“Luckily, I’m not late for the last train...” Said Dr. Whooves... “There are not many ponies in this station. I guess it’s because the time is almost up for the last train...”
Dr. Whooves was on his way back from Manehattan to Ponyville... it was late and nearly 12:00 in the night... he was sitting alone on a bench...
“Anyway...” He starts to spot a lady pony walking oddly on the other side of the station... “That pony looks so ridiculous...” He said to him self... as he watches the lady walked like a drunk old pony...
“ooohhh.....” She moaned a bit... “Aaahhhh....”
“That's why you should drink moderately...” Whooves said, as he sees the pony like a dancing maniac...
“She looks like dancing...” He laughs as he watches the lady wobbling... “This is so hilarious... hehehe...”
“I can’t just leave this funny scene to my self...” He took out his digital phone and texted some of his friends...
Name: Doctor Whooves in Manehattan
Title: Comeplety wasted pony in staggering in front of me lolz.
Waiting 4 the last train @ Station. A wasted pony is staggering. Her head-banging is hilarious. hahaha...
No. of comments 3:
WineDrinker: Is she hot? lol.
BaseJumper: Is she hot? haha...
DJPon3: Is she hot? hahaha...
“LOL. They’re all the same...” He said to himself, as he reads the comments...
He then replies to them...
Doctor Whooves in Manehattan: Her mussed up mane is covering her face. Can’t C her face.lol
RedTailPocket: She rocks! haha
WineDrinker: Post her pics!
WineDrinker: Come on!~
WineDrinker: Make it quick!~~
Doctor Whooves in Manehattan: Gotcha! Hang on.
“I feel sorry, but let me just take one picture of her!” He said to himself as he snaps a quick photo of the lady.
Name: Doctor Whooves in Manehattan
Title: Hammered woman pics: ahahah!
(Think of the image of the Lady here...)
‘’She is constantly walking back and forth staggering. hahahah
what if she falls down the rail? kkkk’’
Right after he took the picture, the lady suddenly turned to the right... He then looked at his comments again...
CoreApples: She is Pretty hammered. hahahahaha
WineDrinker: But her body is hot~!!!
As he was reading his comments...
BUMP!!!~~~
“?!”
He heard a loud bump, he quickly looked directly at the lady...
“Oh my god~~... She bumped her head.” He said. Then he saw the lady bleed in her head... “Oh no! She is bleeding...”
Then the girl picked her self up and staggered along the side of the rail way... wobbling over and over again...
“Will... Will she be alright?” He said to himself as he creates a new topic...
Name: Doctor Whooves in Manehattan
Title:Hammered lady slammed her head on the wall!
But what’s real creepy is that she’s bleeding pretty bad on her forehead but still staggering and walking around. Maybe I should walk up to her and help her out, right?
No. of comments 12
SSSS: Call 911.lol
Pua: Once you give her your arm, she will throw up on you.
SS: Drop that 911, call the janitor!
Rubbock: Thats what you become when your wasted.lol
GoldenCarrot: Hey, mind your own biz n get yourself outta there.
WineDrinker: ^ this pony is cold-hearted...
TGAPT: Your a doctor! Fix it your self!
GoldenCarrot: No... I just thing that something is going on looking at the picture he posted...
GoldenCarrot: It looks like~~ a psychic photo...
Pinkshell: Crazy, hahahha. R u sayin she is a ghost? lol
Whooves got a bit annoyed by one of the comments he read...
“Ghost stories... What a bunch of buck...” He said to himself...
But then.... he reads the last comment...
GoldenCarrot: No, I’m not saying she’s a ghost... There is a blood covered hoof snatching her hair and pulling towards the tracks...
Whooves took a glance... “No... that can’t be true... Maybe I should let this pony continue...”
Name: Doctor Whooves in Manehattan
Title: I think GoldenCarrot is right.
Looking closer, I don’t think she is staggering but stirring not to be dragged to the tracks...
OMC: OMC, u r creepin me out.
Weeeweee: U r giving me the chills
GoldenCarrot: Don’t you dare to get closer to her to help. Visible even on the photo? That is not just an ordinary demon.
SSSS: R u like an exorcist?
Wut da: Screw demon, hahahah GoldenCarrot!! R u a psycho? Lol
GoldenCarrot: I an not an exorcist but I have been able to see ghost since young. Anyways, get your self out of there quick!!
Doctor Whooves in Manehattan: Wat about that lady?
GoldenCarrot: I may sound cold-blooded~~ but if I were u I would never get closer. You might be also be drawn into that...
“What a big joke they’re making...” He said to himself... he took a glance back at the lady but then...”Uh oh...”
“Where did she go?!”
Name:Doctor Whooves in Manehattan
Title: She is GONE all of a sudden~~~
She is gone while I was reading ur comments. Looking up after reading the comments, she was gone~~~
Rara: OMC!!
Signsin: Is she really possesed? Hahaha
HAHAHA: What about the pics?
Celsta: Maybe she fell down to the railroad~~~
WeeeWeee: Check out tracks!
Doctor Whooves in Manehattan: Okay let me check out,
After that he set his phone on his saddle and set out to the rails...
RIIIIIING!!!! RIIIINGG!!! RIIIING!!!!
“A train in Ponyville is now approaching!!” Said the sound speakers... “Please step back behind the safety lines!!!”
Whooves looked at the tracks but sees nothing nor any trace of the lady anyway...as he looked down on the side of the rails... something caught his eye...
RRRRIIIIIINNNNGGGG!!! RIIIIIINNNGGG!!! RIIIINNNNGGG!!!
“What the heck...is that?”
He looks at it closer...closer....and closer... Until...
SOMETHING GRABBED HIM DOWN TO THE TRACKS~~~
BANG~~~~
(Last messages...)
Name:Doctor Whooves in Manehattan
Title: She is GONE all of a sudden~~~
She is gone while I was reading ur comments. Looking up after reading the comments, she was gone~~~
Rara: OMC!!
Signsin: Is she really possesed? Hahaha
HAHAHA: What about the pics?
Celsta: Maybe she fell down to the railroad~~~
WeeeWeee: Check out tracks!
Doctor Whooves in Manehattan: Okay let me check out,
Dd: I don't think you should go...
Tornup: Why is Doctor Whooves in Manehattan comin’ back?
Watda: Why isn’t he coming back?
Bcause: Maybe he went home...
He didn’t make it back...
The next morning...
(There was a news paper article on a stallion and a mare who committed suicide in Manehattan. Many thought they were lovers. Police Investigation, however, unveiled that they had nothing to do with each other....)
Whatever you do, don't end up like me. Whenever someone asks if you believe in ghosts, you need to say no. Just say unequivocally, absolutely, without a doubt that there is no way that ghosts exist. Don't even entertain the thought, as intriguing as it might seem. It is just not worth it.
Ghosts are not polite, they don't care, they don't play fair and they will tear your life up.
Believe me.
Also,realize that delving into the unknown comes with a price. It isn't a nice little free ride or something fun to do, getting all scared and the like—although it may seem like that. But once you get too close, too real, that all changes and you can end up with visitors that won't go away.
A Friday night spent watching ghost movies or reading spooky stories may seem like a fun
way to pass your time. Go for it! Go ahead and get a little spooked, a little creeped-out, then go to sleep and carry on with your life.
It used to be fun like that for me, until I found out that those wispy little creatures in those spooky little stories WERE REALLY REAL.
That was when my life changed....
It began the day I went to the Ponyville cemetery.
Always looking for authentic material for my stories, I decided, "Hey! What a great place to find a mist or catch something on tape? Go to a cemetery!"
Right?
Well, there I was, shooting pics, studying the headstones. Like a sponge, I walked through the graveyard soaking up memories of the dead, immensely desirous of catching something with my camera, or at least get a "vibe" that would give me something to report.
Something, anything about a ghost—I wasn't picky.
It was a gray, overcast day and rain threatened to soak me at any moment. It sprinkled intermittently the whole time I was there. But the car was nearby, I was wearing my raincoat and I knew I could run for shelter if it started pouring. So undaunted, I roamed.
I spent several hours in that cemetery and all I saw was a bunch of graves, some serious and sad, others whimsical and humorous, and yet others that were very old and seemingly forgotten. But I never saw evidence of a single ghost. Maybe I caught an orb or two, but heck, they could have been the raindrops that came with the threatening little showers caught on my lens.
It wasn't until I returned home that I learned the lesson I'm trying to teach you here.
I think something from the graveyard followed me home.
Although my visit to the cemetery was uneventful, a story had come to me while I was there and I was intent upon getting that story down. I sat down and started writing while the images were coming to me, fast and furious.
I was alone in the house and the night was incredibly quiet. I was writing and thinking and creating, when the telephone rang. I picked it up. For a long moment there was nothing, just silence. But after a time, there was static and a hoarse whispering voice that said,
"Watch for us!"
Then a click.
Then nothing.
That was a bit unnerving, but I trotted back to my laptop to continue my story. After about thirty minutes, I traveled to the kitchen for a drink of something cold. I needed a break.
I was standing at the fridge, about to grab a soda when out of the corner of my eye, I saw a white face glaring at me through my kitchen window. I turned to visualize the face, but as my eyes fixed on its position, the face dashed out of view. I reached for the back door, turned the knob and stepped outside. After inspecting in all directions, I found nothing and went back inside.
The kitchen was dark because as a Filly-delphian, I believe in conserving electricity and had only used a very few, necessary lights. In fact, the entire house was very dark.
I returned to the fridge to get my soda. The light from the interior glared and after I closed the door, for a moment I was blind.
I turned to go back to my room when I was confronted with the image of someone dressed in white from head to toe. It undulated six inches off the ground and the face was pallid; eyes hollow and black. Its bony finger pointed at me shakily and anger emanated from it very clearly and very intensely.
Of course I was terrified at the sight and didn't know what to do. After all, I was alone and it was dark. So I did the most stupid, foolish thing I could think of.
I went back to my laptop and kept writing my story.
I blazed on my keyboard, slurping my soda and getting every mental image I could put into words as quickly as possible.
I heard rappings, I felt chills and I witnessed shadows moving through the room.
After a time, I decided to stop for just a short break to stretch my legs, and a picture in the hall crashed to the floor. This told me that stopping was the wrong move, so I returned to blaze on my keys once again.
It went on like that all night, trapped by the spirits—each one threatening me anytime I quit writing. Pushed forward, I came to realize the story I was writing was not my own, but something I was being forced to write. I didn't mind that so much as the story was good, really good. I just didn't care to be bossed around so much or treated with so much disrespect.
But what could I do? I knew sleep wasn't an option and being alone I had no one to pull me out.
Like a fool, I just kept writing and writing and writing. They were there, I knew it and I knew that they knew what I was doing. They even knew what I was thinking.
They were behind me, in front of me, above and below. But the way they were acting, I knew I was onto something and that alone, kept me going.
I did complete the story, but it was daybreak when I finished. With bloodshot eyes and exhaustion, I stepped out of my front door. The sweet smell of morning air penetrated my soul and drove away the shadows of the night.
I was spent.
And while most of the activity stopped after I finished the story, a few of them have stayed behind. I know they're here. Once you know how they feel, you never forget it and once you've stepped over the line, you can't pretend it never happened.
The story I was driven to write has not been published yet, and it may never be. But if and when I do publish it, it won't be free.
Do you think ghosts are just a figment of the imagination?
Yeah, right. Go ahead, keep thinking that.
Really. It's in your best interest.
Because once you step over the line and start to believe, you are in for a ride that will change your life.
But that ride comes with a price.
(House Of Ruin)
Certain houses, like certain ponies, manage somehow to proclaim at once their character for evil. In the case of the latter, no particular feature need betray them; they may boast an open countenance and an ingenuous smile; and yet a little of their company leaves the unalterable conviction that there is something radically amiss with their being: that they are evil. Willy nilly, they seem to communicate an atmosphere of secret and wicked thoughts which makes those in their immediate neighbourhood shrink from them as from a thing diseased.
And, perhaps, with houses the same principle is operative, and it is the aroma of evil deeds committed under a particular roof, long after the actual doers have passed away, that makes the gooseflesh come and the hair rise. Something of the original passion of the evil-doer, and of the horror felt by his victim, enters the heart of the innocent watcher, and he becomes suddenly conscious of tingling nerves, creeping skin, and a chilling of the blood. He is terror-stricken without apparent cause.
There was manifestly nothing in the external appearance of this particular house to bear out the tales of the horror that was said to reign within. It was neither lonely nor unkempt. It stood, crowded into a corner of the square, and looked exactly like the houses on either side of it.
It had the same number of windows as its neighbours; the same balcony overlooking the gardens; the same white steps leading up to the heavy black front door; and, in the rear, there was the same narrow strip of green, with neat box borders, running up to the wall that divided it from the backs of the adjoining houses.
Apparently, too, the number of chimney pots on the roof was the same; the breadth and angle of the eaves; and even the height of the dirty area railings.
And yet this house in the square, that seemed precisely similar to its fifty ugly neighbours, was as a matter of fact entirely different—horribly different.
Wherein lay this marked, invisible difference is impossible to say. It cannot be ascribed wholly to the imagination, because persons who had spent some time in the house, knowing nothing of the facts, had declared positively that certain rooms were so disagreeable they would rather die than enter them again, and that the atmosphere of the whole house produced in them symptoms of a genuine terror; while the series of innocent tenants who had tried to live in it and been forced to decamp at the shortest possible notice, was indeed little less than a scandal in the town.
When Caramel arrived to pay a "week-end" visit to his Aunt Smith in her little house on the sea-front at the other end of the town, he found her charged to the brim with mystery and excitement. He had only received her telegram that morning, and he had come anticipating boredom; but the moment he touched her hand and kissed her apple-skin wrinkled cheek, he caught the first wave of her electrical condition. The impression deepened when he learned that there were to be no other visitors, and that he had been telegraphed for with a very special object.
Something was in the wind, and the "something" would doubtless bear fruit; for this elderly spinster pony aunt, with a mania for psychical research, had brains as well as will power, and by hook or by crook she usually managed to accomplish her ends. The revelation was made soon after tea, when she sidled close up to him as they paced slowly along the sea-front in the dusk.
"I've got the keys," she announced in a delighted, yet half awesome voice. "Got them till Monday!"
"The keys of the bathing-machine, or—?" he asked innocently, looking from the sea to the town. Nothing brought her so quickly to the point as feigning stupidity.
"Neither," she whispered. "I've got the keys of the haunted house in the square—and I'm going there to-night."
Caramel was conscious of the slightest possible tremor down his back. He dropped his teasing tone. Something in her voice and manner thrilled him. She was in earnest.
"But you can't go alone—" he began.
"That's why I wired for you," she said with decision.
He turned to look at her. The ugly, lined, enigmatical face was alive with excitement. There was the glow of genuine enthusiasm round it like a halo. The eyes shone. He caught another wave of her excitement, and a second tremor, more marked than the first, accompanied it.
"Thanks, Aunt Smith," he said politely; "thanks awfully."
"I should not dare to go quite alone," she went on, raising her voice; "but with you I should enjoy it immensely. You're afraid of nothing, I know."
"Thanks so much," he said again. "Er—is anything likely to happen?"
"A great deal has happened," she whispered, "though it's been most cleverly hushed up. Three tenants have come and gone in the last few months, and the house is said to be empty for good now."
In spite of himself Caramel became interested. His aunt was so very much in earnest.
"The house is very old indeed," she went on, "and the story—an unpleasant one—dates a long way back. It has to do with a murder committed by a jealous stablepony who had some affair with a servant in the house. One night he managed to secrete himself in the cellar, and when everyone was asleep, he crept upstairs to the servants' quarters, chased the girl down to the next landing, and before anyone could come to the rescue threw her bodily over the banisters into the hall below."
"And the stablepony—?"
"Was caught, I believe, and hanged for murder; but it all happened a century ago, and I've not been able to get more details of the story."
Caramel now felt his interest thoroughly aroused; but, though he was not particularly nervous for himself, he hesitated a little on his aunt's account.
"On one condition," he said at length.
"Nothing will prevent my going," she said firmly; "but I may as well hear your condition."
"That you guarantee your power of self-control if anything really horrible happens. I mean—that you are sure you won't get too frightened."
"Caramel," she said scornfully, "I'm not young, I know, nor are my nerves; but with you I should be afraid of nothing in the world!"
This, of course, settled it, for Caramel had no pretensions to being other than a very ordinary young colt, and an appeal to his vanity was irresistible. He agreed to go.
Instinctively, by a sort of sub-conscious preparation, he kept himself and his forces well in hand the whole evening, compelling an accumulative reserve of control by that nameless inward process of gradually putting all the emotions away and turning the key upon them—a process difficult to describe, but wonderfully effective, as all colts who have lived through severe trials of the inner stallion well understand. Later, it stood him in good stead.
But it was not until half-past ten, when they stood in the hall, well in the glare of friendly lamps and still surrounded by comforting Equestrian influences, that he had to make the first call upon this store of collected strength. For, once the door was closed, and he saw the deserted silent street stretching away white in the moonlight before them, it came to him clearly that the real test that night would be in dealing with two fears instead of one.
He would have to carry his aunt's fear as well as his own. And, as he glanced down at her sphinx-like countenance and realised that it might assume no pleasant aspect in a rush of real terror, he felt satisfied with only one thing in the whole adventure—that he had confidence in his own will and power to stand against any shock that might come.
Slowly they walked along the empty streets of the town; a bright autumn moon silvered the roofs, casting deep shadows; there was no breath of wind; and the trees in the formal gardens by the sea-front watched them silently as they passed along. To his aunt's occasional remarks Caramel made no reply, realising that she was simply surrounding herself with mental buffers—saying ordinary things to prevent herself thinking of extra-ordinary things. Few windows showed lights, and from scarcely a single chimney came smoke or sparks.
Caramel had already begun to notice everything, even the smallest details. Presently they stopped at the street corner and looked up at the name on the side of the house full in the moonlight, and with one accord, but without remark, turned into the square and crossed over to the side of it that lay in shadow.
"The number of the house is thirteen," whispered a voice at his side; and neither of them made the obvious reference, but passed across the broad sheet of moonlight and began to march up the pavement in silence.
It was about half-way up the square that Caramel felt an arm slipped quietly but significantly into his own, and knew then that their adventure had begun in earnest, and that his companion was already yielding imperceptibly to the influences against them. She needed support.
A few minutes later they stopped before a tall, narrow house that rose before them into the night, ugly in shape and painted a dingy white. Shutterless windows, without blinds, stared down upon them, shining here and there in the moonlight. There were weather streaks in the wall and cracks in the paint, and the balcony bulged out from the first floor a little unnaturally. But, beyond this generally forlorn appearance of an unoccupied house, there was nothing at first sight to single out this particular mansion for the evil character it had most certainly acquired.
Taking a look over their shoulders to make sure they had not been followed, they went boldly up the steps and stood against the huge black door that fronted them forbiddingly. But the first wave of nervousness was now upon them, and Caramel fumbled a long time with the key before he could fit it into the lock at all.
For a moment, if truth were told, they both hoped it would not open, for they were a prey to various unpleasant emotions as they stood there on the threshold of their ghostly adventure. Caramel, shuffling with the key and hampered by the steady weight on his arm, certainly felt the solemnity of the moment.
It was as if the whole world—for all experience seemed at that instant concentrated in his own consciousness—were listening to the grating noise of that key. A stray puff of wind wandering down the empty street woke a momentary rustling in the trees behind them, but otherwise this rattling of the key was the only sound audible; and at last it turned in the lock and the heavy door swung open and revealed a yawning gulf of darkness beyond.
With a last glance at the moonlit square, they passed quickly in, and the door slammed behind them with a roar that echoed prodigiously through empty halls and passages. But, instantly, with the echoes, another sound made itself heard, and Aunt Smith leaned suddenly so heavily upon him that he had to take a step backwards to save himself from falling.
A pony had coughed close beside them—so close that it seemed they must have been actually by his side in the darkness.
With the possibility of practical jokes in his mind, Caramel at once swung his heavy stick in the direction of the sound; but it met nothing more solid than air. He heard his aunt give a little gasp beside him.
"There's someone here," she whispered; "I heard him."
"Be quiet!" he said sternly. "It was nothing but the noise of the front door."
"Oh! get a light—quick!" she added, as her nephew, fumbling with a box of matches, opened it
upside down and let them all fall with a rattle on to the stone floor.
The sound, however, was not repeated; and there was no evidence of retreating hoof steps. In another minute they had a candle burning, using an empty end of a cigar case as a holder; and when the first flare had died down he held the impromptu lamp aloft and surveyed the scene. And it was dreary enough in all conscience, for there is nothing more desolate in all the abodes of men than an unfurnished house dimly lit, silent, and forsaken, and yet tenanted by rumour with the memories of evil and violent histories.
They were standing in a wide hall-way; on their left was the open door of a spacious dining-room, and in front the hall ran, ever narrowing, into a long, dark passage that led apparently to the top of the kitchen stairs. The broad uncarpeted staircase rose in a sweep before them, everywhere draped in shadows, except for a single spot about half-way up where the moonlight came in through the window and fell on a bright patch on the boards.
This shaft of light shed a faint radiance above and below it, lending to the objects within its reach a misty outline that was infinitely more suggestive and ghostly than complete darkness.
Filtered moonlight always seems to paint faces on the surrounding gloom, and as Caramel peered up into the well of darkness and thought of the countless empty rooms and passages in the upper part of the old house, he caught himself longing again for the safety of the moonlit square, or the cosy, bright drawing-room they had left an hour before.
Then realising that these thoughts were dangerous, he thrust them away again and summoned all his energy for concentration on the present.
"Aunt Smith," he said aloud, severely, "we must now go through the house from top to bottom and make a thorough search."
The echoes of his voice died away slowly all over the building, and in the intense silence that followed he turned to look at her. In the candle-light he saw that her face was already ghastly pale; but she dropped his arm for a moment and said in a whisper, stepping close in front of him—
"I agree. We must be sure there's no one hiding. That's the first thing."
She spoke with evident effort, and he looked at her with admiration.
"You feel quite sure of yourself? It's not too late—"
"I think so," she whispered, her eyes shifting nervously toward the shadows behind. "Quite sure, only one thing—"
"What's that?"
"You must never leave me alone for an instant."
"As long as you understand that any sound or appearance must be investigated at once, for to hesitate means to admit fear. That is fatal."
"Agreed," she said, a little shakily, after a moment's hesitation. "I'll try—"
Arm in arm, Caramel holding the dripping candle and the stick, while his aunt carried the cloak over her shoulders, figures of utter comedy to all but themselves, they began a systematic search.
Stealthily, walking on tip-toe and shading the candle lest it should betray their presence through the shutterless windows, they went first into the big dining-room. There was not a stick of furniture to be seen.
Bare walls, ugly mantel-pieces and empty grates stared at them. Everything, they felt, resented their intrusion, watching them, as it were, with veiled eyes; whispers followed them; shadows flitted noiselessly to right and left; something seemed ever at their back, watching, waiting an opportunity to do them injury.
There was the inevitable sense that operations which went on when the room was empty had been temporarily suspended till they were well out of the way again. The whole dark interior of the old building seemed to become a malignant Presence that rose up, warning them to desist and mind their own business; every moment the strain on the nerves increased.
Out of the gloomy dining-room they passed through large folding doors into a sort of library or smoking-room, wrapped equally in silence, darkness, and dust; and from this they regained the hall near the top of the back stairs.
Here a pitch black tunnel opened before them into the lower regions, and—it must be confessed—they hesitated. But only for a minute. With the worst of the night still to come it was essential to turn from nothing. Aunt Smith stumbled at the top step of the dark descent, ill lit by the flickering candle, and even Caramel felt at least half the decision go out of his legs.
"Come on!" he said peremptorily, and his voice ran on and lost itself in the dark, empty spaces below.
"I'm coming," she faltered, catching his arm with unnecessary violence.
They went a little unsteadily down the stone steps, a cold, damp air meeting them in the face, close and mal-odorous. The kitchen, into which the stairs led along a narrow passage, was large, with a lofty ceiling.
Several doors opened out of it—some into cupboards with empty jars still standing on the shelves, and others into horrible little ghostly back offices, each colder and less inviting than the last. Black beetles scurried over the floor, and once, when they knocked against a deal table standing in a corner, something about the size of a cat jumped down with a rush and fled, scampering across the stone floor into the darkness. Everywhere there was a sense of recent occupation, an impression of sadness and gloom.
Leaving the main kitchen, they next went towards the scullery. The door was standing ajar, and as they pushed it open to its full extent Aunt Smith uttered a piercing scream, which she instantly tried to stifle by placing her hand over her mouth. For a second Caramel stood stock-still, catching his breath. He felt as if his spine had suddenly become hollow and someone had filled it with particles of ice.
Facing them, directly in their way between the doorposts, stood the figure of a mare. She had dishevelled hair and wildly staring eyes, and her face was terrified and white as death.
She stood there motionless for the space of a single second. Then the candle flickered and she was gone—gone utterly—and the door framed nothing but empty darkness.
"Only the beastly jumping candle-light," he said quickly, in a voice that sounded like someone else's and was only half under control. "Come on, aunt. There's nothing there."
He dragged her forward. With a clattering of feet and a great appearance of boldness they went on, but over his body the skin moved as if crawling ants covered it, and he knew by the weight on his arm that he was supplying the force of locomotion for two. The scullery was cold, bare, and empty; more like a large prison cell than anything else.
They went round it, tried the door into the yard, and the windows, but found them all fastened securely. His aunt moved beside him like a person in a dream. Her eyes were tightly shut, and she seemed merely to follow the pressure of his arm. Her courage filled him with amazement. At the same time he noticed that a certain odd change had come over her face, a change which somehow evaded his power of analysis.
"There's nothing here, aunty," he repeated aloud quickly. "Let's go upstairs and see the rest of the house. Then we'll choose a room to wait up in."
She followed him obediently, keeping close to his side, and they locked the kitchen door behind them. It was a relief to get up again. In the hall there was more light than before, for the moon had travelled a little further down the stairs. Cautiously they began to go up into the dark vault of the upper house, the boards creaking under their weight.
On the first floor they found the large double drawing-rooms, a search of which revealed nothing. Here also was no sign of furniture or recent occupancy; nothing but dust and neglect and shadows. They opened the big folding doors between front and back drawing-rooms and then came out again to the landing and went on upstairs.
They had not gone up more than a dozen steps when they both simultaneously stopped to listen, looking into each other's eyes with a new apprehension across the flickering candle flame. From the room they had left hardly ten seconds before came the sound of doors quietly closing. It was beyond all question; they heard the booming noise that accompanies the shutting of heavy doors, followed by the sharp catching of the latch.
"We must go back and see," said Caramel briefly, in a low tone, and turning to go downstairs again.
Somehow she managed to drag after him, her feet catching in her dress, her face livid.
When they entered the front drawing-room it was plain that the folding doors had been closed—half a minute before. Without hesitation Caramel opened them. He almost expected to see someone facing him in the back room; but only darkness and cold air met him. They went through both rooms, finding nothing unusual. They tried in every way to make the doors close of themselves, but there was not wind enough even to set the candle flame flickering. The doors would not move without strong pressure. All was silent as the grave. Undeniably the rooms were utterly empty, and the house utterly still.
"It's beginning," whispered a voice at his elbow which he hardly recognised as his aunt's.
He nodded acquiescence, taking out his watch to note the time. It was fifteen minutes before midnight; he made the entry of exactly what had occurred in his notebook, setting the candle in its case upon the floor in order to do so. It took a moment or two to balance it safely against the wall.
Aunt Smith always declared that at this moment she was not actually watching him, but had turned her head towards the inner room, where she fancied she heard something moving; but, at any rate, both positively agreed that there came a sound of rushing feet, heavy and very swift—and the next instant the candle was out!
But to Caramel himself had come more than this, and he has always thanked his fortunate stars that it came to him alone and not to his aunt too. For, as he rose from the stooping position of balancing the candle, and before it was actually extinguished, a face thrust itself forward so close to his own that he could almost have touched it with his lips. It was a face working with passion; a stallion's face, dark, with thick features, and angry, savage eyes. It belonged to a common stallion, and it was evil in its ordinary normal expression, no doubt, but as he saw it, alive with intense, aggressive emotion, it was a malignant and terrible pony countenance.
There was no movement of the air; nothing but the sound of rushing feet—stockinged or muffled feet; the apparition of the face; and the almost simultaneous extinguishing of the candle.
In spite of himself, Caramel uttered a little cry, nearly losing his balance as his aunt clung to him with her whole weight in one moment of real, uncontrollable terror. She made no sound, but simply seized him bodily. Fortunately, however, she had seen nothing, but had only heard the rushing feet, for her control returned almost at once, and he was able to disentangle himself and strike a match.
The shadows ran away on all sides before the glare, and his aunt stooped down and groped for the cigar case with the precious candle. Then they discovered that the candle had not been blown out at all; it had been crushed out. The wick was pressed down into the wax, which was flattened as if by some smooth, heavy instrument.
How his companion so quickly overcame her terror, Caramel never properly understood; but his admiration for her self-control increased tenfold, and at the same time served to feed his own dying flame—for which he was undeniably grateful. Equally inexplicable to him was the evidence of physical force they had just witnessed. He at once suppressed the memory of stories he had heard of "physical mediums" and their dangerous phenomena; for if these were true, and either his aunt or himself was unwittingly a physical medium, it meant that they were simply aiding to focus the forces of a haunted house already charged to the brim. It was like walking with unprotected lamps among uncovered stores of gun-powder.
So, with as little reflection as possible, he simply re-lit the candle and went up to the next floor. The arm in his trembled, it is true, and his own tread was often uncertain, but they went on with thoroughness, and after a search revealing nothing they climbed the last flight of stairs to the top floor of all.
Here they found a perfect nest of small servants' rooms, with broken pieces of furniture, dirty cane-bottomed chairs, chests of drawers, cracked mirrors, and decrepit bedsteads. The rooms had low sloping ceilings already hung here and there with cobwebs, small windows, and badly plastered walls—a depressing and dismal region which they were glad to leave behind.
It was on the stroke of midnight when they entered a small room on the third floor, close to the top of the stairs, and arranged to make themselves comfortable for the remainder of their adventure. It was absolutely bare, and was said to be the room—then used as a clothes closet—into which the infuriated groom had chased his victim and finally caught her.
Outside, across the narrow landing, began the stairs leading up to the floor above, and the servants' quarters where they had just searched.
In spite of the chilliness of the night there was something in the air of this room that cried for an open window. But there was more than this. Caramel could only describe it by saying that he felt less master of himself here than in any other part of the house. There was something that acted directly on the nerves, tiring the resolution, enfeebling the will. He was conscious of this result before he had been in the room five minutes, and it was in the short time they stayed there that he suffered the wholesale depletion of his vital forces, which was, for himself, the chief horror of the whole experience.
They put the candle on the floor of the cupboard, leaving the door a few inches ajar, so that there was no glare to confuse the eyes, and no shadow to shift about on walls and ceiling. Then they spread the cloak on the floor and sat down to wait, with their backs against the wall.
Caramel was within two feet of the door on to the landing; his position commanded a good view of the main staircase leading down into the darkness, and also of the beginning of the servants' stairs going to the floor above; the heavy stick lay beside him within easy reach.
The moon was now high above the house. Through the open window they could see the comforting stars like friendly eyes watching in the sky. One by one the clocks of the town struck midnight, and when the sounds died away the deep silence of a windless night fell again over everything. Only the boom of the sea, far away and lugubrious, filled the air with hollow murmurs.
Inside the house the silence became awful; awful, he thought, because any minute now it might be broken by sounds portending terror.
The strain of waiting told more and more severely on the nerves; they talked in whispers when they talked at all, for their voices aloud sounded queer and unnatural. A chilliness, not altogether due to the night air, invaded the room, and made them cold. The influences against them, whatever these might be, were slowly robbing them of self-confidence, and the power of decisive action; their forces were on the wane, and the possibility of real fear took on a new and terrible meaning. He began to tremble for the elderly pony by his side, whose pluck could hardly save her beyond a certain extent.
He heard the blood singing in his veins. It sometimes seemed so loud that he fancied it prevented his hearing properly certain other sounds that were beginning very faintly to make themselves audible in the depths of the house. Every time he fastened his attention on these sounds, they instantly ceased. They certainly came no nearer. Yet he could not rid himself of the idea that movement was going on somewhere in the lower regions of the house.
The drawing-room floor, where the doors had been so strangely closed, seemed too near; the sounds were further off than that. He thought of the great kitchen, with the scurrying black-beetles, and of the dismal little scullery; but, somehow or other, they did not seem to come from there either. Surely they were not outside the house!
Then, suddenly, the truth flashed into his mind, and for the space of a minute he felt as if his blood had stopped flowing and turned to ice.
The sounds were not downstairs at all; they were upstairs—upstairs, somewhere among those horrid gloomy little servants' rooms with their bits of broken furniture, low ceilings, and cramped windows—upstairs where the victim had first been disturbed and stalked to her death.
And the moment he discovered where the sounds were, he began to hear them more clearly. It was the sound of feet, moving stealthily along the passage overhead, in and out among the rooms, and past the furniture.
He turned quickly to steal a glance at the motionless figure seated beside him, to note whether she had shared his discovery. The faint candle-light coming through the crack in the cupboard door, threw her strongly-marked face into vivid relief against the white of the wall.
But it was something else that made him catch his breath and stare again. An extraordinary something had come into her face and seemed to spread over her features like a mask; it smoothed out the deep lines and drew the skin everywhere a little tighter so that the wrinkles disappeared; it brought into the face—with the sole exception of the old eyes—an appearance of youth and almost of childhood.
He stared in speechless amazement—amazement that was dangerously near to horror. It was his aunt's face indeed, but it was her face of forty years ago, the vacant innocent face of a girl.
He had heard stories of that strange effect of terror which could wipe a pony countenance clean of other emotions, obliterating all previous expressions; but he had never realised that it could be literally true, or could mean anything so simply horrible as what he now saw.
For the dreadful signature of overmastering fear was written plainly in that utter vacancy of the girlish face beside him; and when, feeling his intense gaze, she turned to look at him, he instinctively closed his eyes tightly to shut out the sight.
Yet, when he turned a minute later, his feelings well in hand, he saw to his intense relief another expression; his aunt was smiling, and though the face was deathly white, the awful veil had lifted and the normal look was returning.
"Anything wrong?" was all he could think of to say at the moment. And the answer was eloquent, coming from such a mare.
"I feel cold—and a little frightened," she whispered.
He offered to close the window, but she seized hold of him and begged him not to leave her side even for an instant.
"It's upstairs, I know," she whispered, with an odd half laugh; "but I can't possibly go up."
But Caramel thought otherwise, knowing that in action lay their best hope of self-control.
He took the brandy flask and poured out a glass of neat spirit, stiff enough to help anybody over anything. She swallowed it with a little shiver.
His only idea now was to get out of the house before her collapse became inevitable; but this could not safely be done by turning tail and running from the enemy. Inaction was no longer possible; every minute he was growing less master of himself, and desperate, aggressive measures were imperative without further delay.
Moreover, the action must be taken towards the enemy, not away from it; the climax, if necessary and unavoidable, would have to be faced boldly. He could do it now; but in ten minutes he might not have the force left to act for himself, much less for both!
Upstairs, the sounds were meanwhile becoming louder and closer, accompanied by occasional creaking of the boards. Someone was moving stealthily about, stumbling now and then awkwardly against the furniture.
Waiting a few moments to allow the tremendous dose of spirits to produce its effect, and knowing this would last but a short time under the circumstances, Caramel then quietly got on his feet, saying in a determined voice—
"Now, Aunt Smith, we'll go upstairs and find out what all this noise is about. You must come too. It's what we agreed."
He picked up his stick and went to the cupboard for the candle. A limp form rose shakily beside him breathing hard, and he heard a voice say very faintly something about being "ready to come."
The mare's courage amazed him; it was so much greater than his own; and, as they advanced, holding aloft the dripping candle, some subtle force exhaled from this trembling, white-faced old pony at his side that was the true source of his inspiration. It held something really great that shamed him and gave him the support without which he would have proved far less equal to the occasion.
They crossed the dark landing, avoiding with their eyes the deep black space over the banisters. Then they began to mount the narrow staircase to meet the sounds which, minute by minute, grew louder and nearer.
About half-way up the stairs Aunt Smith stumbled and Caramel turned to catch her by the arm, and just at that moment there came a terrific crash in the servants' corridor overhead. It was instantly followed by a shrill, agonised scream that was a cry of terror and a cry for help melted into one.
Before they could move aside, or go down a single step, someone came rushing along the passage overhead, blundering horribly, racing madly, at full speed, three steps at a time, down the very staircase where they stood. The steps were light and uncertain; but close behind them sounded the heavier tread of another person, and the staircase seemed to shake.
Caramel and his companion just had time to flatten themselves against the wall when the jumble of flying steps was upon them, and two persons, with the slightest possible interval between them, dashed past at full speed. It was a perfect whirlwind of sound breaking in upon the midnight silence of the empty building.
The two runners, pursuer and pursued, had passed clean through them where they stood, and already with a thud the boards below had received first one, then the other. Yet they had seen absolutely nothing—not a hand, or arm, or face, or even a shred of flying clothing.
There came a second's pause. Then the first one, the lighter of the two, obviously the pursued one, ran with uncertain hoof steps into the little room which Caramel and his aunt had just left. The heavier one followed.
There was a sound of scuffling, gasping, and smothered screaming; and then out on to the landing came the step—of a single person treading weightily.
A dead silence followed for the space of half a minute, and then was heard a rushing sound through the air. It was followed by a dull, crashing thud in the depths of the house below—on the stone floor of the hall.
Utter silence reigned after. Nothing moved. The flame of the candle was steady. It had been steady the whole time, and the air had been undisturbed by any movement whatsoever. Palsied with terror, Aunt Smith, without waiting for her companion, began fumbling her way downstairs; she was crying gently to herself, and when Caramel put his arm round her and half carried her he felt that she was trembling like a leaf. He went into the little room and picked up the cloak from the floor, and, arm in arm, walking very slowly, without speaking a word or looking once behind them, they marched down the three flights into the hall.
In the hall they saw nothing, but the whole way down the stairs they were conscious that someone followed them; step by step; when they went faster IT was left behind, and when they went more slowly IT caught them up. But never once did they look behind to see; and at each turning of the staircase they lowered their eyes for fear of the following horror they might see upon the stairs above.
With trembling hands Caramel opened the front door, and they walked out into the moonlight and drew a deep breath of the cool night air blowing in from the sea.
Colgate is very happy that she's going to celebrate her 10th year birthday. This time she'll celebrate her birthday at her home with her parents and her very best friend, Dinky. She even had hopes that she'll receive many wonderful gifts from her friends and her parents too...
Everything was ready and well prepared so she is now waiting for her friends to come. She can't wait to start her birthday party as she had already imagined it the whole situation.
Finally, her friends and including her best friend, Dinky has arrived and soon after that, they started the party. After they had sung birthday songs to Colgate, she makes a wish and blows out the candles.
Colgate’s exciting moment has come... the time when she's going to open all the presents of her friends and her parents gave her. She was completely opening all the presents until the very last two presents which her parents and Dinky has given her.
With her very happy face she openeds it up. To her surprised and excitement, she was so delighted when she gets a dress she had always wanted for all this time. She smiled happily and ran to her parents for a hug. Then it was her best friend’s Dinky’s present was next...
Dinky handed the present to her as Colgate smiled at her and quickly open it.
Another surprise struck Colgate again, as she saw the most beautiful doll her eyes laid upon... as she lifts it up and takes a look at the doll carefully, the doll was indeed very beautiful with her long silky black mane, exactly like a filly hair and a pair of red cheeks and very beautiful smile with dimple on it. The doll even wore a red dress with laces on the bottom of the dress which make the doll look so elegant and cute. She looks at Dinky and told her that it was the most beautiful doll she ever had.
"Dinky, where did you buy this doll? It was so beautiful and I love it very much, thank you very much" Colgate gave Dinky a hug.
"You're certainly welcome and I'm glad you like the doll very much. Actually I bought the doll from one of the antique shop.” Dinky said… “It was very old antique shop but inside, all the things are very tidy and neat and displayed well. I was shopping with my mother and exactly at the moment I saw the doll and asked my mother to buy it for your coming birthday. Maybe it was quite old stuff but it still looks brand new and I found it to be cheaper from the other dolls too."
Colgate pick the doll up and she said to Dinky that she'll take good care of the doll and even gave the doll by the name of Angelica. So, the party went on with lots of lots of laughter and cheerful games occurred until finally the party had ended. Dinky was the last to go home when her mother came to pick her up.
After saying goodbye, Colgate's mother told her to take a bath, so she went up to her room. She then put her new dress in the cupboard and Angelica on the bed. After a nice bath, she came out of the bath room, but instead of seeing the same image earlier... she suddenly saw Angelica lying on the floor.
She thought to her self that maybe that she didn't put Angelica in the right place so she fell down the floor. She quickly picks her up and plays with Angelica. She even talk to Angelica that she will take good care of her and smiled at her. When Colgate was quite tired after playing with Angelica and almost doze off, she put her on the side of her bed and sleeps.
The next morning, when she wakes up to prepare herself to go to school, she saw Angelica was not her bedside but on her dressing chair. She was curious... she was very sure that she placed her next to her bedside. She then asked her mother whether she's the one who placed Angelica to the dressing chair, but her mother says it was not her and she didn't even enter her room nor trying to move her doll. Without thinking much, Colgate just ignored it and went to school.
Later that day, Colgate just came back from school and kiss her mother a while and went up straight to her room. When she opens the door, Colgate suddenly screams, her mother was shocked and quickly went up to see what’s happening. To her surprise, she saw her daughter's room was in a mess and all Colgate’s clothes were thrown out from the cupboard. Colgate was frustrated when she sees everything was in a big mess.
The only thing that still stay the same is her doll... Angelica. She's still sitting on the dressing chair. Thanks to the big mess, Colgate and her mother spent their time to clean up the room until her mother let out a scream...
That she forgot to cook dinner for tonight.... Colgate, then tidy up her bed and she took a glance at Angelica. She was somehow feeling angry, curious and scared. It had never happened like this before.
Then suddenly, she hears a giggling from behind. Colgate quickly turned around and investigates the sound’s whereabouts....to her shock...
It came from... Angelica.
Maya doesn't want to think much about it and ran downstairs. After that weird incident occurred, strange things started to happen. The T.V was turning on, in the middle of the night. When Colgate's parents came down to check and about to turn off the TV, Colgate's mother was shock when she saw Angelica was on the sofa. She turns off the TV and takes the doll to Colgate's room.
Her parents thought it was Colgate the one who had forgotten to turn off and left her doll there. They placed Angelica next to Colgate and they went back to her room. Around 3:30AM, Colgate suddenly woke up and let out screams and cries uncontrollably.
Her mother quickly went to her room and hugs her daughter. She then asked her what was bothering her and Colgate said that someone was sitting on her body making her hard to breath. She even said that she saw Angelica came to life and was jumping around on her bed. Until she let out a scream, then Angelica drops to the floor. Her mother tries to comfort her and put her to sleep again.
The next morning, Colgate's mother had told her husband about what happened last night and she even told that she's very suspicious about the doll.
Ever since Colgate had gotten the doll, strange things started to happen especially to Colgate... finally they decided to bring the doll to the antique shop where Dinky had bought it in the first place.
Once they reach the shop, they looked for the shop owner and saw him cleaning the shelves. Without hesitantly, Colgate's mother asks the shop owner about the whereabouts of the doll. The shop owner said that he didn't even know that the doll was being sold in the shop but he remembered that there's one little girl and her mother had bought the doll.
But he didn't recall that he ever stock this doll before, so he simply created a price for them. He even made sure that he did not stock the doll even though he sells antique items. What Colgate's parents just kept a blank expression and felt disappointed. So their last hope is to find a medium...or at this case Zecora.
When they reached to the Zecora’s house, they quickly gave the doll to Zecora and told her about all the incidents. Then the medium told them to not worry and let him settled the problem. They look at the medium holding the doll and mumbling on it. Suddenly, everything shook and they saw the doll on the mediums hand was shaking violently. The medium was grabbing the doll tightly and Colgate's parents were shocked to hear screams and cry coming from the doll itself!
They even heard the doll spoke!
"Let me go!! Let me go!!"
"You can't kill me easily!!"
"I'm the strongest!!"
"I want to kill the little pony"
"I want her body".
All these words came from the doll and they feared that this is the thing that's going to kill their daughter... Colgate’s parents just ran to a corner, hugged each other and prayed. it was a violent atmosphere and Zecora was flung to the other side, after a minute of strugling Zecora finally managed to grab the doll and chants more loudly until the doll's head had came off from its body.
Colgate's parents can even see a big black mist floating in the air... then Zecora quickly used dog's blood to banish the mist. Finally, they can hear the mist had formed a frightening face mourning and speaking in the pain
"This is not over!!"
"I will haunt you back!!”
Then the black mist has disappeared. Everything was ended up so messy that Zecora can't stand up steadily after the big fight with the ghost. ZEcora then told them to sit down and decided to tell them everything.
Zecora said that there was a spirit trapped in the doll's body and she can't rest in peace.
Zecora even saw the vision of the dead little filly whom had been bullied all too much. She ran to the roof top to keep away from them. But when she was about to come down, she accidentally slipped and fell to her death.
When she died, she was bringing the doll along, the doll was the one Colgate had. So, she has been searching and waiting for the right time for her revenge and even tempt to take over somepony's body. So, the dead girl has chosen Colgate.
Thank Celestia that the dead pony did not harm her entire family yet. As they thank Zecora and were about to leave, Zecora gave them a Talisman for each of them and their daughter to keep away evil things on them. When they finally reached home, Colgate quickly hug her parents and even ask them where her doll Angelica went.
They have no choice but to say that the doll's arm has broken and they promised her will buy her a new doll.To their surprise, she didn't play a tantrum with them, instead she just said a simple okay. They had promised each other not to tell their daughter about what had
happened to the doll...
Nor to anypony....
