Lyra was not the only pony in town interested in the stranger’s uniqueness. I think that was probably the stranger’s only saving grace, his inherent aura of surrealism. Being with him was certainly something else, something quirky and impalpable, and there were quite a few who had wanted to be in his presence simply to experience it. For a small while after he first arrived, the stranger was something of a celebrity.

Of course, they had only sought him out after his bizarre welcoming party, and only before he began stealing from the marketplace. Only a few minutes would pass before they tired of his novelty, and they would go off in search of more-pleasant company. His days of stardom had ended after only a few days, and only spiraled downhill from there, as I have so far outlined.

That didn’t mean there were no ponies that were interested in him any longer. That just meant that they had interests outside of trying to get to know him better. Lyra, for example, had expressed interest in him out of her general curiosity of humans, and remained objective regarding what she felt about him personally.

Others however, took simply to tormenting him. I cannot say this is something he did not deserve, for if anypony truly asked for reality to beat them to a pulp, it was the stranger. But on the other hoof, it wasn’t as if any of these pranks were called for. Some of them were harmless of course, but others were downright cruel.

The first prank I remember seeing was one done by none other than local troublemakers Snips and Snails. These two were among the number who wanted to hang out with the stranger because they heard how peculiar he was, only for them to quickly realize he was not worth their time. Snips was the brains (And even then, he often lacked the sense to formulate good planning), while Snails was the muscle (If only because he was simple and Snips was lazy).

These two together aren’t much better than these two apart, and their prank, while successful, was still amateurish, although clever. I knew something was strange right away that morning when I found Applejack giggling to herself. I asked her what was so funny, and she told me that Snips and Snails had asked to clean up around the farm.

While an act of good wasn’t out of their reach, I was still concerned. Apple Bloom (Applejack’s younger sister) had once told me that they both held crushes on Applejack, which was adorable; and at first, I thought that was probably the reason for their offer of assistance.

Then Applejack told me what chore they selected.

The Apple family owns a dog, Winona, friendly thing, cute. But as Sweet Apple Acres is a large place, it is easy for a single dog to do her business, then for the result of said business to remain where it was laid, only for unsuspecting farmers to step on it.

It would do Sweet Apple Acres good if Snips and Snails were actually cleaning up Winona’s messes, and even better if they could do a good job. However, I felt something was amiss. It wasn’t that Snips and Snails were purely malevolent, it was that they often do things that cause an avalanche of undesirable consequences. (The town is still jumpy whenever anyone mentions Ursa Majors. Or Ursa Minors. Or Ursa anything.)

That afternoon, I found the files Lyra had lent me lying right where I had left them. Spike looked them over and looked at me with the face he usually reserved for suspecting others of foul play. He asked me what the big idea was, and all I could manage to tell him was that a neighbor was studying our latest resident, and I had volunteered to help manage her findings. He seemed to believe me, but only reluctantly; out of all my closest friends, Spike was the one who trusted the stranger the least.

After looking at the file’s manila envelope, Lyra’s loopy hoof-writing bearing the name of this collection of interviews, I truly wondered whether I should look into what Lyra found. After a few seconds, I simply put it in the drawer in my desk, leaving whether or not I remembered to read over later up to fate.

Instead, I decided to find Snips and Snails and get to the bottom of their sudden act of charity. It wasn’t long before I found them, hauling a cart that had a trash bag full of Winona’s “left-behinds”.Also on the cart wereother trash bags: it was likely Snips and Snails were also taking the Apples' garbage to the dump as well. After some small talk (Which predictably went nowhere), I managed to get to the topic of what they were doing.

They said they were helping Applejack with some of the farm chores she’d neglected to do. I knew this was only half the story, just by looking at Snails straight in the eye. He snapped under the pressure, and admitted they were going to paste the “left-behinds” on the stranger’s apartment door as a prank.

I told them I was very disappointed in their behavior, explaining that they would be damaging property that didn’t belong to them and was already in poor shape (I could still remember the creaky stairs and inadequate locks). Snips, in a moment of surprising deftness, asked me why I had no qualm against their target being the stranger.

I suppose I could have told them about how something as mean-spirited as pasting a door in excrement could hurt somepony’s feelings, but the stranger struck me as one who persisted. Despite the number of times Ponyville had shown him the backs of their hooves, he still kept getting back up, never learning from his mistakes, refusing to be tempered into something better. I honestly doubted his feelings would have been truly hurt—he would likely have attempted to chase them, and if he caught them, he’d harm them. Despite the stranger’s lack of health and hygiene, he was larger than these boys and lacked most forms of self-control, while Snips and Snails aren’t exactly kung fu movie material.

Looking back on it now, I really should have told them that pranks should be done in good humor and without the use of dog poop. But it didn’t matter either way, as who showed up but our stranger. He had been begging again, and was wearing uncomfortable-looking clothing he probably found at some thrift store. He spotted the three of us, and recognizing me, decided to stop and chat.

He still hadn’t figured out that I had invaded his home the other night (Hard to remember the face of somepony you can’t see), and told me his side of the story about this “Invisible Invader”. He chuckled at the term a little, as if he meant it as a joke. If he did, it wasn’t all that funny. Not even simple Snails was amused.

His side of the story was… greatly farfetched. I could go into great detail on it, but the bottom line is that nearly all of it was false. As long-winded and delusional as his story was, Lyra was apparently not included in his account (I assumed she had asked him to keep their interviews a secret). The stranger seemed to make up the story as he went along, stuttering and speaking more slowly than he usually did. His story ended with his emerging victorious against the intruder.

You wouldn’t believe it if I were there to tell you myself instead of simply sending you this letter, but I had to fight the urge to simply twist him in a knot with my telekinesis. I mean, it was a real battle of self-control. However, I found it was much more prudent to let him think himself a hero, lest I should reveal my role in the whole affair.

Instead, I got an even better idea.

“So, you defeated this intruder, okay. What next?”

He stared at me a bit blankly.

“What next?” I repeated. “Did you call the police? Tell the landlord he needs to buy new, magic-proof locks?”

He stammered a bit, only for Snips and Snails to chuckle at him. It seemed even they had figured out his lie. He defended himself verbally, telling them about how he had brought this intruder to the police headquarters himself. I saw a sly look in Snips’ eyes. It was uncharacteristic of him, and it honestly made me worry.

“Did you lift him up?” he asked.

“Coss I did,” said the stranger.

“I don’t believe you,” he said. “You don’t look strong enough to lift up somepony and carry them.” Snails was chuckling. Those two seemed to share the same wavelength, and I figured out they had thought up a way to prank this stranger (in a way I hoped would not be as mean-spirited as their original plan).

“Can so!” Just like a child. The look in Snips’ eyes suggested he had the stranger right where he wanted him.

“I don’t think so,” Snips persisted. “In fact, I bet you can’t even lift up one of these trash bags!”

I wanted to protest, yet something inside me prevented me from saying anything. I assume it was a morbid, quasi-villainous curiosity that desired to see this played out. Part of me wanted to play the good Samaritan, be the good guy, and prevent this stranger from hurting himself in public. The other part twirled its moustache and cackled, “Get on with it, then!”

The stranger took up Snips’ challenge and trotted to the cart. I took a few steps back, knowing exactly where this was all going, and the boys both did the same. Snails’ grin in particular was much meaner than normal, and Snips could hardly contain his laughter.

Out of nowhere, the stranger began to grand-stand. I’m sure I’ve probably told you about Trixie the Great and Powerful, and I can safely say even she would have rolled her eyes at his juvenile presentation. “FILLIES AN JANGLEFUZZ!” (Seriously. “Janglefuzz.”) It got the attention of passerby, some of whom began to come closer to this unfolding event.

“DA STRONGMAN WILL NOW DEMMASTRATE HIS GREAT STRENG’T AND MIGHTY MUSCLES BY LIFFING UP DIS TRASH BAG! Note: dis trash bag weighs a GRAND NUMBER OF POUNDS!” (I understand I don’t need to write what he says in all capitals, but it IS quite fun.)

The stranger struggled with the bags. I took note on how he at first tried to lift them with his forelegs. Why had he done that, I wondered. Most ponies lift things with their mouths, yet the first thing he did, as if from memory, was use his forelegs as if they were…

… hands.

I raised an eyebrow, took out my journal and added this note. I then remembered he referred to himself as “strong-man”, and not “strong-stallion.” The evidence toward our stranger’s true identity was slowly beginning to build, and I realized Lyra might have truly been onto something.

I heard a sound like a clap (Or more likely a cart getting kicked) followed by a strange, almost splashing, noise, followed by Snips and Snails and the gathered crowd all laughing their heads off. I jerked up from my note and saw that the stranger had fallen off the back of the cart, and the trash bag had fallen onto his face, and burst. Its contents buried his head.

If I am to be anything around you, Celestia, I shall be honest: I cackled like a witch. All those years I’d spent suffering the mean-spirited laughter of others, and there I was, doing exactly that to somepony else. After the temporary and euphoric villainy subsided, I realized the gravity of what had happened, and looked to see the stranger sitting up, excrement both fresh and old sliding off his face. The only place where the excrement hadn’t stained him were under his eyes, where fresh tears were rolling down.

I felt awful for having laughed at him. I stepped forward, apologizing, only for him to stand back up, indignant, yelling at me as if I were behind it all. How I was a “dang dirty troll” who picked on autistics like him, and so on and so forth. His anger seemed to explode from him, but his spiel went on and on, and an unhealthy amount of it was made up of his self-centered worldview.

He had lost my sympathy almost instantly. I had extended my hoof to help him, and he had bitten it. I vowed simply to never help him again (A vow I’d probably never accomplish), and decided to simply leave him there, poop on his head, crying his selfish tears. I took both Snips and Snails home, told their parents what they had been up to, and let them handle it from there.

When I got home, I looked over the note I had jotted down in my journal about the stranger behaving as though he thought he still had hands. As though he’d had hands at one time, for most of his life, and had only lost them fairly recently.

I went to my desk and withdrew Lyra’s interview files. I was tired by this point, and while I love to study, I felt I could go over this particular case tomorrow. I tore out the notes I’d jotted, stuck in with the interview files, put it back in my desk, and went for an afternoon nap. Predictably, I had forgotten about the files and a few days afterward, another prank would be pulled on the stranger, this one possibly far more vicious.

Pinkie Pie and Rainbow Dash had set up a good prank, they felt. Rainbow Dash would trick him into believing Applejack liked him, and get them conversing. Neither had any idea where this prank would go, they later told me, and simply decided to just watch and see how Applejack would react.

“She really, y’know, digs you,” Rainbow Dash had told him. “She left the welcoming party early because she was so embarrassed that she didn’t know what to say to you.”

And that was all it took to convince him that a mare he only spoke to for a few minutes, who absconded his presence the moment she was able, was secretly in love with him.

It disturbs me how gullible the stranger was even after the prank Snips and Snails had pulled on him, but I suppose it should be expected of him at this point. His underdeveloped social skills and childish interests are accented well by his naiveté. So with only a few weak excuses, Rainbow Dash was able to convince the stranger to screw up some courage and go to Sweet Apple Acres.

I was on my way there in the afternoon when I was certain she was off-duty, to see if she would return that book I’d let her borrow (You’d never know it, but Applejack is a sucker for trashy romance novels). The moment I had arrived, I felt I had walked into a warzone.

I can’t remember if you’ve ever met Big Macintosh, but he is quite a large stallion. His frame is impressively muscular, so much so that most of the mares in town fight the urge to swoon in his presence. His strength is unbelievable, even given his gargantuan physique, but his gentle green eyes (accented by his coltish freckles) and tousled blonde mane speak of the sweet and intelligent creature he really is. His coat is a warm and desirable shade of red, the kind that seems to glow instead of burn, and his green apple cutie mark shines proudly when the light hits it just right.

And yes, I’m gushing at this point. But don’t tell Applejack, it’s a bit hard to admit you have a crush on your best friend’s big brother.

Anyway, Big Macintosh, usually kind and wise, showed both the stranger and I what fear truly is. I was merely the witness to the sordid scene, so I got it lucky. The stranger however, was the object of his wrath and got it through a tree.

After breaking them up, I asked what had happened. Of course, the stranger told it one way, while Applejack and Big Macintosh told it another way. The actual story was that the stranger had decided to ask Applejack out for a night on the town. His bizarre mannerisms and quirky way of speaking had likely turned Applejack off to him (She was not present when he spoke freely of his disgusting interests at the welcome party), so he decided to charm her through the power of song.

Not kidding. He tried to serenade Applejack right there, in the field, during the daytime. The lyrics were made up as he went along, basically begging her to go out with him. He ended his song number by touching her foreleg—which is when Big Macintosh showed up.

He’d already heard of the stranger at this point, and didn’t enjoy the fact that he was on his property. He also didn’t appreciate the fact that he was touching his sister. It wasn’t even an obscene touch, just a tap to her foreleg. But the thing is, Big Macintosh is very protective to those he loves and very wary of those he doesn’t.

So there the stranger was now, stuck in that tree trunk. To be honest, I had no idea at all Big Macintosh could be that ferocious, and at that moment I really thought over my crush on him. It wasn’t even a guess that he was angry at the stranger for invading his property and harassing his kin, but looking at him at that moment, I realized he actually did feel some shame for being so hard on the stranger.

It took us some time to work him out of the tree, even with Big Mac’s and Applejack’s help. It was an arduous task, as the stranger’s fat simply made it too difficult to squeeze through either side of the whole he’d made. Eventually, Big Mac got sick of our slow progress and tedious efforts, and merely knocked the tree down, stranger and all, and asked me to hold one side.

My telekinetic grip strong, I held the tree a foot off the ground. Big Macintosh placed one hoof on the tree’s lower end and with a simple downward motion, he broke the tree in half. The stranger made a sound as though he thought the world was ending (and for him, it likely was).

Despite how I cannot recall the exact words of everypony during these events, I will always recall the stranger's reaction. He got up in Big Macintosh's face and started ranting again, but I held a gasp when he mentioned that, and I quote: "You have SHATTERED my heart level!"

I felt my stomach backflip as my eyes widened in shock. "Oh no," I said, "Your heart level? Do you have some kind of condition?!"

"Ah'd say he does," Applejack quipped. I nudged her.

"Chris," I told him, "Why didn't you tell anypony about your heart condition? My goodness, if you have such a weak heart, why are you so overweight? You need to start eating right, exercising--but don't do it too much, don't put too much strain on yourself, that'll only make things worse!"

I went on and on, telling him what he could do to rectify his condition and take care of himself. It would only be a few days after this that I would learn that his "heart level" was really just his form of expression regarding his emotional state. While anypony else would have used terms such as "crestfallen" or "heartbroken" or "discouraged", he goes and makes up his own terms.

Either way, the stranger ignored my charitable suggestions and ran away, still screaming, proclaiming to anypony who’d listen that Big Macintosh was “cruel” and “mean” and hated autistics, and lah-dee-dah. Applejack seemed to be stifling the urge to laugh.

Later on that day, we caught Rainbow Dash and Pinkie Pie in Applejack’s barn, laughing. Upon closer inspection, there were several empty hard cider barrels. The two spoke in slow and slurred sentences, completely inebriated out of their brains. They admitted they were behind this whole afternoon affair, and when confronted, they attempted an escape—only for Rainbow Dash to smash into a beam and fall to the ground, and Pinkie Pie to fall into an empty barrel, all the while singing “Maggie's Farm.” She soon fell asleep.

I discussed what should be done about their antics with Applejack and Big Macintosh, and we all reached the conclusion that when our prankster duo came around, they could do the Apples' farm work for the next week to pay off the cider they'd lost.

However, Applejack seemed to get a wicked idea in her head as I left, and it wouldn't be until the next day when she showed me photographs she'd taken of Rainbow Dash and Pinkie Pie positioned so they were snuggling each other in a bed. She told me she was saving it to blackmail Rainbow Dash if she tried to back out of helping on the farm, and I held her to that statement, burning the photos after their work week was up.

As for the stranger, it was these pranks that caused him to apparently lose his faith in ponies. For the next few days, he tried to hole himself up in his apartment, only to find that he needed money. He returned to the streets to beg some more, and with his begging came trouble.

Next Chapter: 4. In Which A Manchild Seeks A Suitable Mate Estimated time remaining: 5 Hours, 7 Minutes