It’s cold. A gentle breeze flows up from my hooves, toying with my mane as it dissipates overhead. I look up. The endless Abyss remains, taunting me – no – begging me to let myself go. I won’t. I can’t. I look toward the ground. The chains still hold me down. I cannot move, but my imprisonment is less worrisome than the monster looming above. I look to either side. I can see the bodies. It’s cold. The frost on the walls begins to shudder with the rumbling of the Abyss. It has grown tired of waiting. I feel it tugging on me ever so slightly. Its strength grows with each passing second. I resist, but am all at once overcome. The chains which rooted me to the floor are broken.
I wake up. Dazed, I scan my surroundings. I see a desk in front of me, littered with papers and files detailing dozens of reported crimes. I must have fallen asleep in the office again. I look at the clock, which reads half past midnight. I get up from the chair with a grunt, needles pricking at my legs with each movement. I walk steadily toward the washroom. On my way, I notice the door, or more specifically, the frosted glass window built into the door. There are words etched onto it which read:
DETECTIVE R. SLEUTH
HOMICIDE
INVESTIGATIVE DIVISION
With three quick taps on the washroom's tile floor, candles placed around the room in a circular fashion flicker on all at once. The whooshing sound of the water calms my nerves. I splash my face and feel rejuvenated. I look up, and in the mirror I see a dark gray earth pony with a brown mane and tail, gazing back. He is a pony who has done just as much "evil" as he has "good".
I give two taps to the floor in quick succession, and the candles are extinguished. As I walk back to my desk, I survey my office. I’ve never been one for aesthetics, and so the room looks quite bland. There is a window in the wall opposite the door, with a relatively pleasant view of Manehattan. A couch with a fold-out bed lays underneath it. The wall behind my desk is littered with certifications and awards I received for my “exemplary” work on cases. The placard placed highest on the wall reads, “In Honor of Detective R. Sleuth: Manehattan’s No. 1 Detective”. I dislike the constant attention, and only at the behest of the Chief did I finally put the awards on the wall.
Back at my desk, I take a look at a case file that had previously been opened, its contents cluttering the workspace. One body found in a remote area east of Ponyville, another just west of Baltimare, both found just a week apart from one another. The corpses had no distinguishing marks on them, save for two areas – the face and cutie mark. Their faces had been mutilated beyond recognition, and their cutie marks had been removed with surgical precision. It was only with thorough investigation and confirmation from family that they were identified as Starlight Shine and Harmonia, two teenaged earth pony mares. Both had gone missing exactly one week before they were found.
“Harmonia. Interesting name.”
Despite the distance between the bodies, the conditions they were found in suggested that the murders were connected. “Equestria’s newest serial killer” became the most discussed topic among the force, but something was not quite right. I can’t place it, but something about one of the corpses is different from the other - enough that I can’t agree that the killer in both cases was the same. My notes continue to contain no vital information. No witnesses of any kind have made public statements in the two weeks since finding the first body. I can’t believe that there are no witnesses at all, though. Kids don’t just vanish from their beds without somepony seeing it. I’ve spoken to nearly all of the neighbors and have nothing to show for it. The ponies of Manehattan are hesitant to spill to cops on patrol, much less a detective.
A boarding pass sitting neatly atop the stack of papers reads, “Ponyville: Admit One”. Maybe the residents there will have a better understanding of what happened, or at least be more willing to divulge any information.
I hear a knock on the door. Who is still at the station this late in the night?
"Sleuth, got somethin' to tell you," It's the Chief.
"Door's open."
He comes in with a short stack of papers on his back, which could mean only one thing.
"Alright, let's get this over with."
"Glad to see you're still so chipper at this hour," he says with a smirk.
I grunt in response. He sets the papers on the desk, and pushes one toward me.
"Name's Dreamer. Top of her criminology class. This'll be her first case."
"Are you sure this is necessary? I don't need more-"
"Now now, I'll have none of that," he waves his foreleg at me in a dismissive manner, "You know it's protocol to have two-pony investigative teams, and I've let you run around solo long enough. It's time you throw me a bone."
With a resigned sigh, I look at her picture. Can't be more than nineteen.
Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.
I arrive in Ponyville with a new “partner” in tow. I always prefer working alone, but having an extra set of hooves does have its advantages. They usually don’t stay very long, anyway. Her name is Dreamer, a unicorn with white fur and scarlet mane and tail. Her eyes are a striking lime-green that’d make a lesser man stop dead in his tracks. She’s only seventeen. Pity. As we step off the train, her eyes light up in wonder. Her mouth forms a smile from ear to ear as she bobs her head around, examining the small town, walking with a bounce in her step. I review my notes as we make our way into the quaint little town.
“Wow! I’ve never been to Ponyville before! It seems so much more modest than that stuffy old Manehattan,” she says.
“Remember, we aren’t here for sightseeing.”
“I know, I know,” she replies, “Still though, it’s a nice change of scenery. There’s just not enough green in Manehattan. Have you ever been to Ponyville before?”
“Once or twice. Been a few years.”
“I see. Well, what’s the first item on our list?” She peeks over at my notes. Hmph.
“A pegasus named ‘Fluttershy’. She’s the one who found the body.”
“Oh, that’s terrible! I hope she’s doing okay.” She arches her eyebrows in a worried manner.
“Apparently not. Says here she hasn’t left home since the incident.”
“Aww, poor girl. I hope she’s alright.” Her head sunk a bit.
“See if you can get the locals to give us directions.”
After speaking to a few of the locals and receiving vague directions, a pink earth pony who had overheard one of our conversations offers to guide us. She introduces herself to us as “Pinkie Pie”. She talks too much.
“So do you guys know Fluttershy?! Oh this is so great! Now I know that Fluttershy has new friends and I get to have new friends too! We can bake cakes and throw parties and do all sorts of fun things together! Won’t it be great?!” How does she breathe?
“No, we don’t know her, we’re just here to talk to her about a few things.” Dreamer seems to be able to handle her.
“Aww, that’s too bad, but I guess that means you’ll be her new friends too!” Pinkie says. She’s quite the optimist.
We arrive at Fluttershy’s cottage after a fifteen minute walk. This place isn’t as remote as the case file suggested. After some convincing, Pinkie wanders off, leaving us at the house. I give three knocks on the door in quick succession. No response. I give three knocks again, this time more forcefully and with a pause after each knock. I hear a faint voice from inside, but it’s too quiet to understand. I knock on the door again, three quick taps. The voice comes back, but seems closer to the door.
“Who is it?” says the voice.
“We’re with the Manehattan Police Department. We’d like to speak with you about some things.” Dreamer can sound serious when she needs to.
“Oh. C-come in...” the voice replies.
I open the door to see Fluttershy lying on a small sofa, looking into an empty fireplace. Her eyes are closed and her breathing is slight.
“We need to speak with you about the murder of Starlight Shine.”
Fluttershy takes a deep breath and sighs. She sits up, but doesn’t look at us. Apparently the ground to her left is more interesting. Her body is trembling, and her breath is more staccato now. Must still be shaken up by the whole thing.
“Just a few routine questions, nothing to worry about,” Dreamer says as she takes a seat next to Fluttershy, assuming an odd position on the couch. Her hindlegs hang off the front. Do all unicorns sit like that?
“Where were you on the night of May 9th, ma’am?”
Fluttershy hesitates for a moment before answering, “I w-was here, tending to my animals, just like every night.”
“Is that what you were doing when you found the body?”
“N-no. I was on my way into the Everfree Forest when I noticed what looked like a bail of hay in the middle of a field. I walked over to it, thinking that my pigs had gotten it over there somehow. Once I got closer, I realized what it was and ran back home.”
“What were you going to the Everfree Forest at night for? Even I know that’s dangerous,” Dreamer asks.
“W-well, I was going to meet with Zecora, a zebra who lives there. A few of my chickens were sick and her remedies work wonders.”
“Pigs don’t eat hay, miss. Why would your pigs have moved it to the field?”
“Oh, they don’t eat hay, but they like to play in it sometimes.” The speed of her breath quickens for a second, then settles back its normal staccato rhythm.
I make a few scribbles in my notes.
“Did you happen to see any distinguishing features on the body?”
“I-I’m sorry, but I didn’t. It was dark and I ran before I got close enough to see anything.”
“Why did you run? Can’t you fly?”
Fluttershy looks back at her wings. “T-they closed up on me. I can’t fly when I’m frightened like that.”
I make a few more scribbles in my notes.
“Could you tell us where in the forest this ‘Zecora’ lives?”
“Oh, well, since I started visiting her regularly, I made a path that leads to her hut. Just follow the road from here and it’ll take you right to her.”
My pen strokes are all that's audible as an awkward silence fills the room.
“Okay, I think we’ve taken up enough of your time. That’ll be all for today, miss. Thank you for your cooperation.” I motion to Dreamer and she gets off the couch, placing a hoof on Fluttershy’s shoulder before following me.
“Wait!”
I stop. The sudden forcefulness of her voice surprised me.
“I-I wasn’t supposed to tell you this, but I feel like I have to. I-if you want more information, talk to Rarity. She owns the Carousel Boutique in Ponyville.” With that, she turns back around and stares once more into the fire.
Dreamer makes sure to close the door quietly, so as not to trouble the poor pony inside. She sneaks another peek at my notes.
“You sure wrote a lot of stuff down there, mister. What’d you find out?”
“Not much. Just more names. She’s hiding something.”
“What makes you think that?” She gives me a disapproving glare.
“She stuttered every sentence except that one about the pigs. Her breath picked up for a bit. Something’s not right.”
“I think you may be looking too far into it, but you’re the expert, I guess,” Dreamer says with a single eyebrow raised. “So, where to next?”
“Carousel Boutique.”
“Why not visit Zecora? She’s closer, isn’t she?”
“It’s getting late.”
“What’s the matter, Detective? You scared?” She raises a single eyebrow once again. Cheeky.
“I’m not stupid, if that’s what you’re asking.”
We follow the dirt path back to the town proper, retracing my steps. It takes about a half-hour to get back. I notice a couple of ponies arguing, possibly a lover’s quarrel. Teen love. Hmph.
“I’m not kidding, Piper, this is serious!” the colt says, his brow furrowed.
“Oh hush, you, it’s not as big of a deal as you think. I’m going out for my evening spa appointment and there’s nothing you can say that’ll stop me.”
“Please, Piper, listen to me. There’s a madpony out there killing fillies just like you! What if he ponynaps you on your way there?! I can’t let you just go out like that!” Tears form in his eyes.
“Look, Hammer, I’ll be fine. I’m not–”
I interrupt the conversation. “Excuse me folks, I couldn’t help but overhear. Is this young lady planning to go out at night?”
The colt looks at me. The coat under his eyes is matted with tears. Finally, the filly speaks up, “Yes, of course I am. I made this spa appointment weeks ago and I’m not going to miss it just because of some nonsense about a ‘serial killer’. I’m not a child, I can take care of myself.” She lowers her head and gestures to the horn on her forehead. Apparently she thinks a little magic will solve everything.
“You should listen to your friend here.” I lower my gaze and look her directly in the eyes, and I continue, a stern tone in my voice. “You have no idea what forces you might be dealing with if this guy finds you. The police aren’t even sure. It is far too dangerous for anyone, filly or colt, to go outside at night. So, here’s what you’re going to do next.” She cowers back a bit and slumps her shoulders, but maintains eye contact. “You are going to the spa this instant to cancel that appointment. Don’t even think about scheduling a new one until the killer is apprehended. Have I made myself clear?”
She breaks eye contact now to look to her lower right. “Y-yes sir. I’ll take care of it.”
“Good. Now get a move on.” I turn and walk away, hopefully toward the inn.
Dreamer taps her chin with a hoof in thought and then trots to catch up with me, “Wow, that was intense. So, are we going to Rarity’s next?”
“No. We’re going to the inn. That took a lot out of me. I’m beat.”
Her lips curl into a devious grin. “Oh, so the great Detective Sleuth is mortal after all!” She chuckles quietly to herself.
I grunt in response. There’s not much to say to that.
As we reach the inn, Dreamer looks back and her eyebrows arch downward. “So, are you sure she’ll stay home? She’s so young.”
“Not much younger than you. She’ll do it alright, if she knows what’s good for her.” I open the door to the inn and walk to the receptionist desk.
“I sure hope so.”
The moon is full. Crickets of all shapes and sizes are heard as they sing their songs of praise for the night. Piper sits in her room as she pouts over the day’s events.
“This is stupid. You just had to tell my parents about it, didn’t you Hammer? It was going to be my first spa appointment, too.” She looks down at her legs and curls herself up into a ball. She steals a glance at a poster of Fluttershy which adorned the wall next to her wardrobe - a relic of a certain modeling career.
She looks up, her eyes brimming with determination. “You know what? No. I made that spa appointment and I’m going to take it, dammit! I don’t care what anyone says.”
She gets out of bed and walks over to the window. She reaches with one hoof and slowly opens it, making sure to be quiet as she does so. She leaps out onto the dirt road outside.
“I can do this. I will do this,” she says, as she walks confidently into the night.
