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.