Journal entry #46

Ever since the princess warped to Canterlot two weeks ago, things have been getting better. The monsters are getting bigger, nastier, and smarter, so I’m coming away with more scars than ever before, both physical and mental. These weird hallucinations are becoming more frequent. They’re really random and, honestly, more terrifying than the creatures for some reason. I don’t know why, they don’t even make sense half the time. It must be the lack of sleep. I’ve been trying to get sleep during the day, but years of getting up at the crack of dawn have trained me to be resistant to sleep before I’ve had a drink or two at eleven at night.

Oh wait, did I say better? What I meant was somebody please kill me and end my bucking stupid life.

It’s not all bad, I guess. Princess Twilight is constantly sending me letters, telling me that there is a project in the works that might help me out. And that’s great! Sensational even! I’m so excited! Now if only she’d tell me what the buck it was, I might just actually believe that crock of tripe! It’s not that I don’t trust that the princess knows what she’s doing, it’s just that she really seems… I dunno. Something about her letters convey an air of “I really did all I could, but you’re kinda screwed and I’m just trying to make your inevitably painful downfall seem less horrible than it probably will be.”

My pen is a worm… Never mind.

“!DAEH SIH FFO PIR”

A dozen tar-ponies came stampeding down the street towards Rags as he scrambled to pick himself up from the pile of garbage on the sidewalk. I tripped over the garbage can!? Really!? What kind of bucking phenomenally uncoordinated idiot am I!?

He jumped to his hooves and sprinted away with the monsters gaining quickly. Wretched shouts and screams resonated from the surrounding streets. He whimpered slightly as he could hear more stomping closing in. He frantically skimmed over every backup plan he had developed for a situation like this. The alley in between the buildings up ahead coughed out a garbage can as several small creatures skittered out. Skulls attached to four skinny limbs made of muscle and veins that ended in strange claw-like digits. Stranglers. Rags skidded to a stop and turned ninety degrees, galloping away from the sidewalk.

Usually, this point was where he would be begging the Gods for breath. But as it turned out, running away like a madpony from horrid creatures every night proved to be a solid workout routine. One simply couldn’t survive such an attack with pathetic cardio, after all. He had enough breath to handle things. Now if only he knew how to handle things. He was still running through a list of plans in his mind, trying to figure out how to handle this particular scenario. Tar-ponies. Very flammable. That’s it. He knew it was risky, and probably very stupid, but it was all he had time to do. He weaved through the streets, coming very close to getting blindsided once or twice by a few monsters joining in on the chase from an alley or a road off to the side. He came within sight of home base and began silently making pleas for success under his breath.

He ran to the door and stopped before going in. He turned and faced the monsters, now only a few hundred feet away and coming in fast. He trembled as they closed in, and reached into his bag, pulling out a small paper packet. He awkwardly fumbled with the package, trying to get at the contents. They were only a few paces away, fury coming to a boil as their victim was nearly in skull-crushing range.

Rags freed a match from the pouch, clenching it between his teeth as he lit it. He tossed it to the ground with a gasp, the gasoline encircling him on the sidewalk igniting at the last possible second and setting several tar-ponies ablaze. They shrieked with fear and writhed in horrible pain as those at the head of the pack were engulfed by the ravenous combustion, spreading the consuming fire to their allies as well. When the initial shock of being caught off guard by the conflagration wore off, they irately prowled the outer perimeter of the blazing ring, snapping and growling at the shaking dishwasher that cowered behind the dancing flames.

Rags shook his head clear and reminded himself of the second step in the plan. He opened the door and reached inside what he’d come to call his ‘utility umbrella stand’ by the doorway. He pulled out an unlikely tool of defense: a colorful, plastic squirtgun with a net for a fish tank taped over the muzzle. He aimed the foal’s plaything at the squealing beasts that were still pacing back and forth outside of the circle. Rags gulped down his fear and prepared to pull the large trigger.

There are so many things either wrong, stupid or both with what I’m about to do. This’d better work, because I’m wasting some fine liquor here!

He fired a spray into the fire, causing a scorching cloud of flames to erupt from the other side and bathe an unsuspecting tar-pony in a blaze. He aimed at another and fired again, having a similar effect. During his time in the dangerous nights, Rags had learned a few things, sometimes the hard way, and what he had learned about himself was that he was quite the clever little devil when he was put into a tight spot. His experience with cleaning always managed to manifest itself in the most peculiar ways, like how he’d remembered that alcohol was quite flammable, and it was possible to project a blast of fire like that of a dragon’s breath if one were to manipulate the spray properly.

His surprising ingenuity proved invaluable, as the beasts hadn’t expected such a capability from their long-time prey. The spouts of fire swallowed any tar-ponies that didn’t have the wits to back away, and incinerated their rotten flesh that oozed with black muck. They soon got a sense of what was happening and began scattering, fleeing away from the fire-wielding stallion. Rags watched them turn tail and run, and let a gleeful grin and a maniacal laugh escape his throat. “HA HA HA! Suck on that, you freaks! That’s what you get for trying to open me like a bag of chips! I ain’t gonna let some whatever-the-buck-you-are rip my flank apart! Why don’t you go grow some balls and try again you pansy girly pansies!” Rags never was very good at coming up with fighting words.

He felt a burning sensation suddenly overtaking his hooves and looked down. The heat was too great for the barrel of the makeshift weapon to sustain itself. The dollar store plastic deformed and warped to the point of being unable to spray liquid anymore. In hindsight, he thought, perhaps using a plastic water gun in the middle of a ring of fire wasn’t the most efficient idea. It looked to be a one time sort of thing. His lack of foresight was compounded by several stranglers that surpassed the fire by crawling on the side of the building and on the roof, getting in behind him. They all screeched as if mocking his stupidity, and lunged at him, attempting to live up to their namesake.

Rags cried fearfully as he ducked and dodged dozens of the small skull-creatures and made his way towards the door. Several of the monsters flew into the fire as they hurled themselves at Rags, trying to get a hold of him before he escaped inside. Rags reached the doorknob just as a suffocating, vice-like grip clamped around his neck, followed by the sensation of warm fluids dripping down his torso. Undoubtedly blood from the creature, as these were wont to secrete fluids from their arms as they exerted pressure on them.

The force from the thing propelling itself into the back of his head sent him tumbling through the door. In his mad thrashing, as he lay on the mat inside the doorway, grabbing on the thing that tightened its hold on his throat, he accidentally, but fortunately, kicked the door shut behind him. The force of his kick also managed to loosen the large wooden bar sitting upright on a hinge, causing it to fall across the frame and barricade the threshold, preventing any unwanted visitors from entering.

Though Rags was by no means safe. The tiny but fierce monster on the back of his head squeezed his windpipe like a python. He clawed at it in a vain attempt at getting a hold of it, but even if he could, it wouldn’t work. This kind of abomination, from Rags’ experience, only released its victim under two conditions: either it would die, or Rags would.

The stallion flopped about on the floor like a fish, twisting in every manner he could. Still, the thing would not let go. The pressure in his head began to take its toll on him. His skull felt like it was about to burst like a cap off a soda bottle at any second. Panic began filling his mind and sweat and tears streamed down his face. There was nothing he could think of that would get him out of the situation. There was no one around to help him get it off. His lungs had depleted their last bit of oxygen and left him with the encroaching feeling that he’d breathed his last. In that way all living things do when faced with imminent death with no alternative way out, he began thrashing about harder than before. He managed to get to his hooves and he started swinging his head against walls and tables and anything that was around.

The creature’s hold only continued to tighten. With only enough energy for one last attempt, and a surge of fear induced adrenaline fueling it, Rags flung his head backwards with such force that the rest of his body went with it, and he was thrown into the beginnings of a back flip. Though it was an incomplete flip, as he landed squarely on the back of his head, garnering a loud crack. Stars filled his vision and his breaths were long and slow. His breaths… he was breathing!

He hopped to his hooves and wobbled back and forth, dizzy beyond comprehension, what with the shortage of oxygen. When he stopped seeing double, he could see that the strangler lay motionless on the floor, blood and hibiscus fluids pooling around its carcass, with fragments of bone drifting on the slow waves of ooze. He must have landed right on top of the thing’s cranium and smashed its brains in. A body slam. Well, it was just a skull, after all. So landing any sort of blow on it would surely be fatal in most cases.

Rags huffed angrily and stomped on the strangler, splattering blood across the floor like he’d just stepped on a water balloon. He continued applying pressure to the hoof, forcing it into the dead beast, only to gasp and pull his leg away in a hurry. He wasn’t usually prone to such outbursts. They’d become more and more common since that day with the boss…

Before Rags could ponder, painful wails perforated the walls from outside, followed by the thunderous sounds of a running crowd moving away from the house. Things clawed their way frantically over the roof and creatures gave off death throes as something annihilated them in a most agonizing way. This could only mean one thing.

Daybreak.

He sat in the kitchen with his head hung low, eyes on the floor. He wasn’t thinking about anything. There was nothing to think about. Everything happening was still an enigma, and the questions had long remained unanswered. He achieved nothing but nourishing his anxieties through rumination these days. The answers were to forever stay hidden from him, and that was that.

No, his mind was empty. He merely basked in the silence. The good silence. Not the silence of the night. Silence in the night meant he was about to die. Silence in the day was almost surreal in its peacefulness. But he never found peace in the day. Not real peace. The dark cloud was still above his head. The day was just a countdown timer. There wasn’t much time. He had to adhere to the schedule. He slowly got to his hooves and sighed.

He glanced back down to the crushed body and scowled at it. The body… The body! His eyes widened in surprise. There’s still a body! It hasn’t vanished! Proof! Proof that I’m not crazy! Nougat would be back with the sun. He could show it to Nougat, make him see!

Rags ran out of the kitchen, down the hall, and burst into the bedroom. Nougat jolted upright in his bed, shock and slight fear on his face. He’d stopped really talking to Rags ever since the ordeal with the boss. Rags explained to the pegasus that he wasn’t insane, that he wasn’t a murderous psycho.

Nougat remained skeptical.

This wasn’t just a matter of showing another pony that he wasn’t crazy, this was a matter of showing his friend that he was still himself. His friendship was on the line. His longtime pal thought he was utterly nuts. He was afraid of Rags. He believed him to be an empty, dangerous shell of his former self. He needed to show Nougat that he was still there, and that he couldn’t go on alone. He wasn’t going to let the night deprive him of what little he had.

“Come in here, bro! You gotta see this!” Rags urged cheerfully.

Nougat looked the dishwasher over, eying him with clear suspicion.

Rags rolled his eyes and walked over to the pegasus, grabbing his wing and dragging him out of his room and into the hallway. “You need to see this. I’m gonna show ya I’m not mental! They all called me mad! Insane! Looney, even! HA! I’ll show them, I’ll show them and you! You’ll see! You’ll ALL see!” Rags prattled as he dragged his friend, still looking at him with fear and worry, into the kitchen. They neared the entrance to the kitchen. “It’s got, like, these legs, these really long, bloody legs! And it’s just a skull! The legs go, like, into the skull, you know? And it grabs you! It grabs you and it chokes you like a gimp!” Rags explained. Nougat’s pupils shrunk as the description went on.

“Feast your eyes on THIS!” Rags gestured dramatically to the empty space on the kitchen floor where a demonic abomination once lay dead.

Nougat looked at the spot, and then back to Rags, who was frozen in a statuesque form, still pointing at the area with the same expression of gleefulness stuck to his face. The dishwashers eyes wandered over to his companion, who leered at him with a disturbed gaze.

“Ok, I know what this looks like,” Rags started meekly. He felt Nougat’s hoof touch the back of his head, and then saw a yellow hoof covered in blood hover before his eyes. Rags mimicked the motion and found that blood was indeed pouring from the back of his skull.

Nougat was now trembling, still staring at Rags with quiet horror. The earth pony knew what his pegasus friend was thinking.

“You don’t honestly think I did this to myself, do yo--”

“Go see a doctor.”

Journal entry #50

You know what I just noticed? Something that actually kind of scares me? Ever since I started boarding this place up, to Nougat’s never ending irritation, they haven’t broken in once. I mean, once in a while one will get in, like that strangler incident, but they never bust their way in. In fact, I’m surprised they aren’t attacking this place every night.

I don’t get it, why haven’t they cracked this house open and sucked out the creamy Rags filling inside? I’ve seen what they can do. Doors and windows are nothing to these things. Less than nothing. A few extra wooden planks and a little gasoline on the sidewalk shouldn’t be enough to stop them from barging in here and stomping me out.

And why aren’t they blitzing this shack every night? They’ve found me here before, they know I’m here, and yet… I’m able to trick them into thinking I’m somewhere else with a distraction of some sort most of the time. What’s wrong with them? One night, they’re sniffing me out like a bloodhound, and the next, they forget where I’m at like goldfish.

I just don’t understand it. What’s their deal? What are they doing? Why don’t they just kill me? They can, I know they can, and I know they want to more than anything, so why don’t they? Are they building up for something? Basting their food with fear? What is it!? Why don’t they just end it!? Why don’t they just kill me!?

Rags stared at the clock with bloodshot eyes. Almost nine. He clenched his teeth tightly around his machete, inducing a slight twinge of pain in his bandaged skull. Any minute now they would come down on him like murderous hail, squealing their delight at the prospect of eating his innards, as usual. But he was in the house. He wasn’t supposed to be in the house. Every nerve in his body screamed at him to get out before they appear and force him to defend the home for the rest of the night instead of tricking them into amalgamating far away. But that’s exactly why he wasn’t leaving. He needed to know.

He needed to know why they did that. Why they seemed to never attack the home. He knew they could. He knew they should. He remembered what happened to his own house. He remembered what happened in this house before he fortified. There was something strange about their activities. There was some unknown reason as to why they never just assaulted the admittedly frail fortress and dragged him into the street where they could rip out his spine.

They were smart. Perhaps not as smart as the dishwasher, as evidenced by the blood still flowing through his veins, but at least smart enough to learn from their mistakes. Several times he’d nearly been killed due to an unexpected tactic employed by the creatures. There was one incident where he found one of the hideous, deformed babies from the hospital hiding in the trash bin where he kept the air horn launcher. He nearly lost his foreleg that night. There was absolutely no excuse for him to still be alive. He should have been murdered long ago. Still, he remained. It was time for a little bit of experimentation.

Rags stood and began checking the perimeter of the makeshift-fort. He patrolled up and down the lengths of each room, analyzing his defenses. He was not a very good carpenter, that was for sure. His barricading work was shoddy at best. A few wooden boards over the window? Just one of them could tear a door down with no problem. A large bar over the front door? That would probably only add a few seconds of delay to the time it would take for them to rampage in. All of it, absolutely pathetic. Nougat’s home didn’t even have a basement or attic to fortify.

His hoofwork was the stuff of ‘what not to do in doomsday scenario’ books. If his fort were to be given a name, it would most likely be something along the lines of ‘Fort Comeinandslaughtermeoroga.’ Rags wagered that these barricades were so worthless that the monsters could casually stroll through them without a hassle. So why didn’t they?

All his analysis told him was that it was a complete and total miracle that he wasn’t butchered weeks ago. He only began noticing his amazing luck after the previous instance of a monster coming inside. None of its allies even attempted to follow. It probably wasn’t even the intention of the beast to come inside. Was he just that good at diverting their attention elsewhere? Was there something in the home that prevented them from entering? Were they… afraid? No, that wasn’t it at all.

The clock struck nine and tolled its ringing bell. Rags slapped a hoof down on top of the alarm clock and turned out the lights, aside from a dim lantern. He carefully inched over to a window and peered through a sliver in between the planks. The darkness was nigh impenetrable. The street lamps used to shine in the evening, but they no longer cast their helpful glow at night. Perhaps that was a result of the creatures’ rising intellects. His eyes adjusted soon though, and he could partially make out objects in the dark, at least enough so to fulfill his needs.

A shadow scurried here. A figure ran across the street over there. Soft noises, tapping, scratching, whispering. It was quiet. They were here.

A red set of eyes flared to life in the dark. Similar pupils joined them. Dozens. Tens of dozens. The number steadily grew every second.

Rags’ breathing became slow and shaky. He watched them, focusing on the evil presence and attempting to slay it with his gaze. They did the same. His legs shivered slightly. His heart tried to free itself from his chest and run off to hide. It felt like he’d been watching them for hours. Those eyes still held the same hatred they always reserved just for him. The loudest silence he’d ever heard took over. The beasts didn’t growl or snarl or begin dashing for the window. They didn’t even jitter with pent up, murderous excitement. Not a single one even flinched. They all sat like an army of statues, waiting for something.

At first Rags was incredibly nervous. Right in front of him, only a few dozen feet from the window, was an army of hellish monsters that before now had dedicated every waking moment of their existence to hunting him down and tearing him apart. Before now, if they even lost sight of him for an instant, they flew into a berserk rage, furious over not having bones to suck the marrow from. But now, with the wretched battalions of atrocities piled up outside simply looking at him, Rags was quickly becoming perturbed. Why would they hold back? After all of that? They simply stop after they’ve brought him so much pain and fear? Were they mocking him? Laughing at him in their own sick way as he cowered in his pathetic fort?

“Come on, you miserable freaks… do something! You haven’t given me a break before, why start now?... What are you waiting for!?”

Still they held their positions.

“What is it? What are you doing!?”

They could hear him. He knew they could. They could always hear him.

“Come on! Do something! I’m right here! Do something already!”

Nothing.

“AAAHHH! YOU MOTHERLESS BUCKS!” Rags screamed at them. He violently pushed himself away from the window and sat back on his haunches, sucking air through his teeth. What do they want? What are they waiting for? They’ve broken into this place before, back in the first nights, why not now!?

The roof clattered with the noise of claws, talons and blades. The boards around the building creaked and groaned. They surrounded him, making the house speak as if to taunt him. He rubbed his temples in a circular fashion to ease the pressure on his mind as he contemplated a possible explanation.

Why? Why would they stop? What’s holding them back!? It’s like they’re pointing and laughing at me. They’re playing with me! Toying with their food! They’re going to kill me, they’re just waiting, aren’t they!? They’re just cracking the eggshell now, before going after the yoke!

A headache was beginning to form. He stood and began pacing the room. At one point he walked over to the window again and found that his view was obscured by two pure-black eyes, belonging to the pale form of a choir foal. It was just a filly, but it was covered in scratches and scars that resembled symbols of some kind. It stood on its hind legs, pressing its face up against the window, singing its seemingly innocent tune. It shouldn’t have been able to sing. It’s mouth was stitched shut, preventing it from parting its lips. And it sang clear as day.

Rags shivered with fear, but fumed with anger. They couldn’t stop! Not now! They couldn’t just halt their attack without finishing what they started! He didn’t know why he was angry, when in reality he should have been counting his blessings. They weren’t trying to kill him. He’d tried to stop that from happening for weeks. But they were just sitting there watching him… they shouldn’t have been doing that! Their intent was to kill him however they could before, and now they just stood outside. It was almost an act of arrogance! That was why he was enraged. They were gloating!

No… they couldn’t be. Get a grip! Them? Gloating? Why would they? They’ve never done that before. They might be getting smarter, but not in that way. All they’ve ever wanted was to kill me. They’ve never shown signs of having a conscience before. Something is keeping them out there, but it’s not arrogant bragging. Besides, why would they play with their food now? They’ve always been capable of killing me and they’ve always tried their hardest to do so. Why has this not happened before? Why didn’t they let me wallow in my own fright before!? It’s only when I stayed inside and purposefully held my ground that they decide to wait!? I’ve willfully made myself a giant target and they don’t take the opportunity to strike!?

It was true. Before, Rags was actively trying to defend himself. But now, under his own volition, he was completely exposed. So why would they hold back when faced with the greatest chance for success they’d ever had? His headache grew more intense, creating a constant throbbing that sent out pangs of pain with each pulse.

Suddenly, a knock on the door. It wasn’t a powerful blow, like if they were trying to take it down, but simply a normal knock like any average pony would give. Rags turned to the front door and riveted his eyes to the spot where the repeated taps came from. This was the strangest thing Rags had seen all night. One of the monsters, the bloodthirsty demonic spawns… was knocking?

Knocking… why? Was it just more mocking? Or was it… asking to be let in? Why would it try to urge Rags to open the door for it? Unless… was it possible that they couldn’t come inside unless he somehow permitted them entrance? Were they incapable of passing into the home under their own accord? No, that was ridiculous. They’d come in before, only it was before he set up his defenses. Did that have something to do with it? No, it couldn’t. They’ve even gotten inside after he started barricading. Although… it was never because they broke in. It was always when they followed him inside. Could it be that they were unable to come in unless he let them in?

Another string of knocks joined the first, and then another, and then several more. It sounded like someone had set off firecrackers outside the door. As if they could hear his mind and feared his conclusion, they filled his senses with a plea to be let in, a constant barrage of appendages rapping the barrier.

They could not come in. They asked for permission. Why? This made no sense. What stopped them? What was it that prevented them from entering forcefully? Rags’ headache worsened still, making thought difficult. But he still managed to probe his memories for recollections of typical monster behavior from past assaults. He remembered the screams of the hag, dousing him in fear and calling the abominations to him. He remembered the trees that bore severed heads, instilling doubt in him. He remembered the figurines that came to life at the height of his worry. He remembered the doctor that told him things that left him with more terrifying questions that he couldn’t answer. He began noticing a pattern.

It was almost conspiratory in its absurdity. He wondered if he was seeing connections where none actually existed. But at the same time, with what had happened to him so far, was it really such a stretch? Over the weeks he’d been in emotional limbo, perpetually hopeful that an end would come while still drowning in endless fear. He was in a constant state of worry and anxiety, self-loathing and uncertainty. The night knew how to play off of each of these faculties. It always found a foothold in his fortifications and tore them down.

Could it be that everything that was happening was dependent on his own mind? On his own subconscious?

His headache increased its output to a skull-splitting level.

Yes… in a weird kind of way, it made sense. Since he fortified the house, they’d never gotten inside. The fortifications brought him slight peace of mind. Not completely, as he still hid and cowered at the sounds of the beasts outside, but having what he believed to be solid barriers between him and the dangers outside was comforting. It gave him with a small sense of confidence. He felt like he was in control in the house.

This home wasn’t just a means of shielding himself from a most painful death, it was mental security. It instilled him with a bit of tranquility in knowing that the boards and nails would keep him safe, even though they wouldn’t. Though he could easily tell that he was just as vulnerable in his little fort as he was outside, his subconscious was not as observant. There were reinforced walls between him and the monsters, and that, on some level, made him feel protected. Was it really that far fetched, considering the circumstances, that his mental and emotional well being may very well have dictated the proceedings all this time?

After all, everything the night had done had only fed his inner demons. Perhaps that was why the intensity of the attacks had grown over time. He’d only been on a downhill slope, and the occurrences had only become more dangerous.

It must have been why they waited so patiently outside. They knew he was cracking, beginning to doubt his security. They pressed from all sides, straining the shell that preserved him. They knocked because they knew that he was figuring it out. They couldn’t stop it, so they practically begged to be let in. He was losing his fear, he was stripping them of their power over him. They pleaded to be let in, to be given back their strength.

His headache jumped up another octave and put a pressure on his skull the likes of which he’d never felt before. He curled up on the floor in a twitching heap, clutching at his head.

More questions came. What were the ramifications of this discovery? What could he now accomplish? What did this mean for his mental stability? Did this indicate that this was a manifestation of his twisted neurosis after all? Had he only learned how to control the gruesome shards of his shattered mind? All this time, had he been truly broken and only now figured out how to piece the parts back together?

He could feel them creeping in, searching for a crack in his shield, reaching out for his mind, trying to drag it back into shadow. Dark puddles of tar seeped through the walls, the ceiling, the floor, portals for dark hooves that rose up and clamored for him. A whisper in his mind sung a malicious tune, lyrics speaking of terrible things and rhymes that could only have been written by something truly unspeakable. The whispers became louder and louder, causing him excruciating pain. He began hearing them clear as day, and could pinpoint a source. The window.

He shambled to all fours and stumbled to the glass in an uncoordinated way. He peeked through the planks and saw the one who recited the malevolent theme. The little choir filly who still stood outside with her coal-black eyes pressed against the window, only now with infernal red pinprick-pupils emerging from the dark voids. Her music was different from before, though. It was no longer the innocent voice of a child, but the demonic intones of an abominable beast. It was quiet, but unholy in its sound.

It was her. He could hear her now. He could really hear her.

Her wretched music sunk into the creases of his mind and amplified his fears and his doubts. She was why they didn’t attack the home. They wouldn’t have to. She would reach into his mind and take him apart from the inside. She would get him to let them in.

Rags was at once terrified and enraged. With his head feeling as if it would blow apart at any moment, he staggered back and looked for his machete that he had dropped sometime earlier in his daze. He literally stumbled upon it on the rug, and did the best he could to grasp it in his teeth. With a glare that spelled death, he lurched toward the window and, without a second’s hesitation, thrust it into the glass, simultaneously putting an end to the mind-destroying music and replacing it with the sound of glass cracking and bone and flesh being pierced.

He yanked the blade from the window and dropped it, falling back on his flank as the immense pressure in his skull began slowly dissipating. He remained confused though as his thoughts were still a scrambled mess of nonsense and outrageous things. It was as if the previous several minutes, in which he tumbled through utter madness and seemingly discovered more about his situation, had happened in a dream. Nothing was clear. He felt tired. The taste of copper filled his mouth and blood dripped from his nostrils.

He collapsed on the floor, vision hazy as he tried to stay conscious. An eardrum-blowing roar shook the foundations of the house and made the remnants of Rags’ migraine flare up in pain.

They were very angry.

Nougat stirred from his sleep, yawning as he exited another wonderful dream featuring the mare of his dreams. He scratched his sides as he slid out from under the blankets and sat on the edge of the bed. He wrenched his eyes open and was stunned to see that it was still dark and that the sunlight which usually signified it was time to get up was missing. Had he awoken early?

He got his answer when he spared a glance to the window and sighed in indignation. Boarded up, just like the rest of his home. He mumbled something incoherent as he tried to imagine what ridiculousness his friend would do to his house next. Perhaps he would imagine giant bat creatures that only eat virgins flying overhead and try to light a bonfire on the roof to ward them off.

He shook his head and frowned as he considered Rags’ state. He couldn’t fathom what it was that kept the princess from committing him and giving him the help that he needed. He wanted nothing more than the best for his oldest friend, and seeing him in such poor condition was painful. Was the princess using him as an experiment? Studying the effects of insanity on the average depressed dishwasher’s brain? The thought made him seethe. How contemptible a thing to do.

He stepped out of his room, smacking his dry lips, with the intention of taking a quick shower and preparing for work when he happened upon something that coerced a gasp out of him. Rags lay sprawled out on the floor in the living room, blood staining his muzzle. He was out cold, but what put him in such a state was what concerned Nougat, especially when blood was involved.

“Rags!” Nougat exclaimed as he pounced over to the floor by his friend’s side, shaking his shoulder forcefully. Not possessing any medical experience beyond what he saw other ponies do whenever there was a medical emergency, Nougat began hyperventilating with panic. He placed an ear down on Rags’ chest to listen for a heartbeat. At least he thought that was what he was supposed to do. Next he placed a hoof on the dishwasher’s leg, feeling for a pulse. He shrieked in a rather feminine way when the leg came to life suddenly and grabbed him by the fur on his chest, yanking him towards Rags’ head.

The formerly unconscious earth pony had a look of complete and total terror in his red, sleep deprived eyes. His hoof trembled uncontrollably on Nougat’s chest. He reeked of copious amounts of sweat that clung to his coat, undoubtedly stress induced. He looked Nougat right in the eye and whispered, “I am never leaving this house again.”

Journal entry #55

I’m safe here. I don’t need to leave. I just need to stay alert. I need to make sure I always feel like the house is secure. That’s the secret. It’s all in my head. I think. I don’t know. I just don’t need to think about anything. The more I try and venture too far into the matter, try asking questions that I can’t figure out, the more afraid I become and the weaker the house gets. I just need to stay strong. They can’t hurt me if I just stay in here. I don’t know how anything works. I don’t know the rules. And I don’t plan on performing any experiments to find out. They can’t hurt me in here.

They can’t hurt me in here.

Rags stomped yet another nail into yet another board. He grabbed more nails and another board and began to repeat the process. The windows were now entirely sealed off, not allowing even a single ray of sunlight inside. The only light in the room was from bulbs and candles.

Nougat walked into the living room, combing his hair and preparing for work, when he beheld his friend and sighed. Rags’ coat had become sickly and paler from the lack of natural light. His mane was matted, greasy, ungroomed, and had grown out to nearly shoulder length. A full, bushy beard had now grown on the messy stallion’s face.

Nougat cringed at what the dishwasher had been reduced to. Somehow, he felt sort of guilty about it, like he was at fault for allowing it to perpetuate. Reluctantly, the pegasus decided to reach out to the earth pony. “Hey, Rags?”

Rags spun quickly and looked him dead in the eyes with his own bugged out optics. He didn’t appear angry or confused, just… waiting intently. After being taken off guard by the crazy-eyed pony’s look, Nougat cleared his throat and continued. “I, uh, couldn’t help but notice that you’ve been spending a lot of time inside, and, er, I don’t really think it’s healthy.”

Rags stared at him in silence for another five seconds, twitched the corner of his mouth, and went back to putting up boards without a word.

Nougat shifted awkwardly on his hooves. “Maybe you should take a walk, or… something?”

“No. Too dangerous. They’re watching. They’ll sneak in while I’m gone.” Rags never turned to face Nougat while he spoke.

“What are you talking…” Nougat’s face fell as he realized that he was probably just wasting his time. But he couldn’t just give up on him. Though, what could he honestly do? Nothing he ever said or tried to do sunk in or actually made a difference. He felt like he was about to start shedding tears. He had spent the past several weeks watching his best friend spiral into madness, letting him barricade his home in an effort to make him feel better. But if anything, he was just enabling him.

“Well… if you need me, I’ll be at work.” Nougat trudged toward the door and began unbolting locks, releasing chains, and lifting up the bar. He opened the door and stopped before leaving, casting one last glance over to Rags, who still worked like an ant building up its hill and didn’t acknowledge Nougat’s presence. With one last sorrowful sigh, he departed for the bakery.

Rags slapped the final plank onto the hodgepodge of different shapes, types, and sizes of other boards that encased the window. He reached for another and got a big hoof-full of air, finding that he had run dry on fortifying wood. He groaned in agitation and sat down with a huff. This’ll have to do for now, I guess. But that was the last of the stuff I’d bought. And I’m not going out to buy more. Maybe I can get Nougat to pick some up for me. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.

He shut his eyes for a moment to catch his breath and recuperate. It was so nice to just sit down for a second and relax. He hadn’t realized how hard he’d been working himself. The embrace of relaxation was so nice, he thought he’d stay there for just a minute longer. His head began dropping and he could feel himself slowly being lost to slumber, but he couldn’t fight the sensation off, it was just too comforting. It was when his head dropped so low that his backside teetered into the air and his chin hit the floor that he jolted awake with a yelp.

No! Can’t sleep! I gotta stay awake in case they try anything! I gotta be up to fight them off! But I’m just too tired… I gotta find a way to keep myself awake.

Rags thought about it, and he was already doing everything normal ponies do to keep themselves energized. Drinking copious quantities of coffee, energy drinks that were more sugar than liquid, splashing his face with cold water. He just wasn’t going to be able to hold out by any conventional means. So perhaps… something a bit more… unconventional?

He considered it, then reprimanded himself for even humoring the thought. It was totally out of the question. Although… it was for a good cause, his own survival. He bit his lip as he wrestled with his conscience over the matter. He walked out of the living room, down the hall, and into the bathroom. He opened up the medicine cabinet and pulled out a particular bottle.

It was an orange cylinder with a white top and a large stamp on the front that read off basic information about the patient, Nougat, and the condition for which this certain medication was subscribed to him for. Nougat, unbeknownst to most, struggled with ADD. To combat the symptoms, he was prescribed a drug known as ritalin. Rags, having known Nougat for years, knew that the drug was a stimulant, and had an effect similar to caffeine, only more intense, somehow having the opposite effect on Nougat’s condition. It would be a great asset in helping him to stay awake…

But he couldn’t steal medicine from Nougat! And he had no real knowledge of the drug beyond what it’s intended effect for ADD patients was. He knew it was both risky and unethical… But did either of those things really matter given the situation? He needed to stay awake, and this was an effective way of doing it… Surely Nougat wouldn’t notice just a few little pills missing?

Rags popped the cap off and shook two tablets out of the bottle. “Uhm… that’s the amount Nougat usually takes… so maybe… three for added effect?” Tapping the bottle, he rattled out one more into his hoof. He had many conflicting feelings over what he was doing. So much was just wrong about it… But, what would be worse, his friend missing out on a few doses, or him waking up to find monsters standing over him? He NEEDED to stay awake. So…

Journal entry #60

Pills workingfine. Keepin g me aw ake. Hardto wri te th ou gh. Hoo v e s jitter y.

Ok, I’m good now. Like I said, pills working great. I’m SO aware now! I can hear their every move, their breathing, their whispering! They can’t get the jump on me now! Nothing can get past me! I can hear everything! I can hear everything right now! I can hear them all! I can smell them all, feel them all holy GODS they’re yelling at me! Make them stop! tell them to LEAVE, Journal! Tell them to stop TOUCHING ME!

*The page is torn in the middle*

Whoa. Ok, I’m alright. I’ll be fine. I just need to take a few more, then I’ll stop seeing things.

Journal entry #61

It’s hard trying to keep up my facade of confidence and sense of security. Every night they press their mouths to the walls, speaking in their dark tongue, trying to make me do things. They listen to my every move and revel in the delightful sound of my trepidation. They savor my smell as they lick their chops. Their patience is unbelievable. They’ll wait until the end of time for me to let them in. I’ll never do it, of course. I won’t let them win. But they share that sentiment, I imagine.

I’m slowly losing my footing. I’m slipping, I can feel it. I try to find the cracks and plug them, but I just don’t know where to look. I don’t know what it is. Why am I falling back down? After I’ve just figured out how to manipulate the situation, the odds begin stacking against me again? What’s going on? Where’s the intruder that tries to tear down my walls? I know he’s here somewhere. The hallucinations are worse than ever. They’re mocking visions that dangle my anxieties in front of me like a younger sibling with a fake spider on a stick. There is a saboteur in here, but he hides under false pretenses like a mental cockroach scurrying away from the light!

Jeez… I’m tired. What did I just write?

Rags stared intently into the reflection in his glass of orange juice on the kitchen table. He’d kept it under his watchful gaze for the past half hour, making sure nothing and nobody could escape.

A recently washed Nougat walked in and, with the same expression that always seemed to find its way onto his face when he saw his friend nowadays, he sighed. “Morning, bro. Might I… ask what it is exactly that you’re doing?”

Rags glanced at Nougat with his peripheral vision, never turning away from the glass. “I’m trying to see if… uh, on second thought, never mind.” Rags finally tore his eyes away from the citrus liquid.

Nougat pulled his head out of the fridge and looked at Rags with genuine surprise. Had he just stopped himself from saying something crazy? The dishwasher buried his head in his forelegs on the table. Nougat saw his chance. Rags appeared to be having a moment of clarity! He wasn’t completely nuts at this instant! A rare opportunity indeed.

“Hey, bro?” Nougat asked.

Rags made some form of primitive noise in acknowledgment.

“I think today is gonna be ‘take your best psycho-crazy-as-balls-friend to work day.’”

Rags lifted his head out of his forelegs enough to shoot Nougat a deadpan glare.

“Come on. I think spending some time out of the house and surrounded by hot mare--I mean, uh, hot pastries, will do ya some good. Come on man, how ‘bout it?” Nougat asked with a bright smile.

Rags continued glaring at him, eventually standing up from the table and rubbing his bearded chin in a pensive fashion. He mulled it over for the longest time, head-gears grinding harshly against one another. Nougat almost wished he could see into the dishwasher’s mind to see how his odd brain worked.

A second later, he remembered all the things Rags had said and done over the past several months, and thought better of it. Perhaps some things were best left unseen.

The earth pony vehemently scratched his foreleg, very deep in contemplation. He looked to be overwhelmed by the prospect of having to make such a decision. “Well… I don’t know… I’m not supposed to go outside… But… The problem, I don’t think, is out there. I think it’s actually in…” Rags looked back to Nougat, who waited eagerly for an answer. Rags let out a long sigh. “I guess some fresh air wouldn’t hurt--”

“YES! THERE WE GO! ATTA BOY! Don’t worry, bud, it’ll be all serene-like at the bakery, totally peaceful, you’ll see. Nothing there that’ll hurt you. Unless of course you find laughter painful, in which case Pinkie will kill ya! She just got back from her trip to Canterlot! Isn’t that great!?” Nougat declared with a chuckle. His smile faded though as he saw Rags’ scowl. Undoubtedly, he wasn’t very excited about seeing Pinkie.

“Or, you know, maybe not. She doesn’t have to kill you. She can just, uh… assault… you?”

Rags’ scowl did not let up.

“Or she can not do anything to you. That’s fine too.”

Rags rolled his eyes and began walking to the front door.

“Uh… bro?”

He stopped and turned back to Nougat.

“Can you, uhm, take a shower first?” Nougat asked politely.

“What for?”

“Well, you kind of… sort of… just a little bit… smell like a roadkilled skunk that’s been stuffed down a homeless guy’s pants. And you look like it too,” Nougat said with a sheepish smile, hoping not to offend.

Rags smelled himself and cringed. Holy-- That’s what I smell like!? Jeez, I could kill with this stench! Maybe I should let those monsters take a bite and see if they poison themselves off this funk! When was the last time I took a shower?

Cheeks reddening in embarrassment, Rags changed course and made way for the bathroom.

“By the way,” Nougat started. “Have you seen my meds? I’m missing a bottle.”

Rags kept walking, the scarlet color on his face turning into a pale one.

Rags’ eyes rapidly scanned every direction, keeping watch for creatures. He shivered slightly as every little noise put an image of something terrifying in his head. He twitched as ponies passed, preparing for them to shed their skins and rip him apart at any moment. He became especially perturbed whenever he passed an alley.

“Take it easy, bro. There isn’t anything out here that’s going to hurt you, ‘kay? Also, you’re making a scene,” Nougat said, trying not to look the passing pedestrians in their judgmental eyes.

“I can’t help it, man! They’re waiting! They’re just waiting for me to slip up! Gotta stay alert!” Rags stammered out, eyes wide and frightened. “I shouldn’t have left the house! They know! They’ll be there when I get back now!”

“Look, everything is fine. If any nasty beasties start coming at us, I’ll let you know,” Nougat said almost patronizingly.

Rags jerked his head as an old mare walked by and hissed at her. Nougat slapped his forehead in shame. “I’m starting to think you shouldn’t have left the house either.”

Rags sat at a table inside of the currently patron-less bakery, sitting as still as he could. Nougat told him that what he needed was a delightful dessert of some kind to ease his nerves, so he went in back to prepare something for him. Sugar free, of course. He didn’t need the extra energy. Rags appreciated the sentiment, he really did. One could not ask for a better friend than Nougat. But the more he thought about it, the more the whole venture seemed like a waste of time. Why was he strolling about town with Nougat? Confections and fresh air wouldn’t help him, though the gesture itself was a bit of a spirit lifter.

“HEY!”

Rags jumped clear out of his seat with a scream and fell to the floor. THAT’S IT! THEY’RE HERE! THEY’RE GONNA KILL ME NOW! He sat up as quickly as he could to face the monster that had come to attack him, but found something far worse than any abomination: Pinkie Pie.

“Wow, you’re really jumpy,” the pink one said with a snorting giggle. Rags groaned and got up, working a crick out of his neck. He sat back down without speaking to her. She apparently noticed this.

“Ah, you’re not still mad at me for trying to throw you a surprise party, are you?” she asked with big eyes.

Rags leered at her, a twitch present in his eye. “You broke into my house with a crowd of STRANGERS, you psychopath! Yes, I’m still mad at you!”

“Ahh… Well let me make it up to you!” Pinkie beamed, grinning from ear to ear.

“No,” Rags growled, resisting the urge to make her eat her stupid, physics-defying, cotton candy mane. That mane was seriously agitating him, the way it was being so… poofy. It taunted him with its fluffy, wavy ways. He hated it deeply.

“Pleeeeeaaaaase? I know you didn’t like my surprise party, so how about a ‘I’m sorry for breaking into your house and jumping out at you from the dark and yelling surprise and almost giving you a heart attack which made everyone laugh at you and you probably cried yourself to sleep that night’ party!”

“Wait, what--”

“Maybe it can be anti-burglary themed!”

“I said no--”

“OH! Or maybe I could bake you a cake in the shape of a door lock!”

“I already bought plenty of those after your first visit--”

“OH! OH! Or maybe I could--”

“NO! You dense, irritating, bubbly little freak! What happy farm did you escape from!?”

“Silly, I didn’t come from a happy farm, it was a rock farm!”

“AHHHH!”

Nougat poked his head through the doorway to the kitchen. “Is there a problem out here?”

Rags, shaking with absolute fury, slowly raised a hoof and pointed at the pink one’s face. She apparently still hadn’t caught on that Rags was not overly fond of her, as she mimicked the gesture with a bemused smile.

Nougat’s eyes went wide and he leaped into action, aiming to avert a possibly very painful accident before it started. Rags was not the sort of pony to be messed with at this time. Nougat remembered what happened to his boss, and hadn’t considered what all it would take to push Rags to that level again. But he wasn’t about to take any risks. “Erm, uhm, uh… h-hey, Pinkie?” Nougat stammered.

She turned to him and he visibly tensed up. “Yes, number one assistant baker buddy?” Pinkie said in her typically cheerful fashion. Nougat practically melted.

“W-Would you m-mind taking care of the, uhm… the… thing… in the back?” the pegasus said with a meek smile.

“Oh nuts, is the thing broken again?”

“Uhhhh--Yes! Yes, the thing is definitely broken again! The, uh, spinny… part is… busted?”

Pinkie threw her head back and sighed. “I just fixed that YESTERDAY!” She stomped into the kitchen with a scowl to carry out Nougat’s vague, unspecific, obviously false request.

He wiped the sweat from his brow and exhaled. He turned to the counter to find Rags foaming at the mouth. “So… catch up with Pinkie?” Nougat chuckled.

“The fires of Tartarus hath no fury like mine…”

“I see… well, how about a little something to calm the nerves?” Nougat vanished into the kitchen for a moment and reappeared with a steaming pie. “Here, bro, on the house.”

Rags stopped shaking and sized up the pastry, stomach growling fiercely. “I… er, thanks. Sorry about that, I just, uh… I don’t enjoy her company,” he said venomously.

“Who, Pinkie? Dude, she’s awesome when you get to know her! She’s funny and fun and nice and… caring… and sweet… and when the sun hits her mane in just the right way it…” Nougat trailed off, a dreamy expression on his face.

“Keep it between your legs, you weirdo, I have enough reasons for not getting any sleep at night,” Rags cut in with a grimace. “Anyway, thanks for the food. It feels… nice… to be outside in the day and just… be normal… I guess?” The dishwasher seemed uncomfortable saying these words, as if they were some sort of taboo for him. His instincts screamed for him to run home, lock himself inside, and go to his happy place. He was forcing himself to stay at this point. It was good for him to get some fresh air, he knew this, but he didn’t feel it.

But he wasn’t going to let himself regress. If everything that happened to him was dependent on how he held up mentally and emotionally, then he needed to force himself to have a good time. If he gave into his feelings, then it would only be a matter of time before he was killed. He couldn’t let his fears run him.

Of course, it was so obvious that Rags was uncomfortable that even the most oblivious of ponies like Nougat could see it. The pegasus’ expression saddened. “Hey, how you holding up?”

“Well, I haven’t collapsed into a heap of tears and alcohol, so I guess that means I’m still functioning,” Rags said, trying to control his fidgety hooves long enough to get some pie.

“I’ve gotta know, why hasn’t the princess helped you out at all? A psychiatrist, a sanity potion, something! I mean, don’t take this the wrong way bro, but… you’re in a bad way. And you’re even sort of… dangerous.”

Rags cast a glance up to his friend and sighed. “She is helping me… I think. Look, it’s complicated, alright?”

“You think I’m stupid? What’s so complicated about it? You’re not well. You need a shrink,” Nougat said, unsheathing a knife from one of the many pockets on his apron and slicing a piece of dessert out for his rather uncoordinated friend.

“Do you think I’m stupid? If that was what would solve my issues, then clearly the super-genius princess would figure it out and send the best psych that royal funds could get. I’m telling you, my problems are real. And like I’ve said a million times, I don’t know how to make you understand. I don’t know how it happens, but I’m left completely without evidence after it’s over, so I can’t show you what goes on. I just need you to have a little faith in me. Can you do that for me, pal?” Rags said, becoming snippy.

Nougat opened his mouth but closed it soon after, his eyes drooping in sadness.

“I’m… sorry. I’m not the happiest of campers, if you couldn’t already tell.”

“It’s alright man… I’ve got nothing. This is just way over my head. I think you’re criminally insane, and whatever the problem is, I can’t help… But I guess I can stick by you until you pull through.”

Rags froze, looking to his friend for confirmation of whether or not he had heard right. Nougat wore a sympathetic expression and held a hoof in mid-air over the counter. Rags was stunned. A massive load had just been taken off his shoulders. He no longer had to worry about salvaging his friendship with Nougat. His pal wasn’t going to give up on him, even after everything Rags has said and done and all of the crazy he’d exhumed. A smile tugged at the corner of the dishwasher’s mouth, and he met his associates brohoof with contentment and joy. Rags had told himself this before, but he would be damned to the deepest pits of Tartarus if he wasn’t going to say it again: he truly could not possibly ask for a better friend than Nougat.

“FIXED IT!”

Both Nougat and Rags jumped as the shrill, overjoyed voice split the air in exclamation. They both looked to see Pinkie standing in the doorway, proudly presenting a plunger with a pineapple lodged within the suction cup.

Nougat and Rags looked to each other for suggestions on how to proceed, with Nougat eventually stammering out a hesitant praise. “Uhh… nice… job… Pinkie?” She thrust the device into the pegasus’ grasp and shoved him into the kitchen.

“WE NEED A DOZEN CUPCAKES FOR A BIRTHDAY PARTY! AND YOU MAKE AWESOME CUPCAKES, SO IF YOU COULD MAKE THOSE, THAT WOULD BE GREAT!” Pinkie shouted at the top of her lungs.

“Why are you yelling!?” Rags asked, ears ringing like bell.

“YELLING? Oh, whoops, I didn’t even notice! Sorry!” she said with a giggle. Rags felt his fury coming to a boil again.

“Whatever. Hey, Nougat! Thanks for the food! I’m gonna wrap the rest of it up and take a walk, okay?” Rags hollered into the kitchen, taking the remains of his pie in a doggy bag from the stack of them on the counter.

“Yeah, sure thing! See you later, bro! Hey, Pinkie? Did you bring back any of that special frosting from that bakery in Canterlot?” Nougat asked just as the dishwasher was about to exit the store.

“No.”

Rags stopped dead in his tracks. Did his ears deceive him? Was it a hallucination? His mind surely had to have been playing tricks on him. There was no way it was possible. The night coming to life was easier to believe than what he thought he heard. Did he just hear Pinkie Pie answer a question… in an inside voice!? He turned to behold the unfathomably rare sight of Pinkie… not smiling.

She almost looked… less Pinkie-ish. Her gravity defying explosion of a mane sagged ever so slightly. Her coat seemed… dimmer? She didn’t exactly look sad, but she did look to be deep in thought. Thought? From Pinkie Pie? Something was definitely not right. What could have taken away so much of her happy momentum? Was it something Nougat said? All he did was ask about something from… Canterlot. What was she doing in Canterlot?

Rags was perplexed by such a sudden mood swing, even from the queen of sudden mood swings. A niggling question in the back of his mind slipped into forethought. Could she have possibly been in Canterlot to assist the princess with something? After all, she was very close with Twilight. And her position as a bearer of one of the elements pushed the question even further. Perhaps, by some chance, Pinkie would know something about the princess’s project that she was allegedly working on for Rags.

Curiosity brimming, he strolled back over to the counter and set his bag down, hushing his deep wells of seething for the pink one in order not to make a possibly sensitive topic hurt worse. Such a drastic downgrade in mood from such a bombastic individual would imply that the subject was not a favorite for discussion.

Pinkie calmly worked the register, sorting the day’s minimal earnings and tips. It was almost a marvel to see one so outlandish so down to earth. Rags shifted on his hooves for a moment before hesitantly breaking the silence. “Hey, Pinkie?”

“Yes?”

“Uhm, I heard that you went to Canterlot? If you don’t mind me asking, what were you doing there?”

Pinkie stared for a moment before her fluffy mane and tail deflated like balloons, and her now straightened out hair hung somberly. Her bright pink coat darkened by a few shades. And her pensive, neutral look turned sorrowful. “I… I’m not supposed to talk about it.”

“Why not? Is it personal? I don’t want to step on any hooves or anything, I was just wondering--”

“Twilight asked us not to talk about it. She said it would be terrible if ponies knew.” Tears began forming in the corners of her eyes. Rags had never even thought it possible for the party mare to sink into such a state. Even though she annoyed him to no end, he felt kind of bad for her.

“She said especially not to talk to you about it,” Pinkie said quietly.

Not to talk to me about it especially? Well why the buck not!? This is my survival we’re talking about here!... Isn’t it? I mean, she does seem really sad, and I don’t know why something the princess is working on to help me out would bum her out… unless… am I… doomed? Is it bad news!? D-Does the princess know that I’m going to die!? Am I terminal!?

Pinkie sniffled and continued. “She said that if you knew, you wouldn’t make it.”

If I knew!? What does that mean!? If I know what’s going on, I’ll die? Like, spontaneously combust the instant I hear it or something?

She sniffled again and looked up to him, a sad smile on her face. “That’s kinda why I wanted to throw you a party. I said that it was to make up for making you mad, but…” She wiped a hoof across her face. “Wanna cookie?” she offered kindly through the tears.

Rags felt an awful pit forming in his stomach. Why else would she want to throw him a party? What did she know? From the sound of it, and judging by the way it crushed Pinkie’s spirit, Rags imagined that whatever the secret was, suffice to say, wasn’t very good.

“No thanks.” And with that, Rags took his bag and began to leave the store, dread overflowing inside of him. As he pushed the door open, he could see the outline of a pony in the bright light of the afternoon. Seeing that they were coming towards the store, he held the door open for them. As they passed, Rags could hear him say something under his breath.

“Damnation awaits you.”

Surprised and slightly frightened, Rags rapidly turned to look at the bystander that spoke of such ominous things. The stallion seemed, by all accounts, perfectly normal. He sat down at the counter and began to place an order, apparently not even aware of Rags' presence. Was it just an imagination? A mind too paranoid hearing what wasn't there?

Rags shook his head vigorously. I need a stiff drink.

Author's Notes:

It still feels like I'm messing this thing up... I just know I'm going to ruin this. I JUST KNOW IT!

Anyway, this one might feel a bit jumpy or unfocused, but it's intended to hurry the story along quicker than the previous chapters have, so that's why. If you spot any errors, please point them out to me.

Enjoy!