Doctor Whooves: Night of the ShadowFright

Deputy D.D. Rightly whistled half-heartedly to himself as he made his rounds, or, as he liked to refer to it, walked his beat. A sleepy little town like Ponyville rarely merited a law enforcement squad consisting of more than two deputies who answered to the sheriff. Usually Sheriff Magnum sent Rightly and Deputy Friday to respond to noise complaints - often the result of one of Pinkie Pie's parties getting out of hand - or to reports of juvenile pranksters spray painting rude words and cryptic messages on the sides of public buildings.

"Bad Wolf".

What the hay did that mean?

The Deputy paused in his whistling to sigh. As much as he hated to admit it, Diamond Tiara's disappearance came as something of a relief. Not that he was happy that the filly had disappeared, not at all.  He never wanted anything bad to happen to children ever, not even one as rude and self-involved as the heiress to the Rich Fortune. It was just that he had always wanted to be a proper police stallion ever since he was a foal. He had grown up reading Sherlock Hooves and Ms. Maple and hoped to one day crack a case of his own, perhaps amid the bustle of Fillydelphia or the mean streets of Manehattan.

Naturally he was less than thrilled to be assigned a post in rural Ponyville after graduating from the academy, but he just about yelped for joy at the prospect of a bonafide mystery. He was ready, eyes peeled, ear to the ground, no perpetrator of any foul deed would get the drop on D.D. Rightly.

At least that's what he had thought would happen, but the reality, once again, fell short of his expectations. The Apple Family, long time supporters of the Ponyville Police Department, and friends of Sheriff Magnum - possibly even his in-laws.  There were so many Apples it was difficult to keep track - had organized a search party for the missing kids. A search party which had included Deputy Friday and Sheriff Magnum, and left Rightly to explain to Pinkie Pie that a "search party" was not, in fact, a literal party.

After talking the peppy pony down to three balloons, one bag of streamers, and a "found you" cake, the dejected Deputy was left to mind the office while his colleagues went on the search. He filed files, he copied things requiring copies and he stapled things in need of stapling. When office hours finally came to an end, Rightly went on night patrol, something the Sheriff told him over and over again was not necessary, but the Deputy insisted on doing just the same, which brought him to the dilemma he currently found himself in.

As he was trotting past the schoolyard, he noticed something peculiar.

On closer examination, it appeared to be a large wooden box with windows. He circled it cautiously, inspecting it with his keen, discerning, crime-stopping eye. By the gentle glow of the light at the top of the mysterious crate, he found the inscription:

Police Public Call Barn

It was emblazoned on all sides. On one side, there were a pair of doors with what appeared to be a list of instructions upon them:

Police Telephone

Free for Use of Public

Advice and Assistance Obtainable Immediately

Officers and Carts Respond to Urgent Calls

Pull to Open

After a moment's consideration, he knocked. After politely waiting for an answer he pulled at the doors. When they didn't budge he glanced the instructions again to reaffirm that they were in fact pull doors. He tried pushing and still they wouldn't yield. Finally giving up on gaining access to the strange box, he considered his options. It was clearly police property, as it had the word "police" all over it, though he couldn't recall anything from his academy days that referenced a "police barn" as being part of the procedural inventory. Besides that, it shouldn't be near the schoolyard where some impressionable young foals might play with it.  Law enforcement equipment was not a toy after all.

However he was uncertain just what the protocol for something like this was.

Was he to regard it was a traffic violation?

Negligence?

Gross misuse of police equipment?

And who was he supposed to cite anyway? The only ones who should have access to said police equipment would be the Sheriff, himself and Deputy Friday.

At last, reaching a decision he rummaged through his standard issue saddle bad producing a rope and a harness. After tying the bonds as tight as he could he attached the ends to the harness around his shoulders and pulled. After wobbling for a few moments, the strange box came crashing on it side and the Deputy dragged it in the direction of the Sheriff's Office, huffing and puffing all the way. Sheriff Magnum would know how to deal with this, D.D. Rightly assured himself as he strained at the ropes. And until he's done with the search party, this box'll be staying in the impound lot.

He grunted against the ropes. If he didn't know any better, he'd swear that the crate was pulling back.

* * *

The shadow warped and writhed in the soft glow of the strange stallion's whirring device.  Whorls of blackness swirled and slithered all across the sorting room, upsetting crates and packages, sending letters flying from their slots and ruining a night's work for Ditzy who for her part could only stare dumbly at her would-be rescuer, who seemed to have appeared out of nowhere.

He had a light brown coat with an untidy dark brown mane giving him the overall impression of scruffiness.  He had an hourglass cutiemark emblazoned upon his flank, though for the life of her, Ditzy couldn't fathom what sort of talent that indicated.

The stallion who called himself the Doctor glanced over his shoulder, locking eyes with the blonde Mare, and said in a North Trottingham accent, "I really am a Doctor you know."

Ditzy could only blink in confusion so he continued, "And as a physician, I strongly recommend - for your continued good health, physical or otherwise - being anywhere except here at the moment."

"Wh-wh-wh-" was all the gray pegasus could manage as the Doctor went on, "Because my sonic screwdriver is not having the desired effect on this creature. In fact..." the blue light began to dim as the shadow stretched and tightened into something vaguely equine.  At last the "sonic screwdriver" flickered and died.

"I daresay it's enjoying it," finished the Doctor with a gulp.

Violet orbs snapped open and fixed themselves on the ponies and tendrils of darkness snapped from its form to clutch at them.  With a yelp Ditzy flapped up into the air, narrowly avoiding the grasping appendage.  But no sooner had she dodged than another slammed into her side, pinning her to the wall.  In a blur of motion a shadowy whipcord encircled her wings and the creature was before her, almost muzzle to muzzle and Ditzy flinched from that stony purple gaze.  Gazing into those orbs was like staring into a gaping black hole in existence, a great mouth that devoured all light, joy and color from creation leaving it bleak and meaningless.  She tore herself from that unbearable empty gaze with a whimper.

The Doctor, meanwhile, was crouched next to the vending machine, pointing his strange rod at the coin slot to no effect. He then began knocking it against his hoof muttering "Come on! Come on!"

If Ditzy weren't so petrified with terror at the time, she might have shouted at the weird, stupid pony that now was certainly not the time to be thinking about snacks.  Suddenly the odd device sputtered to life and with a whoop the Doctor pointing the glowing bulb at the coin slot again and the machine began to shake.

There came a loud shpow! noise and the creature recoiled from Ditzy to investigate the two bit coin embedded into the wall by its head - or at least the appendage where it kept its eyes.  There came more shpows! and a barrage of coins pelted the monster as it hissed in annoyance.  It also had the added effect of releasing Ditzy from its grasp as it attempted to shield itself from the penny projectiles with its shadowy limbs.

Ditzy's head whipped around the sorting room until she spied the Doctor gesturing her urgently with one hoof as the other busied itself with the weird whirring mechanism pointed at the door, the blue light flickering and sputtering like a drowning candle flame.

Her wings were bruised and her side ached, but Ditsy was otherwise unhurt and flapped and galloped towards the strange stallion at full speed.  The Doctor knocked the rod against his hoof again, tut-tutting with frustration and pointed it back at the door which obligingly clicked.  Immediately the two ponies pushed through, entering the reception area of Ponyville Post Office, slamming the door shut behind them.  Ditzy struggled to catch her breath while the Doctor bolted the with a whiz and a click of his device.

Beyond the door, the shadow beast shrieked as coins continued to pelt it.

"Well now, that was new," said the Doctor mater-of-factly, as though he were discussing some interesting new plant and not some nightmare-spawned abomination. "Love new things. Even if they do try to kill me. Not important now."

Ditzy's head was spinning.  One moment she was sorting the mail and the next she's being attacked by some wraith-like monster only to be rescued by some mad Trottish pony with a flashy noise-maker who was treating the entire situation like a mildly hectic day at the office. Was this how poor Screwloose felt before she began eating dog biscuits and had to take a "mandatory extended leave of absence"?

Suddenly the Doctor placed both hooves on her shoulders, prompting her to meet that cobalt blue gaze.  It was then that Ditzy was struck by how strange they were.  They weren't empty and lifeless like the monster in the sorting room, just the opposite.  In fact she had never seen eyes so full of life, joy, and wonder.  But there was something else there too.  A deep, abiding sadness and incomprehensible loss.  They were eyes that were far, far too old and weary to be peering from that youthful face.  She couldn't explain why or how but she implicitly knew, like she knew the sun would rise tomorrow morning, that she could trust this mad, strange stallion with her life.

"I need you to listen very, very carefully," he said levelly. He waited expectantly before Ditzy finally nodded. The shpow! noises in the sorting room were becoming less and less frequent.  "Does this building have a back-up generator in case the power goes out?"

"Y-yeah," answered Ditzy. "We keep it in the storage room. In the cellar."

The Doctor clopped his hooves together and wrung them with glee.  The paltry light gleaming through the cracks of the sorting room door became blocked by something dark. "Alright, here's the situation. The good news is, we're not dealing with Vasta Nerada. If we were, we'd've been reduced to skeletal remains by now. The bad news: I have absolutely no idea what we're dealing with. Some sort of umbraform as the shadow itself seems to possess mass and...not important right now. What is important, is light. Light is the answer. Somehow. Haven't worked out how. But it's afraid of it, and, at the same time, it's drawn to it. So, I'm going to need lots and lots of it."

He held up the strange rod. "It drained it before, but hopefully it still has enough juice left to make tempting bait. Now, I'm afraid in order for this plan to work, I'm going to need your help."

Ditzy gave an involuntary squeak. "M-m-me?"

"I'm the distraction, so that means, you'll have to activate the generator. I know I'm asking a lot from someone I just met - nice to meet you by the way, always lovely meeting new ponies - but at the moment I'm not exactly rich with options."

Blackness oozed from beneath the sorting room door, and the mail slots along the wall rattled as shadowy feelers slithered through probing for prey.

The Doctor gave Ditzy another grin and a wink, "Best get a move on." and he trotted toward the bleeding darkness.

"Wait!" called Ditzy and the Doctor twisted his head around to give a somewhat vexed expression, as though he were a put-upon caretaker dealing with a particularly dense child. So many questions vied for prominence in Ditzy's head: what was going on? Where in Tartarus did this...thing come from? What the hay was a Vasta Ner-whatsis? Did Dinky Doo eat supper and go to bed on time? But the question she wound up asking was an exasperated, "Who are you?"

"Well, I've told you," said the stallion. "I'm the Doctor. And you are?"

Because she couldn't think of what else to do she answered, "Derpy...Ditzy Doo."

The Doctor smiled warmly, "Nice to meet you Derpy Dizty Doo."

Before she could correct him, the creature, nearly half-formed, shrieked to find its quarry so close at hoof.

"Run for your life!"

Ditzy turned and ran, trying her best to block out the shrieks of the shadow beast, drowning out the pitiful whine of the weird mechanism of the Doctor's, she tried to stay focused on the objective the strange pony had given her, the backup generator.  She shoved open the cellar door and almost tumbled down the steps in her haste.  A cry of anguish pierced her ears and she wasn't sure whether it came from the Doctor or the creature, but it spurred her frantic search.  The cellar hadn't been cleaned in years, stacks of moldy stacks of unused boxes and piles of discarded papers were strewn everywhere, Ditzy couldn't even see the floor!

Actually she couldn't see much of anything. She tried working the light switch before remembering that the power had been knocked out which was why she was fumbling in the dark in the first place. She tripped over boxes, slipped on a stack of paper and stubbed her hoof on something hard eliciting a stream of expletives she hadn't uttered since Dinky was born.

Fortunately luck had finally smiled on her as she had, in fact stubbed her hoof on the backup generator.  It was a rusty old turbine that hadn't seen use in decades. The little window on the side revealed that the tiny thundercloud contained within had become withered from disuse, its color a washed-out chalk, with barely a spark to it at all.  For a brief panicked moment, she wondered if it was still working but the sounds of the struggle upstairs strengthened her resolve.  She turned lifted her hind leg and kicked.  The generator shook and wheezed before falling silent again, the sickly storm cloud quivering pitifully.  A loud shriek echoed into the basement.  Ditzy kicked again.

* * *

The Doctor artfully dodged another shadow whip, doing cartwheels and laughing gleefully as the monster hissed in annoyance, sprouting more and more wicked appendages.

"Almost had me there old chap," teased the stallion.  "Don't give up! Give us another go!"

He shined his screwdriver at the creature's violet eyes and it cried out in an unnerving mixture of pain, ecstasy, and rage.  While the Doctor was putting on a strong front he wasn't certain how much longer he could carry on like this.  The creature had already grazed his flank with icy cold talons.  The scratches burned like the artic winds of Fridjeria, and he could feel the coldness spreading throughout his blood stream indicating some form of toxin.  His unique immune system told him that the dose wasn't fatal, however his body's recovery was sapping much needed energy at a most inopportune time, namely when he needed that same energy to avoid being killed by a horror from beyond the stars.

And to make matters worse, his sonic screwdriver, the one thing keeping the monster at bay, was rapidly fading.  His only hope lay with that blonde pegasus.  He had the uncharitable thought that she might have abandoned him, but he quickly dismissed the notion. Through his long years he prided himself on being an excellent judge of character and Miss Derpy Ditzy Doo did not strike him as the type to abandon somepony in need.  And as the shadow beast reared up for another volley of attacks the Doctor's need seemed greater than ever.

Just then the lights hummed to life and the beast shrieked and the Doctor grinned.  "Miss Doo," he whispered.  "You're beautiful!"

He raised his trusty sonic screwdriver overhead and it buzzed weakly before finally expiring with an anguished squawk, but it had done its job.  The lights of the Post Office grew in brightness and intensity, the Doctor shielded his eyes from the illumination, peering at his antagonist beneath raised foreleg.  The shadow beast howled in agony as it shrank from the brightness, its form fading from inky black to misty gray, loosing shape and substance beneath the onslaught of light.  With a final pitiful hiss at the Doctor it began to slither away.

"On no you don't," growled the Doctor, moving to pursue.  Then the lights burst, showing him with sparks and broken glass.  Stupid, stupid old fool, the Doctor chastised himself.  Got overexcited and forgot to calibrate the electrical output and overloaded the lights!  Blinking the spots from his eyes, he frantically scanned the newly darkened Post Office for his quarry but to no avail.  It had escaped!  "Blast!" swore the brown stallion, running his hooves through his mane.  "I'm off my game. This sort of thing never happened with I had...No, no. Best not think like that. Alone is better. Alone is safer. For you and everypony else...is something burning?"  That was when he smelled the smoke and noticed the flickering orange glow.

He whirled around to find that the cellar door was being licked greedily by flames.  That same cellar door he had sent Miss Doo down in search of the back up generator.

"No," whispered the Doctor.

* * *

Ditzy coughed as she inhaled more smoke.  The generator groaned and sputtered after her second buck, and for a few terrifying seconds Ditzy feared that it might explode.  But then the basement light snapped on and the anguished screech of the shadowbeast above banished her fears and she gave a gleeful cry of victory.  The Doctor had beaten the monster, and she had helped!  That was the most amazing thing of all!  She had helped!

Then the light burst in a shower of sparks, and the ancient stacks of forgotten bureaucratic refuse caught them.

Tiny flames licked at the edges of several dry pages of back logs, crinkling and blackening them, gleefully spreading to the rest of the boxes and envelopes and other kindling.  Almost before Ditzy registered what was happening, the whole cellar had turned into an inferno.  The low ceiling rendered her wings useless in the limited maneuverability the stacks of flaming paperwork offered, and the fire was blocking her way to the stairs.  Giving way to instinctual fear, she backed away from the greedy flames into a corner, using her wings to shield her mouth and nostrils from the acrid smoke.  But she knew that the flames were eating up all the oxygen and sooner or later she would asphyxiate on the fumes.

She coughed again.

Dinky would be all alone.

She'd be left without both her parents.

The world wasn't always kind, Dinky shouldn't have to face it alone.

She wouldn't face it alone!

Ditzy would not allow that!

Steeling herself against what she was about to do, her head swimming slightly, she folded her wings as tightly against her body as she could manage and charged into the flames at full gallop.  She gritted her teeth against the burning, feeling her hide crackle and her feathers disintegrate as she urged her legs to carry her just a bit further.  She was almost to the stairs.  The flames were already busily devouring the steps as well.

No time for hesitation.

No time for second thoughts.

Her daughter was waiting for her.

She shook herself, hoping to dispel some of the flames and she rushed up the stairs, each step protesting with a creak and a groan.  Then with a sickening snap! one of her hind hooves fell through one of the weakened boards.  With a pained cry she fell forward.  The smoke was growing thick and the fire was spreading.  She coughed as she lungs filled with the acrid fumes and her vision began to blur.  She pulled at her trapped hoof but it held fast.  What was it her old kindergarten teacher had told her on fire safety awareness day?  About using the stairs during a fire?

The steps behind her started to crumble.

Oh, that's right. Don't.

Looks like I've messed up again, Ditzy thought ruefully.  The choking miasma was making her head fuzzy.  It was getting hard to focus and her eyes were watering so much it was becoming difficult to see.  I'm so, so sorry Dinky, my poor baby.

"Miss Doo!" somepony called.

"Fix-it?" slurred Ditzy.

"Derpy!" came the voice again.  "Answer me!"

It wasn't Fix-it then. He'd never call her Derpy.  Ditzy had always hated that nickname.  She couldn't say why she had introduced herself by it when she met the Doctor.  He probably thought she was a complete featherhead.  She hoped he was alright.  He seemed like a nice colt.  Kind of nutty though.  Lonely too.

"C'mon Miss Doo!" the voice was straining now and she had the sensation that she was being pulled upwards at an angle.  "Just a few more steps!"

Dinky was probably asleep right now.  Ditzy must remember to kiss her goodnight and tuck her in when she got home.

"Made it!" huffed the voice.  "We made it. You're a lot heavier than you look you know."

Heavy?  Heavy?! She ought to buck him into next week for making a comment like that to a mare.  She tried to tell him so too but all that came out was, "Atta...ukk yuu...inna...nezzwii..."

"We'll take it from here sir," came a new voice.  Ditzy was lifted up and placed on what felt like a cushion with wheels.

"She's inhaled a lot of smoke," said the voice that called her fat.  "She needs oxygen.  She's suffered a few minor burns, but if you treat them right away..."

"Don't worry sir," new voice cut him off.  "We know what we're doing. Your girlfriend's in good hands."

"Oh, she's not my girlfriend," insensitive voice stated simply.

"Nob...is...girfree..." Ditzy agreed intelligently, as something was placed over her muzzle.  Someone instructed her to breath deeply and she obeyed.  Gradually her thoughts became less and less jumbled and she realized that she was on a paramedic gurney and she had been given an oxygen mask.  She sat up, despite the protestations of the medic, causing her to hiss a sharp intake of break as her burns tingled and stung and her head to briefly swim again, but she was able to take in the scene surrounding her.

The Ponyville Fire Brigade had arrived and were busily putting out the fire.  Almost half the building had been devastated.  The bricks were crumbling, the letterboxes were warped by heat, and she didn't even want to consider what the sorting room and cellar might look like.  She scanned the faces of the firefighters, paramedics, and spectators who had gotten out of bed to see what the fuss was about.  No evil shadow monster.  No mysterious Doctor with his noisy nightlight.  Nothing to prove that Derpy the Wonder Klutz was not in any way to blame for the fire.

"Mister Delivery is going to kill me," she moaned.