There are few more effective ways to shatter the dreaming realm than the piercing buzz of an alarm clock. An eternally repeating shriek, tearing through the haze and fog of a sleeping mind, wrenching its victim from fantastical lands, the likes of which may never be seen again. A destroyer of worlds, a crusher of imaginings. Such is the role of an alarm clock.

Then again, when its glowing numerals read 2 in the afternoon, it’s probably time to reenter the waking world.

An ivory-hued hoof and leg, enshrouded by cotton sheets, extended from an amorphous combination of bed and pony and began swiping at the plastic menace, seeking to silence its infernal cries. When the appendage fell short of its target, dropping into the gap between bed and nightstand, it was retracted, to be replaced by a bleary-eyed face. Spreading its lips in a cavernous yawn, the visage further extended itself, revealing a pair of ruby-red eyes, an elaborate spiral of bone, and a mane cast in shades of electric blue. For a moment, the newly awakened being simply sat there, eyes listlessly traveling around the room, taking in its surroundings.

A large room met her gaze; a chamber split into several sections by a series of chest-high walls and small staircases. A plethora of cans littered the floor of the large chamber, their aluminum casings bent and crumpled, faded labels boasting claims of energy and focus.  The tops of counters and tables were strewn with old glow-sticks, their ambiguous contents still shining with hints of neon colors, providing slight lighting for the darkened room, as well as a few half empty bowls of stale potato chips, wilted flower petals, and liberally frosted cupcakes. Strands of tissue-thin paper hung from the rafters spanning the length of the room, intermixed with wires suspending iron lamps, trailing down to the floor far below. An alabaster board, hanging askew on one of the walls, was covered with scrawling words and notes, most of them various phrasings of, “Great Party Vinyl!” or, “Good luck cleaning up!” Sadly, most of these messages had spilled off the board as well, staining the white plaster with their cheery statements. The large windows that made up most of a wall were mostly unscathed, only despoiled by a series of salt encrusted hoofprints. The outside world was half-obscured by partially retracted blinds.

The only part of the room untouched by the clutter was a set of jet-black turntables, and the shelves of records stacked behind them. In stark contrast to the rest of the apartment, these items were set in perfect order, vinyl disks tucked gently within their sleeves, switches and dials free of dust and debris. The only thing out of place was a softly glowing red LED, providing scant illumination for the rest of the dim room.

Spin that record Vinyl Scratch and never stop the music.

Shaking her head, the Unicorn turned her attention to the plastic annoyance resting at her bedside, its attention-seeking shrieks tearing through her sleep-clouded thoughts. Face set in a glare of hatred, an alabaster aura emitted from the horn in the center of her forehead. The alarm clock was encased by a similarly-tinted glow, lifted into the air by some unseen force, flung across the room at a speed most Pegasi would envy, and embedded into the plaster of the far wall, next to several other clock-sized indentions. Its shrieks stopped.

Spin that record.

Wearily stumbling from her bed, the pony made her way towards the corner of the room, an area set with a small table, a few counters, several cabinets and drawers, a stove, and an icebox. Entering the kitchenette, the mare’s telekinetic magic grasped the refrigerator’s handle, yanking the metal door open. The light that accompanied this action was enough to momentarily blind the Unicorn, forcing her to rapidly blink her eyes, waiting for them to adjust to the sudden brightness before scanning the contents of the chilly shelves before her.

Spin that record tonight.

Bursts of magic, invisible to the naked eye, soared through the air, grabbing a pitcher from the icebox, a glass from the cabinet, a bowl and spoon from a nearby drawer. As she mentally snatched a cardboard box reading Tasty Oats!, the white Unicorn allowed her still-heavy eyelids to slowly slip close. Her mouth drooped open slightly, but, instead of a snore, a light humming buzzed from the mare’s lips. Accompanied by the sound of cereal being shaken into a bowl, her hoof began gently tapping against the tiled floor. As a glass of milk was carefully being poured, the pony’s head began to steadily dip and rise, nodding in time with some inaudible beat. By the time her meal was prepared, the Unicorn had thrown her entire body into the impromptu dance, obeying the sway of the music flowing through her thoughts and veins.

Spin that spin that record. Spin that record tonight.

Of course, behavior like this was hardly out of the ordinary for the ivory mare. Such was the life of a maestro of the electronic arts; her work never fully left her head. Inaudible beats and tempos accompanied her movements, unspoken lyrics dictated her actions, fantastical rhythms steered her thoughts. Some might call it the mark of a madmare, a condition to be treated by therapy and medication. Others, including most of Hoofington’s younger nightlife, called it the sign of a genius, a gift to praise and enjoy.

Spin that record Vinyl Scratch and never stop the music.

So, as Vinyl Scratch, disk jockey extraordinaire, sat down to enjoy her breakfast, the words pulsing through her mind did little to draw her attention. No, her focus was split and fractured, applying itself to a multitude of tasks. What was her schedule for tonight? Did she have enough food to last the rest of the week, or did she need to go shopping? Why was it so dark out? Who would be stopping by for the after… wait, what was that last one?

……………………

Granted, a pony who spends most of her nights being assaulted by flashes of strobe and neon blurs most likely wasn’t the best judge of how bright it should be at a given time, especially during the day. But, now that she thought about it, turning towards the wall of windows, wasn’t it awfully dark out for 2 in the afternoon? There was no telltale pitter-patter of rain against the windows, nor was it likely that Nightmare Moon had arisen again, bringing with her another nighttime eternal. So, what explanation could there be for the darkness outside her home?

……………………

The floor screeched in protest as Vinyl slowly slid her chair back, at the same time forcing her body to cease its habitual rhythmic movements. Gingerly rising to her hooves, she warily walked towards one of the large windows, pressing her muzzle against the oddly frigid glass. Crimson eyes flickered back and forth, scanning the view she’d seen a thousand times before. All the static features were still there, all the trees and buildings and lampposts and trashcans and sidewalks. However, there was an apparent lack of two things: first, there were no ponies wandering the streets, going about their daily business. The world outside the window was one barren, empty, devoid of life. However, Vinyl only dimly registered this particular absence. Her mind was confused, nonfunctional, stuck trying to explain the mysterious darkness. Unable to find an answer, Vinyl simply sat there, trying to rationalize the dearth of light.

…………………….Can you feel it?

It’s not that there wasn’t light at all; enough illumination fell from the sky for her to at least see. But this lack of brightness could only be considered normal on the cusp of nightfall, long after the sun had begun its daily descent. Something had to be blocking the sunlight, something that wasn’t storm clouds or vengeful goddesses or, or, or… that strange fog might do it.

OH AAHHH AAHHH AAHHH AAHHH!

Tendrils of the wispy material hung in the air, spreading their immaterial fingers across the horizon, tingeing the skyline black with their presence. Gazing at the abnormal mist, Vinyl felt a shudder tear cross her spine, sensed her heartbeat sporadically surge in its tempo.

OH AAHHH AAHHH AAHHH AAHHH!

The skin on Vinyl’s neck began to crawl, the hairs of her nape slowly rising up, accompanying her suddenly ragged breaths. For a moment, the polar-white Unicorn stood motionless, a haze of fear and paranoia slowly dripping through her mind, her thoughts becoming encased by their eldritch touch. Primal instincts, long-buried under layers of rationality and reason, screamed at her, pleaded with her, begged her to listen to them. There was danger, there was peril, there was something horribly, horribly wrong with the world.

Will you give it to me?

Vinyl’s mind quickly descended into a twisted lump of panicked impulses and hazardous thoughts. However, one concrete idea managed to rise above the turmoil, finally reaching what remained of the Unicorn’s rapidly degrading consciousness. A solitary notion, a single thought: What if that fog could come inside…

Will you give it to me?

There are few motivations stronger than life-threatening terror. Moving faster than she thought possible, Vinyl found herself sprinting across the room, hurtling past her kitchen, past her bed, desperately searching for the one thing that might provide some modicum of safety from the onslaught of darkness, some bastion of protection from the fear pounding through her skull. Slamming into the wall, she frantically brought up a trembling hoof, dashing it against the plaster until it finally connected with a nub of plastic. An audible click filled the room, accompanying the whir of electricity ripping through copper filaments. Light, blessed light, fell from the lamps hung from the ceiling, showering the panicked pony with their blinding rays, dispersing the waves of paranoia that consumed her thoughts. Gently laying her head against the wall, Vinyl felt her ragged breathing return to a more normal rhythm, her fluttering heart beginning to slow. She was safe now, nothing could touch her, the dark couldn’t break through the light. She was safe, she was fine, it was going to be okay…

When suddenly it changes!

Unable to speak, Vinyl stared in shock at the smoky tendril floating beneath her, a finger of dark mist gently tracing its way round her hooves. Ignoring the scratch her horn tore in the wall, she twisted her head, frantically gawking at the rest of the room. Her lungs stopped moving as she silently stared at the coils of fog wrapping their way around her apartment, encircling her bed, crawling into the kitchen, covering her turn tables. Her heart plummeted, descending into that unknown abyss between fear and sanity. Blindly rushing backwards, backpedaling away from the immaterial intruders, Vinyl fled from the fear, from the dark, from the madness. Her motion only faltered when she felt herself collide with something cold and unforgiving, a sharp crack tearing through her ears. Turning, Vinyl gazed into the splintered remains of the mirror behind her, fissures running through its previously flawless surface.

Violently it changes!

Crimson eyes were inexplicably drawn to the broken mirror, scanning the shattered reflection held within. Two blood-red eyes, each spread wide with fear. A single horn, unable to conjure a glow of magic in its time of need. A lone mouth, its corners twisted upwards in a smile… no. No, that wasn’t right. That was wrong. That was so, so wrong.

…In me!!!!!!!!!

Unable to move, unable to speak, unable to breathe, Vinyl stared at the pony in the mirror, its image split and fractured, its mouth spreading wider and wider, into some perverse facsimile of a grin. Splintered eyes flared wide, no longer clouded by fear, but filled with some unspeakable emotion, something like joy, something like anger, something like ecstasy, something like hatred. Incapable of blinking, of tearing her eyes away from the sight, Vinyl watched as the pony began bobbing her head, moving it in time with a hypnotic beat, her mouth tearing itself open, roaring something in a guttural, primal voice. Words that Vinyl had never heard before echoed through her ears, a harsh, grating chant.

GET UP, COME ON GET DOWN WITH THE SICKNESS!

It tore through her shroud of fear, resonating with something hidden deep within her soul.

GET UP, COME ON GET DOWN WITH THE SICKNESS!

Words that sounded so wrong, but that felt so good.

GET UP, COME ON GET DOWN WITH THE SICKNESS!

The pony in the mirror brought up her forehooves, reaching them towards the glass barrier between her and Vinyl. It barely registered to Vinyl that there was no way the appendages could have passed through the barrier, as they gently latched onto her shoulders. Her eyes were locked on those of the cracked and broken pony. They bobbed up and down in time with their master’s head, dancing with a forbidden light, shining with an unknowable energy.

Suddenly, their motion stopped. The pony in the mirror ceased her movements and closed her mouth, simply staring at Vinyl with those bloody, impossible eyes. For what might have been seconds, hours, or years, the two ponies stared at each other, neither moving a muscle, neither uttering a sound.

Finally, the pony in the mirror spoke again. The voice that wafted into Vinyl’s ears was not her own, nor some vile perversion of it. It was not some harsh cry, but an even, calculated tone. It was an ancient voice, one that spoke of millennia of life, that told a story of utter happiness and complete despair. It was a voice that Vinyl had never heard before, would never hear again, and would never, ever, forget.

“Take it.”

With a sudden jerk, the pony in the mirror yanked Vinyl towards her, pulling the Unicorn closer with hooves that should not have existed. As Vinyl slammed into the already cracked mirror, further shattering it, a burst of light erupted from her horn, tearing through the room, smashing windows and breaking lights. Suddenly released from her captor’s grip, Vinyl fell back, landing on her side as red streams ran down her ivory forehead, a few shards of glass stuck to her skin.

For a long moment, Vinyl lay there, a small puddle of crimson accruing between her cheek and the floor. Then, with an easy shifting of her limbs, the alabaster Unicorn rose to her hooves, staring once more at the irreparably damaged portal before her. A twisted shape looked back, a lopsided mouth set on a polar-white muzzle stained with drops of red, jagged holes where the eyes should have been. For a while, neither moved. Then, the pony in the mirror smiled, its mouth spreading into an impossibly wide grin.

Vinyl Scratch smiled back, words slipping from her mouth, tinged with a primal tone. “Madness is the gift that has been given to me.”

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A/N:

So, after writing this, it's become painfully clear that I need a pre-reader. Anyone interested? And, as always, comments, criticisms, and complaints are always welcome.

My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, and the character DJ Pon3 are the property of Hasbro, the Hub, and Lauren Faust.

Spin that Record Vinyl Scratch is the property of KeepOnRockingBrony.

Get Down With the Sickness is the property of Disturbed. Next Chapter: Side Story: The Madman Estimated time remaining: 13 Minutes