exit the store.

“No.”

Rags stopped dead in his tracks. Did his ears deceive him? Was it a hallucination? His mind surely had to have been playing tricks on him. There was no way it was possible. The night coming to life was easier to believe than what he thought he heard. Did he just hear Pinkie Pie answer a question… in an inside voice!? He turned to behold the unfathomably rare sight of Pinkie… not smiling.

She almost looked… less Pinkie-ish. Her gravity defying explosion of a mane sagged ever so slightly. Her coat seemed… dimmer? She didn’t exactly look sad, but she did look to be deep in thought. Thought? From Pinkie Pie? Something was definitely not right. What could have taken away so much of her happy momentum? Was it something Nougat said? All he did was ask about something from… Canterlot. What was she doing in Canterlot?

Rags was perplexed by such a sudden mood swing, even from the queen of sudden mood swings. A niggling question in the back of his mind slipped into forethought. Could she have possibly been in Canterlot to assist the princess with something? After all, she was very close with Twilight. And her position as a bearer of one of the elements pushed the question even further. Perhaps, by some chance, Pinkie would know something about the princess’s project that she was allegedly working on for Rags.

Curiosity brimming, he strolled back over to the counter and set his bag down, hushing his deep wells of seething for the pink one in order not to make a possibly sensitive topic hurt worse. Such a drastic downgrade in mood from such a bombastic individual would imply that the subject was not a favorite for discussion.

Pinkie calmly worked the register, sorting the day’s minimal earnings and tips. It was almost a marvel to see one so outlandish so down to earth. Rags shifted on his hooves for a moment before hesitantly breaking the silence. “Hey, Pinkie?”

“Yes?”

“Uhm, I heard that you went to Canterlot? If you don’t mind me asking, what were you doing there?”

Pinkie stared for a moment before her fluffy mane and tail deflated like balloons, and her now straightened out hair hung somberly. Her bright pink coat darkened by a few shades. And her pensive, neutral look turned sorrowful. “I… I’m not supposed to talk about it.”

“Why not? Is it personal? I don’t want to step on any hooves or anything, I was just wondering--”

“Twilight asked us not to talk about it. She said it would be terrible if ponies knew.” Tears began forming in the corners of her eyes. Rags had never even thought it possible for the party mare to sink into such a state. Even though she annoyed him to no end, he felt kind of bad for her.

“She said especially not to talk to you about it,” Pinkie said quietly.

Not to talk to me about it especially? Well why the buck not!? This is my survival we’re talking about here!... Isn’t it? I mean, she does seem really sad, and I don’t know why something the princess is working on to help me out would bum her out… unless… am I… doomed? Is it bad news!? D-Does the princess know that I’m going to die!? Am I terminal!?

Pinkie sniffled and continued. “She said that if you knew, you wouldn’t make it.”

If I knew!? What does that mean!? If I know what’s going on, I’ll die? Like, spontaneously combust the instant I hear it or something?

She sniffled again and looked up to him, a sad smile on her face. “That’s kinda why I wanted to throw you a party. I said that it was to make up for making you mad, but…” She wiped a hoof across her face. “Wanna cookie?” she offered kindly through the tears.

Rags felt an awful pit forming in his stomach. Why else would she want to throw him a party? What did she know? From the sound of it, and judging by the way it crushed Pinkie’s spirit, Rags imagined that whatever the secret was, suffice to say, wasn’t very good.

“No thanks.” And with that, Rags took his bag and began to leave the store, dread overflowing inside of him. As he pushed the door open, he could see the outline of a pony in the bright light of the afternoon. Seeing that they were coming towards the store, he held the door open for them. As they passed, Rags could hear him say something under his breath.

“Damnation awaits you.”

Surprised and slightly frightened, Rags rapidly turned to look at the bystander that spoke of such ominous things. The stallion seemed, by all accounts, perfectly normal. He sat down at the counter and began to place an order, apparently not even aware of Rags' presence. Was it just an imagination? A mind too paranoid hearing what wasn't there?

Rags shook his head vigorously. I need a stiff drink.

Author's Notes:

It still feels like I'm messing this thing up... I just know I'm going to ruin this. I JUST KNOW IT!

Anyway, this one might feel a bit jumpy or unfocused, but it's intended to hurry the story along quicker than the previous chapters have, so that's why. If you spot any errors, please point them out to me.

Enjoy!

Chapter 7: A Little Light

Journal entry #80

I’m done.

Rags slowly walked down the hall, floorboards creaking under his weight. His lantern cast a faint orange glow over the space around him. He made his way into the living room, waving his sickly flame around, inspecting every element in the room. Nothing amiss. He sighed a deep sigh. He stepped over to the window and set the lantern down, placed both his hooves on the planks, and pushed his weight against them several times. They were stable. He picked up his lantern and performed the same actions with the other windows.

Every night he paced back and forth inside the home, checking for any flaws in the defenses. There was never anything. Every night he sat and listened to them, their breath blowing against the walls, their awful language reciting wicked limericks, their claws scratching at the house. There were too many now. He never looked, but he felt it. Their presence grew stronger every night.

He felt like a rat in a cage being prodded with a stick. He was trapped in the house, performing the same routines or risking death. At any instant the rules could change once more and he could be murdered in the blink of an eye, but until that happened, he adhered to the list of things that kept him alive.

Even though he could hear them all out there, their every move, their every breath, the silence was deafening. How could it be so quiet with them being so loud? Before, silence meant death. Now, silence was all he ever heard. Death was always hanging over him. It unnerved him to know that they were all waiting for the exact moment when they could come in. They wouldn’t hesitate for a second. All it would take was one little slip and they’d come down on him.

So, he made his rounds all throughout the night, each and every night. The house was small, easy enough to check. But he always had to stay awake, remain aware. If he slept, he would be assaulted by his nightmares, bringing him fear and worry. Such things spelled surefire doom. He needed to keep himself awake, but that was becoming harder and harder to do as the days went on.

He could hardly stand anymore. His fatigue was at an all time high. He quietly sat down on the couch, setting his lantern on the coffee table. He held his head in his hooves, feeling like crying, but having no more tears to shed. He began bobbing in and out of consciousness, occasionally pounding against his forehead in an effort to jolt himself awake. No such luck. He grimaced in anger at his weakness. Fed up, he reached into his bag and pulled out a small syringe. Thanks to a few helpful medical books he borrowed from the library, he’d discovered a marvelous method of keeping himself alert.

Nougat’s ritalin pills were no longer sufficing for keeping him up. He needed something with a little more kick to it. Through a visit to the herb specialist outside of town, he was able to come into possession of a wondrous little concoction that would satisfy all of his needs. He wasn’t exactly sure how it worked or what most of the substances inside were called, and the zebra even seemed wary of supplying him with these specific chemicals, but he read that it would make him hyper aware and on edge, and that’s exactly what he wanted.

He stuck the needle in the crux of his foreleg, letting the wonder drug flow throughout his veins. Almost immediately he could begin feeling its effects. He could hear better than ever, smell things he’d never been able to before, and see what he could never see. They’d never get through his barricades now. His senses were heightened to a point where nothing could slip through without his knowing. He smiled at the excellent sensations coursing through him. Now he was safe.

He could hear so well, every little movement. Every particle and speck of dust colliding with one another. Everything became so clear. So clear… that he could pick up on something. A droning sound. He scrutinized the space around him. Nothing. It didn’t grow in volume at all, it was merely there. His flesh became itchy all over. His teeth hurt. His eyes felt as if they would explode. It must have meant that something was near. He looked around again. Nothing again.

He heard a whisper in the dark corner of the living room. His head shot up as he looked into the shadows. After a moment of being frozen, he snatched the lantern off the table and cautiously took small steps towards the dark place, slowly fighting back the blackness. When the pathetic light stretched over the corner, he saw a small foal and gasped. It wasn’t a ghoul from outside. It wasn’t a malformed beast or a twisted monstrosity in the shape of a foal. It was an actual foal. It was the same color as him in both mane and coat, and on its flank was a mark picturing… a dish with a washcloth? That was his mark. The tiny colt looked up at him with green eyes and a sad look on his face. He said nothing to Rags, remaining still and keeping his teary eyes fixed on the stallion.

Rags kept his gaze trained on the colt, trying to piece his thoughts together. A creature? It certainly didn’t look like one. A vision? Surely. But that didn’t explain the sound. The buzzing, static-like noise that hummed throughout the room. It wasn’t very loud, but it irritated him nonetheless. And he didn’t even know why.

Such a sad sight.

The noise stopped.

Look at those big, green eyes and those tiny little tears trickling down his face. Gets ya right in the feels, don’t it?

Rags didn’t even need to look around for the speaker. He knew the voice all too well. He had his suspicions about the supposed saboteur in his mind. The one who tried to tear down his foundations and break his sanity. He’d suspected for a while that it’s been him. But why now? Why not sooner? In fact, Rags had noticed that he’d fallen out of contact with him ever since the attack on the boss. Time to get reacquainted, he thought rather irately.

It’s you. It’s been you.

You’re gonna have to elaborate.

You’ve been the one screwing with my head all this time, trying to tear down my defenses against the night.

Really? Is that what’s been happening? Hmm, interesting how you know for a fact that it was me, especially when you’ve got about twenty other probable causes. Stress, fear, no sleep, and let’s not even get into your, ahem, habits… Namely your drug ones.

I don’t have a drug... whatever. Where have you been? And why are you doing this?

In the blink of an eye, the foal before him aged several years into a more recognizable teenager. The teen was rather unattractive. Fairly scrawny, acne troubles, and an angry look on his face as he scowled at Rags.

It has been a long time, now that you mention it. What, two months? As for the where, I’ve been off… thinking things over. And I’ve had an epiphany or two. You see, I tried to be your best friend, tried to give you a new lease on life. I always used to tell ya that I’d be giving you great advice that would help you take control. And you, well… you spat in my face. You told me to piss off once and for all. You cut me deep with that, Rags, you cut me real deep. So I went off to mull things over a bit. And you know what? I’m done too. I’m done trying to salvage a miserable piece of trash like yourself from the gutter that you’re so persistent in staying in. Why spend all your money fixing up something so abysmally broken… when you could just buy a new one

What’s that supposed to mean?

Another blink of the eyes transformed the teen into an adult, losing the angry expression and bad complexion for a miserable expression and an appearance of total normalcy, to the point of coming off as boring.

What do you think it means?

I think it means that you’re a sick prick that likes messing with my head.

Not exactly. True, I guess I can be partially blamed for your lack of stable brain functions, but I’m not the one muckin’ up your skull. That blame goes solely to you.

I don’t think so. I’m not the one giving myself hallucinations.

Aren’t you?

No!

Well, it’s certainly not me. I’ve been sitting on the sidelines pondering away. Besides, I think we both know that I was bluffing when I said I could screw with all sorts of things in your head. I haven’t done a thing to you.

Liar.

Whatever floats your boat. If you need someone to blame for your own stupid faults, go ahead. Heap it on.

What are you gonna do then? You don’t honestly think I’m gonna buy that load about you sitting on the sidelines, right? You’re just gonna let me take the helm here?

Yes… and no.

What’s that mean!?

Due time.

What?

In due time.

In due time what!?...

The stallion before him changed once more into a new shape: a tar-pony. It gurgled at him and leapt forward with unimaginable speed, a bloody cleaver in its grasp. Rags sucked in air so hard that he choked on it and fell on his back as the thing swung its weapon. He shut his eyes in expectation of a piercing pain, but it never came. He slowly parted his lids to nothing.

Breathing heavily through his nostrils, he got to his hooves and picked up his lantern. His expression was one of anger. The voice was a malicious devil, and his plans were never obvious. He wanted something. But what he said… just raised more questions than it did provide answers. Questions… always with the questions.

There were always questions… They never stopped coming. Everything was an enigma. Ever since the whole mess started, there had been nothing but non-stop uncertainties. Every little facet of the situation was shrouded in mystery. Even the very things he did to keep himself alive he didn’t quite understand. He knew nothing of the monsters, nothing of how the night thought, he didn’t even know anything about what was going on inside of his own mind.

There were always questions. Never any answers. He always inquired and investigated to the best of his abilities, but it never lead to anything. He was always just left with more questions. The more questions he got, the more afraid he became. He was never sure of anything. He could never comfort himself with the knowledge that things would go a certain way. He was never able to say ‘this is how things are going to turn out.’ That was the worst part to Rags, his inability to find ‘yes’ instead of ‘maybe.’ He was always left unknowing. He was always left in the dark…

Left in the dark… The irony of that phrase was stinging. It also served to highlight everything wrong with what he was doing. He was prolonging the inevitable: A terrible death. For what cause? What was it that he fought so desperately for? Answers? He would never find them. All he ever found were more questions. A goal? A purpose in life? That would require answers. The right to live?... Why? What was he living for? Answers. That was what he wanted more than anything else. That was his goal in life… and he couldn’t achieve his goal. His purpose for living was to acquire answers, and that was impossible. His purpose for living… was null. He had nothing to live for…

The revelation was not as impactful as one might have assumed it would be. The realization that he had nothing left to fight for was not a huge surprise. He’d had his suspicions, he’d pondered it before. But he’d always told himself to keep pushing. He always forced himself to keep moving forward in the face of the bleakest adversity. For a while, he’d even lost contact with the voice and he still managed to fight for himself. But… it’s been months. For months, every single night was a struggle just to keep his pulse going. Every single night was a never-ending downpour of fear. But he always told himself to pull through. That maybe the next sunrise would bring an epiphany.

But this was never the case. He always fought and killed and feared for nothing. The days all blended together in an endless bout of terror. There was never an end. There was never any peace. There was never any… point.

He sighed and sank into his seat. The beasts clawed and scratched even harder at the walls. There was no point. His struggle was simply drawing out his torture. He took note of the machete sitting on the table. Its blade gave off a dim glow in the faint lantern light, beckoning him. Perhaps… there was an answer.

He took up the oversized knife, looking it over. There were few things one could control in their life, evidently. Most things seemed to be left up to fate. Fate was a fickle wench, handing some a bad lot. In retrospect, his former life wasn’t all that bad. Boring, and a waste of all possible potential, but he had food, shelter, and never had to worry over sustaining himself. He eyed his foreleg, pressing hard on certain points up and down its length. But this life was something he could not cope with. It was unrelenting in its cruelty. It left him alone, afraid, dirty, and despaired. But now there was something he did have control over. He lightly pressed the cutting edge of the blade on his arm. The monsters howled and cried as they banged against the walls. And…

“Hey, Rags, I know you’re kinda screwed in the brainpan and all, but why did you put up Hearth’s Warming Eve lights--” Nougat stopped in the doorway after coming in the front door and witnessing the sight before him. Rags was poised with a blade on his leg, staring right back at the pegasus with equal amounts of shock. “It’s ok, bro… just put it down,” Nougat quietly begged, newly formed tears brimming.

Rags stared in disbelief as sunlight from behind his friend partially blinded him from the doorway. Sunlight… Nougat… neither should have been there. It was just night a second ago. He was sure of it. He could just hear the monsters clawing and screeching…

“Come on, man, just put it down. I know it’s bad, but I’ve got something here that will help, ok? So just… put it down.” Nougat held out a scroll and paced slowly towards Rags with it presented to him.

“Bu… But… You shouldn’t be… I just heard them… How did you come back...?” Rags asked, setting the blade down.

“I don’t know what you mean. You watched me leave for work this morning. Here, just take this. A mailmare dropped it off at work for me to give to you. Said you didn't answer the door.” Nougat handed over the parchment.

Rags took the scroll reluctantly, still unsure if he was even conscious. He unfurled it and began reading.

Dear Rags,

I realize that you must have been put under so much duress since my hasty departure several months ago. I can’t begin to apologize enough for leaving you without my assistance for so long. I would have sent one of my mages to aid you in my stead, but my reasoning for not doing so will be explained later.

I have good news! There is a feasible solution to your predicament! It is completely possible that an end to your stress may very well be in sight! Although, I’m afraid that isn’t a guarantee. There is a slight chance that it may not work. I will expound on this when you arrive, which brings me to my next point. For the solution to be viable, you must be here in Canterlot, so I have taken the liberty of sending a royal escort to transport you to the palace.

You will be given your own suite for the duration of your stay and supplied with royal accommodations. But first and foremost, we must converse about a very significant matter when you reach Canterlot. It is of the utmost importance. Again, I offer my deepest apologies for my lack of presence in your crisis, and… for a great deal of things yet to come.

Sincerely,
Princess Twilight Sparkle.

Rags released the scroll and let it furl up back into its cylindrical form. He set it down on the table and rested his cheek on a hoof. An… end? The princess has an answer?

Nougat put a hoof on Rags’ shoulder. “The princess has a plan, bro. You won’t have to deal with whatever it is you’re dealing with anymore. We’ll have you back to normal in no time. Then we can go peep on the mares in the spa just like old times.” The pegasus smiled a warm, brotherly smile to the dishwasher, tears staining his cheeks.

Rags was hesitant, ruminating on the connotations of a few key points in the letter… But he let Nougat’s words jump to the forefront of his mind. A plan. Soon, he returned his friend’s smile and offered a celebratory brohoof, which was promptly returned.

Rags slowly rose from his seat. “Alright then… time to get ready.”

“You mean for your trip?”

“Not exactly, Nougat… Not exactly.” Rags walked towards the front door. Time to get to work.

Rags watched the clock tick away as he’d been doing for so many nights now. Five minutes until nine. They would be out in full force tonight. Rags was leaving in the morning to go to Canterlot and possibly see an end to this endless nightmare. There was no telling how the beasts would react to this. They always watched him. The night was clever. It was very good at spying on the enemy. They knew he was leaving. They knew he was within reach of a way out, a way to escape their grasp. They would be desperate, so there was no telling what they would try.

A lump caught in Rags’ throat. A familiar sensation of unease crept down his spine and made him ansty. If everything that happened was dependent on what he felt, then how would this night play out? Did that mean that the glimmer of hope inside of him would act as a stronger barrier than before? Or was his uncertainty bound to strengthen the beasts? Such a conflicting state left the matter wide open. He supposed he’d just have to find out the hard way.

Three minutes now. It was odd, but despite his trepidation about the coming storm, he still felt a splinter of glee deep down. He was going to Canterlot to lay his troubles to rest! No more terror! No more death! No more insanity! He would soon be able to rest, to sleep at night! Those words felt like curses to him. Sleeping at night? The idea was blasphemous. It actually brought a small smile to his face, thinking about finally ridding his hooves of this madness. Perhaps after it was all over, he might even be able to stay in Canterlot for a little while and see the sights. He remembered how he once considered saving up for a vacation to the royal city, planning on soaking up its luxurious atmosphere to take a load of his mind.

Two minutes. Although, there were a few things in the letter that seemed very off. Twilight mentioned ‘things yet to come’ and apologized for them. Plus, she mentioned the possibility that it wouldn’t work, whatever the solution was. There was a faint trace of negativity in her words. It added a degree of uncertainty to the matter. Uncertainty was not something Rags was very fond of…

One minute to go. He couldn’t focus on any of that now. There was no time for working himself up over something that hadn’t even come to be yet. They were coming, and he had to be ready. He’d spent all day setting up a few nasty surprises for the monsters. The house looked like some sort of junk store, the way it was covered with various items with no apparent rhyme or reason. But Rags had reasons. If he’d gained anything out of the affair, it was the discovery of his hidden ingenuity. He found it amazing, what all he could accomplish when put under supernatural pressure.

Ten seconds. He didn’t bother turning off the lights.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

He heard breathing directly behind him. He spun around to see a shadowy figure standing in the corner. It had no definite shape, only a vague silhouette with glowing red pupils where what could be designated as a head was.

They watched each other, staring straight into each other's eyes. As the sounds of horror began escalating outside, it spoke to him in a nigh inaudible, but decidedly unnatural voice.

“They want… to see you…”

Blackness overtook his vision as he wrestled with an invisible foe. His sight returned to show him a room illuminated by a flickering light with the shadow figure missing from view. Rags’ breathing became erratic as a chill ran up his spine, prompting him to reassure himself that everything was alright. He knew what they were trying to do. They were trying to make a crack in his defenses. He had to stay secure. He needed to reinforce his mental barriers. The shadowy figure was merely a projection, nothing that could harm him. They hadn’t gotten in yet.

The clawing and scratching noises began. Rags started pacing around the room, making sure he felt it was secure. He sucked in air through his mouth and exhaled through his nose. The light bulb in the living room popped in a bright flash, showering the coffee table with gleaming sparks. Not good.

Rags heard similar bursting noises throughout the other rooms of the house. Crap! How are they doing this!? I was right, they really are desperate! Rags had fortunately lit candles in each room, providing enough light to ensure he wasn’t fumbling around in pitch black darkness. Grabbing one of the candles, he retrieved his lantern off the table and used the flaming wick to light it.

He swung the lamp about, casting light on every corner to verify that nothing was lurking around. When he felt reasonably safe in the living room, he started for the hall, but stopped just before traveling down it. He could see things, small things, skittering from room to room back and forth across the halls. Are they inside!?

No… They couldn’t be. He was safe, he told himself. He was safe. They couldn’t get in. This was his fortress, his sanctuary. It was impervious to the darkness outside. But then, what was he looking at? He could see them moving in the hall, infesting the shadows. Or… were they?... No. No, they weren’t. They were not in the hall. They were not in the hall. He stormed down the corridor, teeth gritted and lantern presented in his outstretched foreleg. The things vanished under the flickering light, running from its purifying properties.

He stepped inside every room, holding his lantern out in front of himself, banishing what wasn’t there. What couldn’t be there. He finished with Nougat’s room, seeing for a mere instant something in his bed. It disappeared with the coming of the light. After he was done, he double checked every room, reinforcing that there wasn’t anything there, that everything was secure. With every sense on high alert, he lightly tread back into the living room.

He began hearing whispers from the places where his light didn’t reach. They enclosed on him. He climbed atop the table and growled, “This place is mine. Mine! You aren’t welcome here! You can’t come in!” The whispers became legible, telling him dreadful things.

Your house.

Not your house.

In.

Inside.

Let us.

Let us in.

Let us in.

Let us in.

Let us in!

Let us in.

Let us in.

Let us in. Let us in.
Let us in.

Let us in.

Let us in!

Let us in. Let ussss innnnn.
Let us in!

Rags could feel them getting stronger the longer he listened to them. His rage emerged as he shouted as loud as he could, “NO! NO NO NO! SHUT UP!”

Let us in.
Let us in.
Let us in.

The whispering died off.

In a very unexpected turn, the telephone began to ring. Rags gawked at it as it rang out three times more, judging whether or not answering would be prudent. He was on to them. He knew their game. But this was a new one on him. Curiosity thoroughly piqued, he descended from the table and to the phone on the small stand by the couch. Reluctance abound, he picked up the receiver. “H-Hello?”

…

“Hello? Who is this? What are you?”

…

A filly's voice responded. "Are you lost like me?"

Dead air.

Rags stood there, pondering the meaning of such a message. He shook his head to clear his thoughts of the matter. It only invoked questioning, which was what always got Rags in trouble. That must have been the point. It wanted to knock Rags off balance with a question. He held steadfast to his thoughts. This place is mine. This place is mine.

He turned, still repeating his mantra in his head, to grab his lantern from the tabletop. When he held it up to spread out its light, he saw that the walls had all been covered nearly completely in a message scratched onto the surface.

Lost like me.

He took a deep, shaky breath and took a seat on the couch. They can’t come inside. This place is safe. Suddenly, all of the noises stopped. There was no clawing sound, no whispers, no thumping, no growling. Everything outside became dead quiet. Silence was not good. He tried not to think about it, not to feed the beast. He’d done well keeping everything locked up in the past, but they were so persistent on this night. There was no doubt about it, whatever it was waiting for him in Canterlot, they didn’t want him to get to it. Or…

Or maybe they did. Perhaps that is where Twilight’s “slight chance of failure” came in. Maybe they knew something the princess didn’t. Maybe they had a plan, a scheme to get Rags out of the safety of the house and into their malicious clutches. Was it even Twilight who sent the letter!? Was that just part of the ploy!? They were cunning, the devilish freaks. He had almost walked right into their trap. But they would not have him, not if he had anything to say about it. It was then and there that he made his decision: he wasn’t going to Canterlot.

He was never going to leave the house. Never.

All at once, the walls exploded inwards with a deafening roar, sending debris and bits of wood and concrete into the space around Rags. When the dust settled seconds later, he could see that dozens of dark, tar covered hooves had penetrated the house. Oh Lords, they’re inside!

The hooves tore and shredded the walls, trying to make space for their owners to squeeze their rotten faces through. They screeched and shrieked in fury, finally laying eyes on their prey for the first time in months. Rags’ mind had overridden its orders not to think about it. How!? What happened!? Where did they find a crack!? I was safe! I was SAFE!

After a moment, Rags came back to reality to find himself dumbly watching the chaos with his mouth agape. He slapped himself across the cheek and sprung into action, quelling his thoughts for the time being. He dashed to the front door to find it crumbling under the immense evil behind it. A red eye peeked through one of the cracks in the frame and a voice called to him, “!esproc rouy epar annog er’eW” He payed no mind to the foul thing and made a move towards a small generator he’d set by the front door earlier, dodging wayward legs that reached for him. He flipped a small ‘ON’ switch and was met with ear piercing squeals of agony from all across the front side of the house, followed by the stench of burnt flesh.

He peered out one of the gaps that wasn’t plugged by a limp limb to see numerous, smoking corpses lined up along the exterior; All of which standing, or previously standing, in a large puddle of water that soaked the sidewalk in front of the home. Hearth’s Warming Eve lights hung from the eaves, exposed wiring making contact with the liquid. It didn’t take a genius to know that a cut wire laying in a body of water was lethal.

There were stragglers that prowled and screeched at him from beyond the deadly puddle. It wouldn’t take them long to calculate another way in, and backup was sure to arrive soon. Tar-ponies were the least of his worries, tonight. They’d all know that there was a crack. They’d all be drawn to his home like flies to dead flesh. But the crude method of defense would buy him enough time to regain his composure. His greatest weapon against the hordes was peace of mind.

They’re in, they got in! How? What went wrong? What did I do wrong!? Ugh, nevermind! I can’t focus on that now. There’s no point in dwelling on it. I need to make sure I don’t give them an inch! This is my place, MINE! They might have busted the walls, but they won’t set a hoof inside without losing a couple first!

He clenched his teeth and went to work, preparing the rest of his makeshift armory, starting in the kitchen.

Atrocious sounds began coming from all around. Every direction roared to life with the sounds of furious brutes thundering towards his location. Nervous sweat emanated from every pore on his body, nearly drenching his coat instantly. He berated his hooves for only being able to move and work so fast. With death but a gnat’s wing away, he prepared his improvised armament for battle.

A high pitched shriek shredded the air, too loud for anyone to tolerate. A banshee. Rags clapped his hooves around his ears in a vain attempt at shielding them from the deafening cry. It brought him so much pain that he was forced to fight off the urge to curl up on the floor. After at least half a minute of the unrelenting scream, it finally quieted, leaving the stallion with a shrill ringing in his ears and intense nausea.

With his sense of balance shot, he staggered to his hooves and released the bilious results of his nausea all over the floor. Great. The best part? All the monster bits and tar will be gone, but that will be right there where I left it in the morning.

He wiped his mouth and grabbed his first line of defense, wasting no time in getting back to the front of the house. The next couple of creatures had already arrived, from the sounds of it. He stumbled into the living room and took up a position by one of the windows, aiming through a hole in the broken seal of boards. Another batch of tar-ponies gathered outside, keeping their distance from the electrified puddle. Clever little devils. But little did they know they were within perfect range for a potato gun.

Rags leveled the foal’s plaything at the closest tar-pony and pulled the large trigger, sending a glass Hearth’s Warming Eve tree ornament rocketing through the air and right into the monster’s head. Upon contact, the fragile decoration shattered across the creature’s face, simultaneously burying glass shards into its flesh and unleashing a white liquid into its eyes. Tar-ponies were nothing if not tough. They weren’t likely to feel glass fragments lodged in their flesh, but the eyes were a whole another story, and with the addition of bleach filling the hollow insides, the tiny decorations made excellent deterrents. All it took was a shot to the face.

The beast faltered for a moment, as if attempting to deduce if it was just hit. Soon, the predicted effects began kicking in, and the tar-pony started squealing and clawing at its eyes, only compounding the issue. As it flopped to the ground in pain, the others looked back to Rags with incalculable hate burning in their eyes. Rags dumped a bag of ornaments on the floor, all dripping white fluids from the loose caps. He plucked one from the load and popped it into the barrel of the potato gun. He would have to be excruciatingly precise with his shots, seeing as he could only fire once before needing to reload.

He took aim at another and fired again, successfully scoring a hit in the eyes. The creature followed its ally’s example and began howling in pain as it fell to the ground. The others proved Rags’ presumptions about their growing intellect true, as they displayed immediate learning capabilities. The next ornament he fired failed to hit its mark as the next tar-pony sidestepped it and growled. Rags cursed under his breath as he loaded another and fired again, and again missing. He repeated this procedure again and again, sometimes missing, sometimes hitting a part of the body other than the face, and sometimes getting lucky and downing another beast.

Too often they dodged his shots. Rags’ frustration grew with every target missed. They had figured out his firing patterns, where he was lobbing projectiles the most. In a stroke of tactical awareness, Rags decided on ducking back inside for an instant, taking himself out of their line of sight. He grabbed up his ammunition and sidled along the wall to another window with enough damage done to allow the barrel to poke between the boards. Moving quickly, he got into a firing position and took a shot from his new location. The tactic succeeded in throwing the beasts off, as they were taken back enough to allow for Rags to make several shots hit their mark. When they grew wise, he did the same to another location, changing spots at random every time they got into a groove and began dodging his shots.

He swiped at his ammunition pile one last time to find it empty. He had managed to disable at least twenty of the creatures with this method. In hindsight, it wasn’t a particularly reliable means of warding them off. The utmost accuracy was required to hit a moving target’s face, and he was no professional marksmen by any stretch. He decried himself for wasting time with the potato gun when he could have simply continued working on far more dependable defenses.

A loud popping sound made it to Rags’ ears. He looked towards the front door to see the small generator sparking and malfunctioning. With one final burst of sparks, the machinery stopped working altogether. His electrified miniature moat was rendered ineffectual. It wouldn’t take long for them to realize they could begin tearing the walls down again.

Cursing incessantly, he ran into the kitchen with the oven in mind. He turned off the gas, killing the fire underneath a pot of boiling liquid on the stove top. He grabbed the handles and lugged the rather weighty pot back into the living room, where tar-ponies had already started ripping through the barriers. Looking down to the pot, he found that he was missing something crucial. Running back to the stove, calling himself all manners of ugly words for forgetting the object, he snatched a frying pan up and returned with lighting speed to the action.

A tar-pony rammed its head into the boards hard enough to punch a hole large enough for its skull to fit inside, tearing off large chunks of decayed, tar covered flesh as it did. It looked at Rags and hissed through jagged teeth, “!doolb ruoy knirD !ecaf ruoy ffo piR” It thrashed its dome about, seeming to have gotten itself stuck.

Rags fought off the urge to shed tears of fear as he looked upon the hideous mug of the rancid thing. He bared his teeth and forbid himself from losing to fear. It would only make them stronger, it would only let them win. He dipped the pan into the pot and filled it with the boiling fluid. “Ever gotten a grease burn!?” He spat angrily at the creature, more for the sake of mentally hyping himself up than anything. He swung the pan through the air, hurling a wave of scalding cooking grease at the thing’s face.

The fluid splashed across the tar-pony’s face, immediately beginning to make its flesh sizzle on contact. It wailed in utter torment as it repeatedly tried to yank its head free of the hole in which it had been lodged, unable to move as its skin literally melted off its face, revealing the searing rotten flesh beneath the tar. It wildly attempted to fight, flailing as it howled and howled. Seconds later, its movements began to slow, and it merely twitched as its head drooped and it stopped screaming.

A dreadful stench violated his nostrils as the steaming body hung lifelessly. It made him want to throw up again, but he couldn’t spare the time. There were more and more of them coming in by the minute, slowly but surely ripping his barricades apart. He briefly pondered why they had such a difficult time getting through. If he was weak enough to let them begin tearing them apart, then why was it so hard for them to go all the way with it? Maybe it was because he was still willing to fight, unwilling to let them take him without a struggle. Maybe.

Whatever the reason, he was glad of it. A dark hoof burst through a small slit and grabbed at him. With a start, he filled the pan with more grease and slung another batch onto the limb, sending it reeling back as its owner squealed in pain. He snapped out of his thoughts and again reloaded his pan. He went back and forth across the walls tossing globs of burning oil on faces, forelegs, whatever was exposed. The monsters shrieked and retreated, snarling and snapping at him from just outside of range. Some limped and curled on the ground in torturous pain. Twice now they’ve been beaten back.

Rags sighed in infinitesimal relief. He had another temporary reprieve from attack. He eyed his grease supply and found he still had half a pot left. It was surely enough to tide him over for a little longer.

Suddenly, the screeching and roaring stopped, and he heard a peculiar sound, one he’d never heard from any monstrosity he’d seen before. It was the sound one made when they moaned without breath, a sort of croaking noise. All other abominations had stopped making noise altogether, and silence was never good. With a lump caught in his throat and a pit forming in his stomach, he cautiously peeked between the damaged planks to see if he could spot the possible new threat.

The tar-ponies all stood still and silent, glaring vehemently at Rags. One by one, they all began to split into two groups, parting ways to create a path for a strange new abnormality. Illuminated in partial moonlight was what ostensibly looked to be a corpse. A corpse of a mare, so old it appeared mummified. It shambled on spindly, decayed legs towards Rags fort, croaking all the while. Rags wondered how the creature even stood upright. It didn’t appear to be anything special, with no apparent weapons, special abilities, or even menacing qualities. Granted, a walking corpse was a bit disconcerting, but nothing compared to everything he’d seen so far.

It stopped about twenty feet from the house and stood stock still, simply frozen before Rags. He looked back at all of the tar-ponies, seeing more and more coming in to stand by the others and simply watch. Admittedly, Rags did find it fairly ominous that they’d sit back and simply observe as they sent this sickly looking, dusty bag of bones over to him. It was a sign that they surely had a trick in store.

The mummy shifted awkwardly on its decrepit legs, trembling as it slowly began to stand upright on its hind legs. It could hardly support its own weight as it took its unnatural, bipedal stance. Its legs even gave out audible cracks, signifying bone fractures. Utterly confounded, Rags wondered if the night had perhaps gone mad. This was its next weapon against him?

A ripping sound reach Rags’ ears as the long dead mare’s stomach convulsed and pulsated before his horrified eyes. Suddenly its dusty skin tore apart, and hundreds upon hundreds of small insect-like beings skittered out, crawling up and down the body before leaving their vessel and crawling onto the sidewalk. The cadaver began going limp from the head downward, as if the insects were what was holding it up. As the last bugs exited, the corpse fell slack and dropped to the ground. The hundreds of crawling things then began charging as a horde towards the home.

They raced up the walls, covering the entire front side in a mass of teeming carapaces. Rags could faintly recognize the creatures as parasprites, the odd creatures that nearly devoured the town whole a number of years ago, only these were different. They had no wings, only eight long, skinny legs, and their two large eyes had been added to, making for six in total. Each was white as snow, save for a splash of red across their mouths, with two long, crimson fangs fiercely protruding. Unanimously, they all began to tear into the wooden defenses.

They shredded through the boards and nails at an alarming rate, displaying that ravenous nature that Rags remembered them for. Of course, Rags thought. What better way to destroy his fortifications than with the very creatures that nearly wiped the town off the face of the map?

Rags spared no time and dipped his pan into the hot grease again and started swinging away. He splashed the sizzling liquid over every bug he could, the tiny terrors that were soaked dropped to the ground in a twitching, steaming heap. But it was of no use. Rags could not sling enough oil fast enough to dispose of hundreds of foes as once, but that didn’t stop him from trying. One squeezed through a window and leaped towards him, causing Rags to stumble back as he yelped in surprise and swatted at the thing with his pan.

His swing was too early and his pan flew right in front of the oncoming parasprite, missing it. Before he could go for a back swing, the small creature buried its fangs into his foreleg, garnering an intense scream from Rags. It twisted and ripped at his flesh, bringing forth fountain-like spurts of blood from his skin. The abomination managed to strike an artery, it seemed. The pain was utterly excruciating, prompting Rags to continuously howl in torment as he punched at the parasprite.

Just desperate to make it stop, Rags violently brought the pan down on the disgusting little thing’s head as hard as he could, rewarding him with a crunching sound… two crunching sounds, with a new, even greater pain shooting up his leg. In his panic, he had accidentally struck with the edge of the pan. He clenched his teeth as tightly as he could and screamed through them. This new agony was quite inarguably the worst pain he’d ever felt. He coddled his hurt area and sucked in air through his teeth, keeping his eyes wrenched shut as he begged for the pain to die down. When it wasn’t too horribly painful, he spared a look at his limb, readying himself for the dread of looking upon an undoubtedly awful wound.

Not only were the parasprite’s fangs still lodged within his arm, but he could see, through the massive amounts of still actively flowing crimson drenching his coat, a deformity in his arm. A rather large bump protruded opposite the side of the place on his leg where he struck with the pan. That was where the most pain was concentrated. If that’s what I think it is… then I’m thoroughly boned.

He tested his leg by placing it lightly on the ground, receiving a fresh dose of pain and a small spurt of blood from the wound. He choked back another cry as he once again held his damaged leg. Blood dripped from the gash at a steady pace, and Rags had begun to feel dizzy. Either the tiny creature pumped him full of some sort of venom, or he was losing contact with the land of the living. Or both.

He found it hard to think straight, the anguish leaving him disoriented and confused. His attention was drawn back to the walls as more parasprites were digging their way through. He began breathing erratically as he tried to file through his brain for a solution, lacking the contingency for something like this. The night was deviously creative with its atrocities. Rags hadn’t the slightest clue how to counter evil parasprites.

Although… the last time they invaded, they were stopped. Stopped by what? What was it that deterred them… sound, Rags remembered. Music, to be more precise. He found that this information didn’t do him any good. He wasn’t a musician, nor did he have any instruments on hoof. He hastily probed even deeper into his mind, hurriedly searching for an alternative.

More had fully breached the walls and were now skittering inside and towards him, darting this way and that across the floor. He started to hyperventilate as he fell backwards because of his injured leg, now scooting away from them across the floor. They were nearly upon him, hissing as they bared their fangs that glistened in the dim light of the room.

His mind was drawing blanks as his back hit a wall and he began shouting at them in a pathetic, last ditch effort at self-preservation. “No! Get away from me! I said GET AWAY! NO!”

They had finally reached him, and started crawling up the length of his body with the intent of biting into his throat and eyes. In a final moment of desperation, Rags thought of the only thing he had even remotely close to an instrument. Gasping and crying, he reaching into his bag and pulled out an air horn, hitting the button and wincing just as a parasprite was about to sink its teeth into his flesh.

The blast of the ludicrously loud horn, made even louder by the fact that he was inside, cut through the air like knife through butter. The parasprites all jittered and hissed, suffering spasms as the air around them violently vibrated with the sounds of the horn. Suddenly, one by one, they began to explode into small clouds of hibiscus fluids. Like little pustules, the popped and covered anything within two feet of each individual creature in gore.

Like a string of firecrackers, they had all burst, dousing Rags in even more blood. When they were all dead, and the air horn had run out of pressure, Rags slowly opened his eyes. He was met with the sight of the room covered in rampant blood splatters, as if a group of foals armed with water balloons filled with paint had waged war on the place. He glanced downward to find his own coat stained red from head to hoof. Ok… This is only kinda the most disgusting thing I’ve ever seen. That’s better than totally the most disgusting thing.

He tried to push himself up, forgetting momentarily about the damage to his left leg and attempting to use it, receiving a pang of unbridled pain as a reminder. He was forced to use his other leg to stand back up.

He heard the familiar roar of enraged monstrosities outside, but they had yet to begin attacking the walls again. Rags began hobbling awkwardly to a spot closer to the windows so that he could see outside and find out what was happening. Almost toppling over twice and consistently dipping in and out of consciousness, he was slowly becoming assured that his situation was heading in a southward direction at a rapid rate.

He finally reached a position close to the ragged windows where he could lay eyes on the beasts. There were hundreds of them now, possibly thousands if the horde stretched all the way around the block like he imagined it did. The crowd was composed of all manners of abominations. Big and small, some hideously mutilated, some distortions of things familiar to Rags. They advanced menacingly towards the house, throats rumbling with demonic growls of anger and starvation.

As Rags felt feelings of panic rise within himself, the ceiling erupted downward on him, dozens of dark, tar covered hooves grabbing at the space between them and the frightened stallion, forcing him to drop to the floor. He fell in a way that somehow made everything all over sting like tartarus.

He beheld the situation. He was broken, uncountable numbers of evil spawns were marching toward his house to tear it down and break him further, and the ceiling was on the verge of collapsing on top of him under the weight of a dozen wretched hooves. He was curled up, almost unable to move, on the floor, sniveling and cowering, unable to defend himself from the coming onslaught. There was a frightening truth to it all. Something that he could deny no longer.

He had lost. The battle was over. Months of fighting off the unyielding hordes all for naught. Months of tricking himself, constantly duping himself into thinking that a new hope, a new reason to go on, would come with the next sunrise. He actually found an inkling of dark irony in it. He lived like a nobody, and he would die like a nobody. No killing monsters until the end, no heroic last stand, just torn limb from limb and wolfed down by odious slime-covered monsters. There probably wouldn’t even be anything left for the papers to report on. He’d just be a missing pony. None would remember him in a few weeks. No one would speak of his legendary acts of valor. They’d simply say “Why isn’t that dishwasher washing the dishes?”

The ground shook with thunderous vibrations. A booming noise came closer and closer, advancing in his direction. With the last shred of his strength, he pushed himself up enough to get a look out the window.

Walking down the sidewalk across the street was bar none the largest horror Rags had ever seen. It was a bipedal behemoth, maybe thirteen feet in height, rippling with bulbous, tense muscles. It’s hairless flesh was ripped and stretched over its gargantuan body mass. Massive metal spikes were pounded into its flesh, like something of an ancient torture technique. Held firmly in a chain sling on its back was what surely had to be the biggest axe in existence, glistening blood coating the rusty, double edged weapon. Its head was shrouded in a black burlap hood, with two ivory horns, one broken off, penetrating the material on either side of its skull. Its steps made the earth tremble as it positioned itself directly in front of the house across the street, turning to face Rags after it was in place. It dug one of its hoofed feet into the ground and planted the other behind it. It bowed its head towards Rags, aiming its humungous horns at him. With a powerful kick of the back leg, sending whole chunks of concrete rocketing into the air, it blasted off from its position into a full-on charge.

Time seemed to slow for Rags as the titanic beast stampeded towards him from across the street, sending smaller monsters flying as it plowed through the horde. This moment, these few sluggish seconds, seemed to serve as the final nail in the coffin, driving home how utterly futile his situation was. There was no doubt about it now. Nothing would save him. He was dead already. This was just the night’s cruel way of making it slow and painful. All of the negativity he felt, the sorrow he’d accumulated over time, came flooding back into his mind at this singular instant. It all culminated to form one, soul crushing, heart breaking, spirit destroying word.

Hopeless.

The behemoth plowed into the house head-on, easily providing enough force to completely blow through the walls. Rags was sent flying towards the back of the home from the sheer power, colliding so hard with the walls behind him that it created a depression and cracks in the material. He couldn’t even scream in pain, his voice replaced by a gush of blood spewing from his maw. He could feel nearly everything break simultaneously, a sudden sensation of cold overrunning his senses. He slumped down to the floor, listless and gargling bodily fluids. His vision was occupied by flashing lights and blurred colors.

He could faintly make out the shape of the massive creature encroaching, its steps shaking the floor and Rags’ sight, but he could not feel the vibrations or hear the explosive stomps. An undefined shape towered over him, having to slightly bend down to duck below the ceiling. It raised its gargantuan arms over its blurry head, preparing to crush what was left of its victim. This, Rags thought to himself, was his last hazy glimpse of this mortal coil.

He shut his eyes and let his head fall to the ground. What an embarrassing way to go, he thought. Crumpled on the floor with tears staining his eyes and his muzzle damp with blood and saliva. He waited for the final, painless blow. It would probably splatter him all over the place, spilling his innards across the floor for the other little demons to gnaw upon. At least it would be the last hit.

He waited... and waited... nothing came. Perhaps he was experiencing another of those slowed-down moments in time, he thought. So he kept waiting. Still nothing came. He was becoming somewhat perplexed by the delayed action, but he didn’t want to open his eyes. He wanted his last moments to be filled with visions of something more pleasant than a deformed atrocity preparing to tear him apart. Though too much time had passed. He had to know what was taking so long. Finally, he cracked his eyes open, and once the blood pooling within his lids trickled away and he could vaguely make out what was in front of him, he found that the beasts were gone.

There were no tar-ponies, no unholy spawns, and no humongous minotaur creatures preparing to murder him. There was only… a light. It was a bit brighter than the moon and stars, and almost warm in its glow. He suddenly felt very sad, and he probably would have shed a tear or two were his ducts not filled with blood. He believed this to be it… that final light that they always talked about. It was done.

He was dead.

Two figures appeared from the light and traversed the space before him, coming to kneel beside him. One was powerful looking and almost angelic in appearance, with large wings and a strong body adorned in exalted golden armor. The other wore a darkly colored cloak with a hood that concealed the wearer’s face. The reaper and his assistant. The angel gently scooped him up in its forelegs and began flapping its wings, moving towards a shining chariot in the light. The hooded figure followed.

Chapter 8: Where There's Light...

It was dark. There was nothing. An infinite void of absolutely nothing. He was vaguely aware of the darkness, but didn’t dwell on it. He didn’t dwell on anything. He spent no time contemplating the decisions he’d made. He didn’t ruminate on the life he’d led. He was, however, sad. He didn’t know why, necessarily. He just felt… lost.

The world around him held no sensations, no sounds, smells, nothing. He couldn’t even tell if he was floating or not. As he tumbled through wherever he was, he felt sorrow, self-pity even. He’d fought so hard to cling to the life he was given and he was ripped away from it. No, he wasn’t. He let go himself. That was the only explanation. That was the only answer he could salvage from the affair. It was his fault that he lost. It was he who killed himself, in a way. There was no one to blame except for himself. It was always he who was the source of his problems, not others. Not the monarchy, not his parents, not even the creatures, despicable as they were. He could blame nobody except for himself.

Not that it mattered now. It was done. The world would go on, he wouldn’t. At least that bit of knowledge was slightly hopeful, in a way. He was glad that the rest of the world didn’t share in his despair.

It almost felt like years passed him by as he remained in the unknown place. He had nary an inkling about the ways time passed in wherever dishwashers were sent after death. Did time even exist wherever he was? Probably not. What would the dead do with time? He did wish for some place more peaceful he could spent his days sulking in, though. Perhaps a sense of tranquility would ease his passing.

As if summoned by his wish, he slowly began to sense something. A sensation… cold. Very… very cold. Absolutely frigid. He was slowly beginning to freeze. He wanted to hug himself for warmth, attempting to clasp his hooves around his body, but couldn’t. He… couldn’t move? But he was moving… he could already make the motions. But at the same time, he couldn’t.

Another feeling joined that of the cold chill, a feeling of motion. It felt as if he were falling… or shooting upwards… he couldn’t tell which. His mane and tail whipped about as if in the wind. But there was no wind. He was being acted upon by some unseen force, being given momentum by something from beyond the veil. The veil? Was there a veil? Where was he? Something dawned on him, a tingling in the back of his mind. An aura of awareness encased his befuddled consciousness.

He suddenly didn’t know where he was. He discovered that he could now gauge where the chills and pushing forces acted on his body. He could actually feel his body fully now, as if for the first time. He became aware of the fact that his eyes were closed. They weren’t open before? He tried to wrench them open, finding them stubbornly screwed shut. Through a long and brutal struggle, he finally was able to part his lids.

As his eyes fluttered open a few millimeters, he could see something above him, something that was changing colors from blue to white at a random intervals. Upon opening his eyes a little more, he could more accurately decrypt the puzzling message his retinas sent to him. It was the sky. It wasn’t far away either. He was… in it? He began to hear something, a voice. Two voices. They both sounded distressed. His first coherent thought came to be.

What’s happening? Where am I?

He could tell that the voices came from somewhere off to his side. It was difficult, but he had managed to turn his head slightly in order to lay eyes upon whoever was talking. He saw the hooded figure, the one that came from the… light? The event seemed so far away now, like a dream. He couldn’t quite remember what exactly had occurred, he simply knew two things: He was dead, and the figure was familiar. Although, the former fact was quickly becoming more and more unclear.

The reaper screamed at someone in front of it, Rags couldn’t see who. It merely shouted at the oncoming clouds, which seemed to shout back. There was a second voice, but the speaker was invisible. Both sounded perturbed, panicked even. Not that he could actually hear the words they spoke.

Rags’ new-found consciousness grew weak. He was rapidly losing strength. Things began going dark once more, and all feeling drained from the body he wasn’t sure he had. He didn’t bother fighting against it. After all, he was dead.

Rags…

Raaaags…

Wake up…

RAGS!

Rags’ eyes shot open, revealing the world around him to his wild and confused pupils. He jolted upwards from the laid down position he didn’t know he was in. He frantically threw his gaze around, taking in everything around him, trying to process the situation. He was in a room, but not one like anything he’d ever seen before.

The room was huge, bigger than every room in Nougat’s house combined, he surmised. The walls, floor, and ceiling were carved into elaborate shapes of marble and stone, all adorned in fantastic fabric decor and masterfully crafted paintings. Expertly made furniture was placed here and there, the most exquisite of which was set in front of a beautiful hearth in the corner of the room. Rags finally took notice of the bed he wasn’t aware of being in before, and that too was a creation of stunningly skillful make, with brilliantly soft sheets and blankets that were not too thick, but not too thin.

The room was dimly illuminated by natural light transcending through a fine set of glass doors leading to a platform with nothing but empty blue space visible past its railings. Rags didn’t have a single inclination to his current status or location, so perhaps traversing outside would reveal something to him. Or maybe not. In reality, he just couldn’t sit still any longer. His curiosity was swelling fiercely within him.

Tossing the covers off himself and sliding off the inviting bed onto an adroitly weaved red carpet with golden laces on the borders, he noticed that the abysmally large quantities of pain he once felt were all but gone. Very odd. He would expect one who previously had every bone in their body shattered all at once to at least be in just a smidgen of unbridled agony.

Am I… still dead?

Feeling a trace of that atrocious sense of uncertainty that had so fervently dogged him in the past, he slowly crept towards the door. His steps were light and hesitant, the steps one would use to sneak around a sleeping giant. After more time than what was necessary, he finally made it to the door. He looked through the glass and saw nothing out of the ordinary, no oddities that might have suggested something was amiss. With a large gulp, he parted the glass and stepped out.

Immediately upon walking out onto the balcony, he found that the intense chills returned, brought to him by small gusts of wind. He was also immediately blinded by an intense light. Sunlight. The real deal. No danger. That alone made him feel like breaking down into a sobbing heap and crying tears of joy. But when his eyes adjusted to the light, he found himself wanting to break down and cry with joy for an entirely different reason.

The scene before him was utterly spectacular. The balcony was high, putting him nearly beyond the sparse cloud cover and giving him a bird’s eye view of everything. Looking ahead was like looking out over a vast blue sea of delicately rolling white waves as far as the eye could see. The rays of the sun struck the clouds in a way that seemed to make them glow invitingly. He found himself just wanting to jump from the balcony and fly through the heavenly puffs and sore with the birds through the endless blue of the sky.

But that was merely the sight before him. Looking below, he could see all that could be seen on the land as well. Beneath him was a glorious city, imposing in its staggering architectural magnificence and teeming with life. Amidst the splendid and inspiring towers of white and blue was the hustle and bustle of a prosperous metropolis. Trains snaked in and out of the city, ant-sized figures cluttered the sidewalks, and the sounds of some form of large sporting event echoed through the air.

Further out was a small village located just outside of the Everfree. It was quaint looking by comparison. He knew what town it was, he knew it all too well. He’d spent his whole life there. There in that place that seemed so alien from where he stood. It was such a marvel to Rags. He could see everything, miles upon miles of land, a massive world splayed out before his eyes, larger than he could have ever imagined, and yet, this small village was no more than a dot in the middle of it all. He’d spent the whole of his life, every waking day of his existence, in this one tiny speck of a hamlet that lay nestled amongst the expansive realm. It was a bit of a depressing thought, but that depression was overshadowed by a feeling of freedom, of release. He was out! He’d escaped that infinitesimally puny spot, and was out in the world!

There was no doubt about it. The ecstasy he was in, the happiness he felt… he was most assuredly alive. Not only alive, but he was in Canterlot! Not only in Canterlot, but judging from the high position of the balcony and the way it overlooked all in creation, he was in the Canterlot Castle itself!

It was all enough to almost make him temporarily forget his worries and strife. Just the mere connotations of being free from Ponyville, what that meant to him, brought him more than enough joy. But coupled with the fact that he was in Canterlot Castle, the place where he once thought all his hopes would come to life in, it put him in a mood of total bliss. Add to it still with the sheer beauty and surrealism of towering over the land as he did, and it made him want to leap with unbridled glee that toppled even the likes of the pink one from the bakery. He almost felt… content.

This, he thought, was one of the happiest moments of his life.

A knock came to the door back inside the room. Rags, caught off guard as he was too busy reveling in the moment, nearly jumped. The door creaked open and a stallion in gold-plated armor stuck his head in. He looked around for a moment, a worried expression on his face as he evidently was not expecting Rags to be out of bed, before seeing the dishwasher standing on the balcony. As soon as he saw this, he gasped, bounded into the room, and launched himself towards Rags, pounding his wings for added momentum.

“Hello, officer! What can I do for ACK--” Rags was interrupted in his cheerful greeting when the guard skidded to a halt before him, grabbed him by the fur on his chest, and violently threw him inside. Rags landed with a thud and a “OMPH”, rubbing the back of his head to ease the throbbing pain. The guard was standing over him before he knew it, the officer’s face wild and frightened.

“HOW MANY HOOVES AM I HOLDING UP!?” the soldier barked.

“Wha--”

“WAS ANYONE ELSE HERE!?”

“N-No, I--”

“WHAT WHERE YOU DOING OUT THERE!?” The guard was frantic in his demeanor, as if he’d just seen a ghost.

“N-Nothing! I was just, you know, taking in the scenery!” Rags said, holding his hooves over his face to protect himself from the guard’s crazy.

The guard looked the dishwasher over for a second and finally sighed, wiping a foreleg across his forehead.

“Please don’t kill me,” Rags pleaded from behind his hooves.

“Come on, look, I’m… sorry about all that. It was just, ugh… protocol,” the guard said, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly.

“It’s protocol to tackle guests to ground!? In that case, good work, you crazy bag of crazy!” Rags snapped, still cowering from the muscular officer as he insulted him.

“No, it’s actually part of the new protocol that Princess Twilight personally set in place just for you,” the guard said indignantly.

Rags took down his defensive hoof-shield to give the guard a puzzled look.

“Come with me, everything will be explained,” the guard said as he offered a hoof to help Rags up.

Rags followed the guard down the halls of the castle, treating the affair more like a sightseeing tour than a military escort. He looked in awe at the astonishingly lavish royal halls and the decor therein. He passed amazing tapestries, portraits of figures, both military and royal, and shields emblazoned with fascinating symbols. Although he wasn’t overly fond of the suits of knight armor. The hollow shells were rather eerie, haunting even.

They walked through the halls, Rags ogling everything on the way, until they reached a large chamber with two sets of stairs and a giant pair of doors. The guards instructed the non-military stallion to follow him down the steps, at the bottom of which being the location where they finally stopped. They sat there in front of the doors for a reason unspecified to Rags. He decided to change that fact.

“So, what are we doing here, friendo?” Rags asked.

“Please don’t call me that, and we are awaiting the arrival of Her Majesties, Princesses Celestia, Twilight, and Cadance,” the guard explained.

“Sure, sure, alright,” Rags said, happy to go back to looking at everything like an attention-deficit foal. At least until he noticed something about the guard’s words. There was a distinct lack of mention of the Princess of the Night. “Hey, what about Luna?”

“Princess Luna,” the guard corrected harshly, “And she resides here in the castle.” The guard’s words had grown inexplicably biting suddenly.

“Uhm… sorry,” Rags said sheepishly, taken aback by the guard’s tone. “Say, I vaguely remember being kinda dead, and, not that I’m not ecstatic about being not-dead or anything, I was just wondering, how did I get to be… well, living again?” Rags inquired.

“As I stated, all will be explained,” the guard nearly barked.

Rags decided it would probably be best if he didn’t prod the soldier any further and refrained from speaking of that subject anymore. They waited in the grand entrance hall for another ten or so minutes. Rags occasionally tried to pass the time with small talk or a joke, the guard coincidentally having sudden fits of facial twitches on each occasion.

Yeesh, this could only get more awkward if we were both naked, Rags thought. Wait a minute…

The doors began to part before Rags could finish his thought. A precession of powerful looking guards, led by the Prince himself, Shining Armor, marched into the entrance hall. They all stepped to either side of the long, red carpet stretching across the floor and unsheathed trumpets. They began playing a triumphant tune as they stood at attention, and moments later, the expected monarchs themselves made their grand entrance. Their poise was elegant, their stride refined and dignified, and their mere presence both imposing and majestic at the same time. Rags suddenly felt very small.

As they approached, the guard beside Rags gave a bow and sidled away quietly, leaving him to face the rulers alone. The princesses stopped before him, and the anthem ceased. Celestia looked down on the scrawny, nearly-quivering stallion and smiled warmly. “Welcome to Canterlot, my little one.”

Rags swallowed and bowed, stammering out his best greeting. “Greetings, Your Majesty.” Remembering that there were two other princesses present, he added “And Your Majesty,” as he looked to Twilight, finally looking to Cadance, “And… Your Majesty,” and finishing with another awkward bow.

The other two royals smiled as well, as Celestia spoke again. “I wish you were brought to our fair city under more pleasant circumstances, but I fear that you have been summoned here due to… a rather dire situation.”

Rags furrowed his brow at this. “But… Your Majesty, I thought I was here to get help for my, uh, ‘problem’,” Rags said with air quotes. The princesses all shared looks with each other, expressions appearing disheartened.

Celestia cleared her throat and said gravely, “Let us continue in the throne room. This is something that requires… privacy.” There was something hidden under the grand ruler’s words that Rags couldn’t exactly put a hoof on, some sort of emotion. But he couldn’t detect what it was precisely. Undoubtedly, this was due to the princess’s years worth of speech training, something a royal such as herself was sure to have been taught heavily in.

As the princesses made their way to the throne room, Rags followed, as did several guards and the prince, who tried to hide his expression of sorrow from Rags.

Finally, after several minutes of walking in awkward silence, with Rags trying not to stare at the royal flanks, they arrived at the throne room. Two guards parted the doors and ushered them inside. Shining Armor and a few, what appeared to be, high ranking officers were the only others permitted inside.

With only two thrones, one for the sun and the other for the moon, Twilight allowed Celestia and Cadance to take the seats, seeming content to stand beside a familiar looking hooded figure that was waiting for them inside the room. They shared hushed whispers and the occasional grimace with each other.

Rags was instructed to sit no closer than twenty five feet from the rulers. A few more minutes passed, minutes filled with nothing but whispers amongst the royals and military personnel, leaving Rags to sit patiently and twiddle his hooves until the Princess of the Sun cleared her throat and all who were present quieted themselves.

“So, Rags, was it? That is quite an interesting name for a pony,” Celestia pointed out. What a strange thing to bring up, the dishwasher thought. Weren’t there more pressing matters to attend to? As odd as it was, Rags would have to be daft to shrug off a remark from the princess, and it was clearly more of a question of origins anyway. It would be impolite, and very stupid, on his part not to address it.

He cleared his throat before replying. “Yeah-- I mean, yes. That’s what everyone calls me, but I don’t think it’s my actual name.”

“Really?” Celestia asked with a small smile.

“Yeah, it’s actually a nickname my parents gave me. I’m… adopted,” Rags said, slight irritation present in his voice as he let that final word pass his lips. “I was more like their maid than their son…”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Were they… abusive?”

Rags looked up, genuinely surprised at the forward nature of the question. “Oh no no no, they were perfectly decent folks, they just… didn’t seem to care too much for me. They were loaded, you see, too busy swimming in their bits to do that. Or to toss a little cash my way for college. Or to call every once in a while. Or to tell me they loved me…”

“Hmm…” Celestia changed the subject. “How are you feeling?”

Another strange question. Yet, Rags rolled with it. “Actually, not too bad, all things considered. Canterlot is definitely a breath of fresh air. I spent my whole life down there in Ponyville, so it’s pretty exciting being out of that dump, finally.”

“Most of my friends are from Ponyville,” Twilight cut in with a minor glare.

Rags stared blankly at her, trying desperately in his mind to come up with a good save. “That… dump of… nice… things… because it’s a nice things dump where nice things go…”

Flawless.

Twilight rolled her eyes and let him continue.

“Other than that, I feel pretty rested up, too. Hey, uh, I’ve been meaning to ask, I faintly remember catching a case of the dead, is there some reason I’m cured? Not that, you know, I don’t appreciate, like, not being dead or anything, I was just uh… yeah.” Rags rubbed his foreleg uncomfortably. A smooth operator he was not.

“That would be my doing,” the voice of a mare said. The hooded figure stepped forth and pulled back her hood to reveal a unicorn horn. “Healing magic, and lots of it. Probably about five regenerative potions as well. To put that in perspective, just one of those can have someone who’s just broken over half the bones in their body back up on their hooves in a few minutes. You were in bad shape to say the least.”

“Oh… well that’s… thanks?” Rags stammered, half relieved, half disturbed.

The mare turned to Princess Twilight. “When the other escort and I arrived, there was no doubt about it anymore. It didn’t try to make it seem like he was merely going mad, it didn’t bother to try and hide the fact that it was trying to kill him. That means your theory is correct, Princess.”

“Thank you. Return to the aid of the other mages,” Twilight commanded. The mare bowed and trotted hurriedly out of the throne room.

“Uhm, I’m sorry, but what? It? Theory? Aid the other mages?” Rags could feel a pit forming in his stomach. The way they talked and the haste with which they acted… he had a bad feeling.

The princesses all looked to each other and sighed. Celestia spoke for them all. “I suppose… it’s down to business, then.” The Sun Princess affixed Rags with a stern look. “Rags… My little one… You are Equestria’s only hope for survival.”

Rags stared for a long while, his mouth hung agape. He looked to the prince standing off to the side for confirmation of what he just heard. Shining Armor merely shrugged. The dishwasher looked back to the princess and stuck a hoof in his ear, twisting it around. “I’m… I’m terribly sorry, Your Majesty, but I seem to have misheard you. Would you mind too terribly running that by me again?”

Celestia sighed. “You are all that stands between every living being in Equestria and certain death.”

Rags cocked his head to one side so that one ear was facing the floor and he slapped the other side of his head a few times. “Jeez, whatever is stuck in my ear must really be jammed in there, because I could have sworn that you just told me that I had to save everything. How crazy is that?” Rags said with a nervous chuckle.

The princesses merely looked down at him with indignant eyes.

“P-Princess? A-Aren’t you going to tell me why I’m really here?”

No response.

“It’s a surprise birthday party, isn’t it? I forgot that it was my birthday and now that annoying pink mare is gonna jump out at me and yell ‘Surprise! It’s your almost-crapped-yourself-because-you-thought-you-heard-the-princess-say-something-really-crazy-and-also-really-scary party!’ right?”

Celestia started, “Rags…”

“Nope!” he cut in with freakish levels of glee.

“Listen to me--”

“Ain’t havin’ it!”

“Hey! You can’t talk to the princess like that!” a guard stated.

“Well, officer, the princess has clearly gone mad. I suggest we commit her immediately, for you see, she claims that I’m supposed to save the world! Ridiculous! What next, will she start calling herself the Banana Queen!?”

“That’s enough, Rags!” Celestia barked as he stood and stomped a hoof ground. The dishwasher’s ears pinned back in hurt.

“You can’t… be serious, right?” Rags asked meekly, not even attempting to mask his fear of the possible truth of Celestia’s words.

The Sun Goddess sighed and sat back down, lowering her tone. “I know it must be difficult to grasp, so allow me to explain.”

Rags stayed quiet and listened.

“It is our understanding that the events you claim to experience, these monster attacks, are not a fabrication at all. Our belief in this was cemented when we sent the escort to retrieve you this morning and received a report saying that both you and your home--”

“Friend’s home.”

“What?”

“That was my friend’s home.” Rags thought briefly of how Nougat would react to the destruction.

“Would you like an explanation or not?” Celestia said, annoyed at the interruption. Rags quieted himself. Everyone he’d encountered so far seemed highly irritated. He’d expect such attitudes what with an apparent threat hanging over them all, but something about their snappiness seemed weird to Rags, like there was another reason. He forgot about it for the moment and listened.

“The damage done, both to you and your home, was irrefutable proof that you weren’t simply going mad. Well… that is only a half truth. You see, you aren’t mentally ill in the traditional sense, but you are being afflicted by something. Twilight?” Celestia gestured for the Princess of Magic to take the floor. She nodded and did so.

“As I’ve told you before, I believed there to be a force at work, something magical and malevolent in nature. I thought it was a powerful spell of some sort that tampered with everyone’s memories and brought you under attack. As it turns out… I was right. There is a force at work, a great evil, acting upon the denizens of Equestria, including us.” Twilight motioned to the other royals as well. Rags swallowed heavily. Things were only sounding worse as the princess went on. Even the royals were affected by this force? They bordered on God-hood in their power, making Rags fear what this evil could do to a lowly dishwasher such as himself.

“I’ve noticed that everyone starts to feel incredibly and inexplicably tired around eight P.M., and I myself have yet to stay awake past nine. Our memories and dreams feel tampered with, as the other princesses and higher-level mages have been quick to agree. It’s as though we’re being manipulated into not noticing the event. It’s very subtle magic that alters our minds, only detectable by those adroit in the most advanced magical arts. The effect applies to everyone… except for yourself.”

Rags shifted uncomfortably on his hooves. He didn’t like where this was going.

“You are entirely immune to the spell, which also, if what you’ve said is to be true, transports all afflicted by it to another location. However, the caster evidently finds the fact that you are not under the spell’s effect most troubling. That must be why you are attacked every night. The one responsible sees you as a possible hindrance, a threat to their grand scheme. That is why… you are the only one who can help us,” Twilight finished grimly.

“Lords…” Rags felt sick to his stomach. This news was too much to bear. He was the only one who could do anything? He was supposed to save all of Equestria? Ludicrous! It wasn’t possible, it simply couldn’t be true! That was the sort of thing that happened in adventure books like Daring Do, not to regular ponies like himself. He debated whether or not it was all just a sick fantasy, a dream cooked up by his anxious and fearful subconscious. Or perhaps he was still dead and this was a horrid pocket of hellish torment devised just for him in the pits of Tartarus.

He was finally getting the answers he so craved, and he was quickly discovering that being in the know wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Awful as it was, he had to press on, get the whole picture. If he was going to get answers, he was going to get them all. Trepidation obvious in his shaky voice, he dared to ask a question.

“Y-You said that there was a caster… some kind of… evil mastermind? Who is it?... Who’s the jack-off doing this to me!?” Rags said, quivering slightly. As if to answer his question, a masculine voice cried from outside the throne room doors.

“PRINCESS! PRINCESS, PLEASE COME QUICK! IT’S AWAKE!”

Celestia’s face displayed an expression of horror. Twilight and Cadance looked at each other with terrible sadness. The princesses and prince, followed by the guards, all began dashing for the door. Rags sat with his mouth dumbly hanging open in a look of confusion. “Uhh… what’s ‘it’?”

Everyone clearly being too busy making a mad rush for the entrance to answer his inquiry, Rags decided to simply follow them and see for himself, though, he had a pretty good guess that what he was about to learn wasn’t going to be nice.

He gingerly followed them as they threw the doors apart, leading Celestia to gasp. Whatever could make a powerful leader such as herself do that was undoubtedly unpleasant. With great care, he stepped to the front of the crowd, stopping in between Celestia and Twilight.

Looking upwards towards the Sun Goddess’s face, he could see gleaming tears trickling down her porcelain cheeks. “Is something the matter, Your Majesty?”

“Tiaaa…” A voice said from somewhere ahead of Rags. He looked towards what everyone else was gawking at, finally seeing what all the commotion was about.

Beyond the two guards that stood at attention outside of the throne room doors, both of which were now trembling fiercely with utter terror on their faces and baring their weapons, stood the Goddess of the Moon.

Princess Luna.

Rags felt inward relief at the sight of the recently returned Sister to the Sun. He remembered her interesting visit to Ponyville a few Nightmare Nights ago. She was the life of the party. Remembering that he was a guest in the palace, he began to bow respectfully. ‘Greetings, Your Highness--”

Twilight quickly put an urgent hoof on Rags’ shoulder to silence him. He gave a befuddled look to the Element of Magic and saw that she shook her head at him with great fervor. Confounded, Rags looked back to Luna and began to notice something… off, about her.

Her typically blue coat was paler in color, and matted all over. Her posture was not what he would expect from a princess either, as she slouched and shifted about groggily. Her bedraggled mane lacked the flowing elegance of Celestia’s, and hung listlessly around her head, concealing her eyes. An odd liquid dripped from the corner of her mouth… a thick, black liquid.

Something was very wrong.

“I nnnneeed a glassss of wwaaater…” Luna’s voice fluctuated in tone at random intervals, from that of a normal pony, to a low, raspy whisper of unnatural proportions. The request was directed at Celestia, who worked her mouth as if she wanted to say something, but didn’t, instead sobbing silently.

The hooded mare from earlier, joined by several similar figures, came barreling around the corner.

“There she is!”

“Don’t get too close!”

“Get the constraint spell ready, quick!”

They surrounded her, horns glowing with magical auras. Muttering strange words in unison, they all simultaneously released a shimmering, blue mist from their foreheads. It enveloped Luna and slowly levitated her off the ground. Without any struggled, several of the mages slowly pushed their hovering princess down the hall with their mental hold, all present holding their breath as they ventured back around the corner from whence they came.

After half a minute of quiet waiting with bated breath, the hooded mare, who had stayed behind after the spell was cast, broke the silence. “Whew, that was a close one. Good thing she didn’t have one of her weird freak ou--”

“WHY IS SHE OUT OF HER ROOM!?” Celestia bellowed furiously at the mage in the royal intones of the Canterlot Voice, the suddenness of which making Rags scramble to cover his ears.

The hooded mare was ostensibly stunned by the outburst, stuttering incoherently as she tried to think of an adequate response. “S-S-She teleported, Your Majesty! We were unaware that she was capable of channeling magic like tha--”

“I DON’T WANT EXCUSES! IF IT HAPPENS AGAIN, YOU’LL BE THROWN IN THE DUNGEON UNTIL THE END OF YOUR DAYS, DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME!?” Celestia roared ferociously.

“Y-Yes, Your Highness,” the mare squeaked, tears brimming in her eyes as she shamefully trotted down the hall to join the other mages.

Celestia turned and cantered promptly back to her seat on the throne, weeping, but trying to hide it. The other princesses and the guards returned to their posts as well, leaving Rags alone in the doorway, staring down the hall. He looked towards the princesses, pointing a hoof down the hall, then he once more cast his disbelieving gaze in the direction Luna and the mages went. “Uhh… What was that all about?”

He trotted back into the throne room, the officers outside returning to attention after catching the breath caught in their throats and shutting the door behind him. Twilight and Cadance consoled Celestia as she cried.

“Excuse me? What was that!? What was that with the-- and the-- with the-- what WAS that!?” Rags babbled.

Twilight looked to Rags with something in her eyes that chilled his blood. “That,” she began, “was the evil mastermind.”

“Princess Luna!?” Rags shouted with incredulity. “Princess Luna is the one trying to kill me and take over the world!? Is that what you’re telling me!?”

‘No,” Twilight said quietly. “Not Luna… Nightmare Moon.”

Rags’ heart stopped. His eyes went wide, his spine tingled like mad, his jaw hung open, and his veins froze solid. “Like… for real?” he said shakily. He remembered that name. The one that had nearly destroyed the world... twice. He recalled when she came to town some years ago, terrorizing them all, taking the sun out of the sky. He recalled the darkness of that night… how familiar it seemed…

“Yes… Luna is under the control of the Nightmare. If she is not purified soon, it will return,” Twilight said somberly.

“But… wasn’t Nightmare Moon… you know, with the Elements?” Rags asked.

“It would have appeared to be so, though that wasn’t the case. Evidently, a shred of the Nightmare survived, and is growing within her once more. It hasn’t fully developed, hence why Nightmare Moon isn’t free… yet. Though she hasn’t returned completely,it influences her. It is also more powerful than ever before. It used Luna, unbeknownst to her, to all of us, to cast ancient and powerful spells. The methods used to counter them are long since lost. The Nightmare is very clever, it used Luna to launch a silent attack on us all.” Twilight’s horn began to emit a strange light, and a book materialized into existence from out of nowhere in front of her.

With her magical hold, she flipped vigorously through the pages. “I’ve tried everything, every method of binding, banishment, and exorcism known to ponykind, all to no avail. The entity has manifestly been attached to her for so long that it’s actually become a part of her. If even the Elements were unable to successfully remove it from her, then virtually nothing can,” Twilight explained.

“Wait wait wait,” Rags interrupted, looking to be out of breath. “Why?”

“Why what?” Twilight asked.

“Why… everything! Why has Nightmare Moon, or whoever or whatever she is at this point, done all of this? Why has she sent monsters to kill me? Why me!? Why am I the only one who isn’t under her spell!?” Rags said hysterically, articulating everything he said with frantic gestures.

Twilight sighed and rubbed her temples with her wing tips. “Well, let’s take it from the top, I suppose… Why she’s cast a spell over everyone that forces them asleep, and seemingly transports them somewhere else, I am unsure of. A means of defense? Of addling our progress in our efforts to destroy her? It’s not very clear. As for the monsters, it’s clear that she wants you out of the way. Her powerful magics would theoretically allow her to summon creatures from far away lands, planes parallel to our own such as Tartarus, and even alternate dimensions entirely.” Twilight closed her book and made it vanish, summoning a new one from thin air.

“That would also explain how the creatures disappear so suddenly. Their connection to this world is their master’s magic, and with the dawn, her magics weaken severely, thus rendering their effects null,” Twilight said without looking at the dishwasher, instead focusing intently on scanning the pages of her book.

“But wait, how does that make any sense?” Rags asked. “Why doesn’t she do her eternal night thing? If she’s powerful enough to summon monsters and put everyone into a coma and send them off to who-knows-where, why wouldn’t she just make sure the sun doesn’t come up so that the effects can be permanent?”

“That’s where you come in. You are the sole reason she hasn’t done just that. Whenever you’re present, the evil force at work feels… twisted up. It’s as if you scramble the signal, so to speak. You are a living, breathing wrench in her operations. Your existence is a hindrance to her plan,” Twilight said. “That must be why she wishes to eliminate you.”

“But that still doesn’t make any sense! She can still summon monsters and take everyone away at night, I’m not stopping crap!” Rags said with both frustration and worry.

“Yes, it does. The Nightmare uses Luna’s potent, yet subtle, dream magic. It allows for nigh undetectable control over someone’s sleep and subconscious, hence why nobody is none the wiser to what is going on. In addition, through combining that dream magic with Luna’s other formidable powers, I postulate that she is able to send ponies to an alternate plane while they sleep, almost like literally sending them to some sort of ‘Dreamland’. If even one single pony is not under the effects of the magic, it can throw the entire spell off. But the conscious pony, you, is still affected. Your subconscious is vulnerable to her manipulation.”

Shut up.

Rags almost jumped. It was him. It was the voice.

“Don’t you see what that means, Rags? Everything that’s happening, from the monsters to the sun still rising in the morning and preventing eternal night, is based on your subconscious. You affect everything that happens. Because you still feel it, because there is something inside you that hasn’t given in, the sun still comes up every morning. Because you ‘know’ it will. But you also ‘know’ that the night will come again, which is why it does. As long as you have fear, as long as you feel uncertainty inside your heart, the Nightmare will still have power over you. Your mental instability is due to the Nightmare influencing everything you do, everything you think about, everything you feel.”

Shut up, you whore.

“All of your fears, your worries, your doubts… the Nightmare is attached to them. It makes your nightmares literally come to life. That is why you are under attack, but why it hasn’t already won.”

I’ll gut you. I’ll eat your children.

Rags felt a massive headache coming on. Why was the voice so perturbed by Twilight? He could feel its anger. It almost made him want to harm the princess. Maybe… maybe… of course. It didn’t want him to hear. It didn’t want him to know.

The voice wasn’t just his own. It wasn’t just another personality inside of him given life by his growing insanity. It was all of his negativity, everything that kept him down, given sentience by the Nightmare. It wasn’t just a voice, it was a thing. The evil, the demonic presence was inside his head. He was right all along. He wasn’t simply crazy. His madness was created, given to him by an unholy leech that clung to his mind and fed off his anxieties.

I know what you’re thinking. You can’t get rid of me. I’m real. I’m staying. I’m staying.

Be quiet… I’ll deal with you later.

He inwardly seethed, rage towards that thing growing rapidly within. He would handle the matter, but later. Now was the time for answers.

“Alright… so this Nightmare shapes everything based on what I feel and shapes all of reality into my own personal living nightmare. Great. That still doesn’t explain why I’m the only one who can do this,” Rags said as he rubbed his head in pain and aggravation.

“That is a curious question. I’m not entirely sure why you seem to be the only one capable of resisting the sleep. That will require further study.” Twilight closed the second book and disposed of it magically. “The point is, you are the only one who can do anything to stop the Nightmare.”

These words hit Rags like a ton of bricks. He wanted to simply say “no” and go home, leaving the entire mess behind him. Rags was short on breath, holding a hoof up to his chest.

“Are you alright?” Cadance asked, turning away from Celestia for a moment, but never stopping her consolation efforts.

“Yes, yes… I’m fi--... I’m fin--... No, no I’m not.” He took a minute to collect himself. There goes the good mood I was in this morning. So much for that little spurt of happy, he thought to himself. Well… it was nice while it lasted. He sat up straight, inhaling deeply before continuing. “Ok… ok… I’m good… Not really, obviously, but just lay it on me anyway. What’s gonna happen here?”

In a flash, Twilight was gone, leaving Rags with a look of consternation. She reappeared off to his side, looking up at the stained glass window that depicted the rise of Nightmare Moon. “You will be granted full access to the royal armory as well as to any resources you deem necessary to assist you in the proceedings. For the duration of the crisis, you will remain here in your own personal suite in the castle.” She turned away from the window and affixed him with a pleading look. ‘Will you help us? Will you help the world?”

Rags momentarily wondered if it was bad etiquette to stare at a princess, but did so anyway. He stared for the longest time, eventually turning his gaze to the fancy rug beneath his hooves. This was a question that would require a bit of consideration.

He could hardly comprehend the circumstances, the suddenness and scale of it all. He’d gone from fighting off relatively small quantities of hungry beasts in a small house in a small village to waking up in the royal castle itself and being told that he and only he could fight a god-like demon and save the world. It was such a radical and sudden change that it left him at a loss for words. It was an odd hybrid of culture shock and escalated stakes. How does one respond to such a thing? How is one supposed to handle being told that only they can vanquish evil and save all that there is?

It wouldn’t be an easy fight. In fact, he questioned whether or not it was even a fight at all. Even with the infinite resources of Canterlot backing him up, he was almost certain such an endeavor would end with the Nightmare casually vaporizing him without any effort whatsoever. He was merely a dishwasher. He wasn’t a warrior. He wasn’t a mage, a mercenary, a soldier, or even a competent survivalist.

He’d only lasted so long because of pure dumb luck, and he wasn’t sure he even had enough of that to make this plan feasible. He could hardly survive a few tar-covered lunatics trying to tear his house down, how could he be expected to accomplish a task such as this? He thought heavily about it, approached the matter from every direction, always coming to the same conclusion.

He sighed in defeat. He was screwed.

There was simply no way for him to make it out alive. He couldn’t handle it, he was just too weak. He was too weak to take what life had dished out to him. He was always too weak… Though, what else was he supposed to do? Leave the world and everyone else to be consumed by an eternal evil? He knew he was weak, too weak to ever handle something so monumental, but the least he could do was give it a shot.

Besides, perhaps this meant something more. Perhaps this was his second chance, his time to shine. To prove that he could handle what life threw at him, to prove that he wasn’t so weak after all. And even though the odds were insurmountable, he now had the opportunity to strike at the heart of the matter, end the madness once and for all. If he could defeat the Nightmare, he could not only stop his torment, but do something that he’d never even thought about before: make a difference in the world. He was always just that one colt who cleaned things in that one diner. No one ever spoke of him in reverent whispers or looked to him with respect. He never did anything of importance whatsoever. Now he could do one of the most important things anyone had ever done. Or die brutally trying.

But at least he would have tried.

With great reluctance, Rags opened his mouth to respond. “I… I, uh…. I guess I can give it a whirl. Who knows? I might actually last longer than five seconds. You think shooting for six is too much of a stretch?”

Twilight smiled at Rags’ dark humor and his trepidatious conformation that he was willing to help. “Thank you, Rags. I realize that this must be a very intimidating mission.”

‘What, me? Intimidated? By a little old ancient demon of unfathomable power that I’m going to have to fight all alone at night on top of the hordes of monsters that will be trying to skin me alive? Why yes, yes I am.” Rags stood to his shivering hooves, looking more like a newborn calf than an adult.

“Actually, considering that you will be here in Canterlot, closer to the caster of the spell than before, it’s not far fetched to assume that the monsters will increase dramatically in strength and number,” Twilight added.

“Oh… well in that case you can take me out of the ‘Intimidated’ category and put me into the ‘For the love of all that is holy, mommy make it stop’ category,” Rags said, feeling lightheaded again.

“It’s good that you maintain a sense of humor, you’ll definitely need it.” Twilight paced back towards the throne where Cadance sat beside a somber and silent Celestia, who let her mane obscure her sorrowfully hung head.

“You will need training. My brother, Prince Shining Armor, will be your personal trainer.” Twilight gestured to the Prince, who nodded in confirmation at Rags. It seemed a sensible decision to the dishwasher. Though one would expect a prince to be a fragile ‘royal’ type, Shining Armor was anything but. Rags was pretty sure that the prince could bench press five full grown stallions at once with a body like his. Not to mention his military background and his admirable magical prowess. Under his guidance, Rags was bound to reach his full potential, going from a miserable out-of-shape dishwasher heading straight for death’s door to a miserable in-shape dishwasher heading straight for death’s door.

“And perhaps I can whip up a few potions, something to give you a little boost,” Twilight said, offering a genuine smile.

The dishwasher felt warmed by her kindness. “So…” Rags swallowed hard, preparing to get down to the gritty part. “How am I supposed to deal with Nightmare Moon, anyhow? In fact, why haven’t we used the Elements on her already? Is that also something that only I can do for some reason? Am I supposed to go in there by myself and just blast her or what?”

Twilight seemed shocked by the question. Her cheeks reddened and she stuttered out an answer in a very un-royal fashion. “Oh… I think I might have left out something important. We haven’t used the Elements on her, and we won’t be able to, because… we sort of… kind of… gave them up,” she said with a meek grin.

“...I’m sorry, what?” Rags gawked.

“So… yeah, we can’t, uhm, use them on her. Also… in order to stop Nightmare Moon, you’ll have to wait until she makes herself vulnerable… on… Nightmare Night… hehe.” Princess Twilight was obviously aware of how he’d react to this information.

Rags nodded, mouth pursing in thought. Nightmare Night… was six months away. He would have to wait through six months of neverending assault from even more powerful monsters than before to put an end to things. And around that time of year, the nights would become longer as well. Yep… I think I just crapped myself. Wait… ok, not yet. But I’m definitely, definitely close.

“Ok, so, without the Elements of Harmony, which we did what with?” Rags asked Twilight.

“We gave them to a magical tree,” she replied with a blush, a sort of acknowledgement of how that sounded.

“Right… so, with the Elements… stuck in a tree somewhere… how am I going to handle the Nightmare? Am I supposed to drown it in tears of fear? Because I’ve got plenty of those,” Rags said dryly.

Twilight cleared her throat and answered, “There is another artifact aside from the Elements that can harm the Nightmare.”

Rags’ expression brightened upon hearing this. “Awesome! So where is it?”

“It’s charging,” Twilight replied.

“...Charging?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes. It requires a substantial amount of sunlight to power the artifact. It is currently in a specialized chamber accumulating the proper amount of energy,” Twilight explained.

“So… when do I get to use it?” Rags asked in a pleading tone.

“Uhm… several months from now,” Twilight said shamefully.

“Marvelous. Does everything take several months to do in Canterlot? Or only when a pushover of a dishwasher is in peril and needs it right now?” Rags grumbled sarcastically.

“I should also specify why you will only be able to fight the Nightmare on Nightmare Night. As of right now, the Nightmare resides inside of Luna, attached to her soul, influencing her actions and corrupting her mind. It cannot directly act on its own. But on Nightmare Night, the anniversary of Luna’s banishment,” Twilight cast an apologetic glance to Celestia for bringing the memory up, “it will finally gather enough strength to take full control of the princess, and will no longer be hindered by your presence. It will have the power necessary to force an eternal night regardless of the influence you have.”

“Huh… if I may be so bold, Your Majesty, but aren’t we trying to avoid letting the Nightmare become that powerful?” Rags asked as he silently questioned Twilight’s sanity.

She turned to him and explained further, “Yes and no. True, on that night she will have enough power to take over, and without the Elements or even anyone awake to oppose her, she will win. But, while she will be at her most powerful, she will also be at her most vulnerable. From my last encounter with her, I noticed that any harm that came to Nightmare Moon was not inflicted on Luna as well. It became a separate entity, using Luna’s body as a conduit to channel its true form. Currently, it and Luna are one and the same, but on that night, they will part enough for damage to be done to one, but not both.”

Rags scratched his chin in contemplation. “Ohhhh… so the only time I’ll be able to even hurt the thing is also the time when it can turn me into ash just by blinking. I get it now.”

Celestia stirred from her abysmal state, sitting up straight and regaining her composure by taking deep breaths. She looked at Rags with a gentle expression. “Fear not, my little one. You are not alone, despite what might occur at night. We will all be here for you and help if we can. I beg of you… please save my sister. If you can’t, then…” She began welling up with tears again. A choked sob escaped her as Cadance was quick to comfort her once more.

Rags was beginning to get a grasp on how much everyone else was affected by this. It would seem he wasn’t the only one with his sanity on the line.

Celestia stifled her tears long enough to achieve equanimity again. “I offer my deepest and most sincere apologies to you. I can only imagine what my… sister…” She took a moment to breath, “has done to your mind over the past several months. I’m sorry that you were without aid for so long. I’m… so sorry for everything.”

Rags cocked his head in a confused expression. “What do you mean by ‘everything’?”

“For the horrors to come. We have no way of preventing your continued exposure to the Nightmare’s demonic energies. You will have to endure for quite some time. In truth, I am unsure of how to proceed… or if it is even right of me to ask this of you. I feel simply wretched sending you to fight alone. I loathe the idea of being unable to fight for my subjects,” Celestia said.

A look of anger overtook her face. “I loathe the idea of being unable to fight that thing that has taken my sister away from me once more!” Venom dripped from her voice as she continued. “For centuries that demon has tormented my sister! It has poisoned her mind and tainted her soul! It has isolated her, drowned her in loneliness and sorrow!” Celestia hissed as she trembled with fury. She spared a minute to breath and calm herself before resuming in a tone with much less vitriol. “Now it has come again to drag her away from me once more… If it is not stopped… we may be forced to take… drastic measures. I may lose her forever this time.” A fresh wave of tears washed over her cheeks as she let the painful words pass her lips.

Rags could see why she was so torn up now. He reflected on the situation for a moment, considering the circumstances. “Well… I don’t know, Your Highness, what else would we do? As hard as it is for me to accept, I’m apparently the only one who can do anything here. I can’t just let this Nightmare thing take over the world and take Princess Luna away. I mean, I don’t honestly think I’ll be of any use, but I’ve got to try, I guess.”

Celestia looked at him with a soft expression and smiled, warmed by his wary consent.

“Then it’s settled,” Twilight stated confidently. “We will assist you however possible in your endeavors. Together, we will defeat Nightmare Moon, save Luna, and stop eternal darkness from befalling the land!”

Rags’ mouth went dry. “Is that all? Sounds easy enough…” He felt suddenly and inexplicably woozy. “If you don’t mind, I’m just gonna take a little--” He fainted and collapsed on the floor.

All present in the throne room stared for a bit, before Twilight awkwardly broke the silence. “Uhm… does somebody want to help him up?”

Chapter 9: Further Down

Journal entry #81

Hello there, you little collection of despaired and disturbed thoughts. I guess I’m not done writing in you after all. Twilight somehow found out about the journal I’d been writing in and apparently sent her fastest messenger to retrieve it right away. I’ll have to ask that guy how Nougat was holding up when he got there. Poor little idiot… I can only imagine his face when he woke up to a big buckin’ hole in the front of his house and the rest of the place in shambles. I wonder what he’s going to do now. Does he have anyone to stay with? I haven’t seen his parents around for a long time...

Anyway, she got me my journal back. Caught her rummaging through the pages while she was waiting for me in my room. Apparently she finds great scientific value in reading the inane ramblings of someone who isn’t all there in the head. Oh well, there isn’t anything there that I’m embarrassed of and that’s a total lie. Why kid myself, I was mortified.

You know, I just realized that I called this whole mess ‘an adventure’. Kind of a weird way of putting it. An adventure… I’ve always heard others talk about their own little adventures. Getting lost in the Everfree, bandits robbing the train they were taking out west, drunken excursions and alcohol fueled shenanigans in Las Pegasus. There was a time when I wondered if I would ever have my own little journey. Something that would make for an interesting story to tell over a couple of drinks. I always wanted something exciting and interesting to happen to me. Now, in light of all the crap that’s happened, I take it back. I’d like to go back to being boring again, because this ‘adventure’ of mine wasn’t worth it. I guess this kind of stands as a testament to that old saying.

“You never know how good you have it until it’s gone.”

Truer words have never been spoken. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I miss my dishes.

Anyway, not too much longer until that oh-so-fun time comes again. My first night in Canterlot and how’s it going to be spent? Not relaxing in a five-star hotel room, not out at some fancy club with DJ-PON3 wubbing it up, not even culturing myself at theater, listening to the famous Octavia work her musical magic. Nope, it’s all unspeakable nightmares trying to tear out my intestines and fornicate with my still-beating heart. I think this is going to be a real pain in my everything. I don’t know this place at all like I do Ponyville. I don’t know whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing. I mean, I am in a castle, how much more secure can you get?

Not that security has stopped those things before… But hey, it’s all about peace of mind, right? I’m feeling pretty confident about this. I’ve got a big castle with big castle resources and big castle weapons and big castle… uh… It’s a big castle.

Alright then, journal. Not too long now. I should start getting ready. My first night here in Canterlot. Let’s see how this goes. If you don’t hear back from me, which you won’t because you’re an inanimate object and I have no idea why I’m personifying you, then you’ll know it’s because I’ve been skinned alive and turned into a coat for Nightmare Moon.

Oh yeah, forgot to mention… It’s Nightmare Moon. She wants to kill me. Isn’t that lovely? So now all I’ve got to worry about is the Monarch of Evil, who has the power to destroy the world, wanting me dead. Oh journal, how I do so hate my life. Let me count the ways...

Rags awoke to the feeling of being suspended off the ground. He lifted his head up to see a mare with a red cross for a mark and nurse’s uniform supporting the weight of stretcher on her back, presumably with a colleague doing the same behind him. He was being transported down a corridor towards a set of large, heavy doors.

As they arrived in front of them, the two medical personnel nodded to the guards, who returned the gesture. Rags shifted a bit, making sure everything felt alright. “Alright, I think I’m good, I can take it from here,” Rags told the medical help as he began to crawl off the stretcher. He was beaten to the punch when the nurses abruptly overturned the gurney, dropping him onto his face and causing him to emit a strange grunting noise. Without a word, they took their leave and trotted back down the hall they came from.

The dishwasher glared at the doors from his humiliating position on the floor. “Bedside manners? What are those? Is that when you drop your patient on his face?” he mumbled bitterly.

After Rags pitifully got to his hooves and brushed himself off, the guards parted the doors for him and motioned for him to enter. Feeling uncomfortable in their presence, he slipped inside and the doors shut behind him. Rags sighed from exhaustion, mostly of the mental variety. He ran a hoof through his mane as he inspected the quarters he’d been brought to. A windowless room much smaller than the one he awoke in, with far fewer sumptuous ornamentations as well. Regardless, the dorm still maintained the stately style the rest of the castle was abundant in.

“You’ve got impressive penmanship.”

Rags yelped and impulsively assumed a faux karate stance as he faced the voice in the corner of the room. Twilight idly flipped through the pages of a worn book with her magic, a meditative look on her face. “Though you could stand to take better care of your things,” she droned as she attempted to decipher words that were made illegible by a large tear on one of the pages.

Rags’ face reddened as he recognized the weathered amalgamation of paper as his journal. He wasn’t one to put great concern into what others thought of him, typically, but he was immediately made nervous by the idea of the princess scrutinizing his written thoughts. There were a number of items contained within that she might have thought were… questionable.

She shut the book and levitated it across the room and into his fumbling grasp. “I want you to keep writing in it,” she ordered as she stood up from her sitting position under the candle on the wall.

“Uh, sure… Why?” Rags asked with his usual confusion.

“It’s therapeutic for you and it provides insight into your condition for me,” Twilight said, a miniscule degree of ire in her voice as if there was a double entendre in her meaning of ‘insight’. Rags wondered if she had read one of the more… colorful passages.

“Right…” the dishwasher awkwardly started. “So, were you just here to give me my journal back?”

“That, and converse with you over your plans.”

“Plans?” Rags blanked.

“Your plans of survival. You know, for the coming night? Nightmare Moon? Monsters? Any of this seem familiar?” Twilight deadpanned.

“No need to get snarky…” Rags grumbled.

“So, how do you wish to proceed?” she asked, curiosity transparent in her demeanor. She was genuinely interested in learning of the masterful strategies that the tactical-minded Rags had employed in order to keep himself alive.

Rags mulled it over for a moment, crossing his forelegs as he thought. “Well, typically, I try not to die.”

“That… That’s it?” Twilight asked in disappointment.

“Sadly, yeah, it kind of is. I holed up in Nougat’s house and tried not to think about how much my inevitable death would hurt. That was the extent of my strategic skill. I have no idea what I’m going to do here. I don’t know anything about Canterlot or this castle. This is new territory for me, figuratively and literally. Do you have any ideas? I mean, if I’m supposed to save everything, then maybe you should be the one to take the helm, you know? Besides, you’re some kind of genius, right? You’d know better than anyone what we should do.”

Twilight nodded thoughtfully. “I appreciate that you’d entrust me with the planning, but I’m afraid I just don’t have enough information on the behavior of the creatures or the magic that summons them to form any decent strategies. You’re the closest we have to an expert here.”

“Oh stellar, that’s just stellar…” Rags rubbed his eyes with his hooves to expel the exhaustion from them. He and Twilight sat in silence for the next several seconds, their minds toiling away. He recalled his means of survival from Ponyville, remembering how unbelievably lucky he was to have lived through such impractical methods. The sort of harebrained lunacy he tried back in town was certainly not going to fly in Canterlot. The stakes were being raised. He was up against greater odds than before. Winging it was sure to result in his untimely and gruesome departure from life… his second one, anyway.

“Well let me ask you this: what did you do that was most successful? What gave you the best results?” Twilight inquired.

“Well, like I said, barricading myself inside that house was how I spent the majority of my time. Running through the streets like a headless chicken was not, and probably still isn’t, the best course of action.” Certain memories flashed through Rags’ mind, most prominently the third night of the phenomenon, which started with him running like a madpony around town and ended with him nearly meeting his end inside of a burning barn after a brutal beating. He shivered at this. He’d sooner slit his own throat than bumble about like that again.

“I see. Then fortifying is the way to go. Although, judging from your writings, you had developed certain… unhealthy tendencies after too much time spent inside.” Twilight cringed as she spoke these words.

“Unhealthy tendencies? What do you mean…” Rags trailed off as he looked into her worried eyes. He knew what she was referring to. “Hey, that was… that, uhm… I, ugh… I needed the extra push, you know?” he stammered nervously, sweat forming on his brow.

Twilight shook her head at him. “No, Rags. You didn’t. Not like that, anyway. Don’t you know how illegal that is? I’ve already got the Ponyville law-enforcement in an uproar over pardoning you after your episode with your boss. You don’t need anything else on your already spotty record. But besides that, do you have any idea how much worse off you were because of that? Do you know how much worse that probably made your situation?”

Rags’ head fell crestfallen, guilt obviously overrunning him.

Twilight’s eyes filled with pity for the creature before her. She could only imagine what forced him to sink to a state in which he was willing to abuse such substances. “Well, you don’t need to worry about that anymore. The potions that restored you cleared your system. You should be clean now.”

Rags cleared his throat and refrained from making eye contact. “Yeah… okay. I’ll, uh… I'll make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

“See to it that it doesn’t. For your own sake,” Twilight said apologetically. “Anyway… let’s get back to the topic of fortifying. Too much time spent cooped up like that is something we would do well to avoid. Maybe we could dedicate a number of rooms to your efforts, create several locations in which you can transfer between after each night. It would help you feel less constrained, more flexible. Your confidence would benefit from having a several defensible locations to work with.”

Rags finally mustered the courage to look Twilight in the eyes again. “Sure, sure… we could try that.”

Twilight smiled a comforting smile. “Good. We’ll begin work immediately. For now, let’s just see how it works tonight.”

Rags began to relax once more, getting back into the preparation mindset. “Now that we’ve got that sorted out, let’s talk supplies, hm?”

The princess nodded in affirmation. In a flash, a piece of parchment and a quill materialized before Twilight. “Alright, so what do you need? Remember, we can get you anything you want.”

Rags touched a hoof to the beard that he only just became aware of again. He considered what all he could use. Although, the better question, he pondered with an inward grin, was what couldn’t he use. The unlimited resources of Canterlot were backing him in his quest. He could have anything he deemed necessary. The notion of no longer having to jury-rig his own clunky, unwieldy, ineffectual contraptions and defenses was invigorating. The only obstacle in crafting his plans of attack now were the parameters set by his own neurotic imagination. He worked the kinks out of his neck, eliciting cracks as he lessened the pressure on his vertebrae, and put his mind to work.

“Well then, let’s get to it.”

“--And as many buckets of oil as you can get. I’ll be doing some tinkering over the next couple days,” Rags finished.

Twilight’s magical hold worked the quill as fast as her mind would permit, madly scribbling logistical jottings and marginalia onto her list. Once finished, she furled the scroll and sent both it and her writing tool into the void. “I’m sending this to my personal assistant. He will ensure that everything on this list is acquired and sent here within the hour.”

“Even the hoagie?” Rags asked with childish hope glistening in his eyes.

Twilight sighed, “Yes, even the hoagie. How could anyone eat a three-foot long sandwich with nothing but chocolate and cheese on it?” Her face contorted with mild disgust.

“You said anything,” Rags smugly reminded.

The princess grinned and shook her head. “It’s getting late. I’d say you have another four or so hours to prepare. The items you requested will be ready in two at the most. Is that alright?”

Rags tapped his chin with his hoof. “Uhh… Yeah, that should give me enough time. The fact that I don’t have to put anything together myself really helps. I’ve just gotta put it to use.”

Twilight nodded. “Remember, being this close to the Nightmare could very well make things significantly more difficult. The dark energies are far more potent here. You’ll need to exercise greater caution than before.”

“About that, if being closer to the Nightmare is more dangerous, then why did you bring me here six months before I could actually do anything to it?” Rags asked, rubbing the back of his neck.

“That’s a good question. You see, during my studies back in Ponyville, I discovered that the Nightmare’s influence was steadily growing, its powers accumulating on your location. The longer you fought, the more energy converged on you. Eventually, it wouldn’t have mattered where you were, you would have been subjected to the full strength of the demon. By bringing you here, we have given you a number of advantages. For one, the magic is not as prominent here as it was back in town by the time we discovered what was happening and came for you. But it won’t take long for her to reacquire you. Second, you have an entire castle full of soldiers, servants, and master craftsmen ready to assist you in any way possible. Third, there are a number of skills you must be taught if you are to stand a chance, which is where my brother comes in. He will help you to better yourself.”

Rags let all of what the princess said be processed in his mind, speaking once he felt satisfied with her answers. “I guess that settles that question. Doesn’t make me feel any better, though. Are you sure this is the only way to handle this? I mean, I’m not exactly a reasonable candidate for the title of ‘World Saver’. I’m flattered that you’re willing to entrust me with the… safety of… all in creation…” Rags swallowed, the weight behind those words leaving a pit in his stomach.

Twilight appeared dejected. “Trust me, Rags, if there were any other way…” She paused for a second to cast a glance over her shoulder at the door. “Your training with Shining will begin tomorrow. Tonight, I need you to focus. Focus on how things work here, see if anything has changed. Utilize the lull in the Nightmare’s magic and treat this night as a sort of experiment to gauge the danger. I’m running off of speculation and conjecture, so I need you to determine what effects are in place.”

Rags massaged his face as the dread was already beginning to brim within him. Something deep in his soul told him that he wasn’t going to be too happy with the findings of this little ‘experiment’.

Twilight exhaled a large guff. “...Today has certainly been interesting, hasn’t it?” she asked with a light chuckle.

“I suppose that’s the nice, non-vulgar, non-freaked out way of saying it,” Rags replied with a small laugh to match.

They both sniggered a bit before going quiet. They sat in silence for a short time, gazes cast towards the floor, each ruminating on individual matters. Rags looked up to the closest candle, staring wistfully into the dancing flames. Twilight stretched her wings and turned towards the doors, stopping as she placed a hoof on the barrier. “I’ll leave you to rest for now,” she said somberly, breaking the silence.

“Okay…” Rags kept his eyes on the candle fire.

With that, the princess departed, leaving Rags alone in the chamber. He continued watching the tiny fire of the candle delicately twist and jolt about. It was oddly comforting to him, just staring into the flickering light of the small blaze. It was just such a simple task. He longed for simple. He wanted simple back. He grew tired of the madness that seeped into his life and cluttered his mind.

He could still scarcely believe it. He was supposed to save the world, to stand alone against a monster of incomprehensible cosmic power. And he just accepted it. He just said “Okay” and went along with the insanity. It invoked a question: had he truly come that far? Had he transformed into the sort of brave hero that could handle the mission presented to him? Or had he merely become that numb to the horror? Had he grown so accustomed to death and destruction that being told the balance rested on his shoulders was just another item on the list? The latter possibility sent shivers down his spine. To think that who he used to be had died long ago, replaced by a shell running on instinct, terrified him.

There was a thump. The sound of something throwing its weight around came from behind the door of the chamber’s bathroom. Rags would have felt fear, but two things in his mind kept him calm. For one, he had experienced such deception from his own consciousness before. He knew there wasn’t actually anything in there. Second, he knew that if there was anything in there, it could only be… Rags figured it was time for a little talk.

Steadily standing, brow furrowed in anger, he cantered to the bathroom and entered hastily. He looked about, searching. Nothing in the luxurious bath seemed out of the norm, aside from the fact that the mirror showed the reflection of dishwasher that clearly did not belong in such lavish environs.

Scowling at the reflection, he stepped over to the mirror, glaring hatefully into his own eyes. For a solid minute he waited, ire slowly arising inside of him like bread in the oven. “What’s the matter? Couldn’t keep your mouth shut before, and now you decide to keep quiet? What? You scared? Is that it?”

Without warning, the mirror shattered, dozens of large fissures etching across the reflective surface. As if being observed through a kaleidoscope, he appeared.

That how you wanna play this? Is that seriously how you want this to go down? Boy, you’re buckin’ mental if you think you’re going to talk to me like that.

“Why shouldn’t I talk to you like that? What are you going to do, huh? I know what you are, I know what you’ve been doing. And now, I know how to get rid of you.”

Really? You think it’s that easy? You think any of those little ‘facts’ you ‘know’ about me are even true?

“It seems like the truth to me. You’re not real. You’re not me. You’re just some cloud of demon mojo clogging up my head.”

The reflection looked at Rags for a moment, pure loathing in its eyes, before a low, ominous chortle began emanating from its throat.

If I may make a suggestion? Just go ahead and slit your throat right now, because I can promise you, its going to be far less painful than getting yourself killed by that Nightmare thing, which is what’s going to happen if that’s the kind of brainpower you’re going into the fray with.

“Yeah, whatever, go ahead, make your stupid jokes--”

Not a joke, amigo. I’m serious. You’re a moron. You think I’m just a conjuration? Some cheap smoke n’ mirrors act put on by a cosmic parasite attached to the soul of a pretty little princess? You couldn’t be further off, mate.

‘Is that so? Then please explain to me how you’re not just another abomination summoned by Nightmare Moon to screw with me. After all, if the shoe fits, right? It makes perfect sense. All you’ve done is kept me down, torn me apart. You’re not some broken-off piece of my psyche, you’re a tumor! You’re a tumor that only exists to leech off my brain and get me killed!”

That’s just like you, Rags. Always looking for the easy way out. Instead of owning up to the problem, you blame it on others. Instead of just accepting the fact that I am a part of you, you blame my existence on some two-bit demon’s scheme for world domination. I guess I can’t fault you for it. After all, nobody, not even the most inward-looking of ponies, wants to face their problems. How could I expect a worthless little roach such as yourself to do it?

“What are you ta--”

Let me give you the skinny of it, Rags. I. Hate. You. I hate you more than you’ll ever know. I hate everything about you, I hate everyone you know, I hate the air you breath, I hate the thought of you even being able to draw breath, I hate myself for being connected to you. Your life is nothing but a burden on me. Do you understand that? Can you even begin to comprehend how much I loath you? No… of course you can’t. These next few months are going to see all that hate blossom. We’re coming to the end, Rags. The train is pulling into the station. Who walks off that train… well, that’s the million dollar question.

Rags had no response for the Other. He knew he was right. There was an end coming… an end to it all. An end to the attacks, an end to the fear, and an end to their “relationship”.

In the meantime, how about we play a little game? Over the next couple weeks, I’m going to ask you some questions. They’re really simple questions, and all you gotta do is answer em’. Easy, huh? A foal could do it. Let’s start now. First question: why bet a billion on one?

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Answer ain’t comin’ to you? That’s okay, just take your time. I’m sure you’ll get it eventually.

The Other snickered in a knowing, malicious way before vanishing from the mirror, along with the damage done. In the blink of an eye, the mirror was back to normal, as was Rags’ reflection.

Rags inhaled deeply, trying his hardest to keep his impatience from manifesting via a rabid outburst. The parasite wasn’t real, it simply couldn’t be. It had grown too much. It knew too much. It had to have a connection with the Nightmare. Rags couldn’t imagine how such a complex figure could operate within the confounds of his own mind without letting him in on its plans. The only reasonable explanation was that it was a separate entity altogether.

Its words weighed heavy on him. Rags could not stop replaying the phrase in his head; We’re coming to an end. That much was true. The end of the long, arduous road was within sight. But he had nary a clue of what to expect there, and it frightened him. All he was sure of that whatever was in store for him was big, unpleasant, and possibly quite deadly.

He heard a knock on the chamber door. He quickly collected himself and exited the bathroom. Cracking the doors, he poked his head out to see a mare in a rather revealing maid outfit with snobbish look of disgust on her face as she presented a platter occupied by a gargantuan, steaming sandwich overflowing with various varieties of cheese and chocolate. As Rags remembered his silly request, the anxiety left his expression and he smiled at his impulsive stupidity.

Taking the platter from the servant, who did not even linger long enough to receive a ‘thank you’, Rags scurried inside and plopped onto his back on the bed, hoagie resting on his chest. He thought about how much of a slob he must have looked like, how disgusting he surely would have seemed to the outside observer. He grinned even more as he considered it.

He was terrified, shaken to the core by the events and truths of the day. He doubted he’d ever get any decent sleep again, for he’d be plagued with nightmares until the end of his days. Worse yet, the dangerous night was only hours away.

Though, he figured, as fearful as he was, perhaps taking a moment to relax and enjoy the little things would help keep him sane. Letting himself go every now and then would be good stress relief, he assured himself. With that in mind, he bit into the glutinous combination of bread and unhealthy sauces, howling in pain when the melting cheese singed his tongue.

“Now remember, Rags, expect the unexpected.”

“Sure.”

“Don’t let your guard down.”

“Absolutely.”

“Use your better judgement. Don’t do anything rash.”

“Wouldn’t dare.”

The sun threw bright orange rays through the large, stained-glass windows in the hall. The golden-colored silk hems of the regal red rugs covering the floors glistened in the dying light, and the reflective plates of the decorative suits of old knight armor gleamed brightly. Two elongated shadows stretched across the floor and onto the walls adjacent to the glass. One was that of an alicorn, and the other of a stallion bobbing up and down.

Rags determinedly trotted in place in the corridor outside of his chamber, Twilight running through plans and giving pep talks while she still could. “Keep your wits about you. Remember, peace of mind is key for success,” Twilight instructed.

Rags ceased his jogging and began doing limb stretches. “Got it.”

“And keep yourself focused. Letting your mind wander might end badly for you,” the princess warned.

“Indeed.” Rags sat on his haunches and let his muscles relax. working the kinks out of his neck as he was apparently finished getting his blood pumping. “Anything else before I do this?”

Twilight topped her chin with her hoof for a second. “Yes. Whatever you do, don’t die.”

“Take all the fun out of it, why don’t you?” Rags nervously joked, lump caught in his throat.

Twilight cast a glance out of one of the large windows. The sun was quickly setting. She loosed a wide yawn as her eyes drooped a bit. “Not long now…”

“What? Until the sleep thing? Hey, you’re the experimental sort, right?” Rags asked.

Twilight leered at him incredulously. “What are you getting at…?”

“Have you tried setting up a camera on a timer and getting pictures when the sleep happens? Running some tests on it and stuff?” Rags asked, oblivious to her tone.

The princess sighed her relief before answering. “As a matter of fact, I have. Inconclusive. The pictures never come out right. They always depict something that I know for a fact was not going on in front of the camera.”

“Like?”

“Like me and Princess Celestia having tea at four A.M., or Shining armor and Cadance sitting in front of the fireplace, the fireplace behind the camera I set up,” Twilight explained.

“That’s… sufficiently creepy,” Rags stated with hair standing on end.

“One of these nights, I’m going to have to get you to stay in my room while I sleep and report what happens to me.” Twilight yawned deeply again, head bobbing only once.

“That totally won’t be awkward at all…” Rags grumbled. He took a moment to stare out the window at his last half-hour of sunlight. As the orange glow waned over the horizon, he could see from his position inside of the towering mountain palace a long, dark shadow racing to cover the parts of the land now deprived of light. It was like a curtain of death slowly descending upon him. He considered the possibility of the nightmarish beasts already beginning to spawn within the shadow. Did they only require the absence of sunlight to be summoned, he wondered?

Curious, he decided to ask Twilight of the matter. He opened his mouth to say something, but as he turned to her, he found her sitting perfectly upright, but asleep. Rags found himself amazed by her posture even when out cold. She must have really hit those how-to princess books. I take it she practiced real hard on the poise section.

The dishwasher debated with himself on whether or not to awaken her. After all, it obviously wasn’t time yet, as she was still present and not taken as all who sleep at night were. For a few seconds he awkwardly shifted on his hooves, wondering what he should do. Finally he decided to just wake her up. He wanted the company of another pony for as long as he could get it.

He reached for her head, intending to shake her awake, but thought better of it and pulled back. Touching a royal on the head was probably breaking some law. Instead, he stomped on the floor in front of her. Her head snapped upwards as she awoke with a yelp. She sat quiet for an instant, staring out into space. Soon, though, she began to sniffle and wipe her foreleg across her eyes.

Rags sat frozen, terrified that he might have somehow upset the princess. Scenarios in which he was beheaded for his heinous crimes against the crown and his head rolled down the steps of the castle raced through his synapses. After a moment of suspense on Rags’ part, the princess had finished her silent sobbing.

Twilight spoke softly, seemingly to no one in particular. “That was… awful…” She sniffed again and looked to Rags, looking into his face with equal parts fear and sorrow.

“Did… Did I do something, princess? Something… decapitation worthy?” Rags asked gently, massaging his neck and thinking about how much he liked it being attached to his shoulders.

“...No… just a… bad dream, is all…” She wiped her eyes with her wings and composed herself. “Rags… whatever happens… you need to kill the Nightmare…”

The dishwasher tensed up. The princess was so cold in her demeanor, so earnest. Rags was fairly intimidated by this.

Twilight turned and began slowly making her way down the corridor without another word. “W-Where are you going?” Rags asked uneasily.

“To bed. I’ve already tried to counter the sleep. Nothing works. Every method I could possibly think of has been exhausted. There is no fighting it for us, Rags. And if I’m going to be put into a coma that I can’t prevent, I might as well be in my own bed.” The resignation in Twilight’s voice disheartened Rags. Seeing one so great as the princess being brought down so low by the demon’s magic was enough to demoralize even the most stalwart of warriors.

“It’s almost time, Rags. Get ready. Good night… and good luck…” The princess stumbled down the hallway, doing her best at hauling her half-asleep body to her chambers. “Oh, and whatever you do,” she said as she looked back over her shoulder, “don’t go near Luna’s room.” Twilight disappeared out of sight around a corner soon after.

Rags was left alone with the ebbing glow of the sun. He presumed he had about fifteen minutes left before the beginning of his first Canterlot night. He sighed a long shaky sigh. It was one of fear with a hint of understanding. He knew he had to do it. He just didn’t have to like it.

He slipped back inside of his room, a slight tremble in his step. He walked over to the bed and took up the standard-issue sword he’d been given by the royal guards in his teeth. He gave it a few practice swings to make sure he was at least competent enough with the weapon to use it effectively. He imagined if he could see himself from an outside point of view, he’d look about as skillful as a foal pretending to be a pirate. It was strange, but he found himself actually anticipating his training with Prince Shining Armor. He could use some genuine fighting skills, or some form of technique that would not get him killed, anyway.

Desiring to conserve his energy, he stopped practicing and reached for the rest of the gear resting on his bed. A sheath for the sword, pouches and pockets for miscellaneous items, and saddlebags for the larger items. After he’d finished strapping the leather equipment on and slid his blade into its sheath, he stepped into the bathroom and looked himself over in the mirror, chuckling as he got a good look. Wearing the military-grade apparatus, he almost looked like the sort that could handle himself.

That couldn’t be further from the truth.

His grin faded as the novel sight of himself in the mirror was overshadowed by his worry. There was nothing more to do now other than wait. Exiting the bathroom, he loaded his pouches and bags, then moved to the door to let the newly installed bar fall into place in its braces and block the barrier.

He observed the clock hanging above the doorway.

8:55

It was finally time.

Rags stared unblinking at the door. He refused to take his eyes off of it. He blinked each eye individually one after the other so that he wouldn’t have to sever eye-contact with it for even a microsecond. He wasn’t going to take any chances. He was in Canterlot, near the very source of all evil itself. There was no telling what would happen.

Little did Rags know that one of those things that could have happened was nothing.

He had been scrutinizing the door for over two hours without any sign of trouble. There was no trace of any sort of supernatural activity. Not even the sounds of creatures rampaging about or awaiting outside of the walls of safety were present. It was dead quiet. This put Rags on the very edge of the edge. Silence was never good for him. It usually meant that they were already upon him. Though, perhaps, it had something to do with what Twilight said earlier.

Rags remembered what she told him about it taking a small amount of time for the Nightmare to find him again. He made a mental note to ask later for some clarification on how exactly the Nightmare “saw” him. He figured that was probably what was happening. The demon merely had yet to locate him and sic its wretches on his diminutive carcass. he preferred to keep it that way for as long as he could. He didn’t wish to make even the slightest noise or move a single muscle, lest he accidentally did something that drew attention to himself. He didn’t know what it was that would draw attention, but better not to test his luck, he decided.

His muscles felt like springs that were coiled too tight. He was more tense than ever. He should have been basking in his wondrous fortune, but he knew better. He knew how the night liked to operate. He was positive that if he let his guard down even for a second, they’d be on him. They would find him. They always had. They always did. They always would.

He stared at the door for another half-hour, listening like a fox for its quarry under the snow. Still nothing. In such crushing quiet, the drop of a pin would sound like the thunderous report of a cannon. He almost felt tempted to sneak the tiniest of peeks outside. Though he sat stock still, his curiosity bounded about. What was taking them so long? Were they already there? Would they brutally rip his head from his body the moment he sneaked a look?

His coat had long since been completely drenched by a torrent of sweat. The leather he wore was made soggy and odd-smelling from the downpour of bodily fluids. His heart beat and shivering breaths were the only audible sounds, and they seemed to Rags as loud as a booming earthquake and raging hurricane. His eyes had become bloodshot and red from the pressure he put them under.

If the monsters didn’t kill him, he would surely suffer some manner of catastrophic bodily shutdown inspired by the tense situation. On one hand he desperately wanted to know what was happening. On the other hand, he pondered the terrible possibility of what could happen if he were wrong and they really were out there.

The latter won out, and he decided to remain in place for a little while longer.

Rags awoke with a start, somehow realizing he was asleep and panicking as he corrected the problem. His spastic eyes darted around, looking hard into every corner, shadow, and space. His heartbeat slowed slightly from its breakneck pace when he discovered that he was alone. He looked down to find that he was still sitting, apparently having fallen asleep while waiting. He harshly scolded himself for nodding off and jeopardizing his safety.

He spared a glance at the clock to deduce how long he had been out of commission. When he noticed the position of the hands, rubbing his eyes to ensure he wasn’t still impaired by sleepiness and reading it wrong.

3:00 A.M.

It was still nighttime. He had been asleep during nighttime for at least four hours. His pulse raced back up as he frantically checked to see if he was alone once more. How could he be so careless? To allow himself to fall asleep during the hours of danger was worse than stupid. A string of gruesome curses passed through his mind has he brutally scolded himself.

Though now, not only had his worry increased, but so did his curiosity. Why haven’t they attacked? It’s three in the morning and I’ve been asleep for hours! They should have been skinning me alive and slow-roasting me over a fire by now! It was true. They were still not present. He swiveled his ears about, honing his hearing and listening for them to affirm his suspicions. Sure enough, nothing. Not a peep. Not a single audible sound whatsoever.

This was not the night he knew. The night he knew was cruel, vicious, unrecognizable, unyielding, but most of all, unrelenting. It never allowed him a moment of peace. He was always at risk at night. Every second was a slog for survival.

This was not.

This was calm. So calm, that it was unsettling to Rags. He hadn’t experienced such tranquility during the night since before it all happened, since when both the days and nights were normal. The thought of being so close to the epicenter of the horrors he’d experienced and not even so much as hearing a single hoofstep outside was beyond disturbing. It almost petrified Rags. What was going on? Where were they at? What could possibly be the reason behind such serenity?

He could withstand the abuse no longer. He needed to see what was going on. He had to know why the Nightmare had stayed its hoof and withheld its abominations. There had to be some sort of explanation. It was stupid, probably a decision that would leave him a crumpled heap just like back in Ponyville. But he had to do it.

Mustering his reserves, he steadily got to his hoofs. Taking incremental steps, he slithered as quietly as he could to the door. He raised the bar slowly and deliberately, holding on to it for dear life lest it slam back down and attract the attention of any nearby creatures. With the speed of an old tortoise and the delicacy of one creeping around a sleeping giant, he creaked open the chamber door, letting in a flood of dull moonlight. He snaked his head through the barely parted doors, pulse throbbing in his ears as he held his breath. When he saw nothing in the immediate vicinity on the left side of the hall, he poked his head through a bit more and looked toward the right side in the same careful fashion.

He discovered that there were no beasts close by. He felt relieved enough to let himself begin taking puny breaths again, but not full breaths. He wasn’t out of the fire yet. He gulped down the lump in his throat as he took a step outside the threshold. He eased outward, attempting to get a better view in as safe a way as possible. When he had gotten far enough out, he looked down the rest of the incredibly long corridor, first to the left side, then to the right. No threats in sight.

Finally, he allowed himself to take full breaths again. He felt safe enough to step completely out into the hallway, though never letting his watchful eyes slack off. He once more looked down towards each end of the lengthy passage. Still no monsters. Now he was more inquisitive than ever. There truly weren’t any wretches about? Why?

The window in the edge of his vision caught his attention. Investigative, he chanced a look outside to see if he could spot anything. The vast expanse of land below that had seemed so beautiful and full of possibility during the day was now an ominous, dark plane of shadow. The moonlight brightly shined above it all, casting a decidedly ghostly glow over the world. While he never saw any monsters or ghouls, he had a sneaking suspicion that they were out there, searching. Ransacking the land in an effort to find their prey. Which made him question why they weren’t upon him already. They always “knew” where he was before, what changed?

With a new wave of curiosity washing over him, and nothing that threatened him around, he made another decision that he was even more unsure about than the last: to stroll through a few other parts of the castle to deduce what was happening.

A mix of wonder and terror brewing within, he began walking.

The humongous halls of the castle provoked confused feelings in Rags. They were imposing in their height, unnerving in the distance that they stretched on for, and haunting in their spacious nature. At the same time, there was a sense of beauty underlying it all. The castle was like nothing he’d ever seen before, like an otherworldly realm. The halls were doused in the dull, silver shine of the moonlight cascading through the windows, illuminating wayward dust that gently danced and weaved through the air. The air was cool and dried his sweat-drenched coat, eliminating his discomfort.

Though the silence was the most deafening he’d ever heard, there was no evident threat that he needed to be worried over. There were still no sounds that would suggest there were creatures about. In fact, there weren’t any sounds that would point to the presence of any living being whatsoever. During his quiet travels through the cavernous corridors, a strange thought popped into his head.

Was it possible that he was currently, until sunrise at least, the last pony in the world? Or maybe even, until any monsters appeared to say otherwise, the last living being in the world? After all, Twilight did say that the Nightmare’s spell had encompassed the world. And without any beasts present, which there certainly would have been by this point were they to show up at all, he could have been the last lifeform in all of Equestira.

The idea evoked conflicted feelings in him. It brought a sense of dread, of fear over what all such a thing implied. Then again, there was a sense of serenity to it. The only creature alive… It almost sounded calming. The surrealism of it was overpowering, giving Rags butterflies in his stomach.

He shook his head clear of such ludicrous proposals. The last living being in the world? Such a phrase was begging for the gods of irony to destroy both it and its creator, Rags thought. It was best he didn’t tempt fate into proving him wrong.

He took notice of something large and black in his peripheral vision. Putting the object directly into his sight provided him with its identity; a giant set of fancy doors. They seemed far larger and twice as gaudy as any of the other doors he passed, begging the question of what they held behind them.

Rags saw no harm in taking a look inside. After all, he’d spent most of the night in total peace, the only stress put on him by his own paranoid mind. He’d managed to sleep for hours without any evil entities taking advantage of it. As far as he could tell, he was alone. With that in mind, he strolled up to the doors -- with no small amount of caution, of course -- and grasped one of the large, golden handles.

After a few tugs he discovered that they weren’t going to be moved with a casual pull. He joined his two front hooves together on the handle, dug his back hooves into the floor, and pulled with a hefty force, slowly prying the heavy barrier open with an unpleasantly loud creak. He stopped when there was a large enough gap for him to work with. He panted and sputtered as quietly as he could, glancing to either side of the hallway to see if the noise had attracted any unruly visitors.

With no foes in sight, he sighed in relief. He felt a small amount of scorn for the accursed door and its perplexingly alluring quality. He hoped that whatever lay behind it was worth the unnecessary risk he took. Although he could not quite figure out why he felt the urge to peek inside. Something about the door was just so… fascinating.

He squeezed his head through the crack, ready to put the inquiry to rest and move on. But what he found inside was not something he would simply be able to brush off.

Past the doors, the doors located in a random hallway a decent distance from the center of the castle, was the throne room. Rags rubbed his eyes and looked again at the oddity before him. His retinas did not deceive him, he was most definitely standing at the threshold of a random door looking into the throne room as if he were entering properly.

Rags was not a resident of the castle, and as such knew next to nothing of the layout of the palace, but he was fairly certain that what he was looking at was not quite right. The location, the direction it faced, the peculiar door -- none of it added up.

Dumbfounded, he wriggled the rest of his body past the door and tread on the magnificent carpet, dark violet in the dim light, stretching up towards the thrones of the goddesses. His eyes wandered about the room, searching it up and down. As he trekked along, he couldn’t help but be stricken once again by the glory of the palace. Perhaps he suffered from culture shock, as he could not help but be floored time and time again by the grandiose nature of the castle.

The expansive throne room was dark, dimly lit by the pale light of the moon drifting in through the stained-glass windows that cast colorful projections of the stories they told unto the floor. Rags recognized some of the tales depicted in the glass murals. Some told of legendary figures such as the great Starswirl the Bearded, others portrayed terrible travesties like the chaotic reign of Discord. Heroes, tyrannical lords, victorious armies and uniting kingdoms, all of it captured within the complex designs and displayed for all to see to remind everyone of what had transpired long ago and what laid the foundation for the land they lived in.

As he neared the thrones, he saw some of the most recent additions to the collection: the exploits of the Elements of Harmony. He saw them all, the defeat of King Sombra, the coronation of Princess Twilight, and finally, the one that sent a chill running up his spine, the defeat of Nightmare Moon.

Rags felt uneasy looking into the window that told her story. Taking in the image filled him with dread, fear, and despair. He found that he couldn’t look away despite these awful feelings. Something about the image compelled him to keep staring. It was as if it emanated some sort of force. It pulsed with unspeakable energy. He could not begin to understand what he was looking at, but he understood that he didn’t like it. Tearing himself away from the awful window, he began trotting back the way he came. He decided that there was no need to linger in the throne room. He wasn’t even sure of why he entered to begin with.

He looked down at his hooves as he traversed the chamber, attempting to expel the rancid emotions from his mind. An explosive boom that reverberated and echoed throughout the great hall snapped him out of his trance. The door he came in through had slammed shut.

Immediately, his body switched gears, turning him from a gawking sightseer into a panicked survivor on the edge. His heart rate skipped several beats and went berserk as his mind began to comprehend what had just occurred. Oh crap. Rendered numb by the panic brought on by the sudden situation, all he could do until his mind rebooted was back up and put as much distance as he could between him and the door.

When his thoughts returned, he spun on his hooves and searched for an alternate way out. He found himself hyperventilating as there were no side doors or back doors he could exit through. Head on a swivel, he noticed that something had changed in the chamber. The light cast through the stained-glass windows onto the floor was no longer composed of soothing blues, pinks and purples, but sickly greens and harsh reds. His eyes bulged in fear as he followed the shafts of newly-colored light back to the source.

The windows that had once held images of the legends of myths of old now depicted horrid atrocities. Plague-ridden bodies, corpses strung up by the neck, unfortunates being ripped limb from limb and devoured by wretches and beasts. All of the terrible acts shown in the windows were being committed upon one stallion; one that bore an uncanny resemblance to Rags.

A slithering, snake-like voice unleashed a great cackle that seemed to come from all directions at once. Every hair on Rags’ body stiffened as he instinctively unsheathed his sword and stood ready. He did his best to suck in air through the teeth that clenched tightly around the hilt of his blade as he wildly searched the room for the one who evidently found his terror amusing. His muscles tensed so greatly that he practically paralyzed himself when the voice stopped laughing and spoke.

“Well hello there, little one. How are you on this fine evening?”

Rags’ skin crawled as the voice spoke to him. It was calm and smooth, but dripped with malice and ill intention. He knew who the speaker was. It was abundantly obvious.

In that moment, he promised himself that if he was alive in the morning, he would treasure every glimmer of sunlight as if it were precious gold.

“What’s wrong, child? Why won’t you speak to me?”

Rags worked his mouth, having no clue on how to approach the situation. He was in the presence of one of the most powerful and heinous entities in Equestria’s history. He would have to calculate every move he made with the utmost precision and care. With his mouth becoming parched, he hesitantly responded. “S-So y-you’re… Nightmare Moon?”

The voice chortled at his trepidation. “I see my reputation precedes me. I don’t believe you’ve given me your name?”

Rags swallowed hard enough to make his throat sore. “You… don’t know who I am?”

“I’m afraid not. Despite what you may think, I have not infiltrated your thoughts. Well, not directly. In fact, I don’t even know what you look like. I’m simply too famished to will such knowledge into my possession. And although I’m sure that those things will soon be corrected, it still means that I have yet to learn anything of you. So perhaps you might enlighten me to the identity of the one who has been sent to slay me?”

Rags felt a twinge of fear as she hissed those last words at him. Thinking quickly, he attempted to defuse her ire before it blossomed into something more dangerous. “W-What!? Slay you!? No, no, no, I wasn’t-- I-- I haven’t been-- nobody-- no one said anything about killing anybody! I, erm, just… am here to clean the dishes! That’s right! I’m the castle’s new dishwasher!”

Rags felt comfortable in the lie he crafted, feeling it was sure to avoid any possible rage from the demon, but upon hearing the boisterous guffaw of the awful voice, he found that it might have backfired on him.

“A dishwasher!? A feeble dishwasher!? That is who has been exempt from my magic!? That is all that stands between me and total control?! HAHAHA! ‘Tis comical! Thou must speak in jest!”

Rags wouldn’t have put it past himself to release the contents of his bowels in this moment.

“Oh, you poor little soul, I almost feel pity for you. I could hardly imagine the unbridled terror a peon like you must be experiencing in the face of such greatness. Maybe if you were to come to my chambers and grovel at the hooves of your beloved princess’s sickly form, I might consider making your demise somewhat less torturous than it will be.”

“Well. uh… t-thank you for the offer, but I’m pretty shy, so, uh, I don’t think I’ll be joining you in your room.”

“Ah, why not, little one? I promise not to bite.”

Rags shivered, unnerved by her tone that did not match her intentions.

“Come now, do not be coy. We simply must be properly acquainted. As it stands, all I know of you is your breath.”

“My… breath?” Rags squeaked breathlessly.

“Yes… I caught your scent during my little stroll this afternoon. Though, I sadly did not manage to glimpse your face in all of the excitement. Oh… what a sweet smell it was. The confusion, the uncertainty, the fear. How I crave more of it. I wish to behold your form. Sadly, I am unable to see through my will, as of yet. Even to merely speak to you I needed to craft an illusion in which to focus my energies and finally exchange words with you.”

Rags’ heart nearly stopped when he realized what she meant. The throne room, that was so severely out of place and instilled him with such wrong feelings, was a trap. A conjuration by the evil deity. He cursed himself for not trusting his instincts, for allowing himself to be completely enveloped in a false sense of security. He knew better. And so did she. She was clever, lulling him into a state of serenity and exploiting his curiosity. He was duped, plain and simple. And he would pay for it.

“Fear not, cleaner. For soon, my strength will return to me, and there will be nothing keeping me from you. Until then, it seems as though we will have to meet on a more… personal basis.”

Rags remembered what Twilight said. Stay away from Luna’s room. He was beginning to get a sense of what would happen if he were to pay her a ‘visit.’ She seemed very determined to get close to him. He knew that he would have to avoid an event like that at all costs. “I’m going to have to decline, Your Malevolence,” Rags meeped with a very fake politeness. “I’ve got, uhm… things to do, and… stuff to clean, so… I think I’ll just be on my way--”

“I insist. Come to me, little one.”

Rags heard an unlocking sound and turned to see the door he came through had opened. Slowly, the doors creaked apart, revealing a room radiating with a hellish red luminescence. From the distance at which he stood from it, he could barely make out what appeared to be an empty bed within. Rags’ trembling was now greater than ever, and his eyes widened in fright. He shook his head vigorously, mumbling out incoherent syllables as he began backing away.

“Come to me…”

Something shifted and moved around the frame of the door. An inky blackness oozed forth from around the threshold. It was as if the shadows themselves had come to life. They expanded and reached, spreading like a rash across the walls and floors in his direction. Rags backpedaled at a greater pace, teeth gnashed in horror. Vine-like shapes sprouted from the amorphous conglomerate of two-dimensional blackness. Like whips, they lashed out with great speed at him.

“COME TO ME!”

Rags fell backwards and howled as the tendrils were almost instantaneously upon him. But before they could get a hold of him, A split-second flash of light filled the fake throne room, and the disembodied voice roared in agony. The shadows dispersed and the door ahead of him slammed shut.

“AHHH! WHORE!” The voice bellowed furiously as the room began to tremble thunderously.

Rags was consumed by confusion, baffled and frightened, unknowing of what action to take next. Sections of the ceiling began to give way and crumble, coming down around Rags, who stood paralyzed with shock.

A blinding light flared to life in his peripheral vision, forcing him to wince away and cover his eyes. When the intensity ebbed, he could make out a door in the place where the thrones once were, shimmering white light poking through under and around the door.

He stared awestruck at the warm, inviting glow, coming to his senses when a large chunk of stone crashed beside him. All of his instincts screamed at him to simply escape, and seeing no other alternative than the two doors, he picked the one that had not tried to drag him into an evil place.

Seeing that a large slab of the ceiling was preparing to detach right above his head, Rags decided that it was time for action. He shoved off from his position just in time to avoid being crushed. The boom of several tons of material colliding with the floor behind him gave him more motivation than he needed to exit the unstable chamber. Swerving left and right, he dodged descending rubble to the best of his abilities, trying to do split-second predictions on the falling debris.

As he neared the door, seconds away from salvation, the Nightmare screeched in rage. “NOOO!”

Every window in the throne room erupted into a cloud of broken shards that began to swirl around. One by one, the broken glass was unnaturally thrown at Rags, the spear-like pieces intended to impale him. Rags pumped his legs even harder, sprinting with all of his might as several of the projectiles nearly struck bull's-eye, just barely making glancing hits. He could feel warmth trickling down his body already.

The door began to part on its own as Rags neared. With but a few steps to go, he hurled himself at the exit in a fit of desperation. Time seemed to slow as he soared through the air. The roof had completely given way a few paces before he jumped, leaving only a few feet of space between Rags and a crushing death. For a fraction of an instant, as he raced the rubble to his safety, he thought he saw someone standing beside the door, as if waiting for him.

All at once, Rags landed on a rug in a dark hallway beyond the door as a horrific, stabbing pain shot through his leg and the concussive wave from the great impact of falling stone forcefully sealing the threshold washed over him.

The dust settled around him as he found himself completely out of breath, coughing and gagging in an attempt to amend the problem. His sight soon returned to him, as did his breath. Disoriented and befuddled, he tried standing up to ready himself for any more danger only to find one of his legs was numb and unresponsive. He cringed as he pondered what that could have meant.

He was forced to fight himself over whether or not to spare a look at his hind leg, fearful of what he might discover. When he worked up enough courage, he glanced back, sucking in air through his teeth as he saw it.’

His left hind leg had been run through with a long, stained-glass shard. Strangely, he could hardly feel it. He figured he was still too shot full of adrenaline, and that the pain would catch up with him in a minute. It made him sick to look at it.

For a moment, he wanted to break down and cry. He was wounded and the Nightmare was angry. There wasn’t any way for him to make it at this point. Within minutes, her creatures would be upon him. But just as his mind began to race with all the possible ways they could kill him, he took notice of a window at the end of the hall ahead of him. Beyond it was something that caught his attention: the twilight forming on the horizon. Suddenly, he recalled the time.

He was hardly two and a half hours from daybreak by the time he began exploring the dark castle. He couldn’t remember how long he’d spent roaming. In fact, he couldn’t remember what he was doing before he stumbled into the trap. He remembered walking the halls, but why? What had gotten into him? His mind was hazy, unable to think straight. Rags decided it was the blood loss getting to him. The shard was lodged in a way that prevented open bleeding, but that didn’t stop his veins from trying.

Whatever had happened, the most important thing was that the sun was close to rising. Or at least, what he thought was the sun? The workings of the magic were over his head. Perhaps he could ask the princess to explain further, but for the time being, he only needed to focus on the fact that the sun, or whatever it was, was coming up soon.

He forced himself to stand, his hind leg hindering his efforts. Settling for a limp, he shambled forward, meaning to put distance between himself and whatever was behind him. As he neared the end of the corridor, almost ready to turn the corner and try and find his way back to his reinforced room, he felt the floors shake.

A rumbling sound arose from behind him. Apprehensively, he turned to see the rubble sealing the door shifting. For a few tense moments, he watched in fear, not knowing what to do. One of his legs was useless, he wouldn’t be able to escape. Soon, it seemed he wouldn’t need to. The shaking stopped and the stone came to rest, no threats apparent.

Never letting the breath caught in his throat out, he quietly hobbled around the corner, keeping an eye on the debris as he did. Once he rounded, he put all the strength remaining within him into limping as quickly as he could away. After a solid two minutes of faltering, his gimpy leg regained feeling, and did not hesitate in letting him know that he needed medical attention.

Clenching his teeth in a vain effort at fighting off the excruciating pain, he tried to think of a way to handle the problem. Okay… ow… let’s think for a second. Where would a big, fancy castle keep its medicine? They would only have the best of the best--AHH!... For the princesses. So… that really stings--THAT really stings… where do they keep it?

Rags stopped in the middle of an intersection of hallways, blood pouring more freely from around the glass now and staining the priceless rug with red splotches. His head felt light and the outer edge of his vision was beginning to become blurry. He turned to each hall, not quite sure of what he was looking for. A big red cross painted on a door? He wasn’t sure of what he was expecting. Even if it were that obvious, he wouldn’t find it in the foreign, labyrinthinian layout of the castle. The worst of it was that the situation could have easily been diverted if he had only used his head and packed some first-aid supplies into one of his many pouches.

He wobbled a bit from the dizziness and struggled to stay upright. A thought crept into his consciousness. A terrible thought that shook him to the core. He felt like letting himself collapse right then and there out of a mixture of anger, despair, and awful realization.

This, the maze-like halls that he lost himself in, the painful wounds hindering him, not knowing what he was supposed to do or look for---it was an identical situation to the one in the hospital he had experienced all those months ago, just a few days after the first night. That was the time when he truly grasped the magnitude of his predicament, when he entered this new stage of life. That was when he was no longer himself. That was the beginning of his near-demise

He spared a look back at his grotesque injury. It seemed as though that old saying was true: history repeats itself. How long until the loop was completed? How long until everything came full-circle? He tried to sit down to rest, but was denied by an atrocious twang of agony offered by his crippled leg.

He put together a narrative of how the following several months would play out in his head: first he would experience pure terror, which would put him in the survival mindset. Then he would establish a routine, one that he would get stuck in for what seemed like an eternity. In the monotony and fear, his mind would begin to wander and he would lose sight of his goal. He would fall into despondency, and soon after, insanity. Finally, at the height of his anguish, the evil would easily deliver the killing blow, putting an end to his misery.

It was only a matter of time until the pattern repeated, only this time, he would know what stood to be lost; everything. Not just his own pathetic life, but the lives of all souls. All in creation was at risk, and his inevitable failure would lead to total annihilation. The Nightmare would win, eternal night would blanket the world, evil would rule.

He sighed dejectedly as he stood in the lonely hallway, already beginning to ponder his purpose. What was he going to do? This was the end of the line. His last stop in life would be Canterlot. The vicious cycle would repeat, only the second time would end in a more permanent fashion. He would do nobody any good. The world would soon meet its end because it was forced to depend on him.

His brow furrowed as he considered it. The world depended on him… the world. All in existence was at risk, and it would all be destroyed because of his moping? It hardly seemed fair for the decision of whether or not everyone who lived in the land would die to be dependent on his actions. Who was he to fight for everybody? He was weak, in more ways than just physically. How could he accomplish such a task?

He sensed a presence, feeling as though he were being watched. He scrutinized the shadows around him, the shadows that drowned the halls, the ceilings, and every corner. It was almost as if they were moving, but he couldn’t focus on them, like they were hiding in his blind-spots.

What was he fighting for? Even if he had a chance, what awaited him after success? The life he knew was long gone, and any semblance of normalcy that he could assume after all was said and done would still be tainted by his recollection of what he had been through. Nothing good waited for him on the other side of the dark journey. There was no light at the end of the tunnel for him.

He couldn’t handle what life had thrown at him. He was too weak and he let it destroy any hope he had. He asked himself why he even said yes to the princess and instilled them all with false hopes. They believed he would succeed, that he would save them all… He had given them a light at the end of the tunnel.

The shadows crept off the walls and whispered, threatening and berating him. They crawled around him, decrying his weakness, his uselessness, his fear. A explosive smashing sound resonated from somewhere in the dark halls around him, followed shortly after by earth-shaking stomping. He spun around, looking in all directions, sweating profusely. Something large was coming.

His mind held firmly onto the notion. He gave them hope… Hope that he himself didn’t possess. Even for the whole of the nation, the general population that still had no idea what was in store for the land, he was their hope, in a way. The dark hole forming in his heart ceased its expansion. Maybe… it was meant to be? Maybe this was his intended purpose all along? He had nothing, had never achieved anything, had never made anything of himself. Perhaps this madness was what was intended to fill that void? To act as his purpose. He was hopeless, but why should that mean everyone else should have been deprived of hope as well?

He felt warm inside, like a spark had started a tiny fire in his soul. It was all true, he told himself. He had nothing, no goals, no purpose, no future. But maybe this was his chance to change all that. He had been given an opportunity to truly give purpose to his life. To ensure that everyone else was given the chances that he squandered, that they all had a future.

He had to carry on.

The stomping drew closer and closer, Rags’ eyes frantically keeping a look out for the incoming threat. He swerved around, unable to pinpoint the noise. The vibrating steps ceased finally as they were upon him, leaving him in sudden, deafening silence. His ears perked as he listened intensely for anything. To the extent of his awareness, he was alone. No one and nothing around except for him and his long shadow cast by the moonlight shining down through the windows at the end of one of the halls. His shadow… that seemed to be experiencing exponential growth… and sprouting a pair of horns...

Eyes widening in revelation, he turned around to find an old associate had returned. Standing at the end of the corridor, its massive form silhouetted by the moon, was the titanic, minotaur abomination that had effectively murdered him the night before.

The hooded beast made not a single sound as it reached over its shoulder to grasp the hilt of its massive black axe. It unsheathed the blood-spattered weapon and let its blade drop to the floor with a resounding thud. It lurched forward, axe dragging on the floor behind it, creating a terrible scraping sound. It looked as if it could hardly support its own weight.

Rags grunted as he unstuck himself from his fear-induced paralysis and attempted to turn and run. He cried out and fell onto his face as a cracking sound in his leg accompanied a shot of anguish. He desperately tried to claw forth as fast as he could, finding that he just couldn’t bring himself to give in anymore. The thoughts of his weakness were beginning to dissipate. The will to push forward was steadily growing. Before it was debatable, but now he was positive. He didn’t want to die.

He didn’t allow himself to look back, focusing only on escaping. The screeching of blade on marble gained on him, Rags’ rather pitiful attempt at fleeing not nearly providing enough speed to do so. As the gigantic shadow loomed over him, he tried to refrain from paying any attention to it. His slow crawl came to a stop when a massive weight savagely stomped into the back of his good hind leg, easily crushing the bones within with a strident crunch.

Rags howled from the ferocious pain. His hooves stung from how hard he pressed them into the floor and his teeth nearly cracked from how hard he clenched them together. He tried to pull himself away, making no progress and hearing more cracks as he painfully tugged on the destroyed leg held firmly under the minotaur’s sizable hoof.

He gasped for breath after his screams of torment took everything out of him, whimpers escaping in between inhales. The sound of scraping metal returned for a split second, halting as something pressed against the side of his head. He wrenched his eyes open long enough to see his bloodshot reflection in the blade of the beast’s axe as it rested beside him. Slowly, it raised off the floor, out of sight somewhere above him.

He had a feeling he wasn’t going to like what came next. The rustling of rusty chains suggested the monster was preparing to strike, true to its executioner-like appearance. Rags let his head fall to the floor. He failed again. Twice he’d been felled in a most painful way, by the same abomination no less. He was beginning to dislike this executioner.

He growled in both agony and anger, resentment for several different things, the minotaur, the Nightmare, and himself among them, boiling inside. Refusing to allow it to end after he had just found new strength, he called upon his failing muscles. He grunted as he struggled to raise himself with his trembling forelegs. He wouldn’t let himself die a squealing foal.

He was stopped in his moment of stirring determination by a large object smashing into the floor to his side forcefully enough to create cracks in the marble. He turned his head as well as he could to see that the minotaur had been forced down on a knee and propped itself up with its axe. Jets of steam sizzled off its muscular body and a foul burning stench pierced Rags’ nostrils.

Without warning, the beast launched itself forward, the sudden pressure being lifted off Rags’ destroyed leg sending new waves of pain up his body. It barely missed his head as it stomped past, fleeing down the hall with its weapon gripped in both hands for a quick escape. Its hulking form vanished into what was left of the quickly dissipating darkness.

Rags let his woozy head fall to the ground and took a deep breath. He had effectively forgotten about the approaching sunrise.

He had no idea how long he lay there for, though it was apparently long enough for the sunrise to slowly but surely flood the halls around him with steadily intensifying sunlight. It seemed like a miracle to him that he was still conscious for what surely had to have been half an hour. The horrific pain in his legs yielded after a while, probably due to his lack of movement and probably a bad sign.

He would have chuckled at his luck had his lungs not been pushed to their breaking point. How could he experience such misfortune one moment, then be saved by an incredible stroke of fate the next? He was much too tired to ruminate on the subject, but he settled on the answer being that it wasn’t good luck that saved him at all, but more bad luck. Were it good luck, his troubles would be lessened, but instead he was merely denied a quick end and allowed to wallow in his pain.

He figured there wasn’t much for him to do except to wait, either for someone just waking up from the sleep to come across his beaten and broken form, or for the death that hung over his head, ready to pounce were he not to receive attention. He had neither the strength to go on nor the foggiest idea of how to help himself. So, he waited.

He didn’t think about anything in particular as he lay awake. He merely gazed into space as he waited, giving passing thoughts to this and that. He thought about Nougat and how confused his poor friend must have been to have awoken to an obliterated home, blood on the walls and floor, and a missing best friend. He thought about his lacking love life, how ever since he could remember he was alone while others around him found happiness with significant others. Then he remembered that he didn’t care about that sort of thing. He thought about the princesses and how they showed him such kindness, made him feel like a welcomed guest instead of a living weapon.

His mind anchored to that thought as it passed in the stormy sea of confusion. It must have been so difficult, what they were going through. When he arrived, he saw nothing but sadness on their faces, especially with Celestia. He had more than his fair share of problems, and he knew a thing or two about pain, but he couldn’t imagine the sort of pain that she was experiencing. Her dear sister, the other half of the Goddess Sisters that ruled over the land, lost to an unspeakable evil.

It almost made him want to get back into the fight as soon as he could. To save his princess and her beloved sister from the jaws of evil. Though, if the fight would be anything like what had put him in his current state, then he figured he didn’t want any part of it. Not that he had a choice.

Thinking of one goddess, he naturally thought of the other. Luna. Poor girl, Rags thought. What if she were awake inside of her controlled body? What if she was being tortured within the confounds of her own psyche by that foul thing and unable to call for help? Was she even there anymore? Had the Nightmare done away with her completely? It didn’t seem too crazy a theory to him. What with Princess Twilight herself admitting that she was useless against the possession, what more could anyone do? What could he do…

His mind wandered, thinking of his last encounter with his other. Its accursed question echoed in his mind. Why bet a billion on one? What did it mean? Rags was no gambler, but even he could see the obvious answer to such a seemingly obvious question. Betting a billion on one meant going all in, risking everything on just one, of which that one would cost everything should the chances be too great. It sounded like a stupid idea to Rags.

His eyes widened slightly as he pieced the puzzle together. Knowing the Other, Rags deduced that it wasn’t about gambling in poker or roulette, it was about gambling with the lives of all who lived in Equestria on his own life. The dishwasher hardly needed a reminder as to what stood to happen should he fail. The thought of every single life in the world resting in his hooves was still too surreal for him to grasp.

As for the why, it wasn’t really a topic open for debate. He was the only one who could do anything, plain and simple. There weren’t any other options. The answer to the question seemed crystal clear. Why bet a billion on one? Because the billion doesn’t have a choice.

But that wasn’t all there was to it. The Other’s words felt disingenuous, conniving. The riddle wasn’t referring to the painfully obvious state of things, it was meant to get him thinking about something else. There was something heinous this question was meant to bring about.

Rags was only vaguely aware of the bloodcurdling screams of a mare and the shattering of dishes. He could scarcely tell what was real and what was a dream anymore. He thought he was awake, thought he had been for several hours. Or maybe it was minutes. At one point, he was sure the night had come again and that he’d been awake for the duration of the day. As it turned out, he had merely shut his eyes. But he didn’t sleep.

He was only vaguely aware of the sounds of many panicked voices around him. His mind had repeated the Other’s question ad nauseam, at first attempting to decode it for he had nothing better to do, then keeping it at the forefront of his mind to keep his thoughts from wandering. He discovered that if he didn’t think about something as he lay there, the whispering shadows returned and laughed at him.

He was only vaguely aware of hurried, yet, careful hooves touching his body. He couldn’t tell if he was looking through his eyes or at a memory, but he could see a fuzzy vision of a hallway. He was growing to despise hallways. There stood something at the end. Neither normal pony nor creature. It only watched. He felt ambivalent towards it. He didn’t know why. He was simply indifferent to whatever it was or intended to do.

He was only vaguely aware of the liquid seeping down his throat. That was until everything began to tingle all over. His skin tickled and felt loose, as if it were crawling or shifting. Then he began to feel warm, like a cloud of steam had come to settle over him. The heat increased, his body becoming hotter and hotter. Soon, everything was burning. His flesh felt as if it were being singed off his bones. It felt like he were at the center of a raging inferno.

A surge of energy and adrenaline shot through Rags like a lightning bolt from the heavens. A terrible stinging pain, like someone were shoving red-hot needles into his legs, came with the returning sensation of touch. His mind reeled from the newfound vigor and pain flooding in all at once and forced his body into sudden motion.

“OH GODS, MAKE IT STOP! BUCKING BALLS, IT BUUURNS!” Rags hollered as he sprung upwards and stumbled excitedly about like a belligerent drunk. The revitalized dishwasher was stopped in his mad caprice by a wall that had stepped in to calm him down.

As he laid on his back, stars in his vision and blood trickling from his nostrils, two figures came to loom over him, one purple and one dark. “Wow, this stuff works better than we thought it would. I’m gonna go tell the boys to make about a dozen more batches,” he heard the dark figure say.

“Don’t go crazy just yet. We still need to run more tests on it,” the purple one replied.

“Don’t mind me, just suffering from a concussion,” Rags moaned.

The dark figure leaned over him and revealed a flask, tipping it over his mouth and letting a small bit of liquid spill in. Instantly, the burning sensation returned, and after a few fierce seconds of searing, everything that was formerly causing him pain no longer bothered him.

Like a newborn, he wobbled as he attempted to stand, leaning against the offending wall for support. After taking a moment to collect himself, he turned to face the figures he awoke to, finding Princess Twilight, the hooded mare from before, and a handful of royal guards and medical personnel who chattered amongst themselves as they stood around a massive puddle of drying blood on the floor.

“I would ask how it went,” the princess started, “but I’ve got a pretty good guess.” She glanced at the fluids on the floor behind her.

“I’m gonna say it was bad,” the hooded mare spoke. “I didn’t even know bones could do that--”

The princess cleared her throat, the mare catching the hint.

“Yeah, that whole night was… something I could have done without,” Rags said quietly, his mind trailing off. He went over the new memories he’d gained from the previous night, in particular his little talk with the Nightmare. He remembered how powerless he felt in that instant, how weak and insignificant he was. He nearly died… again. But the worst of it hadn’t even dawned on him yet. He realized something, something shocking and grisly: that was just the first night. That was as easy as it was going to get.

He tried to hold it back, not wanting to embarrass himself in front of the princess and her servants, but there was no stopping it. A choked sob escaped Rags’ throat, and he placed both hooves on his forehead. He fell against the wall and slid down to the floor as his tearless cries continued.

Only now had it been revealed, how puny and infinitesimal he was in it all. He had not truly grasped the enormity of what was happening. He had heard their words, heard them say how much hell he was in for, but their words did not even begin to describe the reality of it. After experiencing it, getting a taste of what he was in for…

The princess and her hooded assistant gave each other worried glances. Hesitantly, Twilight reached out to Rags and placed a hoof on his shoulder. “Do you… need anything?”

Rags breathed heavily for a moment. “I… just… I don’t know. I just don’t know.”

Twilight looked at him with pity, waiting for him to become calmer. For a long while they all stared at him, and soon his breathing quieted and he sat in solemn silence. The princess opened her mouth to say something to him, but was immediately interrupted.

“Wait,” Rags grumbled. “Wait… there is something you can do for me…”

“Yes?” Twilight asked softly.

“Please go tell Prince Shining Armor that I’m ready to start training. And please grab me about two dozen more bottles of that stuff you gave me.” He groaned as he slowly rose off the floor and steadied himself on his hooves.

“Are you alright?” Twilight asked.

“Yes, Your Majesty. I’m just a little bit livid, is all.”

Chapter 10: Spark

Author's Notes:

Hey, everyone! It's been a while, ain't it?! Hope I didn't disappoint anyone with the wait, and I hope even more that I don't disappoint here.

In case you didn't see it, I made a blog post that said that I'll be releasing chapters on a monthly basis. At the end of every month, a new chapter. It'll be... interesting to see how I handle a schedule like that. I'm betting that I won't be able to manage it. Expect imminent failure.

We're gonna be getting pretty close to the end within a few chapters, so a lot's gonna be happening. Characters returning! Crazy clogging the skull! Whatever else my disturbing little mind can concoct! All that and more, next time (and this time) on the next chapter (and this one) of this thing that you're reading right now (and hopefully continue to do so).

As always, please inform me of any mistakes I might not have been OCD-enough to catch.

Journal entry #82

I’ve said this before, many times, in fact. I’ve said it before, but I don’t think I really meant it. Not really. I said it the first time I went head to head with the night, I said it when I thought I couldn’t win, and I said it when I gave up and tried to kill myself. But this… this is when I say it and not only act on it, but actually believe it too.

I’m done.

I’m done being just a weak dishwasher who fumbles his way through danger. I’m done with just being lucky. I’ve got folks, a lot of folks, more folks than I can imagine, counting on me to make it through this, whether they know it or not. Life has handed me a challenge, a fight that doesn’t just concern my own safety, but the safety of everything and everyone. I can’t be weak anymore, even if that’s who I am. I can’t just take up the flank. This is going to sound cheesy, but I’ve got to make a stand. I need to go against my nature and win this war. Just because I have nothing left to live for doesn’t mean that I can let everyone else’s lives go to waste.

What good does it do, anyway? Cowering in my room, letting my fears run me? Who is that helping? Why have I still been doing that? Why haven’t I come to grips with reality before? Evil is in Equestria, and I’m the only one who can do anything about it. I don’t like it, I don’t think anybody does. I mean, just look at me. I’m an out-of-shape dishwasher who can’t even think to stick a little morphine or something into the gazillion pouches I stuck on myself like a kid dressing up for Nightmare Night. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I’m not going to do anybody any good acting like a scared little foal who just wet the bed.

I’ve got to get stronger. Not for me, but for lives and hope of everyone. They don’t get the option to fight what destiny hands them, not like I do. I’m going to stick this out. I’m going to win.

Look at me, writing down heroic diatribes like some kind of legendary demi-god. I can talk a big game, but today is when I see if I can deliver some actual results. What’s more, even though I’m talking like I’ve suddenly become the biggest boss on the planet… I’m still scared. And that really pisses me off. Why do I have to be such a worm? Why couldn’t I have been born like other ponies… independent, confident, courageous? They are the ones who deserve to have a chance. Me? I’m still shaking in the knees. I know what I have to do, and I know what will happen if I fail, and with this in mind, I’m still quivering like a baby rabbit under a bush or something? I guess no matter what I do, even if I improve on the outside, I’ll still be the same worthless dishwasher on the inside.

Some things you just can’t change, I suppose.

It’s pretty close to time, I should get ready to go start training with the prince. Maybe spending some time practicing with His Royal Highness will give me the drive I need to get better. Or maybe it will just give me a complex. Seriously, the guy is a tank. And he’s royal. And he’s a trained fighter. And he’s got a hot wife. And I’m sure he’s also really…

Let’s just… cut this entry here, Journal. I’ve already got enough to be depressed about without adding on a side-order of insecurities.

No sleep. Not a wink since his short, accidental nap the night before. But Rags didn’t care. He marched determinedly down the halls of the castle, heading towards destiny. It was the first day of his training with Prince Shining Armor, and he was far too energized and agitated to care about his lack of rest.

He was done. Fed up. Over it. Weakness was responsible for all of his misery. Weakness was why he always found himself in a worse situation than the one he had just barely escaped from. His entire life, fate had dealt him terrible hands and never let up in its torrent of sorrow. But that was just luck. Those were things that were out of his control. He couldn’t help whether he received fortune or misfortune. But whereas a stronger-willed individual would have been able to withstand the pounding of the waves of life, Rags was just a pebble tossed about in them.

He wasn’t able to roll with the punches. The last night only served to highlight that fact. Diminutive, incompetent, inexperienced, submissive. These were the qualities of a stallion doomed to failure in all regards of life including the mere process of living. These were his qualities. The time to change all of that was nigh.

If he was going to make it, he couldn’t be the worm he once was. He needed strength; strength enough to endure what fate decided to heap onto him for a good laugh. That was what this training meant to him. The burial of his old, worthless self, and the birth of a stallion that would be powerful enough to take on whatever the fickle mistress of fate threw in his general direction.

He strode confidently down the corridors, ready to meet Shining Armor at the… at… the…

Crap.

With a sudden reddening of his cheeks, he meekly, sheepishly, cowardly crept over to a nearby maid that was dusting off a set of old armor. He cleared his throat and stuttered, “P-Pardon me, miss, but… you… wouldn’t happen to know where the training… place… is at, would you?”

Now he strode confidently down the corridors, his destination actually known, ready to meet the prince.

The palace courtyard, yet another beautiful feature of the castle that Rags could simply not stop gawking at. The intricate stone carvings, the radiant rays of the sun shining down at a perfect angle, and a strange, serene silence to it all. Sitting under the shade of the only tree in the yard, with his helmet slouching upon his head to cover his eyes, was the prince, Shining Armor. The dishwasher figured he must have taken quite some time getting there. The prince must have decided to rest until his trainee’s arrival.

Rags stood before him and opened his mouth to speak, but hesitated for a moment. He reflected on what it was he was about to do, and what it was most likely going to take from him. What he was about to partake in was a change. A voluntary metamorphosis into one who is entirely dedicated to the art of survival. One would have to be to endure the challenges he was faced with. The title of ‘dishwasher’ seemed so strange to him now, for some odd reason. Was that even his talent anymore? He couldn’t remember the last time he cleaned anything. In fact, he seemed to do more mess-making these days.

He shook his head clear. No more dawdling, he ordered to himself. All wasted time just put him that much closer to death. He had to get into the proper mindset in order to really change.

Carefully, as he was interacting with royalty, he cleared his throat and spoke, “Your Majesty? It’s, uh… it’s time for my training? Sire?”

The prince stirred for a moment, seeming to ignore the voice in his ear before springing to life with impressive vigor. “NO SIR, I WAS JUST RESTING MY EYES!” he snapped through his backwards helmet.

Rags simply stared in bewilderment and obfuscated silence. The prince spun his helm around so that he could see out of it once more. He looked around for a moment before settling his eyes on the shrimp of a stallion before him and chuckled. “Sorry, hehe, it was… a bad dream…” he grinned.

“Right… So…” Rags awkwardly droned.

“Your training, yes! I’ve been expecting you. For quite some time, as you can see,” Shining said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Sorry about the wait… Hallways here can get pretty crazy, you know?” Rags explained as he recalled a number of times that hallways had nearly gotten him killed. He was growing to dislike them. Among many, many, many other formerly-mundane things that now presented him with unnatural threats.

“I know how that feels. First time I came here, I got lost for nearly half-a-day. Trust me, you’ll get used to it. Soon enough, you’ll know these halls forward and backward.” The prince adjusted his helmet so that it sat properly upon his head and shifted around a bit in his armor to straighten up his appearance before continuing. “I guess I should introduce myself formally. I’m Prince Shining Armor, but don’t bother with the prince bit, just call me Shining,” he said with a kind smile, extending his hoof.

It took Rags a second to catch on that he was offering to shake hooves. He didn’t expect that sort of greeting from a royal. “Good afternoon, Sire. I’m the Punching Bag of the Universe, Rags. But don’t bother with the morbid and depressing bit, you can just call me Rags,” he chuckled nervously and shook the good-humored prince’s hoof.

“So… how do you feel about it?” Shining asked.

“About what?” Rags replied.

“About dealing with… the ‘problem’?”

“Oh… that. Well, if I’m going to be perfectly honest, Your Majesty, the thought of it all makes me want to jump off one of the castle balconies or go poke a sleeping dragon and just end my life. I’m not confident in my ability to take care of the ‘problem’.”

“Well, that’s what I’m here to help you with. We’re going to get you ready to take on any and all challenges that come your way. Now, to start off, what do you think you need to work on?“ the prince inquired.

Rags took a deep breath, and released a long, slow sigh. “...Everything, Your Majesty.”

“Everything?”

“Yes, there is not a single thing about me that I think is even remotely close to ready to take this thing on. I’m not strong, I’m not fast, if I didn’t have something chasing me I probably couldn’t even run half-a-mile, I’m a terrible strategist, I’m probably no more skilled in fighting than a third-grade bully is, and I bruise like a banana. The only conceivable reason I’m not a pile of mushy, red paste is because somebody up there has a hard on for seeing me in agony. Erm… pardon my Prench, Sire,” Rags finished.

“I see…” Shining said as he rubbed his chin. “It sounds to me like you’ve got a problem that’s bigger than all of those things combined. One that you might be berating yourself over right this instant.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if there was a problem with me that I wasn’t aware of. I’ve got so many that it gets hard to keep track of all the ways I fail,” Rags said dejectedly.

“There it is again. You seem to have a severe, crippling lack of confidence in yourself,” Shining suggested. “If you don’t think that you can get through this, then you won’t. I know from experience that half of the battle is fought inside your head.”

“Well, like you said, that’s what I’m here for, right? By doing this, I’m going to be reassuring myself that I’ll be strong enough to take on anything the cosmic powers throw at me. That’s the only way I’ll make it. I can’t be a pansy anymore. I’m here to get rid of all my… me-ness,” Rags said, gesturing to his whole body. “So I want the royal guard treatment. Put me through guardspony basic training. There was a time when I considered joining the army, so I guess I’ll finally get to see if I have what it takes. I mean, this is me we’re talking about, so probably not, but what’s the harm in trying?”

“In basic training? There’s a lot of harm in trying, the intense kind of harm that you feel every single morning when you wake up, and it will only get worse from there. Are you sure that’s what you want? I’m not asking because I don’t think you can do it; basic turns even the most unsuspecting of colts into hardened soldiers ready for battle. I’m asking because you have a very… tight schedule. You’ll need all the rest and energy you can get. Do you think that you can really spare the effort and time guardspony training takes?” Shining asked with concern.

The prince certainly had a point, Rags thought. He had never known any soldiers, nor had he ever been big on the concept of exercise, but he knew one thing for sure: the kind of training they were talking about was the kind of thing that left one tired and sore to an incredible degree. And the circumstances under which he would be undertaking such physical strain meant that he would have to balance intense training that would leave him drained during the day with fighting for his survival at night. He saw the issue. It was incredibly likely that he could tucker himself out with training before the night came, leaving him sore, weak, and vulnerable in the eventide.

Rags could tell that the prince wasn’t really asking him if the training was what he wanted, he was really more advising against it for the dishwasher’s sake. There wasn’t any question about it, actually. It was nearly a guarantee that if Rags began such training, he would be left far too weak to fight.

“What would you have me do then, Sire? Run a few laps? Do a few squats then call it a day? If I’m going to make it, I’ll need more than just a couple of exercises for an hour or two each day. I need some real combat training!” Rags implored.

“That’s true. If what I’ve heard about how the Nightmare has been attacking you is true, then it’s one against an army. A very big army. But at the same time, if that really is the case, then do you need hardcore training like that? Would it really help that much?”

“Hey, I’ve made it this far, right? And that’s been without any skills, physical advantages, or decent strategies to speak of. So wouldn’t the skills of a soldier improve a situation like mine?” Rags responded.

Shining Armor nodded his head pensively. “That’s true… Alright, if you really want to do it, then I’ll train you like a guardspony. We’ll put you through one day of this and then we can see how you’re holding up after that. Sound good?” he said optimistically.

“Yes, Sir!” Rags declared with a salute.

“Let’s get started. On the ground, I want twenty hoof-ups!” Shining ordered.

Rags did as he was bade and dropped to the ground and began pushing, already huffing and puffing after just four. The prince sat on a nearby stone bench and observed.

“So, Rags, where are you from?” Shining asked to pass the time until his trainee would be done.

“I was--oph… born in Manehatten…huph… but I’ve lived in Ponyville all my life,” Rags said in between breaths.

“Got any family?” the prince asked.

“Uhm… I don’t really know-- grr, eight!-- Your Majesty.”

“Why’s that?”

“Gah… Because… I’m adopted,” Rags grunted, almost saying it under his breath.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean--” Shining started.

“Oh no, Sire… grr-- fourteen!... It’s alright. I was just saying… that I don’t know about any blood-family. I’ve got… my adoptive parents. I’m just-- omph-- not sure they even remember they have a son.”

“Sorry to hear that…” Shining said, fearful that he might have wandered into painful territory for Rags. “How about somebody special, soldier? Someone waiting for you at home?”

“No, Sir… I don’t know if you’ve noticed… but I’m not what you might call a… ‘desirable’ partner. Geeyargg… fifteen!” Rags growled as his arms began to tremble. He could already tell he would be feeling the effects of the exercise on his body in the morning. If he even made it that far. He continued speaking through his labored breathing. “I’ve always been kind of… a nerd… I had braces until I was… seventeen!… And you know how attractive that is…Hrrrr--TWENTY!”

Finally, Rags rolled over onto his back and gulped in air. He lay there in the grass for a good thirty seconds before Shining Armor stood over him. “How did… how did I do, Sire?” Rags wheezed.

“Good job. Now I want twenty more,” Shining Armor said with a grin. Rags groaned before rolling back over onto his belly and tried to get into position. As he struggled to start again and resumed his grunting and snorting, Shining sat back down and continued the conversation. “You know, I used to be a bit of a geek myself, but that didn’t stop me from meeting Cadance. It doesn’t matter who you are or what society labels you as, there’s always someone out there that will accept you for you.”

“So I’ve… heard. But does… anybody actually believe that… before it happens to them?” Rags asked.

“Not really,” the prince chuckled. “But if you don’t want to take my word for it, I could always get Cadance to help you out, if you’re interested.”

“Eh… no thanks… Your Majesty. At least… not right now. I’ve got a… bit of a tight schedule… know what I mean?” Rags huffed. “Plus… I don’t think… that after all this is over… that I’ll be in a very… ‘romantic’ mood for a long while. Fighting… horrors from Tartarus… kinda kills your drive to get… a love life going, you know?”

“Good point. I can see how our current situation might be a bit of a mood killer. I know it has been for me and Cadance…” Shining muttered..

“What was… that?” Rags heaved.

“Oh, uh-- nothing!” The prince waved his hoof dismissively.

“T-Twenty!... Again!” Rags rolled onto his back once again, utterly zapped of all his energy.

“You okay?”

“S-Sorta… N-Not re--... No,” Rags panted. He was embarrassed of his performance. Forty hoof-ups and he was down for the count. His forelegs stung, his lungs burned, sweat dripped off him like rain. He looked and felt as if he had just gotten into a furious battle with a ferocious chimera, but in reality, he had only just completed the first part of what was, for a royal guard, a daily exercise routine. It showed him that his physical condition was even more meager than he anticipated. What’s more, it made abundantly clear to him a discouraging truth.

He was sore and exhausted after such a small workout that would undoubtedly give him minimal results. He would need to do more than what he had just done on a daily basis to achieve any actual progress towards getting him ready. Doing so would tucker him out and leave him in constant pain. This wouldn’t be a problem if it weren’t for the fact that he would most certainly die in such a weak state during the night. An already anemic stallion made even more feeble by the pressure of the daily routines would be easy picking for the beasts and wretches.

If he couldn’t find a way to persevere in the training without leaving himself open at night, he would simply have to stop. He crossed his forelegs over his eyes as he gave the matter thought. He was working out plans and schedules in his head, but none lead to a conclusion in which he could keep training without sacrificing his energy for the nights.

Except for one.

It was a long-shot, and probably something he couldn’t even begin to understand beyond a conceptual level. But it was something that he was actually quite surprised he came up with, considering his aptitude for bone-headed ideas.

“Hey, Sire? Can I be excused for, like, five minutes?” Rags asked. “I gotta grab something.”

“I don’t see why not,” Shining Armor said, leaning back into a more relaxed position.

“Alright, don’t move, I’ll be quick.”

“Ready for more, Your Highness?” Rags asked the sleeping prince enthusiastically.

Shining jumped away with bewildered eyes and a twinge of fear about him. It took him a moment, but he finally recognized who was standing before him and recalled what the reason for him to be there was. “Oh, Rags… it’s just you. You seem…” the prince began as he looked the dishwasher over.

He had lost track of time, having fallen asleep again, but he was sure, judging from the position of the sun, that Rags had only been gone no more than ten minutes. That isn’t enough time for a pony to recover from complete exhaustion, and yet there he was, trotting in place and doing stretches as if he hadn’t done anything straining that day.

“Well come on, Sire! We’ve only got a couple hours before it gets dark!” Rags said cheerfully. “What do you want me to do now? Laps around the castle? Lift some weights? Come on, I’m ready to be a guard! Sorta… Would I actually be a guard if I got guard training? Whatever, I’m ready to go!”

Shining Armor’s mouth hung agape as he beheld the energetic stallion. “How did you… you’re ready to start training again? You looked totally beat a little while ago. You… feeling alright?”

Rags grabbed a water bottle hanging from his neck by a strap and took a quick swig. As he swallowed, he gave a small shiver. “Better than alright, Sire!” He held up the water bottle and gave it a shake. “See this? This is the stuff that brought me back twice now. It repairs you when you’re all busted up, right? And when you train, your muscles and stuff get torn up and get bigger when they heal, yeah? So, with this potion crap, I can work out a bunch, take a couple sips of this, and there you go, a couple day’s worth of muscle healing done in a few seconds after every routine! And it even gives me a little boost of energy, so I won’t get tired! It’s perfect! Now I can get several day’s worth of training done in one go and be all rested up and fine by the time the night comes!”

Shining Armor gawked at the claims Rags was making. He stammered out a response. “W-Wow… that sounds… kind of awesome, actually. What is that stuff, anyway?”

“This potion crap? I dunno. Princess Twilight and her creepy little hoodie-friends have been making a bunch of it. It’s science in a bottle! Or… magic in a bottle? Is science and magic the same thing for us? Eh, I don’t care, it keeps me alive, so it could be dragon piss for all I care. And it kind of tastes like whisky, actually, so dragon piss definitely sounds more welcoming right now, but whatever!” Rags exclaimed. “So come on, Sire! Let’s get going! We’re burning daylight!”

“Well… alright. If you’re ready to, let’s get to it. How about a little cardio to start with?” Shining asked.

Twilight stared glumly off her balcony at the late-afternoon sky. All things considered, it was a beautiful early-summer’s day. And there was hardly anything to be worried about. There were no pressing political matters, no tight royal schedules to maintain, no stuffy nobles pestering her for some greedy reason. It was what should have been one of the most relaxing days she had experience in a long time since becoming a princess. There was absolutely nothing that should have been bothering her.

Except for the painfully, sorrowfully obvious thing that hung over all in creation.

She let her eyes drift down to the two small specks down below running laps around the courtyard. A great sigh escaped her mouth as she scorned herself internally. One of those specks was doomed, as was the rest of the world. If she had only been more diligent, she’d have been able to put a stop to it. But there was nothing standing in the way of it now. Just him.

The chamber doors parted, and in stepped Celestia, who silently sat beside her smaller associate on the balcony. For a long time, they both merely watched the two tiny shapes in the courtyard performing various training exercises, occasionally catching an audible hint of laughter or conversation.

“They seem to be getting along well enough,” Celestia finally said quietly, only hardly managing to break the silence.

“My brother always did have kind of a magnetic personality,” Twilight pointed out. “He’s not one to play the part of the hard-nosed drill sergeant.”

“Hmm…” Celestia hummed thoughtfully. Another long silence took hold. “You seem… troubled, Twilight. Is there something bothering you?”

“It’s the same thing that I imagine is bothering you,” Twilight responded. “Only one pony stands between us and destruction. And nobody, no matter how powerful or clever or determined, can do anything about it. He’s all that we’ve got.” Twilight cast her eyes to the floor of the balcony. “Of course he doesn’t need to be…” she said under her breath.

Celestia inhaled deeply through her nostrils and out through her mouth. “I said it was not a matter up for discussion. You are too young and unknowledgable to be making judgments like--”

“But why?!” Twilight cut in with sudden frustration. “Why won’t you look at what’s happening?! I want to believe in him too, I honestly do, but are you willing to be the one to bear the weight of the consequences? Are you ready to face the possibility that he might… fail?” Twilight asked dejectedly.

“He won’t, Twilight. I’m sure of it,” Celestia stated firmly.

“How can you be so sure?!” Twilight pleaded to know. “There’s too much at risk to be basing your decisions on hunches and instinct! The lives of more than even I can count are at stake! Don’t you think that it would at least be worth consideration--”

“That’s enough, Twilight. My word is final, I said no,” Celestia said coldly.

Twilight looked at the sun goddess with shock and worked her mouth as if she wanted to say something but thought better of it. But she second-guessed herself and went ahead and spoke her mind anyway. “I-- I can’t stand for this! You can’t simply rule it out because of your feelings!” Twilight said, her tone accusatory.

“Twilight, I said that was enough--”

“I know it would be hard for you, it would be hard for all of us, but it’s our only other option! What if he dies one of these nights?! The world would end without us even waking up!”

“Twilight!” Celestia barked.

Twilight continued, shivering with adrenaline and worry. “You can’t let your emotions dictate the fate of Equestria! Would you let countless lives die all for one?!”

Celestia’s wing shot upwards and snapped Twilight across the cheek. In silence they both stared at one another, Twilight in disbelief and Celestia in a mix of anger and sadness. Soon, the sun goddess averted her gaze to the sky, attempting to appear stoic, but slowly succumbing to sorrow, beginning with a wash of tears welling up at the corners of her eyes. She bit her trembling lip as she let her head drop and began to sob.

Twilight felt tears of her own brimming as she placed a hoof to her stinging cheek and stifled a cry. She looked up to her mentor and hesitated over moving in to sit beside her, but she eventually did. For a little while, they both sat, side by side, and let the tears flow quietly.

Celestia wiped a wing across her tear-stained cheeks and spoke softly. “We have to believe in him, Twilight... I have to believe in him. I have to…”

“What?!”

“That’s the gist of it.”

“N-No!”

“Yep.”

“It’s not true!”

“You’d better believe it.”

“T-That’s not right!”

“I’d probably say the same thing.”

“How do you… how do you even react to something like that?!”

“Like how you are now, I guess?”

“Ugh… I… I think I’m gonna be sick… or angry… or flattered… or… what do you call all three of those put together?” Shining Armor asked as he rubbed his temples.

“I honestly don’t think that it’s happened to enough folks to warrant a word for it,” Rags said.

“Are you… are you really sure?” the prince begged to know.

“Yeah, I’m totally positive. Every guy in Equestria has a serious hard-on for your wife,” Rags explained in a matter-of-fact way.

“Ugh, that’s just wrong!” Shining said as he shook his head in denial. “W-Why?!”

“Well, not only is she pretty, if you don’t mind me saying, and royalty, which those two put together already makes her irresistible in the eyes of most, but she’s also the Princess of Love. And, to tell the truth, a title like that leaves a lot to the imagination. Uh, just sayin’, you know,” Rags explained sheepishly.

“I can’t believe this…” Shining Armor groaned.

“You seriously haven’t seen any of the guards getting a good rear-view shot of your lady whenever she walks by ‘em? They don’t really even make an effort to hide it,”

“I’ve got half-a-mind to court martial those sorry little…” Shining growled. He looked to Rags incredulously. “And what do you think?”

“Of what? Your wife?” Rags gulped as he thought of an appropriate response. “Well sure, she looks good, great even, b-but I wouldn’t dare ever think about… you know…” he meeped coyly.

Shining kept up his scrutinizing glare for a moment before his expression changed to one of bemusement. He closed his eyes and shook his head. “I should have known. I couldn’t have been the only one to think she’s the most gorgeous thing in existence. Guess it’s to be expected,” he said with a grin. “Still… I don’t know whether to be confused or ticked.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t know,” Rags said. “I mean, have you never picked up an issue of Dirty Mares Monthly? They love having artists interpret what Cadance and the other princesses must look like in ‘action.’”

“That’s disgusting-- wait… how do you kno--”

“How about this weather? This great, subject-changing weather?”

The two stallions shot the breeze as they made their way through the castle, Rags accompanying Shining Armor on his way back to his room. The dishwasher was actually quite surprised at how well they got along, all things considered. Despite the fact that he was his trainer, and despite the social gap between them, one being a prince and the other as far from that class as possible, Rags found that the prince was not at all what he expected. He seemed more like a bigger, stronger, more regal Nougat.

Rags briefly entertained the idea of Nougat becoming jealous. He’d love to see the look on his face when he learned of his budding new friendship. Actually, Rags just wanted to see his face period. Things seemed less tolerable without his oldest, and formerly only, comrade around. But still, he trekked on.

The sun had begun its slow drop out of the sky, though it was still at the apex of the descent, giving Rags plenty of time to ready himself once more. The sunlight pouring in on them from a window at their backs stretched their shadows across the floor, and reflected harshly off of the extravagant, golden chamber doors that opened up ahead of them as they walked. Out of them, most unexpectedly, stepped Celestia, with red eyes and a mane that lacked the flowing grace it once held.

The two stallions stopped before her, the prince offering a bow and yanking the oblivious dishwasher down to the floor when he did not immediately do the same. Celestia nodded to the prince and looked oddly at Rags for a moment. “I trust your training session went well?” she asked.

Shining Armor snapped to attention with practiced military focus.“Yes, Your Highness. Thanks to Twilight’s potion, I believe we will make excellent progress over the coming weeks with his training. I’ll have him turned into a proper warrior in no time.”

Celestia offered, what Rags could plainly tell, was a very forced smile. “That’s wonderful to hear, my prince. You may proceed to your quarters. Have a…” she stopped herself when she realized what she was about to say.

Shining Armor swallowed, sensing her mood, and decided to end the encounter quickly. “Thank you, Your Majesty.” He turned to Rags and said, “Good luck, soldier.” Not a moment more he lingered. He passed the princess and made for his room.

Rags was left alone with the princess, who continued to stare at him with an emotion in her gaze that he could not quite peg. She spoke in a voice that he would not have believed was hers had he not been facing her. It was far less practiced and graceful than her normal voice, as if she didn’t care for keeping up her facade of elegance in front of Rags. It was a strained, almost husky voice that reeked of exhaustion.

“Young one, I… I wish to speak with you… in private. It is a matter of great importance, and… personal significance. I’ve already conferred with Princess Twilight on the topic, but I thought it only right to include you in the discussion, as you are, after all, the most important pony of us all.”

Rags’ jaw dropped slightly and he stammered for a second after hearing that last part. “W-Well sure thing-- I mean, of course, Princess,” he babbled. “So… like, talk right now, you mean? Or…”

“No, my little one. Later. Perhaps tomorrow. Tonight, you need only to focus on living. I believe… Twilight has a task for you, as well,” said Celestia. She extended a wing towards the chamber. Rags stepped forward to peek inside, finding Twilight perched on the balcony, sitting in the orange glow. “Best of wishes, child,” Celestia said as she turned and departed.

Rags stood in the doorway for a moment collecting himself. Twilight did not appear to be in an especially upbeat mood, so he readied himself for news. It would be bad news, of course. To him, that’s all that news was anymore. He slipped inside and made his way across the meticulously kept but dimly lit room and parted the glass doors to the balcony.

“Princess? You wanted to see me?” he said.

She turned her head slowly and deliberately to glance at him. “Hello, Rags. How did training go?” Twilight asked. Rags did not initially register the question though. He was too focused on her appearance. Her eyes were bloodshot and drooping, her mane was slightly disheveled, and her coat seemed pale and lackluster. Celestia seemed to be in a comparable state. Something told Rags that the Princesses of Equestria were not typically wont to roam the halls in such a homely condition.

“Uhm, fine, Your Majesty. Your brother really knows his stuff… Uh, are you feeling alright, Your Highness? You seem a little…” Rags trailed off, searching for the proper words.

“Discombobulated?” Twilight offered with an almost imperceptible grin.

“Whatever that means, I’m pretty sure it would apply. Is there something bothering you?” Rags asked concernedly.

“Oh… it’s nothing,” the princess obviously lied as she looked off to the horizon. “Me and Celestia had a little argument, that’s all.”

Rags sighed. “Princess… please don’t take this the wrong way, I really don’t mean anything by it, but… can you please stop treating me like a freakin’ kid?”

“What do you mean?” Twilight asked flatly.

“I mean, you’ve been keeping stuff from me since you first took an interest in my problem. I’ve walked around this castle for the past two days with everybody giving me weird, cringey looks. Not that I don’t think they’re concerned for me on some level, but I really doubt that they’ve been looking at me like that because they feel sorry for me. There’s something I don’t know. And I’m getting pretty fed up with all this secrecy. Either tell me upfront what the deal is or… OK, I haven’t really worked out an ‘or,’ but you get my point,” Rags said sternly, hoping not to offend.

Twilight sat motionless for a moment, looking out across the land as if Rags wasn’t standing there waiting for an answer to his question. “I don’t suppose there is any purpose in being discreet. You are, after all… our only option,” Twilight said coldly.

Rags gulped at both the princess’s tone and the reminder that he was the only one capable of doing anything.

“You’ll have your answers,” Twilight said, “but not from me. I think that you should hear it from her mouth, then decide whether or not you think it’s an inane, senseless, idiotic…” her venomous words trailed off as she gathered herself. “Celestia will inform you of the situation. The real situation. The real gravity of what is happening here.”

They shared no words for nearly a full minute. Finally Rags spoke, “Are you feeling alright, Your Majesty? You seem a little--”

“Go get ready, Rags. We’re wasting time,” Twilight cut in.

“We?” Rags asked.

“I need you here, tonight. If we can’t…If you are our best bet, I need to collect data that could possibly assist you. Stay here tonight, just for the first few minutes at least, and observe me while I sleep,” Twilight ordered.

The words hadn’t even left her mouth completely when Rags felt a chill of awkward discomfort run up his spine. Twilight glanced at him when she noticed the silence and took note of his expression.

“Rags, focus. There’s nothing weird about it. It’s for science,” she said.

“Uh-huh…” Rags replied as he leered at her. “I bet you say that to all your victims…”

“All of my-- what?! You sick little-- no, no. Not going to get mad. Just… do as I say, okay? I need to start gathering information on how the night-magic works. To start with, I need to know what it is that happens to ponies while they sleep, alright?” Twilight said. “Look, I’m sorry for my tone. I’ve just been having quite a few discussions with Celestia. We don’t see eye-to-eye on the issue, to say the least. But that’s something for later. Right now, this is what I need from you,” she finished.

Rags carefully observed the flustered princess and deliberated on what she asked of him. As uncomfortable as it would be, she was most likely correct in that it was probably in his best interest to collect all the data he could for her. He was so very close to the epicenter, after all. The rules had obviously changed, if the previous evening was any indication. He needed to know what to expect, what his new plan of attack was. He settled on the conclusion that Twilight knew best. And so, he’d do as she asked.

“Alright, but just remember, you asked for this,” Rags said.

“What?”

“You know, you asked for me to watch you sleep. I’m just saying, it’s your problem if I start-- uhm… I was going to make a joke out of that, but I don’t really… I... err…”

“Stop talking.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Searing embers snapped out of the crumbling logs inside of the squirming flames and escaped the hearth for but a moment before vanishing into the air. The heat from the roaring fire brought comfort to Rags. But, more importantly, it gave him light, something he was slowly coming to appreciate more and more as time went on. Before it would all be over, he’d treasure it as if it were intangible gold, he thought.

The final beams of sunlight dwindled fast as the sun was quickly concealing itself below the horizon, leaving only the flickering glow of the fire to illuminate Twilight’s chambers. The Princess of Magic yawned before slurring out what Rags could only assume was supposed to be a coherent order. “Rags… take note… the time is… is… just look at the clock and write down the time…” She yawned again. Rags did as she asked and jotted down the time. 8:45. “Feeling… tired… can’t keep my eyes… open… Unable to fight off the feeling… of… complete…” another yawn, ”exhaustion…”

Rags wrote down whatever he could glean from the princess’s rambling on the notepad she had given him. There wasn’t much in the way of new information so far. It was what they had both come to expect: sudden, crushing exhaustion as the time neared. Not for Rags, of course.

He wasn’t even remotely drowsy, thanks to his marvelous little potion. Though, it was only a solution for his natural drowsiness, and his alone The miracle fluid could do many things, such as repairing all bodily damage and providing energy to keep the drinker awake and on edge, but preventing magically induced sleep was not one of them. This was tested by Twilight, who took a small sip and didn’t feel so much as a buzz like one would get from eating too much candy. The sleep was irresistible, it seemed.

Rags sat by the princess’s bedside, occasionally scribbling down whatever nonsense poured from the weary royal’s mouth for the sake of ‘science.’ It felt like a waste of time to the dishwasher. He was kept from his preparations to monitor the groggy ramblings of a princess who stubbornly resisted sleep for as long as she could? Surely it would come back to bite him, he thought.

He tried to keep his spirits high, tried to stand firm and not let his nature as a weakling get the better of him, but he couldn’t help it. He worried about what the new night would bring. The last gave him several massive injuries and a meeting with the devil herself. What new terrors awaited him tonight?

But he couldn’t let those fears run wild in his mind. That had always been what brought him down, made him weak. When his mind fell prey to his anxious nature, he was left open to attack. No more, he told himself. He was sick of nights like the last one, nights that brought him mental and physical scars because he was too pathetic to stop it from happening. Beginning on this night, he would no longer allow himself to lose control. He was going to be strong, stand tall, remain stalwart. He wouldn’t let himself do anything less. This was the key to survival, both his and the world’s. And he would die before he let himself go back to being a worthless worm who was constantly stomped on... sometimes literally.

Thought it wouldn’t be easy. His instincts, his intrinsic being, would fight to regain control, to make him go back to his old ways of fright and trembling. It would take all that he had to suppress those urges. But he would have to. Regressing meant death.

He reached into one of his stocked saddlebags and pulled out a water bottle. He sloshed around its contents and took a drink, feeling the tingling of the potion at work.

Perhaps what he needed was to stop ferociously pondering the matter. He tended to let his fearful weakness get a hold of him if he let it dig too deeply into things. Thought he’d tried to get himself to stop thinking too much and it was never successful before. Putting an end to that nasty habit would be a great step towards victory.

Twilight yawned once more and began to say something, but soon stopped speaking actual words and mumbled out incomplete syllables, and soon after that stopped making any noise except for the sound of long, steady breathing. Fatigue had finally dealt a finishing blow to the princess and sent her off into slumber.

Now was when Rags started getting uncomfortable. He felt so slimy, watching Her Royal Highness sleep like some sort of stalker, carefully observing every interval of her rising and falling chest as she softly inhaled and exhaled. He shook his head clean of the encroaching dirty thoughts before they could take root and really get to him. He looked at the clock. 8:55. He jotted down the time and what happened to Twilight during that period. He figured it was what she was going to ask of him before she lost it.

A lump caught in his throat as he waited. Steadily he grew more anxious as five minutes ticked past as he waited for whatever it was that would come next. Twilight wasn’t the only one curious about what happened to the ponies afflicted by the sleep.

He kept his eyes on her all the while, sweat beginning to form on his brow. His intense focus was broken by the tolling of the clock upon the wall. 9:00. He held his breath as he watched Twilight carefully. Seconds passed. Tens of seconds. Silence in the room. Nothing but the sound of the crackling hearth. No changes.

A half-minute later and nothing had changed. He spared a moment to perk his ears and listen for anything. Silence, that thing that had proven time and time again that whatever came after was not good. A full minute. Still she lay there, contented and peaceful. Rags wrote what he saw down.

It made no sense. She should have been gone. To Rags’ knowledge, most ponies were whisked away the moment the clock struck nine. But he was educated, learned of the dark ways of this strange time. He knew it was coming. Whatever it was.

Five minutes later and he still waited. Instead of calming as time went on without any incident, Rags grew ever more anxious. Come on, he thought to himself, do something! I know it’s gonna happen, so just do it! Almost as if responding to his mental encouragement, Twilight stopped breathing. Rags froze as he watched and waited. Her face twitched and she cringed. She made a squeaking noise that soon turned into a soft groan. She started lightly tossing and turning, as if struggling with an unseen foe. The dishwasher was paralyzed as he saw it all. Here it comes…

Twilight finally turned to lay on her side, and the odd behaviors stopped as soon as she did. Once again, she started breathing normally. Everything went back to a placid state. Rags released the breath that he held for so long that he nearly passed out. Apparently, it simply wasn’t coming.

He rubbed the back of his neck and tried to work out a kink as he stepped over to the hearth and rested on his haunches. Holding his hooves up to the fire, he warmed himself up and cast a quick glance over his shoulder at the princess, who still slept soundly. He took a deep breath and tried to pacify his shot nerves. Perking his ears again, he listened for any telling sounds before letting his guard drop, and again picked up nothing.

He sighed and let his shoulders drop. For the time being, he was safe, as was the princess. He was no idiot though. He had wised up since the last night. He knew for a fact that in the very near future, something would try to kill him. There were no such things as ‘free passes’ for the nights.

He wondered what mental scar-inducing nightmare he’d run into next. What did the demon have planned? The way things were going so far, it almost seemed as though she was trying to build up and prey upon his false sense of security once more. Was she arrogant enough to try it again? The thought of such cockiness boiled Rags’ blood.

It didn’t matter what the Nightmare decided to spring on him, Rags wasn’t going to lie down and take it like a frightened child. He turned around so that his back faced the fire and he sat up straight, eyes drifting around the room and keeping watch. He turned his head to clamp his teeth down on the hilt of his sword and drew it. There he sat for another ten minutes, eyes shifting about and teeth loosely clenched on his sword.

He tapped a hoof on the floor as he sat there in the firelight. A single droplet of sweat raced down the side of his face. He was pumped full of energy, wide awake, and nervous as could be. ‘Antsy’ would be too tame of a word to describe his state.

He glanced at the clock: 9:15. He then looked down to Twilight, still sleeping like a log. Still there. He knew she’d want what he saw recorded, and so, he decided to make a note of it. He figured it would keep his mind occupied in the meantime, maybe even ease his stress.

Uneasily setting his sword beside himself on the floor, within reach of course, he turned back towards the hearth for better lighting. He pulled out his notepad and pencil and, after tossing a leer in either direction, began writing. The shadow of his pencil danced madly in the glow of the crackling blaze, and he took solace in the scratchings of pencil lead on paper. If anything, the curse had at least brought out his inner writer.

In a heartbeat he let the pencil drop from his mouth and snatched up his blade, facing the direction of a thumping noise he heard. It came from the general direction of Twilight’s bed. Upon closer inspection, nothing appeared out of the norm with the princess. Any other might have written off the noise as Her Highness tossing in bed, but Rags was wiser than that. He didn’t let his attention to the opposite side of the room fade.

As he stood on guard, carefully analyzing every flickering shadow shifting around in the room, the light that cast the shadows vanished. He stiffened as shadows consumed the room when there was suddenly no light to keep them at bay. A cold breeze wafted across his flank. A shocked glance behind him revealed that the fire in the hearth had spontaneously gone out as if a sizable gust blew over it. The smoldering embers were all that was left of the fire that was roaring not but a second ago.

He spun on his hooves, rapidly scanning the room. Without the snapping and crackling of the fire, the silence became quite heavy. What took them so long?

There was a hiss. Rags jolted a bit as he looked to the hearth where it came from. Nothing was there. Except there was. Another short hiss, but still he saw nothing. Two more hisses followed. There was consistency in the time between each hiss, almost as if it was…

Rags hesitantly extended his foreleg into the hearth, over the logs. He felt a drip on his hoof. He didn’t even need to scrutinize the fluid. He knew all too well what it was. Jerking his hoof back, he wiped it off and backed away from the fireplace. Every hair on his body stood on end. No… Don’t freak out. Don’t freak out. It’s alright. You can handle this. Remember, no more weakness.

A strange noise came from behind, from Twilight’s bed. It was unlike any noise he’d ever heard before, not even from the nights. It was like an unearthly moan, a sorrowful sound that he could feel within the depths of his very being. There were no words in it, and it was quiet like soft breathing,, but something about it made him want to cry in a blend of fear and sadness. It was the sound of pure torment.

His veins became frigid as he forced himself to turn and face whatever it was. And as he saw it, they froze completely.

Twilight looked as if she were still asleep as she hovered in the air without the use of her wings or magic. She levitated above the bed, rising slowly into the air as if an invisible appendage had grabbed her like a doll. Tremors racked her body and her muscles convulsed as, to Rags’ disbelief, she was becoming transparent. He heard something else, something he couldn’t identify. As the princess viciously shook, it got louder and louder. Crying. The sound of a mare wailing and sobbing. It soon filled the chamber with it’s increasing volume.

Twilight began to unconsciously mumble. “No… No… Please…” The color drained from her coat and mane, making her a shade of pale white. Her spasms ceased and she simply levitated there, still and quiet. Her translucent form seemed to have calmed. But the crying did not cease. It only worsened as her eyelids suddenly parted, exposing two black pits void of all life, sentience, and feeling, ushering a torrent of blood to pour down her cheeks and soak her face.

Rags was paralyzed in mind and body as her ghostly form began moving towards him. His attempts at coaxing his stiff legs into backing away landed him on his flank. Twilight, or whatever it was, showed no signs of slowing as she, it, passed straight through Rags as if he was air and did the same into the wall behind him. Blankly, he stared forward.

The touch of the apparition left him numb, cold, and breathless. He gasped for air like he had just been punched in the stomach. Sweat drenched every square inch of fur on his body. When he could manage, he wobbled to his hooves and composed himself. The obvious question on his mind pertained to the nature of what had just happened, both to Twilight and to himself.

Was that what had been happening to ponies after dark? Rags supposed it would explain their sudden disappearances, though why did it take so long for it to happen to Twilight? Did it vary for each individual?

More importantly, why was he afraid? He had recently dedicated himself to becoming a stronger pony, so why did he lock up? He harshly scolded himself for allowing himself to commit the sin of weakness once again. His blade was at his side, even if it would do no good, and he had plenty of time to react. Were it some other kind of nightly entity, a corporeal kind with teeth and claws, he’d have made for an easy meal.

The words he used to address his crime were of the harshest sort. He couldn’t, wouldn’t let himself regress anymore. Too much was riding on his life. He had an important role to fill, and there could be no more fearful freezes or terrified thoughts or intense urges to flee. Strong, he had to think strong. No, no thinking, he had to just be strong.

He picked up his blade and bit down painfully hard on the hilt. He couldn’t stay in the princess’s chambers. The room was tainted by his fear. They’d find him there. He swiftly crept towards the doors and peeked outside. They weren’t around. He started to make his way outside, but stopped. He glanced over his shoulder at the notepad on the floor.

A wave of cruel remembrance came over Rags. The starved howls echoing through the halls. The rotten smells offending his nostrils. The living darkness that seemed to change the world around him when he least expected. The voiceless voices that sought to undermine him. The crushing sense that he was not alone, yet more alone than anyone had ever been. It was all much, much too familiar.

He rounded every corner carefully, but quickly enough to feel as though he had the mettle to handle whatever he came up against. It was never clear as to whether or not they knew where he was or not, and even more opaque was how they found him and how they missed him. It all seemed dependant on his readiness. They never seemed to come at him when he was actually expecting it, almost as if they could read his mind. Or perhaps they simply possessed excellent timing.

Nevertheless, he stalked through the dark corridors of the castle, always moving, always ready. Every shadow received a deathly stare from the tip of his sword. Every step was measured thoughtfully. He was prepared for battle.

The possibility that he’d get his wish was nigh when he heard a heavy clanking coming into earshot. He took notice of an archway that led into a large chamber with balconies and stairways down to the lower floor. The sound came from within the chamber. He slipped behind cover, an old, decorative set of knight armor, and watched the archway.

It seemed a minute had passed before the one causing the noise marched past his view. Noisily, with a walk that looked as if it were controlled by clockwork, a figure the size of a full-grown, body-building stallion rigidly stepped into Rags’ sight. As his eyes adjusted, he could see that it was covered from head-to-hoof in the armor of a soldier.

It stopped suddenly and stiffly in the middle of the archway. Its head turned slowly from side to side with a rusty squeal that made Rags think his ears were bleeding. If that wasn’t enough to harm his hearing, the armored thing let out a demonic, nightmarish bray before resuming its clunky patrol.

As it moved out of sight, Rags stole a look from behind the display. He pondered the nature of what he just witnessed. A creature in armor? Were they becoming more intelligent? Had they learned how to adorn themselves in protective equipment? Rags’ dinky weapon wasn’t likely to put a stop to any creatures that were all geared up.

A light tapping drew his eyes to the floor at his hooves. In poor light of the halls, he could make out dark stains on the reflective marble, with more dark stains popping up beside them. Liquid being dripped onto the floor? Rags looked up to see the source was the crevices of the armor he hid behind. Dark streaks of fluid dribbled from between the plates.

A rusty, ear-piercing squeal shredded through the air as Rags looked further up to see the helm of the knight armor turning to his direction, stopping for a brief moment before turning its empty gaze down on him. He stumbled back as it jerked a leg forward and stepped out of its decorative posture and paced towards him.

Sweat poured off Rags like rain. Stay calm, don’t run. It’s time to face these things. Armor or not.

He stamped a hoof down and took up a defensive stance. The creature in armor came to a stunningly sudden stop and froze before him. Rags stared it down, ready to go head-to-head in a bloody brawl. But after what seemed like a long while of trembling with adrenaline and attempting to burn a hole through the thing’s armor, he began wondering if it had perhaps died inside of its suit, for it remained still.

Just when he started thinking about his next move, the armor squealed again as the chest plate began moving on its own. It slid down on the thing’s chest to reveal… not at all something Rags ever thought he would see.

Inside the creature’s armor, there was no creature. Instead, inside of the chest plate was a bed of burning coal, and above it, defying the laws of gravity, was a heart set ablaze with unnatural fire. A heart that still beat as if blood pumped through it.

Rags made a noise that was some sort of cross between a gasp, a feeble squeak, and a panicked exclamation. He nearly fell over himself as he leaped out of the way of a gout of fire that exploded from within the armor like a dragon’s breath.

Rags’ warrior spirit that had been so thirsty for blood a moment ago seemed to have been busy at the time, and the dishwasher scrambled away from the demonic decoration, muttering every curse he could think of while under stress. He was initially fearful, but then angry. Not angry at the armor-creature, he was still quite afraid of that, but angry at himself.

What was that?! I thought it was just a tar-pony or something! Stupid Nightmare and her stupid things that don’t do what you expect them to! Some freakin’ courageous knight I am. Second encounter of the night and like a crappy comedian I did the same routine I’ve done a thousand times before. And to add insult to injury, I choked on my own spit so I couldn’t even scream right. Phenomenal. Just sign me up for the ‘Demon-Slayer of the Year’ award.

Rags’ self-loathing tirade was cut short when something dark flew out from around the corner and came at his head. He managed to duck it, but the hasty maneuver nearly cost him his footing. He righted himself before he fell face-first into the floor and spun around to see his attacker. And for the third time, he locked up with fear.

A head with pin prick, red pupils and nearly entirely decayed skin threateningly hovered toward him, softly exhaling a never-ending breath. Its skull was swathed in a haze of living shadow and pestilence. Rags was frozen, but this time, he was able to think. He screamed inwardly at himself to ready his sword, get out of the way, run, something. Anything, he told himself, would be better than letting this thing do whatever it was going to do to him.

As he feared he would stay paralyzed, a sound that had become part of the norm to him echoed from behind. A sound like that of many screaming voices coming from the same throat, all angry, restless, and hungry. It was enough to shake him from his stillness and make him toss his gaze over his shoulder.

The instant he turned, he was staring into the livid, glowing eyes of one of the abominations that almost appeared to have a personal grudge against him. A particularly large tar-pony snarled as it thundered down the hall toward him. “!hself s’nerdlihc ruoy no tsaef lliw I”

Rags frantically looked back and forth between the two atrocities, each closing in quickly. The sound of a sudden intake of air drew his attention to the head at the last moment, just in time for him to see it swoop at him. His reaction was to drop to the floor, letting it miss him by inches and soar past him. Its momentum was such that it kept going and collided with the oncoming tar-pony.

He shivered under the cover of his forelegs, waiting for his end, and noticed that it had not come. Instead, a horrific gurgling noise and a dreadful screech tortured his ears. Somehow, he felt as if dying would have been preferable to looking. Peeking from under his legs, he felt the urge to vomit as he gawked at the hideous scene.

The evidently indiscriminate head had sunk its teeth into the tar-pony’s chest, eliciting awful cries and forcing it to the floor. It ripped and tore at the rotten flesh, burrowing deeper into the ribcage despite the larger creature’s attempts at clawing it out. As it did, the meat around its bites seemed to melt and drop off. This effect began spreading to the rest of the tar-pony’s body as the skull went further in. What little flesh the tar-pony possessed was oozing off like the slime that coated it, leaving only bone.It eventually stopped twitching and went limp. A dark cloud wafted through its empty eye sockets and slowly covered the rest of what was left of the tar-pony.

Rags decided he had seen enough. While those two were busy, he made his exit.

He scurried into another hall while he had the chance. His mind ran in circles, trying to get a grip on things, trying desperately to dam the relentless river of fear that flooded his being.

Are you kidding me with this?! I seriously just got done telling myself how much monster flank I was going to kick and here I am, running like my tail is on fire! This sucks! I suck! Why can’t I just do this already?!

The clang of empty armor faded into the distance, nothing but echoes by the time Rags moved. He used the time spent not running from pursuing creatures to formulate a plan. Not a plan for the present night, his strategy for that was simply to keep moving. But was that to be his strategy for every night after? Surely there were better alternatives to panicked dashes throughout the castle halls.

They were already beginning to become too numerous. In the span of only two nights, the density and strength of the entities in the castle was up the degree it was at after a week back in town. It was true, the nights were far stronger in Canterlot. A solid plan was a must if he wanted to see the sun rise again.

A distant screech made him flinch. They were gathering. They were hunting.

Maybe the best plan… was no plan at all? Routine was the source of all his woes in the past, routine left room for a trap to be set. Perhaps all he needed was to be random, do whatever he pleased? He needed to power through the fear, to be strong of mind and body. But first, he had to conquer his impulses.

A growl from up ahead forced him to skid to a halt, bunching up a rug under his hooves. A gargling figure shambled from around a corner, unaware of his presence until its peripherals caught a glimpse of him. The tar-pony shrieked and thrust itself down the hall at him.

Rags reflexively took a step back as a lump caught in his throat. No fear, no hesitation, he told himself. He needed to be more than he could be. Running and hiding could no longer be his response. Now was the time when his mettle would be tested, pushed to its limits. Now was when he would either come to find himself capable, or end up being digested in bits and pieces. He put the hoof he stepped back with into its former position and clamped his teeth around the hilt of his sword with as much force as possible.

Rags trembled with residual fear and anticipation. The disgusting creature threw itself at him with jaws wide open. As if in slowed time, he watched it come at him through the air, his response still being debated in his head. Instinct got the better of him. He stepped to the side to try and avoid the attack, but the tar-pony lashed out as it flew past, swatting Rags across the face rather hard with its malformed hoof.

The dishwasher stumbled back and sucked in air around the hilt. Already he could feel a large bruise coloring his cheek and one or two missing teeth. The monster scrambled back to its hooves and circled its prey, snarling all the while. In the blink of an eye, it leaped once more at Rags, the stallion evading more successfully than before.

Rags’ cheek ached, making it difficult to keep a hold of his sword. Do something! Don’t just stand there! You’ve fought these things before, you can do it again!

Almost faster than he could see, or perhaps it was merely the darkness inhibiting his sight, the tar-pony had gotten in Rags’ face and was sinking its teeth into his shoulder. Rags howled in pain, expecting it to draw more of them near. He wrestled on the floor with the thing, punching, kicking, bucking and shoving. But nothing removed the hateful creature’s grip on him. It put all of its fury into the nearly bone-crushing bite, ripping and tearing at Rags’ flesh.

What are you doing!? Get up! Get it off! Get it off now! Get it off, you weak, useless, pathetic little sack of sh--

A devilish laugh rang out in his mind. A slimy, disgusting chortle of malicious intent. It was a mocking guffaw, a laugh that reminded him of those who used to tease him in Elementary. The voice cackled at his misery, at his poor luck, at his very existence. He knew who laughed, and he knew why. It was condescending, and harkened back to the start of the misery when it deceived him, used him.

A fire lit inside of Rags, a blaze that burned faster and brighter with every fiber of muscle shredded by the abomination tearing into his shoulder. Rags’ cry of pain began to turn into one of frustration. He fought harder than before with renewed vitality, pitting all of his might against the savage power of the beast. His head throbbed with arguably the worst pain it had ever weathered. Veins bulged from his neck and the color drained from his face.

Something inside of him ached. Not a physical pain, but one far more damaging. In the span of seconds, his mind exploded with flashes of every failure he’d endured. Not just those he’d suffered during the night, but over a lifetime. He knew that he had finally reached his limit. There was a ceiling that he could not rise above, something that kept him down. The feeling of helplessness was crushing. He felt useless, pitiful, incapable. And it infuriated him. He loathed that feeling. He despised the thought of being doomed to failure in all things. He was disgusted by the notion of being restrained by fate, not allowed to succeed just for once where it mattered.

His incredible pain was drowned out by a wellspring of hatred and rage. Channeling this fury into his muscles, he shoved harder than ever against the monster, sending it, and a sizable slab of flesh torn from his shoulder, hurdling against the wall of the hallway. He sprung to his hooves, nearly tripping when he tried to stand on the damaged leg. The limb was destroyed, he could feel it. Or rather, he couldn’t. Nothing from his damaged shoulder downwards could be felt. But that could wait.

His sword never left his mouth during the creature's attack, and was still firmly clutched between his teeth. He readied himself to defend, but, to his disgust, found that the tar-pony was too busy hungrily gnawing on the meat torn from his shoulder to launch an immediate counter-attack. So Rags took the initiative. Reaching for his flask, that he was thankful for having not been spilled during the panic. He took a swig and cringed as tissue over his shoulder began to stitch and weave itself back together, and the blood supply in his veins was replenished. He could even feel the bruise on his cheek vanish and his teeth being replaced. Weariness left him with the renewing of his health. What a marvelous drink it was, he thought.

With his body reconstructed, he thrust himself at the creature, penetrating its neck with the tip of his blade before it could even register that it had been attacked. It squealed loudly, letting the chewed-up, bloody pulp that was once Rags’ flesh ooze from its maw. The atrocity’s cry was ear-piercing next to Rags’ head, making the pain in his skull worse than ever. The tar-pony began to flail, pounding against the dishwasher’s ribcage with bruising blows, forcing him to pull out his blade and hobble back. The monster clawed at the gushing wound spurting black fluid in its neck, making the damage done worse in its panic.

Severely perturbed at having the wind knocked out of him, a new rush of adrenaline and anger shot through Rags. Without a second’s thought, he dove at the beast once again, throwing a wild, powerful slash without any control or aim. The tar-pony’s cries intensified when its leg was lopped clean off. Black, rotten-smelling ooze splashed Rags’ face, getting in his eyes and burning them. Pushed further by the new irritation, Rags lashed out again and again almost blindly, scoring brutal cut after brutal cut, but missing one or two.

The abomination fell back onto the floor, its voices quiet and its body contorting and twitching. But the dishwasher was nowhere near done. He continued hacking at the creature, eviscerating its flesh. When his lungs were worn and he could no longer slash or stab anymore, he switched gears and began stomping on it with all of his strength. He broke its remaining legs, snapped bones in its ribcage, crushed its muzzle, and cracked open its skull, allowing its black-grey contents to come pouring out. When his lungs cried for air and he could no longer keep it up, Rags fell away from the mangled corpse and sat on his haunches, gulping air.

He looked down at his body; a coat soaked with sweat, blood and tar. He cast a look back to see that even his tail was in unruly condition, all matted and covered in many of the same fluids his coat was. He would have felt displeased if it wasn’t for what he had just accomplished. He glanced at his work, a grin slowly stretching across his face as he did. The tar-pony looked like it was beset by an axe-wielding maniac. A maimed, twisted, broken body laying in an expanding pool of unknown fluids.

He did that. He did that. He stood up and loomed over the creature’s body with a smirk on his face.I can do it. I can do it. He kicked the monster in its broken face, earning him a fresh coating of black sludge. I just took him apart like I was the crazy beast. What am I saying? I am a crazy beast! I’m not going to let fear run me anymore. Unnatural roars drew his attention to the end of the hallway, where three new tar-ponies charged at him. It’s these things that are going to be afraid now!

Rags bit down on the hilt of his sword and readied himself, scowling at the monsters. The first of the three jumped at him, but he swiftly moved to the side and slashed its head clean off, watching its body tumble to the floor and its head rolling like a ball. Rags marveled at his own speed, turning back to the other two creatures to find that they weren’t going to wait around for him to stop gawking. One of the two swung its hoof at him and caught him in same cheek as before, eliciting a pained grunt. Before he could even spit out the blobs of blood and several broken teeth, the beast pounced on him.

He yelped into the hilt of his sword as he fell towards the floor, the tar-pony’s grip on his throat as tight as a noose. He thought he was in for a world of hurt when his back hit the floor, but instead he was treated to a loud scream and foul-smelling fluids dripping on his face. He popped an eye open to see the creature’s limp body propped up on the blade of his sword lodged deep into its chest. Evidently, he fell with his head instinctively turned away, angling his weapon for the monster to fall on it.

With a growl, he shoved the tar-pony off himself and hopped to his hooves, gazing into the hateful eyes of the third abomination, which was charging at him with a sword clasped between its crooked teeth. A strange anomaly, one of the occasional, uncommon beasts that use a weapon. It ferociously swung at his head, Rags only a half-second from death as he ducked. Without missing a beat, it swung again, and again Rags moved out of the way, though he could have sworn he didn’t react fast enough. It pulled back for an overhead strike and Rags gritted his teeth, backed out of the beast's range, and took his chance.

He threw his head violently and released his bite at the same time, flinging the sword out of his mouth. The blade sliced open the creature’s muzzle and pierced the back of its throat. It gargled and stumbled about for a second or two before crumpling to the floor in an oozy heap.

Rags sucked in air in giant quantities, letting his eyes wander over it all, the shredded bodies running with dark blood and tar. There was a rush inside of him. Feelings of elation overcame him, and he broke out into a fit of laughs. That’s it. That’s all I needed.

More were coming. He drank again from the potion and felt the rush of heat in his veins. Now I know. There’s nothing that should hold me back. The day I start being afraid again, when I fall back into weakness, is the day that I die. He took another swallow of the potion. His new wounds were already healed from the last drink. All he wanted was the energy to keep him on his high of self-discovery.

The monsters charged down the hall in a rampaging herd. He tugged his blade free of the skull it was lodged within and ran. He didn’t run out of fear. He ran out of plain common sense. He was a new stallion, a changed pony. Now began the time when he would take life by the horns and make things go his way for once. But completing one’s metamorphosis was still no good reason to toss oneself at a wall of ferocious beasts.

Chapter 11: Ignition

Author's Notes:

I'm publishing this one about 6 days ahead of schedule. We're at the end of the month anyway, so what's a few days? Also I don't like this chapter, so I don't quite care to give it some kind of special treatment. Just the way it turned out and what it means for the future chapters is... ugh.

This was the point in writing at which I said "ALRIGHT, THAT'S IT! WE'RE TURNING THIS STORY AROUND AND HEADING BACK HOME TO HORROR!"

Everything after this... chapter... is going straight back into a more horror/psychological torture sort of territory.

Blegh.

Let me know what you guys think of this chapter. Did I royally screw up? Did I do something right? Feel free to tell me.

Journal entry #83

I feel funny. Be warned, Journal., I may be coming down with something. Don’t drink after me and try not to touch the appendages that you don’t have to your nonexistent face, because whatever bug I’ve caught is not something I would wish on an enemy.

And by that I mean I totally would. I’ve got a list as long as my leg of individuals I’d wish terrible things on. But I digress.

My skin feels like it’s not attached at all. It’s always… crawling. I’m itchy all over and I can’t sit still for five seconds. I’ve always gotta be moving, doing something. It’s like a combination of all things ominous and vaguely annoying, coming together to make for pure inconvenience during a time of crisis.

Of course, I know what it is… It’s that disease known as “certainty.”

This must be what it feels like to finally know. I can’t believe that I was once afraid of the unknown. What a stupid little colt I was to think that the known would be any less frightening.

What am I saying? Snap out of it. Of course you need to know. Fumbling around in the dark and hoping to find the light switch wasn’t working. In fact, it killed me. At least now I know the general direction of the switch, which will leave me much better off. Although… finally knowing what’s actually out there in the dark… is not exactly comforting.

“Rags?! Rags! Has anybody seen Rags?!” Twilight urgently inquired of the castle staff and the occasional stalwart guard. Most gave unsatisfactory answers, aside from one maid who half-consciously mumbled something about the kitchen as she dusted the air. Much of the staff had displayed similar signs of exhaustion. Twilight herself nearly had a collision more than once with patrolling guards that she couldn’t see through the haze of weariness clouding her senses.

She shouldered her way past several disgruntled chefs who were in the middle of trying to decide how to best cook the trespasser and serve his insolent flank to the princesses. From what she overheard, they were roughly ejected from their place of culinary creation. Twilight burst through the doors into the kitchen and she quickly analyzed what was what and how much ibuprofen would be needed to crush the headache bound to follow shortly after.

“Shhh!” she heard as she entered. “Princess! Good morning!” greeted a disturbingly cheerful Rags. He was busy viciously stirring a pot that he didn’t look at, instead cocking his head to the side in order to stare unblinkingly at Twilight with a massive grin on his face. Pots and pans of all sizes were strewn about, encrusted with oddly-colored substances and moist with various liquids. An overwhelming aroma, some concoction of cleaning chemicals and something rotten dug out of the trash, saturated the air.

“Rags… what are you doing?” Twilight asked.

“Doing?” Rags responded, genuinely curious, as if perplexed why she’d ask.

“Uhm…” Twilight, at a loss, simply put a pin in the questions she had about the situation and elected to get down to business. “So… has Celestia… spoken to you yet?”

“Spoken?”

Twilight sighed heavily. “If she’s going to take this road, I wish she’d just go ahead and get it over with…” she muttered. “Well, if she hasn’t had you for a talk yet, then I’m going to first. Come with me.”

“Come?” Rags asked with raised brow. He turned back to his pot and continued stirring.

Twilight stared for a moment, trying to find the words. “Or… we can talk here. Nothing wrong with the kitchen, I suppose.” She sat on a patch of floor that wasn’t covered in baking soda and cooking oil. “Now, Rags, I’m sure you still have many questions…”

The dishwasher didn’t acknowledge her. Or perhaps that’s what his twitching ear was meant to signify.

“But today… most of them will be answered. Celestia is going to tell you things that you probably won’t understand. Things that you probably… don’t want to hear... but you have to know. You have more right than anybody to know what’s really going on. In fact, it would be a detriment if you didn’t know them.”

“Hey, Your Majesty?” Rags cut in.

“What?”

“Do you know where these schmucks keep the garlic? Prissy bed-wetters aren’t feeling very cooperative. I swear, you barge into their kitchen and start making demands and they act like you’re the jerk. Don’t they know they’re all gonna die unless they give in to my every whim?” Rags complained.

Twilight used the tips of her wings to rub her temples. “You know what? I got out of bed and rushed around, trying to find you and make sure you were okay, and tried to prepare you for what you were going to hear later today, but you seem set on taking the full force of any and all revelations head on. I’m just gonna let Celestia do her thing and you can continue to… what in the world are you doing?”

“Ah-ha! Found it!” Rags declared as he bit the cap off of a small plastic container and poured the contents into his pot. “Not long now…”

The princess let out a long sigh. “Come find me when you feel like not being crazy.” She turned to exit the kitchen, irritated grumbling only absent because she remember her title.

Rags continued stirring for moments after, soon sneaking a glance over his shoulder to make sure the coast was clear. When it was evident that the princess left his vicinity and he was almost positive that she would have told the cooks to stay out and let him do as he pleased, he released the breath he was holding and adopted an intense frown. “Alright, new rule: when I’m talking to royalty, shut your stupid mouth, alright?”

“What? I’m not saying anything that you don’t already have bumping around in your head. Don’t pretend you weren’t thinking about watching her sleep last night, you sick little putz,” the Other grinned as he leaned against the counter. “I share this body with you, remember? I know what was happening down there while you were checking her out--”

“For the love of all that is decent, can you please become solid so I can punch you?” Rags groaned.

“You mean as solid as you were getting--”

“Ah-la-la-la, can’t hear your nasty pervy crap, la-la-la!”

“Oh real mature, Rags.”.

“I’m not the one talking about dirty garbage in the middle of a crisis,” Rags snapped as he stirred more ferociously than before.

“Whatever, you wanna keep lyin’ to yourself, be my guest.” The Other stretched out the muscles it didn’t have. “I’d ask if you’ve dedicated any amount of thought to my question, but knowing your mind as intimately as I do, I’d imagine you’re too busy chasing trivial pursuits like ‘survival’ and ‘not dying a gruesome death’ and whatnot.”

“As a matter of fact, I did think about it, you big bag of jerk,” Rags huffed.

“What does that even-- whatever, and?”

“And… Uhm… I… still don’t… get it…” the dishwasher meeped.

The Other slapped his forehead. “You’re kidding me with this, right? It’s been two days since I asked and you still don’t get it? Gods, boy, it’s not even like I’m talking about stuff you don’t already know in some way. It’s your effed’ up mind, you know what I mean.”

“Do I though?” Rags replied. “Maybe you know a lot of stuff that I don’t.”

“Lords, tell me you’re not still hooked on this ‘evil spirit planted in your head by the Nightmare’ thing,” the Other said exasperatedly.

“You say it like I’m not completely sure that’s the case,” Rags shot back.

“I say it like that because it is like that. You’ve gotten it in your thick skull that I’m some sort of outside force, a voice for the Nightmare operating in the dark corners of your mind.” The Other stepped over to the refrigerator that hung open. “Let me explain why that’s a load of crap with a little question. Don’t worry your heinously unattractive little head, it’s not as tough as the last one.” The Other reached into the fridge and pulled out a bottle of soda. He occasionally messed around with imaginary items while he spoke. Rags had since accepted this. “You notice how you haven’t been quite as nuts over the past couple days?” it asked before it popped the cap off the bottle with its teeth and took a sip.

“Yeah, and I know exactly why that is. I’ve been training, and I know exactly how to end this nightmare. I’m sure of myself--” Rags was cut off by the sound of involuntary spitting followed by hearty laughter.

“Seriously?! Maybe I was wrong, you are as crazy as ever if you believe that.” The Other wiped a forearm across its mouth to dry its muzzle.

“What are you talking about? I’ve got the entire city of Canterlot backing me up! Anything I need, I’ve got! I’m not alone here! Not to mention that I’ve got this!” Rags declared as he held up the flask hanging around his neck. He threw his head back and took a big gulp before continuing. “With this stuff, that I have chosen to call ‘liquid courage,’ I’m not even at risk of catching deathitus anymore! Let ‘em do whatever they want to me. Heck, I might even let them take a bite every now and then, just to give them a little taste so they don’t become hopeless. It doesn’t matter, they can’t hurt me! Well… they can, but they can’t kill me, that’s for sure!”

“And that kind of self-delusion is exactly why I expect our demise will come any day now. I’ve got money on tonight. Don’t let me down by staying alive, else I lose twenty bucks to Ego. Little shrimp won’t ever let me live it down…” the Other said with a shake of its head.

“Call it whatever you want, I’m gonna live and you’re gonna get the business end of a shrink’s four-year degree,” Rags assured.

“You know what? You gave me a good laugh, so I’m in a pretty stellar mood. Instead of sitting here and lecturing you about why you’re oh-so wrong and soon to be oh-so dead because of it, I’m just gonna let you see for yourself where this kind of lunacy leads you. As for my question and the answer staring you in the face that you’ve still somehow managed to miss, why don’t you wrap up this little science experiment of yours and go find out what I’m talking about, hmm? I’m sure Celestia has a nice little spot on her bed made just for you, you lucky little rascal.”

“You and I both know those rumors about the princess’s rampant nymphomania are complete and utter garbage,” Rags responded, his cheeks reddening slightly.

“If they are, then we’re both about to be severely disappointed.” The Other offered a wry grin before vanishing with the next blink of Rags’ eyes.

The dishwasher scoffed at the voice and its dirty suggestions. He finished adding ingredients to his project and put a lid on the pot before carefully balancing it on his back and taking it with him towards the door. His plan was to drop it off in his room on the way to the princess’s chambers. He’d need it later.

As he wobbled and stumbled towards the door, he stopped for a moment. He was halted by… he couldn’t really tell. It was a feeling of some sort, a kind of niggling little sensation in the back of his mind. He couldn’t quite place it. But he could vaguely discern what it concerned.

He glanced at the refrigerator, still hanging open as a result of his efforts, undoubtedly having spoiled a number of foodstuffs that someone was going to pester him over ruining. He didn’t know what he was supposed to be looking for, except he did notice something. He remembered that there was one lone bottle of cola sitting on one of the shelves, belonging to a chef planning to have it with their lunch, undoubtedly. There was one. Must have fell off during his rummaging, he deduced.

He was snapped out of it by a liquid sensation on his back, followed by one of burning. He quickly discovered that taking his focus off the pot sitting precariously on his back led to its leaning. And leaning meant spilling. And spilling meant no fur wherever his questionable cocktail dripped…

Perhaps, he pondered, he’d overdone it with the bleach…

He stood outside of the sun goddess’s chambers, staring hesitantly at the massive doors in front of him. Every time he tried to swallow the lump in his throat, it only made it that much more noticeable. Twilight’s warnings hadn’t fallen on deaf ears. He knew that what he was about to be told wasn’t going to be something he’d like hearing. But then again, it was to be expected. He pondered if there was even such a thing as good news for one such as himself. There was simply news, and bad news.

No point in delaying, he decided. He struggled against the heavy doors for a moment, which stood unguarded, oddly enough. He slipped inside with a practiced silence and closed the doors behind him mutely. It was dark inside the chambers, something he wouldn’t expect of the quarters of the goddess. The light pouring in through the window caught miscellaneous objects between Rags and the balcony, casting long shadows across the floor. There, past the fine glass, he could see the outline of a tall figure silhouetted against the blazing fire of the early morning sun.

He cleared his throat and straightened up his hopeless appearance to the best of his ability. What do they say? Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Except if I didn’t venture here then I wouldn’t gain death. That would be nice. I don’t really feel that adventurous all of the sudden. Don’t really have a choice though, I suppose. I’m still standing here in the dark, stalling this talk, aren’t I? Yeah, nice try, me. Get your scrawny butt out there.

He stood up straight and proceeded to join the princess on the balcony. Celestia didn’t seem to take notice of the new presence at first. She stared wistfully for the longest time at the horizon. Rags almost felt as if she was looking at something that he couldn’t see. Some sort of alicorn sight-magic? Was she gazing into a void that his eyes could not?

He opened and closed his mouth at least three times before choosing to quietly take a seat at her side, but somewhat further back so as not to penetrate her peripheral vision. A minute or two ticked away while he tried to find what it was the princess looked so intently at. At the least, he enjoyed the high mountain breeze that wafted between them.

“Forgive me…”

Rags jumped at the ever-so-slight break in the silence.

Celestia never turned to him as she spoke in a raspy voice. “How are you feeling?”

Rags squirmed a bit, inexplicably feeling bothered by the simple question. “Fine, I suppose?”

“Good…”

Another heavy silence took hold of the air.

“Why did she choose you?”

“Huh? Choose? Who?”

The princess breathed deeply before continuing. “Rags… we’ve been… somewhat dishonest with you.”

The dishwasher offered a befuddled stare.

“Ever since we first caught on to the Nightmare’s return, we’ve been trying to control the situation, to ensure that everyone wins, as it were. So many are at stake, so many lives on the brink of being destroyed. Even if we were to beat this demon back, there’s a high chance that… much will still be lost.” For the first time the princess turned to look at Rags.

“I’m not sure we’re on the same page, Your Majesty.”

“Rags… there is a way to end this right now.”

His only response was a blank stare.

Celestia adopted a look of regret and deep sorrow as she prepared to impart onto him the great secret.

“Rags, in order to free you and our land of the Nightmare’s hold, my sister would have to die.”

Every fiber in the stallion’s being tightened up at this. “What do you mean?”

“Luna would have to be…” Celestia stopped for a second, bracing herself for the words that were about to leave her mouth. “...executed.”

The mere thought of one of the immortals perishing was blasphemous for any to contemplate. No one could imagine the world without the the lunar goddess.The nation seemed livelier, more joyous than ever before after Luna came back. And the world itself seemed enriched. Nature almost appeared to rejoice at the restored balance. Now to think about losing her again, and this time forever, was not a thought Rags, or any other subject in the kingdom, would wish to harbor in their heads.

“Your Majesty, that’s freakin’ horrible! Why would-- I mean, pardon me, Your Highness, but how could that be an option?! Why is that an option?! What could that possibly accomplish?! Who even came up with that?! I mean--” Rags stopped his breathless rant when he noticed the way she sat. Crestfallen, a slight slouch, as if she didn’t care to pay any mind to the details of royal posture. He also took notice of her lifeless mane. Usually it held a certain flowing, ethereal grace, whereas now it hung listlessly, concealing her eyes that Rags knew were beginning to brim with tears.

He then knew what it was that filled the castle and its inhabitants with such sadness. He previously considered what might have been the cause of it, his own imminent demise. But he couldn’t be farther from the truth. Yes, all who knew of the crisis knew that he was in for a nightmare of a time, but what truly upset all in the castle was the very real possibility that they had already lost. The possibility that the princess of the moon was gone no matter if the Nightmare succeeded or failed.

Suddenly, he feared that he had caught onto Celestia’s intentions. “Why would… why would you tell me this? You can’t expect me to…” Rags trailed off.

“It would not be fair of me to leave you in the dark. I suppose… your opinion on the matter would be most important. After all, we have asked you to suffer for us, for a goal that none are sure is even achievable. It is only just to… give you the option.” The princess trembled, either with fear of his choice or anger over it coming to this, he could not tell.

Rags’ breathing became shallow. His mind was blank, hesitant to begin weighing his options.He already knew the fate of the world rested on his shoulders, but he never anticipated a choice with such immediate repercussions to be handed to him. How? How could he be expected to live with himself if he were to give the word and have Luna killed in his place? He was but a speck, insignificant beyond imagination. What kind of trade would that be? A goddess for a cleaner? A leader for a peasant? It would be the picture of selfishness to save his own hide by trading for that of the princess’s.

But… No… That wasn’t right…That wasn’t at all what it boiled down to. He wouldn’t be saving his own hide, he’d be…

Why bet a billion on one?

He’d be saving the lives of every living creature in the world. All he would have to do was say ‘yes’ and he’d end the torture for himself whilst protecting every living being in the world from harm. There would be no chance for him to fail, no gambling on his survival with the lives of everyone else. A simple word, no risking anyone’s life, merely taking one in return for billions. It would mean the loss of a beloved figure, but was that not a worthy trade? Perhaps it would even be what the princess herself would want, to protect her subjects from herself.

It was undoubtedly quickly becoming a more tantalizing decision, much to Rags’ dissatisfied surprise. Before the crisis, no matter what he might have said about the unfairness of life, he’d never wish harm on anyone, especially not the Princess of the Night. Though she might have been used by the Nightmare before, her return to the throne was a blessing. But now? He found himself considering ending the life of one of the immortals. It was impossible for his mind to grasp how it could have come to this. What had the night done to him?

No…

Not the night… it. The Other. It was all coming together. It was exactly what the voice wanted him to do. That question… that infernal question. It was meant to bring him here, designed specifically to entice him into doing the unthinkable… betrayal. It wanted him to be selfish. It wanted him to break under the weight of the choice, and the weight of the consequences. What better way to put the final nail in the coffin that was Rags’ fading sanity? It wanted him to remember himself as a cowardly worm that could not bear to help those in need.

The choice was an easy one, once he had seen through the deception of the voice. “Your Majesty… I’ll keep fighting. I can do it. I’m getting better all the time. And I’m definitely not going to be remembered for years to come as the one who had a princess killed because he couldn’t handle some stupid shadow demon.”

The princess didn’t react for a moment, but soon lifted her head and smiled at Rags through the tears. “Thank you, little one. You don’t know just what this means to me. I knew that I could count on--”

The balcony doors were flung open abruptly. Out strode the regal lavender figure of Princess Twilight. Rags, although shocked, was calmed to know that it was just her. He prepared to greet her when something stopped him. It was the look on her face, one of seething fury just below the calm surface. He followed her half-lidded, subtly angry gaze to Celestia. The dishwasher was made more nervous when he found that the sun goddess returned the look to Twilight.

“You’ve been listening,” Celestia said, not bothering to phrase it as a question.

“A subtle spell I placed on him earlier today,” Twilight explained, not paying any mind to Rags, who looked over his body as if he’d see the spell stuck to his back like a note. “I was worried about how rude it would be to eavesdrop, but I was far more concerned with what you would or wouldn’t tell him. It seems like I was right to worry.”

“I gave him the option, and he decided to spare my sister.”

“Because that’s all you did. You didn’t tell him what was at risk one way or another.”

“One would think that the risks of both choices would be transparent, young one,” Celestia said with creeping ire in her voice.

“Please, don’t insult my intelligence. You’re completely aware that any right-minded pony in this country would throw down their lives to protect their princesses. Simply stating that he could either continue fighting or kill Luna without sufficiently explaining would obviously result in his choosing to fight,” Twilight snapped back, mirroring Celestia’s tone.

“Uhm… a thousand pardons, Your Highness... er, Highnesses? But… what the buck are you two talking about?” Rags cut in with a meek voice.

“Rags,” Twilight began, not breaking eye-contact with the other alicorn, “Princess Celestia has not spoken completely candidly with you. She seems to have done as I suspected she would and refrained from telling you what the reasoning for this unpleasant solution truly is.”

The dishwasher quietly waited for her to continue. She broke her glare with the other princess and affixed Rags with a firm look.

“Yes, as she said, having Luna… disposed of… could be a possible out for you and the rest of the world. I realize that making such a choice seems impossible for a loyal subject, but such is expected considering you have not been properly informed. So, here it goes. You see, it’s been brought up once or twice among castle staff --who are no longer with the Royal Family,” she said as she leered at Celestia for a split-second, “that having Luna executed might solve the problem of Nightmare Moon. No Luna, no more night-based alicorn magic for the Nightmare to use, no more threat of eternal night and the loss of all life in the world.”

“Well, I kinda got that part, and I already said that I could fi--”

“Let me finish, Rags,” Twilight ordered. “On the other hoof, you could continue to push forward, endure, and possibly come out victorious, leaving us with all princesses accounted for and no cloud of death looming above us. Everybody wins. This may sound like the better route to take, but you must listen closely and consider what I say. Here are the upsides and downsides to each option.”

Twilight took a seat beside Rags and stared out over the balcony at the cloudy horizon. Celestia kept her position and did the same, listening with an ambivalent expression on her face.

“We’ll start with the choice you picked, forging onward. You want to save Luna, yes? You want to save the world? You want to brave the storm and survive the Nightmare’s power so that all is kept safe and we still come out of this with all four princesses? Here is what you need to think about: what if you can’t do that?” Twilight asked sternly. “What if you aren’t able to withstand the evil? What if it takes hold of you? What if… you die tonight?” Rags looked at her with surprise. “Do you know what that would mean, Rags? That’s it. It’s finished. The world and Princess Luna are lost, and billions of souls, pony, zebra, griffon, minotaur, dragon, everyone and everything, will be enslaved by fear and darkness forever. I would not worry so much over your decision to continue if it weren’t for the fact that this has almost been the case twice now. Twice you have nearly met your end, and the Nightmare wasn’t even remotely close to full power yet. Say you miraculously live, you survive until Nightmare Night. Then what?”

Rags worked his mouth for a second before sheepishly answering, “Then… I’d use the artifact to… defeat it.”

“You think it would be that easy? We, my friends and I, were barely able to defeat her with the Elements. If this artifact was nearly as effective, Celestia would never have bothered ordering me to go to Ponyville and make friends in order to power the Elements. She’d simply have used it instead. Besides that, what is there protecting you from Nightmare Moon herself? At full strength, there are a limitless number of ways she might do away with you before you even make it to Luna’s room. It seems to me that once it reaches its full power, you will have already lost. Nightmare Moon is just too much for any one pony, even one such as Celestia or myself, to handle. I mean no offense, but how do you believe you will fare if even we would be unlikely to succeed against her in your place?”

Rags stuttered out some manner of gibberish that could hardly be considered a sound response. She hit upon all of his fears that he attempted to bury. The weakness that he tried so desperately to remove almost seemed to come creeping back on him in this moment. He silenced himself and listened when she started again.

“And now we will examine the other option… executing Luna…”

Rags felt a knot form in his gut as Twilight said those words.

“As I said, the Nightmare has found a perfect host in Luna. An extremely powerful being with exploitable weakness in some small part of her heart. It sneaked in a millenium ago, and rooted itself deeper and deeper in Luna’s festering hatred for a thousand years on the moon. My theory is that it established itself deep enough inside of her that it was not fully exterminated when she was ‘purified’ years ago, and once again found a foothold in her spirit to take control. I tell you this to make the reasoning for the execution clear. We are not simply desperate to dispose of the immediate threat, which is only a possibility, but we are pondering whether or not it would be doing a favor for the world in the long run. Luna… cannot be cleansed. The demon has become a part of her, on some level. Even in the highly unlikely scenario that you were to succeed… what would stop this from happening again? We could prepare, place as many preventative spells on her as we like when we have the opportunity, but the fact remains that it’s still a phenomenal risk. Luna could fall into a dark place, It could come back, bypass the magic somehow, and it would be far more thorough the next time and make sure that there was absolutely nobody that could stop it.”

“So… you’d be doing it… out of paranoia? Fear of what she could do instead of what she would?” Rags asked in an almost pleading tone. “That’s hardly a good reason! I mean, just look at me! I nearly beat another pony to death! Are you going to kill me the second I stop being useful just in case I get to a point where I might have another episode like that? You’re going to end Luna’s life on maybes and possibilities?!” Rags barked, momentarily forgetting his manners.

“Who said we didn’t have precautions set in place in for you, Rags?” Twilight said coldly. A pang of pain shot through Rags’ mind for a quarter of a second, and a thin trickle of blood dripped from his nose. He suspected that it had something to do with these “precautions” the princess spoke of. He shivered nervously and suddenly regretted his belligerence as he quietly wiped away the tiny trace of blood.

Twilight continued. “It never hurts to be careful. If there’s a chance that a certain option saves lives, then it’s always best to at least think about it. But as for your question, no, we would not be ending her life on mere possibilities. It would be mostly for the immediate threat to the world. But I am not trying to spin this to make you pick the latter. I simply want you to think very hard on it. So I’m going to tell you the risks of this option as well. There is a distinct chance that it may not work at all. That we will have killed Luna for nothing and the end will still come. Or maybe you’ll make it after all and the world will come through… but without Luna.”

Twilight sat silent for a moment before proceeding. “I’ve hypothesized that, though the Nightmare has a firm grasp on Luna’s being and will not be coerced into leaving, it will do so of its own accord if the princess was rendered unusable for its malevolent purposes. It’s entirely plausible to think that the Nightmare will simply find a new host, and even if the sleep-spell were to be broken, we’d lose track of it and there would be no telling what it would be capable of without our prevention. But the spell might not even break. It may be sustained by the Nightmare’s mere being by this point. In any one of these scenarios, Luna will have died for nothing and the Nightmare will continue to attempt to destroy the world with no Elements to stop it.”

Upon hearing this, Rags felt as if the choice was obvious. Either he could continue to fight, or they could kill the princess just to have the Nightmare proceed uninhibited and they’d still lose. He was prepared to immediately announce his easy decision before Twilight spoke again.

“Rags, no matter what choice you make, all I ask is that you don’t be hasty in your thinking. You must be honest with yourself. Luna’s demise would not be your fault if you were to decide on that option. In fact, there’s a strong chance we’ve already lost her. She could very well be gone forever, trapped inside of the darkness and never to be let out. But it is up to you, Rags. Whatever you pick, I will go along with. I only want you to do what you feel is right.”

At this, a titanic weight seemed to fall on Rags. He found it difficult to swallow and his coat became moist with perspiration. He wanted to save Luna. Long since had he given up on his own salvation. Doing a favor for the world, keeping the balance with both sisters ruling in their rightful places. But, considering the circumstances he faced, would it truly be doing a favor for the world to keep the Lunar Goddess alive? Was she truly too far gone? Was he truly ready to face the Nightmare?

These questions and more swirled in his mind. Both of the options had equal risks. One could end with his own death, the other with the death of Luna. Though both were equally likely to end in destruction to all. He forced himself to face the facts. As of the present, he was frail, with his fury towards his shortcomings and his desire to be rid of them being the only thing likely to keep him alive. And Luna, in reality, may have indeed been gone. For all they knew, she had died months ago, leaving the Nightmare to pilot her husk.

Several minutes passed in thoughtful silence. Both royals displayed great patience.

Going off of his own desires, his pick was an obvious one. The one where everyone lived happily ever after in the end and he got an island all to himself as a reward for his bravery. But being honest with himself as Twilight instructed made the correct choice so much harder to perceive… though not altogether out of his reach.

He braced himself for an onslaught of self-honesty. He was clumsy. He was prone to panic. He was not the smartest, the bravest, the most practical, the most level-headed, the strongest, the fastest, or even the most pure-hearted. But one thing he had always known about himself, even before he had changed to meet the threat of the night, was that he had one quality to him that saved him from being a waste of breath. All his life, this one quality kept him afloat, supported him more than even his own small number of adoptive family members did.

He had a good work ethic. No job ever went unfinished with Rags.

There was no right answer. Either choice was likely to end in death for everyone, sooner or later. Both options were filled to the brim with factors far out of his dishwashing hooves. But one had something in it that he could control. Himself.

Either he’d roll the dice with an execution that could end up killing him and everyone else, or he could chance a fight that he wasn’t likely to win. But at least the odds of the latter could be increased. All he needed was control. His mind was what made the chance of success in the fight so low. If he was to live, he had to believe he could. Fear could be extinguished. Doubt could be expunged.

All it would require was sheer will. And that was something he was willing to work for.

“Twilight?” Rags croaked. “Would you be mad at me… if I… kept my answer the same?”

Twilight didn’t display any sort of acknowledgement for a moment before breathing a deep, relaxed sigh. Neither relief nor irritation could be detected. “My personal feelings regarding the matter are irrelevant. All that matters is that you are doing what you feel is best.”

“So… that’s a no?”

“No, Rags, I’m not upset with you.”

Rags’ tense muscles slowly released their pent-up energy. “That’s a load off my back then. Trust me when I say that I was being brutally honest with myself like you said. I mean, it’s not like I want to fight the embodiment of evil by myself.”

“I understand.”

“I can train, I can get better. I know I can do it.”

“That’ll be all for today, Rags. If you’d please leave us to some privacy, now,” Twilight said firmly.

Feeling accomplished, Rags heeded her orders and went back inside the chambers and exited through the large golden doors, shutting them behind himself. He felt confident, striding down the hall with determination in his step. He had the will and the means. He even had a plan set up for the coming evening. His unstable mind seemed to be uncharacteristically calm as of late. Perhaps it was the reassurance of beginning to learn how to handle himself.

The next item on the list was training, so he remembered the way to the courtyard and set out down the proper corridor once it came up. Just as he had finished working out the day’s plans in his mind, Twilight’s voice called out to him. That was some really quick ‘private time,’ he thought to himself. He turned to greet her, but saw nobody there.

He arched a brow in confusion before hearing her voice once more. He turned toward both directions in the hallway and still saw no other individuals within speaking distance. “Your Majesty? Is this some kind of invisibility spell or something? Are you using me as a guinea pig? Because if you are, you should really have asked me to sign a waiver or something--”

“Are you contented now?” said Twilight’s voice clearly now.

“Contented with what?” Rags replied to the disembodied speaker.

“I should be asking that of you. You have his answer, you said that you would accept whatever he chose, and you still find fault with me?” came Celestia’s voice suddenly.

Now Rags was more baffled than ever.

“Just know, it’s on your head if he fails and we’re all enslaved. You could have ended this at any time,” argued Twilight’s voice.

“You admitted that each option contained as much risk as the other. Aside from that, you know that I could not be the one to do it. What if it were you in my position and Spike in Luna’s? Would you be able to give the order to have him done away with like some sort of criminal!?” the sun goddess retorted.

There was a brief silence, giving Rags a moment to think. The voices were clear as a bell as if the speakers sat right in front of him. The spell Twilight put over him to listen in on his and Celestia’s conversation? Did it go both ways? Was it... meant to?

“One would think that a royal would be capable of putting emotion aside in a time of crisis--”

“Have I not done just that for over a millennia now? My position has demanded the utmost in practicality of me and I have obliged. I’ve sacrificed much for this nation and I continue to do so even now.”

“Yes, sacrifices such as your entire empire to spare the life of your sister.”

“Little one, you have much to learn about me and my sister. Knowing someone for thousands of years can make you very intimate with the way their mind works. I know that there must be a reason the dishwasher was selected. I have faith in him.”

“Faith!? You’re betting the entire world on faith!? This isn’t a time for wishful thinking! There’s no way to know that he’s capable of doing this until it’s too late!”

“Indeed.”

Then there was silence. Rags listened with bated breath. Then a large thud came from the corridor in which resided the princess’ chambers. Then the sound of walking. The steps came closer until he saw Twilight step into his view at the end of the hallway. She stopped for a moment, turning her head to him. He was far enough down the hall to make her features just barely unreadable.

She turned and proceeded down her own corridor.

Rags knew then. The question of the Other was not meant for him. It was directed at Celestia.

Journal entry #84

Made it another night. Too much to think about. Don’t feel like writing today.

Rags was deep in thought when he received another light, splinter-filled blow to the head. The wooden sword that bounced off his thick skull did nothing to snap him out of his pensive stupor.

“You’re dead again,” Shining Armor droned.

“Huh?” Rags slurred from around the hilt of his own fake blade. The prince’s sword knocked against the dishwasher’s noggin once more, somehow achieving blinding speed without causing any damage.

“Again. You’re dead again.”

“I wasn’t ready!” Rags fired back.

“And before that the sun was in your eyes. And before that you tripped on a rock. This may come as a shock to you, but having been in the military, I’ve heard all of these before. We guards called them ‘excuses.’ The drill sergeant called them ‘fun.’”

“But I wasn’t!”

“Are you ready now?”

Rags took up a combat stance and worked the kink out of his neck, gritting his teeth in preparation for the attack. “I’m re-- OW!” he cried as he was struck again.

“Doesn’t look like it.”

The dishwasher sighed, popped the cap off his bottle of miracle fluid and took a sip. The immediate spike of energy focused his mind. He was thinking too hard into it. He needed to concentrate on his training, take his thoughts away from the squabbles of the princesses. Did it even matter what they thought? Why let himself be concerned, he thought.

Once ready, Shining Armor gave the word and Rags, actually being prepared this time, darted forward and attempted to score a blow on the prince with his wooden weapon.

So Twilight doubted him. So Celestia wouldn’t let him stop fighting even if he wanted to. What difference did it make? He was going to do battle with the demon and the royalty’s attitude towards that fact didn’t have any effect on the outcome. He was used to being treated an insignificant speck. Their approval or disapproval didn’t even factor in. So why did he dwell on it?

The prince’s wooden sword hit Rags on the head yet again after a highly skilled parry. “Try it again,” Shining Armor ordered.

Letting it get to him would be something the old, weak Rags would do. He didn’t need the validation of others. He didn’t need their support or their kindness. He had made it for months without their help.

He pressed the attack against the prince, deflecting his foe’s strikes as best as he could while unleashing his own.

Royalty… what were they good for? Claiming to be doing all they could while hiding facts from him, keeping him in the dark so that he could be a good little dog and follow orders properly. They couldn’t even be upfront with their opinions of him, what other secrets were they keeping? The thought of being kept under their hooves became quite irritating to him.

He lashed out more violently than before at Shining Armor. The prince still managed to keep the dishwasher at bay, but he was now visibly strained by the ferocity of the assault. “Take it easy! We’re only sparring!” he managed to get in between swings.

And what of the prince himself? What was his role in it? Did he know things that Rags didn’t? Did he keep secrets too? He was probably a pawn in the schemes of the princesses, agreeing to train Rags so that he could keep an eye on him or something, analyze him. They didn’t trust him, they thought he was insane, unstable. They didn’t trust him. Shining Armor didn’t trust him…

Rags snarled monstrously as he swung wildly at the prince, who ducked out of the way of the beastly slash that would have caused injury and assumed a true defensive stance. “Hey, what’s wrong with you!?” he spat. Rags then lunged at him, managing to take him down to the ground where the former guard skillfully tossed him off as soon as his back touched the dirt.

Rags was sent tumbling over the prince’s head, but quickly got back to his hooves to face Shining Armor who did the same. He chomped down on the hilt of the fake sword and began his almost predatory approach. The look in his crazed eye spelled death, there was no doubt about it. Before the dishwasher could attack again, his ears began twitching. He blinked rapidly and shook his head back and forth with increasing intensity as if a swarm of bees were attacking him. His nostrils began bleeding and he whimpered softly.

He fell to the ground and thrashed about for a moment. The prince looked on at first in surprise, but then in understanding when he sensed a familiar magical aura was present. Rags’ thrashing subsided and his breathing slowed. He lay there on the ground for a while, the only motion coming from him being his slowly rising and falling stomach.

In a display of stunning speed, Rags bolted to his hooves and quickly looked around. His face was one of fear, and his eyes were much more bloodshot and red than before. He touched a forearm to his nose and was shocked to find a considerable amount of blood stained the area around his mouth. His disturbed gaze fell on Shining Armor as if for the first time. “Where am I!?” he sputtered. “What happened!?”

If the prince was angry, he didn’t show it at all. “That’s enough training for today, Rags. Good news is that you’re not a pushover with a sword.”

Rags sat on the floor in front of his bed, watching the time until his next struggle tick away. A little over five minutes remained. The large pot that he filled with his concoction sat between his legs like a drum. And what music he would make with it. He wanted to fill the air with a cacophony of tortured howls from beasts in agony. It was all that he could think of to improve his mood. It would certainly be a preferable alternative to the annoying sound that assailed his ears in the meantime.

“You oughta cheer up,” the Other said disinterestedly, slumped against the bed on the floor next to Rags. “Remember, it’s all about your frame of mind. Gotta stay positive, or some hippie crap like that.” The dishwasher didn’t show any signs of acknowledgement to his other half. “I thought you woulda been happier, myself. I mean, you answered the question. Ain’t it grand, having one less question scratchin’ at your mind? I know how much you hate them. Questions, that is.”

Rags continued staring at the clock.

The Other pursed its imaginary lips in thought. “Hmm… I understand. I understand what it’s like to feel betrayed. To feel like the only one you could trust, the one you depend on, has turned their back on you. Way I see it, you should be glad. Better to start gettin’ a sense of what the princesses are really like now instead of, oh, I dunno… finding out what they’re all about the day before Nightmare Night.” Again, Rags did not respond. “Seriously, where’s my ‘thank you’? Or are you not at all relieved to know that you don’t really have any friends here? Whoa... Well, I guess when you say it out loud like that, it doesn’t sound too relievin’ at all,” the figment mused.

It yawned and scratched its belly. “You’re a real stimulating conversationalist, you know that?”

The hands on the clock ticked into position. Nine on the dot. Rags let his calm gaze fall upon the door to his room.

“Well, seeing as you aren’t in an especially chatty mood, should we just get right down to business?” the Other asked with a devious, toothy smile. Rags leered at the figment. “I was debating with myself if I should even ask right now. At the moment, you’d probably ignore it out of spite. But I don’t think I’ll get another chance tonight, so, here it goes.”

The Other stood up and stretched as if getting ready to leave the room. It walked towards the door and stopped just before the threshold, then turned to Rags. “Are you afraid of the dark?”

Rags immediately scowled at the insolent imagination. He briefly wondered if a simple look could convey how much contempt one had for another. But seeing as the Other dwelt within his mind, he supposed that it already knew. It sauntered through the door like a ghost with a look so smug that it made him sick.

Afraid of the dark?!

The candles in the chamber blew out as a phantom gust swept across them, leaving Rags swamped in darkness, save for the thin slits of moonlight gleaming in between and underneath the doors in front of him.

Afraid of the dark… is that what you think I am?

A shadow interrupted the pale glow the crept under and between the doors. And then there was a dripping. What sounded like a loose faucet was joined by the almost undetectable, but unarguably present whispers of a breeze. The chamber suddenly dropped several degrees in temperature. Two fiery pits opened before Rags, orange abysses of hate floating at eye-level. They locked with his eyes as if the cover of darkness only made him more easily visible, and they slowly grew in size.

Rags felt strange as he met the abominable gaze. There was a twinge of fear deep down inside, but it was fascinatingly small in comparison to his rancorous ire.

With a loathsome glare, Rags gave a small shove to the pot and tipped it over, allowing the contents to splash out and seep across the floor. A second later, when the liquid had time to reach out, there was a sound like that of a million panes of glass shattering all at once. He almost couldn’t hear the sounds of flesh sizzling and cooking over the screams. With a demeanor of ambivalence, he stood up and felt around inside of his bags for some matches. All the while the hateful thing howled and burned as if engulfed in an invisible flame.

Having found what he needed, Rags lit one of the candles that was put out by the wind, and the room was doused in a faint glow. Just on the borders of the light’s reach, a shadowy figure tossed about on the floor in an oddly-colored puddle, shrouded in steam.

He stood over the squealing pony-like thing and watched it squirm as its flesh dripped off its body. After a bit of thrashing, it turned over to look at him and gave a screech louder than before. The skin it was rapidly losing was a pale grey-blue tint and was stretched over its bony frame as tight as could be. Its muzzle was elongated and housed a mouth densely populated with long, thin teeth, like some manner of eel. Its eyes burned with an unnatural orange light like that of the fires of Tartarus.

Vampire. Called it. Rags swiftly stamped down on its face, earning him a satisfying crunch. Without giving the foul thing a second thought, he stepped over the crumpled body and casually pushed through the door into the moonlit hallway. The sounds of unruly things echoed all around him. They were closing in. And the strangest thing happened.

He felt...different. He was… furious. Words could hardly describe his terrible rage in that moment. If there was another pony around, he would have beat them just because they were close. Yet one wouldn’t know it from looking at him. He seemed - at least from the outside - relaxed. Collected. And he wasn’t blinded by his anger. No, in fact, he could see clear as day.

Down the hall on either end two small bands of tar-ponies charged at him. He looked at them as they approached, and a small smile found its way onto his face. He drank from his miracle flask and unsheathed his sword. All the while he only wondered: What’s wrong with me?

BONUS: The BitN Beastiary: Part 1

Author's Notes:

Hello, everyone, and welcome to the Bump in the Night Beastiary! This is a generously created little piece of work written by Ice Justice, and frankly I was stunned. He (or she, just in case) has such a way with describing freakish abominations. I like!

This is a bit of in-progress bonus content that Ice Justice is working on that will occasionally be submitted while there is a long wait between chapters (CURSE YOU, COLLEGE! AND YOU TOO, JOB! AND DON'T THINK YOU'RE FREE FROM BLAME EITHER, FAMILY VISITS!). Big thanks, Icey!

Enjoy!