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.