A Cold Heart

by ANGRY_RainbowDash

Rating: teen
Tags: Dark, Alternate Universe
Length: 1859

Why did she do it? No! The 'why' doesn't matter. All that matters is vengeance. Twilight Sparkle will pay with her life!

The death of her closest friend drives Fluttershy over the edge. But who is responsible? Who's to blame?

That responsibility lies on Twilight Sparkle. And Fluttershy will make her pay for it… with her life!
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Based upon "A Tell-Tale Heart" by Edgar Allan Poe

Harper, Benjamin, Dennis Calero, and Edgar Allan Poe. The Tell-tale Heart.
North Mankato, MN: Stone Arch, 2013. PDF.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2013-08-20 02:10:02 UTC

Revenge is a Dish Best Served Cold

It is easy to tell how such vengeful prophecies entered my brain. They appeared many times a day, each as fruitless as the next; but this time, it was different. Once conceived, it haunted me day and night. Object there was. Passion there was. I loved Twilight. She had never wronged me—Wrong! Wrong! Wrong!—She had done a horrifying injustice to me. She had killed my friend, Angel. Her very presence disgusted me. And so by degrees—very gradually—I made up my mind to take the life of the Unicorn, and thus rid myself of Angel's murderer.

Now this is the point. You may fancy me mad, friends. Mad ponies know nothing. But you should have seen me. You should have seen how wisely I proceeded—with what caution I went to work with! I was never kinder to Twilight than during the whole week before I killed her—why do you look so surprised. I am the Element of Kindness after all—well, was the Element of Kindness—and every night, about midnight, I sneaked into her house—oh, so quietly! And then, when I had made it past the sleeping dragon and to the Unicorn's bed, I raised the cleaver I carried above her heart. Oh, you would have laughed to see how cunning I was! I moved slowly—very, very slowly, so that I might not disturb her sleep. Ha!—would a pony stricken with madness have been so wise as this? And this I did for seven long nights—every night just at midnight—but I found her eyes always closed; and so it was impossible to do the work; I wanted Twilight to see me stab her heart, knowing it was just retribution for breaking mine. And every morning, when the day broke, I went to meet her in my shy manner, and spoke courteously to her, and doing everything she asked and needed done, and inquiring how she had passed the night. So you see she would have been a very paranoid Unicorn, indeed, to suspect that every night, just at twelve, I stood over her while she slept.

Upon the eighth night I was more than usually cautious in sneaking upon her. A watch’s minute hand moves more quickly than did mine. Never before that night had I felt the extent of my own powers—of my sagacity. I could scarcely contain my feelings of triumph. To think that there I was, standing over her with a cleaver in hand, and she did not even dream of my secret deeds or thoughts. I fairly chuckled at the idea; and perhaps she heard me; for she shuffled in the bed suddenly, as if startled. Now you may think that I drew back—but no. The entire tree—both outside and in—was as black as pitch with the thick darkness, and so I knew that she would not see me, and so I just stood there staring, smiling.

I placed my head closer, and was about to chuckle again, when the Unicorn sprang up in the bed, crying out—“Who’s th—”

My free hoof went to her mouth, shutting off her horrid voice and forcing her down. I kept quite still and said nothing. For what seemed like a whole hour I did not move a muscle, and in the meantime I could feel the tension of her frightened form vibrate through my leg. But beside fearing for her life, she did nothing, still lying in the bed listening—just as I have done, night after night, hearkening to the death watches in the wall.

I heard a slight groan, and I knew it was the groan of mortal terror. It was not a groan of pain or of grief—oh, no!—it was the low stifled sound that arises from the bottom of the soul when overcharged with awe. I knew the sound well. Many a night, just at midnight, when all the world slept, it had welled up from my own bosom, deepening, with its dreadful echo, the terrors that distracted me. I knew it well. I knew what the Unicorn felt, and pitied her, although I was angry at heart. Her fears had been ever since growing. She had been trying to discover my identity, but could not. She had been saying to herself—“It just Spike sleepwalking again."  Yes, she has been trying to comfort herself with such deductions; but she would find them all in vain. All in vain; because Death, in approaching her, had possessed one her most trusted, and corrupted her with anger and purpose. And it was the mournful influence of the undiscovered intruder that caused her to feel—although she did not see—the presence of the cleaver above her heart.

When I had waited a long time, very patiently, without feeling her soften, I resolved to move my head even closer—a tiny, tiny, tiny bit. So I moved closer, until not an inch distanced our lips—I knew now she could see me with her widened, terror-filled eyes.

I grew furious as I gazed upon her. I saw it with perfect distinctness— I could perfectly see the Unicorn's face.

And now have I not told you that what you mistake for madness is but over-acuteness of the senses?—No? Well now I tell you—There came to my ears a low, dull, quick sound, such as the scurrying of a mouse over carpet. I knew that sound well too. It was the beating of the Twilight's heart. It increased my fury, as the beating of a drum stimulates the soldier into courage.

But even yet I refrained and kept still. I scarcely breathed. Meanwhile, the hellish tattoo of the heart increased. It grew quicker and quicker, and louder and louder every instant. The Twilight's terror must have been extreme! It grew louder, I say, louder every moment!—do you mock me as well? I have told you that I am nervous: so I am. And now at the dead hour of the night, amid the dreadful silence of that old tree, so strange a noise as this excited me to uncontrollable terror. Yet, for some minutes longer I refrained and stood still. But the beating grew louder, louder! I thought the heart must burst. And now a new anxiety seized me—the sound would be heard by the neighborhood! Twilight's hour had come! With a loud yell, I jammed the cleaver into her ribcage, again and again. She shrieked once through my hooves—once only. In an instant I dragged her to the floor, and pulled the heavy bed over her. I then smiled gaily, to find the deed so far done. But, for many minutes, the heart beat on with a muffled sound—no! Not her heart!—I turned, seeing Spike standing there, silent and stunned. I gave him no time to query—the cleaver swung for his neck, striking the soft flesh, and sinking in an inch before his scales ceased it. I let go of the blade, and watched as he grabbed it—holding it as the blood flowed over the cold steel, and dripped to the floor.

Why do you look so shocked and disgusted? Friends?

At length, his heart ceased. Both Twilight and Spike were dead. I removed the bed and examined Twilight's cadaver. Yes, she was stone, stone dead. I placed my hoof upon the heart and held it there many minutes. There was no pulsation. She was stone dead. Angel's murderer would trouble me no more.

If still you think me mad, you will think so no longer when I describe the wise precautions I took for the concealment of the bodies. The night waned, and I worked hastily, but in silence. First of all I dismembered the corpses. I cut off the heads and the arms and the legs.

I then took up three planks from the flooring of the lower chamber, and deposited all between the scantlings. I then replaced the boards so cleverly, so cunningly, that no equine eye—not even yours'—could have detected anything wrong. There was blood to wash out—a river of the red liquid. I had been reckless, at that. But all spills can be cleaned. Ha! Ha!

When I had made an end of these labors, it was four o’clock—still dark as midnight. As the bell sounded the hour, there came a knocking at the door. I went down to open it with a light heart—for what had I now to fear? There entered you four—so surprised to see me. A shriek had been heard by you, Rarity, during the night; you gathered your friends, finding me missing; suspicion of foul play had been aroused; you all came to investigate.

I smiled,—for what had I to fear? I bade you all welcome—you all remember, don't you? The shriek, I said, was a mystery. You scattered all over the house. You searched, I 'searched'—we all searched well. We eventually reached her bedroom. All was secure, undisturbed. In the enthusiasm of my confidence, I encouraged everyone downstairs, and desired you all to rest from your fatigues, while I myself, in the wild audacity of my perfect triumph, placed myself upon the very spot beneath which reposed the corpses of the victims—amazing how I fooled you all!

I was singularly at ease. You all sat, and while I answered cheerily, you all chatted of familiar things. But, ere long, I felt myself getting pale and wished you all gone. My head ached, and I fancied a ringing in my ears: but still you all sat and still chatted. The ringing became more distinct:—it continued and became more distinct: I talked more freely to get rid of the feeling: but it continued and gained definitiveness—until, at length, I found that the noise was not within my ears.

No doubt I now grew very pale;—but I talked more fluently, and with a heightened voice. Yet the sound increased—and what could I do? It was a low, dull, quick sound—much such a sound as a mouse makes when treading over carpet. I gasped for breath—and yet you all heard it not. I talked more quickly—more vehemently; but the noise steadily increased. I arose and argued about trifles, in a high key and with violent gesticulations, but the noise steadily increased. Why would you not be gone? I paced the floor to and fro with heavy strides, as if excited to fury by the observation of my friends—but the noise steadily increased. Oh God! what could I do? I foamed—I raved—I swore! I swung my hooves in the air, and grated them upon the boards, but the noise arose over all and continually increased. It grew louder—louder—louder! And still you all chatted pleasantly, and smiled. Was it possible you all heard it not? Dear Celestia!—no, no! You heard!—you suspected!—you knew!—you were making a mockery of my horror!—this I thought, and this I think. But any thing was better than this agony! Any thing was more tolerable than this derision! I could bear your hypocritical smiles no longer! I felt that I must scream or die!—and now—again!— hark! louder! louder! louder! louder!—

“Villains!” I shrieked, “speak no more! I admit the deed!—tear up the planks!—here, here!—it is the beating of their hideous hearts!”