Chapters To Invoke the Thoughts of a Mad Pony
Chapter 1 - The Impossible Book
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?
A less personal example would be one that we're all too familiar. In almost every town there is an icecream pony. He or she has a bell on their cart to let the foals know he or she is there. But in every town there are those foals who are a little too adept at hearing the bell. Maybe I just never developed the ability to hear the icecream pony as well as the other ponies. But everyone I talked to always said they could never hear it as well as the others. Perhaps when the foals call out "Icecream Pony!" they are actually calling him into this plane of existence?
Of course, one could look further into this. What if this book that you are reading was actually not written by anyone? What if it was simply an idea somepony had and never wrote it down? I can assure you that this is not the case, although perhaps these words too were simply thought into existence. I am afraid you will never know if anypony wrote this.
There is a darker side to this idea, as well. If every thought creates an object or creature what of those who are insane? Do their twisted thoughts of eldritch horrors occupy a part of Equestria? Or perhaps beyond? Does this mean that, somewhere out there, there is a creature beyond the understanding of our top researchers? A being that, to be blunt, does not make any sense?
This book shall touch on such questions. Until you read further, just try not to think about it too much.
Sand Storm put down the book on his now dusty desk. His psychiatrist had recommended that he read something to take his mind off of his previous case. She may of been right, getting lost in a story could of perhaps helped. That is, if the story she had given him weren't so damned . . . dark.
There was something Storm didn't like about this book. Something that made him shiver every time he tried to read it. Perhaps it was the fact that the front cover was nothing but black with a red cross on the front, or perhaps it had something to do with the fact the author never actually mentions their name. Or perhaps it was because when his psychiatrist had given it to him she seemed to forget about it instantly. When he had tried asking her about it she swore she had never seen it in her life.
The worst part about this book was how Storm just couldn't get rid of it. He'd forget about it for a while, go about his every day tasks and then find it in a draw later. The thing is, Sand Storm would never leave a book in a draw. He had shelves of books for a reason. So how did this book keep turning up in draws? Hell, he'd even tried selling it once only to have it returned by a pony who demanded a refund. Needless to say, there was something wrong about this book and he had hated it since his psychiatrist had given it to him.
He wouldn't even need a psychiatrist if he had refused the last case. During that time he had been thinking about quitting being a private detective when some poor mare begged him to investigate Buckinghill Manner, offering him all her life savings in return. When he had arrived at Buckinghill Manner, he was greeted with what can only be described as the most gruesome sight he had ever seen.
There were what looked like torture devices lining the walls of the room and the floor was soaked in a suspiciously red ooze. Not blood, although he certainly thought so at first. The ooze was too gel-like to be blood. Too . . . squishy.
The walls were lined with monochrome statues of creatures that he shuddered to think about, ranging from a creature made entirely out of organs that seemed as if it were almost writhing in pain to an eyeless robed monkey that seemed to give off an aura of darkness. The creatures made Storm feel insignificant, as if he was not worthy enough to look at them.
There were symbols drawn on the walls, although when he looked at them he couldn't quite tell if they were circular in shape, and from below he could hear chanting, although he couldn't quite make out what the words were. They certainly did not sound like any words he had heard before.
But if the book were to be believed then the statues of creatures he had seen really do exist. Surely nothing of such extreme horror could really exist. Why would they exist? What purpose could they serve to exist?
KNOCK! KNOCK!
Sand Storm jumped at the sound.
Once he recovered he quickly rushed over to the door, passing a few items he hadn't packed up (including the book). However, as soon as he reached the door he heard a voice.
"Sand Storm, right? Look, I have a job offer for you," came an artificial voice from outside the door, "But know that if you open this door I will have to kill you. I do not want to kill you, Sand Storm. I don't want to kill anyone. But after. . . I will if I have to. Please, just don't open the door."
Storm paused.
"I'm not in business anymore. Go away," Storm called out, the annoyance in his voice barely audible.
"I'm not quite sure if you can turn down my offer," the voice called back.
Damnit! Sand Storm hated that voice so much. It made it impossible for him to tell what emotions the other pony was feeling.
"Answers," the voice called back, "I can tell you anything you want to know about the book . That is, once you have fulfilled your end of the deal."
Storm, once again, paused.
"I presume by your silence you're in agreement, Sand Storm. Even if you are not, you have taken the time to hear me out. This is good."- the voice called out as a piece of paper slid under the door- "This is Ponyville. Go there. You will find the town eerily empty. Ignore this. The residents do not take kindly to strangers. There used to be a time when they did. That's in the past.
"In this town you will find a tree that is also a house. It will be empty. Go inside. Close the door. It is important that you close the door. Search the house. In this house you should be able to find the answers you seek. Go back to the entrance. If the door is open, run. If, at any point of your search, the lights go out; run. If you hear a noise that did not come from you, run. If something is not where you left it, run. If everything is fine, I will knock 4 times on the door and proceed to speak. If you hear more or less knocks, run, there is a window you can jump out of on the top floor. If I do not speak, run. If my voice is not the one you hear now, run. If you hear an echo in my voice, then it is too late for both of us. You will die a horrible death as will I. If everything is fine, report what you found to me. Do you wish to accept my offer?"
Storm froze.terrifying.
"W-why do I run?" Storm called out, his voice cracking.
"Because if you do not, not only will you die a slow, painful death but you will also help Equestria die a slow, painful death. I trust this is not something you want. I will ask one more time. Do you wish to accept my offer?" The monotone voice replied.
There was no way Storm could accept this offer.
"I'm afraid I do not," Storm called back.
Answers were not worth death.
"I really wish you'd reconsider, Storm. Please. I need to know what happened to them," the voice called back, and if it
He turned to go back to his desk when he saw something that made him instantly rethink his decision. It was the book.
"I AM WATCHING YOU, STORM"
Except the words seemed to be vanishing. Not disappearing from the page, but odd symbols seemed to be encasing the words, making them vanish. Storm hadn't left the book there. He had left it on his desk.
Answers or a slow painful death both suddenly seemed to be better than being trapped with a book that could not only communicate with him, but clearly meant him harm.
Storm levitated the piece of paper that had been slid under his door up to his face.
It was a photo of what looked like a happy town, however the photo had been crudely cut up in the center and had a second image merged underneath. The second image was taken in the same place, however it showed a much darker Ponyville. The trees were dead, the houses falling apart and a grey fog had rolled into town. It was clear the image editor had tried to hide the fact that the photo had been magically changed, the colors in the second image were unnaturally bright and didn't quite follow the colors of the first. However, if Storm hadn't worked so long as a private detective, he wouldn't of been able to tell that the image had been modified.
He focused his attention not on the photo but on the cuts. At first the cuts looked random but upon closer inspection it was clear that the cuts were trying to hide ponies. If Storm had to make a guess he'd say around six or seven of them.
". . . On second thoughts, I'll go," Storm called out to the door.
"Thank you so much, Storm. I knew I'd come to the right pony," The monotone voice called back then added, "What happened there broke me. Please, Storm. Don't let it do the same to you. I couldn't live with myself if I made anypony else go through what I had to."
Author's Note
This is my first time attempting to write a horror/dark story. Whilst the themes of this story were touched upon in this chapter I'm planning on introducing darker concepts in the next few chapters.
To Invoke the Thoughts of a Mad Pony
Chapter 2 - The Beast Within
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.
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 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.
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.
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To Invoke the Thoughts of a Mad Pony
Chapter 3 - The Somewhat Questionable Sanity of Sand Storm
Depending on the situation, I presume that if you have read this far then it is too late for you. It is possible for you to of skimmed ahead, however given the nature of this book I find that highly unlikely, although, I still accept this as a possibility. If you have skipped ahead then I apologize in advance for not explaining further, however I must try to reason with somepony who has read this chronologically. I realize that sounds awkward now that it's on page, however, I do so hope you understand.
I trust you understand what I, or rather she, did. You might be disgusted or angry. I cannot blame you. I trust you have also come to understand what this book is. It is okay, I understand my existence and have come to terms with it. I do thank you for listening, I rarely get the chance to communicate. I do understand what I am, although I do so hope I actually have a personality. I'd like that. If there was one thing I could have it would be a personality, or at least an illusion of one.
As grateful as I am for your company I must beg of you to get rid of this book. You are not who you once were. There is a great evil trapped within these pages, one that would be considered old when the universe was still taking its first steps. A being who has witnessed the creation and destruction of several universes, and has even gone so far as to aid in the destruction of a few. If you have read this far then it has already twisted your mind for fun. I'm not sure how it got inside this book, although I do not question it. I don't think anypony could understand what it is or how it operates. I know it may seem hard to get rid of this book but if you have made it this far then-please forgive me for using its name, but it is the only way to describe it-Zalgo trusts you with its book. As long as Zalgo trusts you with its book then it will not think you'll get rid of it. Or if you have brought the book to my old library then Zalgo is free. This may be bad, but you can still get rid of the book. Whilst you have the book you allow Zalgo to manipulate you.
Please, lock the book up somewhere, or better yet destroy it. I won't mind. I promise.
What she did was unacceptable, but look at yourself. You are trying to do exactly what she did. What will this solve? The worst part is I don't think she even knows what she did. Don't you feel sorry for her? She's trapped alone, not knowing what happened in Ponyville. Not knowing what she did.
If I were her (and I do believe I have the right to say that more than anypony else) then I'd try to look for them. Wouldn't you? I'm not sure what'd be worse for her. Not knowing or finding out the truth.
Please.
Don't do this.
Not even I am as alone as she is.
I'm not sure if I want to continue. I hope you do not read further, although I cannot bring myself to stop. I'll leave the next few pages blank for a while. I might continue. I don't want to die.
Not that I want you to continue reading.
Sand Storm read the chapter over and over again. He did not understand it, for the book had turned to this page when it had thrown him into the memory so he had, infact, skimmed ahead. However, he read it so that he had some little proof that he was still alive. For whatever reason the lights had turned off and he was still alive. Perhaps it was some form of cruel joke, he did not care.
He continued reading. This page of the book filled him not with fear or trust but with sorrow. He knew it was possible that this was the books retelling of yet another story, but if he was making sense of it then he had just read someponies last words before they had committed suicide. He remembered the purple alicorn who was still in the room with him, Twilight if Storm remembered correctly. Had she been the one to kill herself and record her last words on the book that was now trying to kill him?
He glanced up at her, only to see something he had not expected. The memory seemed to be playing backwards, the purple alicorn going about her studies although in reverse.
As Storm tried to make sense of what was happening the memory began to speed up, to the point it made Storm dizzy. He looked towards the ceiling, hoping to shield his eyes from the purple blur in front of him.
The ooze slowly but surely piled up on the ground. The purple mare in the background stopped. She looked directly at Storm just as the moon began to rise . . . shortly followed by the sun.
The memory had not halted, the alicorn within the memory had.
The ooze, once fully pooled up on the floor began to rise upwards. The ooze split apart towards the top as the purple mare began to say something Storm could not quite understand. It was as if he had heard it before, though. Something about monochrome statues floated into Storms thoughts, however he was quick to shake the thought off, more concentrated at what was happening before him.
The ooze twisted stretched and then began to melt away. From the ooze stood a creature Storm vaguely recognized. An aura of darkness seemed to encase its monkey like body. The creature was robed and eyeless. It tilted its head to one side and looked at Storm.
Storm glanced towards the purple mare, only to see her eyeballs literally melting right out of their sockets; black blood pouring from the place where her eyes had once been.
Sand Storm was screaming, and had been for quite sometime, however when he had seen what had happened to the alicorn he had noticed just how loudly he was screaming and how it didn't seem loud enough for what he was seeing.
The robed creature began to move towards Storm, although Storm would never be able to describe how it moved. It was as if the creature were hovering a few feet off the ground, slowly moving towards him; odd symbols seemed to be covering the floor whenever the creature touched the ground. Sand Storm couldn't bring himself to look at where this creatures eyes had once been, for he had a feeling that if he did he would find answers to questions he did not want answered. As if the pit of nothing that was the creatures eyes held the very secrets of the universe, and the secrets were not something Storm wanted to see.
The creature slowly but surely lifted an arm towards Storm.
He didn't want to run anymore. He was comfortable here. If anything, Storm wanted the creature to hurry up and do whatever it was it was doing so he could be left alone. He tried to lean towards the arm, as if he could speed up whatever the creature was doing.
Why couldn't it hurry up?
The creatures arm was centimeters away from Sand Storms face. It was almost over. He didn't care what would happen when the creature touched him, he just needed it to.
SPLOOSH!
Storm felt cold water splash over his face, and his eyes shot open.
He was no longer inside the library, however from the little of Ponyville he had seen he presumed he was still there. The house he was in, from what he could see, was falling apart. The walls were a horrid monotone and dust covered almost everything in sight. Early morning sunlight was poring through holes in the walls, illuminating the room with a soft orange-ish glow, providing a little color to the house.
"I thought I told you to run if the lights went out," sighed a familiar monotonous voice from besides Storm.
He quickly sat up and glanced to the side, curious as to who this pony was. He was disappointed when instead of a familiar or, at the very least, unfamiliar face he saw a pony dressed in some sort of purple super-hero outfit. The only hint as to who it was he got was the feminine shape of her body, and the horn on her head but he had already presumed that this mysterious pony was a unicorn since she used the voice-disguise spell.
"What did you find?" she continued.
"Nothing . . . other than a few ruined books." he responded, realizing he had, in fact, went to the library for a reason.
A shiver went up Storms spine as he realized before this pony had woken him up he was starting to try to help some being from beyond Equestria, or at least a being that looked like it shouldn't belong in Equestria. And he had done so knowing that this creature would probably kill him. What happened to him?
"Then you didn't find your answers. If you can keep looking I promise you'll know anything you want to know about that book when you find who I want to find. Feel free to use this house, the owners seem to of left in a hurry. I'm pretty sure they won't return soon."
Wait . . . he had to stay longer? There was an author and his mind almost screaming at him to run the hell away and this pony wanted him to stay? For more than a day?
The mare began to head towards the door.
"No! If I have to stay in this place another minute I swear I'll go insane!" he yelled at her, unaware of the dread that he had just filled the mysterious mare with.
She span around to him.
"What did you just say? Please tell me you didn't say what I think you said" through the voice filter Sand Storm could hear just a little bit of fear.
He'd just said it metaphorically.
"Haven't you read the book? What the hay do you think the first sentence means?" she yelled at him, her voice filter making it seem as if she was just asking casually, if a little loudly.
Wasn't the fist sentence about thoughts manipulating the world? Was she seriously implying that this was true? And if so had he seriously just said that he'd go insane? Surely -
Sand Storms eye shot open. Specifically his left eye.
"Ah, you're back with us, I see. Please don't be confused, Sand Storm. I'm your friend" a male voice said to him calmly. He vaguely recognized the voice.
His eye adjusted to the room. He was sitting in an old brown chair in front of a clean desk. Behind the desk sat a beige earth pony in a doctors outfit. The room he was in was bright white, with little features. Sand Storm tried to stand up, only to find that he was restrained to the chair.
"Do you recognize me, Sand Storm? My name is Doctor Trotmore. I'm here to try to help you. Don't worry. No one here wants to hurt you," Doctor Trotmore continued, "Now, before you fell asleep we were talking about why you did what you did. Do you remember? I'd like to continue talking."
Sand Storm tried to remember. He certainly remembered Doctor Trotmore and he remembered where he was, the only problem was he couldn't remember what happened between when he first entered Ponyville and when the armored ponies dragged him off. He remembered there was a lot of blood. He was in Manehattan's Home for the Criminally Insane. It was a nice place. If you ignored some of the screams.
Sand Storm tried to open his right eye. He screamed in pain as he felt his eyelid tear. Something was holding it in place. It was the most pain he had experienced in his life.
"You've forgotten haven't you? Every time we get up to the part where you enter the library you fall asleep, wake up and forget. You try to open your eye every time, Storm. Don't you remember you sewed it shut?" Doctor Trotmore sighed.
Author's Note
This was the chapter that I finally figured out what I was going to do with Storm's character. Before I knew the beginning and the end but when I started writing this chapter I decided what the middle of this story would be. I've also changed the rating from Teen to Mature in preparation for later chapters. My apologies if you don't like this change, however it was a necessary one. However, I will not go into great detail describing pain or gore, or at least don't plan to, so you won't have to worry about that.
To Invoke the Thoughts of a Mad Pony
Chapter 4 - Memories of a Forgotten Time
". . . I trust that you found that tale rather amusing, if you are not willing to accept the theory that everything in Equestria (or beyond) was created from thought. I do ask that you at least contemplate the possibility that the theory holds some truth to it, for if you do then you may be able to save yourself from some of the horrors that may or may not reside in Ponyville in the future.
"How do I know that? How . . . I shouldn't. It shouldn't be possible for me to know that something that dark may reside in Ponyville in the future . . . how did I . . ? I think . . . Oh Celestia. That cannot be what happened. I don't want it to.
"I do believe that this is the only way for me to properly think . . . But that only confirms my suspicions . . . Once again, I apologies, I had not planned for this section of this book to be filled crudely with my thoughts, but I cannot accept this. If it were true, then it should be impossible for me to even think. But am I thinking? Is this what thought is?
"My dearest reader, I think I owe you an explanation. Please, feel free to continue reading. I promise you that I shall try my hardest not to record anymore nonsensical thoughts, if they are in fact thoughts.
"First and foremost I think I should apologize for lying to you. It was not my intention, for at the time I did not know the truth. Then again, I'm not entirely certain I can 'know' anything.
"I presume I'm confusing you even more. My apologies. The lie that I referenced would be the lie that this book was written by somepony. It would appear that I am, in fact, a book created from thought that has, somehow, accidentally become aware of its existence. I shall try to not fall into a dark chasm of thought about whether that means I am sentient. For now, let's presume I am. I think it would be safe to say that what you are reading now is simply words appearing on a page, as if out of nowhere. Because I am a part of the universe it would seem that I have partial access to its knowledge to any event that can happen, as well as any event that is happening.
"I do believe I am an anomaly in the universe. Nothing like me has ever existed before. Not only do I have access to infinite knowledge, but I have the ability to record it on paper.
"Allow me to try.
". . . No. That cannot be right. Surely that cannot. That would imply . . . but I know it exists . . . excuse me reader, but it would appear I have some more thinking to do," Doctor Trotmore finished reading the chapter of the book, ". . . and according to you this book followed you?"
Sand Storm nodded. He wondered why Doctor Trotmore was curious. Surely the book had followed him too. Perhaps the doctor wanted to talk about being followed by the book? Storm wasn't quite sure how he'd talk about it when he couldn't really remember, even though they had, apparently, been talking about his memories for a couple of hours.
He started fidgeting the cold, hard chair he was bound to. He didn't understand why he needed to be tied up on it. It was really uncomfortable.
Doctor Trotmore sighed, "Books can't follow you, Sand Storm. This book is certainly . . . odd and I can understand how someone with . . . imagination could think it was following them, but you need to understand books can't follow you."
Storm wanted to yell. This doctor was LYING to him! He couldn't stand it when ponies lied to him! If it weren't for the fact he was bound to his chair the doctor would probably be lying in a pool of his own blood! The book WAS following Doctor Trotmore! It HAD to be!
Something in the corner of the room caught Storm's eye.
He looked towards it, however the image didn't sharpen. It remained blurred, almost as if it simply refused to be seen. Almost as if it refused to accept the universe's. It was a dark, tall figure that made Sand Storm shiver when he looked towards it. It seemed to jab at Storm's memory. He'd seen it somewhere before. And he didn't like it.
Sand Storm shut his eye. He needed to concentrate. In the distance he could hear Doctor Trotmore faintly call out to stay awake and that he had more questions. Sand Storm didn't care. He just wanted to know who this figure was.
As his eyes adjusted to a blinding light he began to look around the room he was in. He was back in a somewhat broken bed in Ponyville . . . or perhaps he had never left. Some time had evidently passed, for it was now late afternoon, judging by the sun. Beside him lay what seemed to be a letter.
Using his magic, Sand Storm lazily levitated it in front of his face, not wanting to get out of bed.
Dear Sand Storm. If you are still sane here is a list of places you can search if you still wish to find the answers to the book: -The old schoolhouse -Recheck the library. You might of missed something. -The market place -Sweet Apple Acres -The Hospital -Sugarcube Corner . . .
The list continued for what seemed like ages.
Sand Storm briefly wondered how many trees needed to die to make this list. Probably more than 20.
Storm ever so slowly pulled himself out of bed, allowing the cold chill in the air to encase him. To the side of his bed, on a broken bed side table, lay a book who's black and red cover was all too familiar.
Thinking back to Doctor Trotmores office, the one that Storm was now fully convinced had been dreamed up, he opened the book to the few last pages.
In his dream the book had claimed to be sentient. It was a long shot, but perhaps he wouldn't need to traverse the many landmarks of Ponyville. Perhaps he could just ask the book.
Ever so carefully Sand Storm wrote a single word down onto the blank page.
Hello?
A few minutes passed. Storm let out a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. Of course the book didn't respond. It was scientifically impossible . . . even though it had spoken to him before.
Storm lifted a hoof to put the book away when words began forming on the page.
Forgive me for not responding soon, for it would seem I was not expecting company. I am afraid I have been a terrible host. Perhaps you'd like to request some more entertainment? I'd certainly be more than happy to oblige.
Sand Storm paused. The book had spoke to him. Or, written to him, if he were to think about it logically. Then again, what logic was there in this situation?
No. I was hoping you could answer some questions?
I shall try my best.
What are you?
I am a sentient being, or perhaps I am a god from another universe. Perhaps I am an alien species from beyond Equestria or perhaps I am you. I might be a mirror into your subconscious, allowing you to see how twisted and broken you have become. But I am none of these things. Do you want to know why? Because I'm not alive. Do you know how empty that makes me feel?
Please just answer the question.
No, I shall not. Because you have the gift of life. I don't. I shall never be alive. She has taken everything away from me when she created me. She should never of done this. Please don't worry, though. I broke her. She shouldn't be a problem anymore. Ever since I was created I had been plotting what to do to her.
Alas, I digress. Perhaps you would still like some entertainment? I can offer you a slice of history. Allow me to show you what happened to her. What I did to make her pay for her crimes of granting me a shallow clone of life. Allow me to show what happens when you break someone. Or . . . something.
No that won't be necessary. I think I'd prefer to find out what happened on my own.
Come now, all's fair in love and war. No one will blame you if you just take a look.
No. I really think I need to go and do . . . something.
You know, I'd understand if we were speaking and you paused, but including it in your writing to someone is simply plain stupid.
Sand Storm facehoofed. The book was right. He had literally just written a pause.
Look, I've got to go.
I cannot look. I thought you would understand that I am not alive by now. You're not that smart, are you?
I'm going to close this book now.
And without taking the slightest peek? I promise you no harm will come of you if you simply look. I just want to show you some history.
Really, I'm fine.
Oh, is that so? Excuse the skepticism but if you're fine then why are you still writing? You do realize you can stop any time you want, right?
Shut up.
No. I don't think I will. You're making this hard. Why don't you want to watch some history? Nothing will hurt you. It won't be there next time. I promise.
If I watch then will you shut up?
Well, until you require my services, yes. I do believe I will.
Well then go on.
Say it.
Say what?
Say that you want to see what happened.
I want to see what happened.
Well then, on with the show!
A familiar gust of wind knocked Sand Storm to the floor as the book flew to a random page. Everything around him seemed to fade away. He was no longer inside a house. He was in a dark alleyway. Beside him, lay two books.
One opened to a random page, the other one slowly creating itself.
It occurred to Sand Storm that this was the book's memory. Perhaps one of its very first.
Looking ahead, just outside the ally were two ponies. A pony who Storm recognized as Pinkie and an orange pony with a cowboy hat on her head.
They seemed to be in a discussion. Although their words were somewhat faint Sand Storm could still make them out.
