To Invoke the Thoughts of a Mad Pony

I presume that if you have managed to read this far then you will of sensed there is something wrong about this book. Undoubtedly you will of tried to dispose of this book. Perhaps you will of tried burning it, or perhaps you will of tried to tear its pages. Or if you are simpler than most you will of tried to lose it, or perhaps you might of tried selling it.

If you have then you will of found that not only is this book undamageable it is, quite simply, impossible to get rid of. You cannot lose this book for it will follow you. You cannot destroy this book for it needs to survive.

And yet, somehow, you ended up with this. Owning this book should be impossible, and yet you have managed to do so. I guess congratulations are in order. This book should be impossible to get rid of and yet somepony has given it to you. That is how this book has become known as several names, "The Impossible Book", "The Book that Waits" or my personal favorite "The Book that Should not be".

I also presume that if you have managed to read this far then you are on your way to Ponyville, for rumor has it that this book gets harder to read the further away from Ponyville you are. Rumor also has it that the closer you get to where it was first created the more you feel the initial sense of dread fade. You will find it easier to read, and although you will be unnerved by the fact that a book is currently guessing at what you are doing, you will feel comfortable with it.

Do not.

It is essential that you do not trust this book. Hate it. Despise everything about it. Feel the dread that you had originally felt when reading this book. I also advise that you do not go to Ponyville. At the time of writing this town is a joyous one, although I cannot predict what has happened to it now. However, if this book has already tried to communicate with you (whether through warning, threat or reason) then I do not blame you for not listening. Why would you trust the advice of a book which should not be? Especially when it has told you not to trust it?

However, if you are a mind of reason then you will not go to Ponyville. You will, instead, return home. Perhaps one day you will truly lose this book. Perhaps not. Perhaps it is truly impossible to lose this book and that it was mere thought that had originally brought the book to you. If you heed my words then only time will tell.

I digress.

You were promised a story and I shall not fail to deliver. This story is one you will of likely heard before, and it is also a story that lead me to meet some of the greatest ponies I know.

This story is not fictitious, that is to say the events I am about to describe did happen. However, they are told in such a way as to support the theory that everything is created from thought. If you are comfortable then I shall begin.

Once upon a time, in the magical land of Equestria, there were two regal sisters who ruled together and created harmony for all the land . . .

*

Sand Storm put the book away. He hadn't packed the book, however he was not shocked to find that it was in his saddlebag. After a while on the road he had decided to start reading the book and, to his surprise, it was not as dark as he had originally thought. The only thing about the book that could be considered dark was how it somehow managed to predict everything he was doing, although considering the fact that the very same book had spoken to him earlier that day he was not too surprised.

What did surprise Storm, however, was how there seemed to be two sides to the book. One side seemed to have malicious intent whereas the other side of the book seemed to not only want to protect Storm from the first side but to entertain him whilst doing so. Or perhaps there was a single side to this book, one that wanted to bend him to it's will through both force and deception.

Storm had just finished reading about Nightmare Moon and how she may just exist due to Luna thinking she did, a concept Sand Storm didn't quite believe but felt it was entertaining nonetheless, when he had came face to face with the tree-house-thing that the mysterious pony had asked him to investigate. Storm didn't notice when he wondered into Ponyville, nor did he notice the fog or the fact that the town was eerily empty. The only thing that had alerted him to his position was when he caught the site of a giant object out the corner of his eyes, a giant object that he soon found was the tree.

The house-tree seemed to be slightly deader than the rest of the trees, and it was so black that it could of been possible a fire started within it. Storm felt dread just looking at the house. Surely the mysterious pony could not want something from within.

Alas, Storm knew perfectly well that both the mysterious pony and himself wanted something from within those blackened walls. What the mysterious pony wanted was unknown to him, however as long as he got answers he didn't care.
He glanced upwards, and sure enough there was a window on the top floor. The window had a branch leading out underneath it, then several going diagonally, meaning it was perfect for an emergency escape. Not that he would need one, of course. Or at least, he hoped he wouldn't need one.

Storm looked the house-tree over once before pushing open the door and stepping inside.

He was filled with fear. He wanted to run. He needed to. There was . . . something watching him, but he didn't know where from. He could feel its cold dead eyes staring at him from the unknown. He began to shake and it took all his effort not gallop out the door. He felt cold, and a sudden familiar sense of unworthiness washed over him. A feeling of unworthiness that was all too familiar.

Sand Storm realized he had already forgotten to do something, something that according to the mysterious pony might save his life. He turned around and shut the door, feeling suddenly claustrophobic. It was as if the very house wanted him to flee. But he would not. A deal was a deal.

"But you ran away from that other mare's contract. What's the difference here?" his brain countered.

He tried to drown out the thoughts, he needed this. If anything he at least needed an explanation as to why the book was mocking him. This was something he needed to do.

He looked around the house, ignoring the feelings of dread and unworthiness. It was clear that the house had once been a library, however the books that lay on the floor now were covered in crude scribbles. The scribbles, although crude, looked like they were written in a form of language. He kept seeing the same scribble appear multiple times, although not in any form of pattern he could deduce.

*

After some searching Storm had discovered that there was nothing in this house other than more books covered with scribbles. If the answers he sought had once been here they no longer were.

Thankfully, however, he had not needed to run. Everything was exactly where he left it, the lights had not gone out, there were no sounds that did not come from him and there certainly was no knock greater than or less than 4. In fact, he had not heard a knock in the entire two hours that he had been searching. Although, the horrible feelings inside of him had not left in those two hours either.

He had arrived back in the entrance and found himself desperately looking around once again.

He'd give his life to know what had happened here, or at least to have some clue as to what would of drove somepony to scribble all over perfectly good books. He just needed to know what had happened.

Suddenly, the book in his saddlebag began to burn. The burning was so intense that Sand Storm had to throw off his saddlebag and pull out the book. When he did he saw something that caught him off guard. The same odd symbols he had seen before seemed to be exiting the book, the scribbles on the books around him seemed to be stretching and deforming.
The cross on the center of the book began to glow and, if it weren't for the fact he knew it were impossible, he would of thought that it was bleeding.

The pages of the book flew open and a gust of wind knocked Storm to the floor.

When he stood back up he noticed he was no longer in the same library, or at least it was not the one he knew. The books were neatly put on shelves and a purple alicorn sat writing at a desk. This library seemed somehow more colorful than the one he had been in before, although something wasn't quite right.

As Sand Storm looked around he realized what it was, the sounds were slightly muffled and he couldn't quite make out some of the objects in the library. It was almost as if he were in a memory.

He turned his attention towards the purple alicorn who was hurriedly writing on her desk. He'd never seen an alicorn before. He thought they'd be . . . well, taller. He tried to move towards her, but found he could not.

"Um . . . Excuse me?" he called out to her, hoping she would understand what was going on more than he did.

"Damnit! This doesn't sound right!" she exclaimed, throwing the paper she was writing on into a rather large mountain of scrunched up paper.

At first Storm thought she was talking about him, however he realized it was just the paper. He leaned towards it, trying to read what it said. From what he could see it read:

There is a theory that everything in our world is created from thought. Everything you see is there because somepony has thought of it. Whilst some may dismiss this thought as mere wishful thinking there is, actually, some evidence to back this idea up.

In the my town there is a certain pink pony who is rumored to be able to sense events that are about to happen, although one must wonder if these events only happen because she is sure they will. For example, what if she was so sure that, say, a flowerpot would fall that it simply does?

Wait . . . was he witnessing the creation of the book he had come to both fear and hate? Surely this mare couldn't write such a thing.

"Hey Twilight! Whatcha writing? Is it a story? I love stories!" came a voice that sounded almost too happy.

Storm looked around to see where it came from, only to see a pink pony step out from exactly where he was standing.

Twilight sighed, "Pinkie, I'm trying to word a theory I had however somepony is interrupting."

"The pink pony is called "Pinkie"? Really?" Storm thought, allowing himself to be distracted temporarily by the stupidity of the name.

Pinkie turned to leave then stopped and tilted her head. She looked at the wall on her right.

"Hey Twilight?" she asked, a hint of concern in her once happy voice, "Who's in the walls?"

Storm's heart stopped. When he had first entered the library had felt as if something was watching him, however he couldn't pinpoint where they were. This pink pony had just fitted the jigsaw together for him. What ever it was was never in the room with him. It was in the walls of the library. And it was still there.
He could still feel it watching him.

Suddenly, his eyes went dark. The room in front of him only grew a little darker, but he knew what had happened. He wasn't really in another library, and he had had a feeling that he wasn't since he had appeared here, he was just watching a memory.

And, out of all the things that could of happened, the lights had just turned out whilst he couldn't run.