The Voices Inside My Head

by Glacier Wind

Rating: teen
Tags: Romance, Crossover, Tragedy, Dark, Alternate Universe
Length: 8843

With the rebuilding of the Overlook Hotel, one of Equestria's most valued tourist accommodations, a stallion with a passion for history, as well as writing, craves the truth behind The Overlook Disaster. Has he bargained for more than he wanted

It has been ten years since the incident that burnt the Overlook Hotel to the ground. Now, rebuilt and as pristine as ever, the hotel is re-stationed on the same plot as its predecessor. And sometimes 'old habits' die hard, when the arrival of a certain stallion sets the hotel into an tangent uproar… This particular stallion has an interest in the original story of the hotel and is desperate to find out what really happened. Perhaps he's bargained for more than he wanted to.

Only time can tell the tale of the Overlook Hotel.

Yes, this is a sequel, although I will try my best to mention everything as if it were new. But if you would like to read the original story, the link is above.

Rated Teen for use of profanity, descriptive gore, and use of violence.
Again, the Dark and Gore tags are there for a reason. If you don't like that kind of stuff, you might just want to turn away.The cover art was created by myself with the use of Photoshop CS6. The OCs belongs to me, but if you would like to use them I'm fine with it as long as you tell me.

Author's Note:This is not really a crossover with The Shining, but I used the same hotel again, albeit rebuilt, so it still falls under a crossover technically. And this is NOT supposed to be related to the official sequel to 'The Shining,' Doctor Sleep. This is just my own story based directly after the original story.Character tags will also be updated when applicable.
[size=0.75em]Both titles belong to their respective owners.[/size]

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2014-04-05 03:48:40 UTC

Prologue

The Voices inside My Head

By: The Sentimentalism Brony

Prologue

My name is Amethyst Pen, and I’m an author… Well, at least I would like to consider myself one. You see, I write various tales of trials, tribulation, and sweet romance. Occasionally, I travel outside my comfort zone and write something…Well, let’s say…Different. But I only write like this when I get into one of my moods. You know the kinds. The days when you wake up and feel the whole world is against you, out to get you, and is creepily breathing down your neck. And that’s how I feel today. So, this is what I’ll do: Sit around my lovely two floor cottage, which resides near the edge of the Everfree Forest, and write my feelings away…One page at a time.

Sliding my favorite writing chair across the living room to my desk, I climb upon it and loom over my Remington Envoy typewriter. I pick up a piece of Amen Pomerantz parchment and place it into the machine, spinning the spindle on the left side to feed it through the machines inner workings.

Paper in place, I open the protective ink ribbon flap, and remove my old worn ribbon.This thing has seen so many letters; it’s crazy to think it’s time for it to go, I thought, before popping the two corresponding sides of the ribbon free of their post with a slight click.

“Now,” I said out loud to nopony in particular, "to insert the new ribbon spool.”

I popped the metal tin next to me open with a loud clank and peered within its metallic walls. This ribbon was a standard Remington Envoy replacement spool. The spools would last anywhere from four-hundred – to five-hundred pages of manuscript.

Placing the lead-in spool on the right shaft, and the supplier spool on the left, I secure them into place before closing the protective cover backup tight. The typewriter is now complete again. Whole. Like the Elements of Harmony, themselves.

I place my hooves over the delicate keys, before I’m stopped by a knock at the door. I lift myself angrily from my post, and make my way towards the door.

Placing my hoof on the door handle, I twist it slightly, slowly so.

“Hello,” I state as I open the door past the threshold to full attention. The pony standing beyond my little oak door, happened to be a mare, Fluttershy. I heard about her in the Ponyville Local after that horrible accident at the Overlook, just over ten years ago. We had sat down together just over two weeks after the incident occurred. Me being me, I wanted to get every detail of the incident, but didn’t want to intrude, or worse, offend. She did lose her husband after all.

“Oh, hello,” She says meekly, rubbing her forehooves together, from nerves no doubt. “ It’s been awhile since we’ve gotten together for tea. And I was wondering if you would like to come over tonight?” She asked.

That’s right, I forgot. Fluttershy and I have been getting together, almost regularly might I add, for tea and biscuits. She knows I love the things, as she read it in the ‘get to know the author’ section of my book Look before You Leap. She loved that book. In fact, I agreed to sign it if she got Big Mac to sign my copy of The Truth in the Matter. Of course, the signatures came before the incident, although the book still remains one of my prized possessions, I even got it a display case and everything. The whole nine yards.

“Yes, Fluttershy. That sounds excellent. What time would you like me to come by?” I question. “I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“Any time after six would be perfect,” she states, rubbing her hooves together again. “Apple’s been asking about you lately. He says he wants you to look over a story he’s been writing…” Fluttershy looked down, and a frown began to spread upon her soft yellow features. The scene was enough to almost cause me to cry, but I did my best keep my vulnerabilities hidden away. “…Looks like he wants to be just like his father. And I don’t know if I can let him do that…” The last part was broadcasted in a hushed tone, so I pretended I didn’t hear it.

“Well, that’s great news! There’s always more room in Equestria for new writers. And I would be pleased to be sharing the space with Apple.” This seemed to lift Fluttershy’s spirits some, before she continued speaking.

“Well…I’ll see you later then,” she said, beginning to turn and trot away.

“And that you will, Ms. Shy!” I yelled out. “I’ll talk to you later, bye.” I closed the door, and turned to move back to my typewriter, when a thought struck me: That was one weird conversation. Shrugging it off, I move back to my writing tool of choice, and station myself at the helm.Now, to get back to work, I thought, placing my hooves back in their standardized posts. I went to make contact with the keys again, but stopped. Not because somepony knocked at the door again, but because I had no Idea where to continue from. It seems my mood has- I stopped my thought. Never mind, it’s back.

My hooves went wild, clashing with the metallic construction of the spring loaded keys. The clacking was exhilarating, breathed new air into my old lungs. I had the inspiration back. The inspiration that had been lacking ‘til this particular day.

The words continued to splash upon the page frantically, as my hooves began to grow weary. They were moving in such a swift motion it was almost unbelievable. The words appeared before my eyes faster than I could register them as complete and sound thoughts in my head.

‘Azure Pendant entered the darkly lit room, and slunk across the wooden floorboards like a snake. Today was the day. Today was the day he would kill Shadow. Bludgeon him to death with the typewriter he used to write his very novels with. It was a selfish act of greed. But when somepony takes the only mare you’ve ever loved, and flaunts the victory in your face, like some kind of fucking success story, you tend to get at least slightly agitated.

Nearing his bed, Azure peered overtop the obstruction, shooting metaphorical daggers into Shadow’s very soul. The daggers, however, were significantly less painful then what Azure had in store for Shadow. For Azure had planned an extravagant night, full of grueling despair. And Shadow was going to experience what it was truly like losing something he held dear. His life. His life as he knew it, would be turned into nothing more than an unidentifiable mess for the coroner ponies to sort out.’

I looked up from the parchment as my typewriter dinged twice, consecutively. The double-ding was a way of the typewriter telling you, you had less than seven characters left to type out onto the paper.

Removing the paper, I scanned over the text and decide the content was good enough to keep. After all, when I was in one of my moods, I always liked my initial work. Unlike when I would write for my other stories, when I would go through, at the very least, three drafts of each page before I was completely satisfied. Tedious, I know, but it saved on the agonizing editing ritual I sent myself through before my proofreaders and editors even go to see the final draft.

Looking over to my grandfather clock, I noticed the time and decided it would be best to prepare a small dinner, as well as shower before I head over to Fluttershy’s. Because something tells me it might be a long night.

Chapter 1: The Talk

The Voices inside My Head

By: The Sentimentalism Brony

Chapter 1

The Talk

Arriving at Fluttershy’s cottage, I knocked three times, consecutively on the door. The taps were quick and light as I did not want to startle the mare.

The door opened within mere seconds of my knocks, and I was quickly welcomed inside the house. Wiping my hooves off at the door, I walked into the mare humble abode. The cottage was simple, yet satisfying to the eye. Everything had a place, and everything was in that place. Despite having the cottage nearly covered in little critters every day, Fluttershy kept clean house. This was equally as nice, as it would be hard to enjoy myself there if the cottage was dirtied.

Being guided into the kitchen, I follow Fluttershy with gusto. It has been so long, and I had grown to miss our little talks and teatime.

The first thing I see when I enter the kitchen is Fluttershy and I’s matching teacups…And Apple. Now I wasn’t expecting that. “Hello, Apple,” I say in a cheery voice. He smiled. Good, he smiled. He must be in a good mood. That’s more than I can say about Fluttershy.

I sat at the table before her, and fiddled my teacup in my hooves. I knew this was going to be hard for Fluttershy. She wanted to be supportive of Apple; even more so because he had received his Cutie mark relative to his craft: Writing. His Cutie mark resembled something similar to my own. Where I had a typewriter with ink ribbons wrapping around it in a rising motion, he had an apple with a quil writing text over the apple. Poisonous and unsanitary, yes, but it was increadibly delightful to look at, intriguing  if you will. Sure they weren’t similar in appearance, but they were similar in the way that they came from the heart. And the way we complete our novels as well. I type mine out with a typewriter, and Apple physically writes his out.

Looking back up from my teacup, I can see Fluttershy was now seated and looked increadibly ailed. She looked as if she were about to break down, right then and there. But I think I either had something to do with it almost happening, or not. I couldn’t be too sure.

Apple, on the other hoof, looked as bubbly as ever. The pink streaks in his mane, the ones he inherited from his mother, were exceptionally bright tonight. And that only meant one thing.

“S-so,” Fluttershy finally started up. “I hope Apple being here doesn’t u-upset our plans.” She acted as if Apple wasn’t supposed to be there. It was probably another last-ditch effort to refrain from crying.

“No, not at all,” I responded. “I do believe you told me Apple had something to show me?” Bringing it up immediately after she had just said she wasn’t going to have him there was probably not the best idea. But I shot her and Apple a small mischievous grin, which caused Apple and Fluttershy to giggle slightly. They had always been easy to make laugh. That was one of the things I think Fluttershy likes the most about me. I, for one, know that her son definitely likes that part of my personality for sure. He had even told me so on occasion.

“Good,” Fluttershy stated, albeit quietly. “And yes, he does have something to show you.”

        I looked to Apple and grinned again. He smiled again. I swear sometimes that that smile gets bigger and bigger each time he does it.

“C’mon then. Show me.”

Apple said, “Okay,” then got up from his seat and ran out into the living room. Upon return he had a stack of papers in hoof. The stack looked to be somewhere around two-hundred pages tall, give or take a few pages. He placed the stack down on the table with an audible thwack. I looked over the pages quickly and said:

“Interesting. You wrote this?” He nodded his head eagerly. He bobbed it side to side so fast, I was sure his head was going to pop off and continue shaking. “What’s it about?” I questioned.

Apple took a big gulp of air before he burst out his idea. “It’s about a stallion who has been out drinking late one night, after being left by his wife…”I can see why Fluttershy is somewhat upset, but still. He continued. “…But after leaving the pub and returning home, he wakes up to find he is stuck in the hospital, supposedly after a dangerous carriage accident. Not remembering the incident, he attempts to leave the hospital. Once he leaves, he discovers he’s in a completely different town. While looking through the town, and for a way to get back home, he is conflicted about his deeply disturbing past through scenarios the town puts him through, as we as shows him. And by the end of the story –“I stopped Apple.

“Never give away the ending of your story, not even to a friend. The plot should stay hidden deep within your brain, for only you to know. Once the story is published, only then can the end of your story be told. It must always remain inconspicuous.”

He looked at me puzzled, and then nodded. “I understand, uncle Amethyst, thanks.”

“No need, Apple. I don’t need thanks. Just a little tip from one novelist to another.” Apple smiled brightly again. Fluttershy was still looking sick, almost as if somepony had told her she had to put one of her animal friends down.

“What about you, Fluttershy. I nudged a hoof towards her.

“Wha-what?” She responded.

“Before I look over Apples novel. What did you think of it?”

Unfortunately, Apple answered for her. “She hasn’t read it. Told me I should get somepony qualified to read it first. As if being my mother doesn’t make her qualified already.”

It was clear she didn’t want to read it due to the fact Big Mac used to drink. But sometimes you need to look past the past, and put it aside for a while. Or at least long enough to support your only son’s dreams. He doesn’t only want to live up to her expectations, he wants to excel them. And her resistance was causing some difficulty in that department. Perhaps it was the voice, Prism, which used to speak to Apple. Maybe it still does the same now, tormenting him every so often, causing him to cringe and cry. Or, perhaps he has grown past the voice and completely blocked it out. Regardless, something other than the story had to be bugging Fluttershy. It only made sense. Why else would she be acting like this?

“Well, I think it makes her plenty qualified.” Fluttershy looked up to me, and blushed slightly, the crimson predominant against her yellow coat.

“So,” I continued, “I want you to read the story before I do –“I flipped the cover page of Apple’s manuscript of the pile. “– The prologue anyway,” I said pointing a hoof to the word absentmindedly.

“W-what?! I couldn’t do that.”

“And how come, Fluttershy? What’s wrong? You can tell me, you know that.”

It…It’s nothing,” she said objectively.

There then was a soft thumping emanating from behind me. Turning around, I noticed Angel ambiguously thudding his foot against the hardwood floor.

“Oh, I almost forgot!” Fluttershy stated in a exasperated hurry. “Angel wanted me to brush and fluff his tail. You can look over Apple’s book while I do that, right.” Fluttershy looked to be pleading now.

“Yes,” I said defeated, “I can look over his book.”

“Good,” she said, almost sounding relieved that I said so. “Now I shouldn’t be too long.”

“It’s fine, really. We’ll be fine.”

“Thanks… Oh my goodness, in all the excitement I completely forgot to pour us our tea!”

“It’s alright, Fluttershy. I’m pretty sure I can pour myself some.” I winked at her again.

“Okay” was the last thing she said before exiting the room. I never ended up seeing her for nearly an hour before she showed back up. But when she did, she looked better, and brighter than she had earlier, which made me happy. I couldn’t stand to see her upset like that, no matter what it was over. It could have been a fight, that she herself started (If she ever dared), and I would still feel sorry for her.

2…

I looked back to Apple with a puzzled look pasted on my face. “How come he treats this vision of his wife like that? Are you implying that he was abusive and now, in an act of confused rage, is reverting to the way he used to treat her before she left him?”

“Exactly,” Apple said, another smile creeping across his face as he did so. “He used to treat her horribly, and now that he is in this ‘inverted world,’ he is turning into what he could never see – Chose not to see.” Apple then got up from his stool and trotted over to my side. He loomed over the paperwork and sighed heavily. He laid his head on my figure as I looked over to him. The gesture was a little unusual as he had never acted like this before. All giggly and fidgety. It just didn’t seem right, like he was acting out of character. Maybe this is what Fluttershy is worried about, I thought to myself. Maybe he has grown a certain attachment to…This dream… And is crying out in the only way he knows how. With words and paper.

Looking away quickly, I return my view to his work, while shifting slightly in my seat. His head still remained in the same spot, save for moving it for a slight moment, before returning it to its destined post.

The event had gone from interesting, to downright creepy in a matter of seconds.

“Apple?” I questioned. “Is there anything you would like to talk about? Like, I don’t know… Maybe the fact that you are leaning on my side.”

Apple looked up to me, ears back and blushed. He then got up off of my side, and trotted back over to his seat. “I’m sorry, Uncle Amethyst. I-I didn’t mean to make you upset, I was just…Happy.” The last word lingered over my head like a dark storm cloud.

Happy! I thought. Happy about what? What could make him so happy…? I slid my dark blue spectacles down my snout, ran my hoof through my greyish-black hair, and peered at Apple over the rim of my spectacles. “Apple,” I began. “Can I ask you a serious question? And you don’t have to answer it if it makes you uncomfortable.” I placed my hoofs in front of myself, and leaned on them, heavily.

“Yes, Amethyst. What is it?” He dropped the “Uncle” part. He must have an idea of what I was going to ask him. That or the completely wrong idea.

“Okay,” I said, getting ready to ask the question delicately. “Apple… Are you, uh… A…. Coltcuddler?” The questioned seemed to sting Apple, but not in the way of being offended, but by being caught red handed, and in the act. And unfortunately for him, he happened to get a little too chummy with his ‘adopted uncle.’

Ears flat against his head he responded, “Y-Yes. Are you mad at me? Did I do something wrong? Please don’t tell mom!”

I had to answer sincerely. It was the only way for Apple to know. And he had to know. “No, Apple. I’m not mad. But you did, kinda, do something wrong. But it’s not the end of the world. I can look past it if you’re going to?”

“Yes, Amethyst.”

“Good. And don’t worry. If you don’t want to tell your mom yet, you don’t have to. But you should tell her eventually –“

“Eventually tell me what?” Fluttershy questioned, entering the kitchen again. She looked much lovelier than before. Her mane had a seemingly new, brighter shade of pink covering an old one, and her features were a lot bright than before.

“Nothing,” I answered, “just guy talk. You wouldn’t be interested.”

“Really?” Flutters questioned again. “And what makes you think I wouldn’t be interested in what, my ‘Little Apple’ is doing.”

“Mom,” Apple interrupted before I could answer her. Perhaps it was for the better anyways. “You know I hate it when you call me that. My name is ‘Big’ Apple, not ‘Little’ Apple.”

“Well you’ll always be my Little Apple, Apple. No matter how old you get. Just remember that, okay? Especially when it’s about a… Coltfriend.”

Apple’s face went so red; you could see it through his already bright red fur. He gasped in conjunction while saying, “What!?” Before completely passing out on the kitchen’s tiled floors. Luckily the fall wasn’t that far.

3…

Waking a few hours later, Fluttershy and Apple had a long, informative talk. One that included me, unfortunately. He told her everything. That he has been this way since he could remember, and that he never really thought of a mare romantically before. Fluttershy was understanding, and didn’t bastardize his preference. For she knew about me and what my preferences were. She just seemed a lot more relieved that I pushed away and buried what little part of Apple’s crush on me had surfaced. She sure as Tartarus wouldn’t want her son going out with a thirty-five-year-old stallion. And I don’t think other ponies would really praise the reverse around in my situation. Besides, I don’t think about Apple that way. I think of him as an adopted son for Lunasakes

Regardless, in the end, Apple was most pleased. And so was I…

Chapter 2: A Surprise

The Voices inside My Head

By: The Sentimentalism Brony

Chapter 2

A Surprise

With the talk over and done with, I made my way back towards my home. The night was definitely my favorite time of day. The way Luna’s moon shined against the water, and the way the stars sparkled in the sky, it was…Transcending, exhilarating even. It just really got to me. It made me feel like a completely different stallion. The kind you only heard of in radio plays.

Stepping through the threshold of my door, I made my way back to my typewriter. I looked to the clock before seating myself. It read, 11:30PM. Shit, I thought to myself, I really let time pass me by. Regardless of what I did, or what I wanted to do, I felt accomplished, like I had achieved some sort of higher being. The latter being the ability to finally come to grips with society as a whole. The whole thing was still peculiar, and I had never been the most outgoing pony. I tend to keep to myself, refusing outside connection with others. Well…Except Fluttershy and her family. That had been one of my only exceptions: One, because she was gorgeous; and two, because my inner being yearned for me to. I don’t know why, and probably never will, but it’s always been a reoccurring question resting on the back of my fractured mind.

Sitting at my typewriter, I look down at the keys and begin to think, hard. Where should I go with this? The answer to said question sat at the tip of my tongue for a lone time, too long perhaps. But when the answer finally came to me, I began writing furiously, the familiar click of metal under my hooves returning as music to my ears.

I returned to the previously deranged imaginings I had hours before. The muse was back, and as strong as ever.

‘The sticky red mess would be dense, covering almost everything in the room with it. The liquid would run from his forehead, soaking into his, mane, coat, and bed respectfully. The crimson red wine-like –No, redrum- like drink would then flow over the already soaked sheets, and onto the hardwood floor below, staining it. The stain would be there to remind any and everypony who thought they could push Azure around. And Azure hated being pushed around!

Azure pulled his typewriter out of its travelling case, and held it in both hooves. The marvel sparkled in the moonlight, the way pond water shines under the setting sun. The sight was magnificent, mischievous, and downright evil. But Azure like evil, even craved it.

Placing his hooves at the sides of the machine, he raised it above his head slowly. The action – If Shadow where awake – Could scare his spirit right out of his body. But, thankfully Shadow was snoring heavily, indicating he had not been stirred from his sleep.

Beginning to laugh out loud, Azure brought the typewriter down upon Shadow’s head with the force of ten anvils. The initial strike, causing blunt force trauma to the prefrontal cortex, opened the flesh and exposed cracked bone. There was a slight hole in the skull, but Shadow still managed to survive, attempting to open his bruised eyes after the fact. Another strike pushed his head back into the pillow beneath him, and further opened his cranial cavity.

The blood began to pour from his forehead, but Azure kept going. Each time he relieved himself in the desecration of this murderous act, he felt whole, complete.

Azure continuously struck Shadow’s skull causing, bone, flesh, blood, and a small amount of brain to fly around the room. The remainder of bone and brain that had not left the body, stayed within the confines of Shadow’s skin flaps, proceeding to be pounded into a pulp. The mess was everything Azure had hoped for and more. He was finally happy, content with life once more, or, at least for the rest of today and some of tomorrow he was. For tomorrow night was a different situation and nopony, not even Azure, knows what he is capable of…’

I pulled my head from the keys and looked up and out my scenic window. The forest beyond the glass was pitch-black, lacking any and all color or light. You could hear the crickets chirping, and you could see the firefly’s flying about, dong there eternal nighttime dance of self-gratification.

Turning away from the window, I pulled myself off of my chair and made for the kitchen. The light was already on…Peculiar, I thought. But regardless, I walked within. The kitchen was one of the only two rooms in the house I cared about: The first one being the living room, the second one being the kitchen. Something about the kitchen seemed important to me, as if I needed to create something interesting within its walls. Tell a story perhaps. But I couldn’t tell you, as I have no clue as to why.

I pulled the chrome trimmed fridge door open, and pushed aside some random food stuffs to get at what I really wanted. Juice. Juice was probably one of my favorite drinks, next to tea of course. There was just something about its considerably fruity and citron nature that caused me to nearly melt every time I drank. The liquid was like velvet as it caressed my tongue and throat.

Pulling a jug of citron juice from the fridge, I popped the cap off greedily. Lifting the jug up, I placed it against my lips and began to chug the liquid down as if I hadn’t drank in weeks. The act would be quite embarrassing actually, but only if anypony else had seen. One time, I even managed to get nearly covered in the stuff, when I was slightly off in my hurried aim and struck just below my lips. The liquid had rushed over my coat, rendering me sweet, yet sticky. The sticky part I wasn’t quite fond of.

Setting the jug back down, I made my way from the kitchen, to the living room, to the bathroom upstairs. Opening the door to full gape, I trotted inside and closed the door behind me. The room was of a bright white color and disorganized to some degree. I always thank Celestia that Fluttershy never seen my upstairs bathroom. For if she did, she might suffer from a stroke due to its untidy stature.

I proceeded to have a shower. Finishing, I scrubbed the water thoroughly from my fur, and then entered my bedroom. I threw the towel in the bedroom cloths hamper because I had forgot to discard it in the bathroom.

I then climbed into bed, concealing myself in the blankets, and slowly began to drift off to sleep; the soft cotton blankets only making it easier to drift into a blissful slumber.

2…

The morning came rapping through the blinds covering my window. The lightest sunbeam penetrating the fabric barricade of my widow, as the light cascaded upon me, slowly nudging me from sleep. Peeling back my eyelids, I moaned. Mornings were definitely not my thing. Actually, I really hated the mornings, especially Monday mornings. Now I know what you’re thinking, “You’re an author, correct? Why would you need to wake up early in the morning?” Funny question, because I don’t want to wake up, but my body…Kind of forces me to get up. It’s not my choice, and I would never condone such a thing to anypony unless they were crazy. Either that or a teacher perhaps…And the mayor…And the worker ponies… Okay, okay, maybe I was wrong, mornings are important. Just not to me, I guess. Maybe I should try and change that, I thought.

Attempting to get off the bed, I pinched a nerve in my back, and nearly keeled over in pain. Okay, I thought, scratch that! I still and always will hate mornings. Regardless of how may stories you tell me about how mornings could be "wonderful and delightful."

Massaging the pain in my back away, I trotted from the room, showered again (I like to be really clean), and then headed back to the kitchen. Walking into the kitchen, the phone rang. I walked over to it and picked it up, answering it delicately.

“Hello,” I said, “Azu –“I caught myself. “Amethyst speaking.” Man, I must be more exhausted than I thought.

The pony on the other end began to boom through the receiving speaker. “Hello, Mr. Pen. This is Mr. Tumble, manager and owner of the Overlook Hotel.”

“Yes,” I said back, “I know who you are Mr. Tumble. Hear all about you and your hotel in the papers well over ten years ago. How, may I ask, did you acquire my phone number?”

“I looked you up in the phone book, dear Amethyst. Your phone number isn’t hidden, you know? In fact, it is highlighted: ‘Amethyst; the novelist.’ I just figured that was you and called.”

“Fucking phone companies giving out my phone number like it’s some kind of lottery prize, eh.” I was thoroughly pissed.

“It seems, Amethyst…” There was a pause. Perhaps he thought I would hang up and was waiting to hear the dead tone ring out. But it never came and he continued. “Anyways, I would like to implore you about something, if you don’t mind me doing so?”

I raised an eyebrow concernedly. “And what would that be, Mr. Tumble?”

“I,” Mr. Tumble began, “would like you to come by my offices to discuss something of great importance.”

“And that would be?” I questioned.

“That can wait for now, Amethyst. Can you come by sometime around 5:00PM tomorrow?”

I thought for a second, contemplating the experience of being on the same ground the incident had occurred. Maybe I could even see the recreation of the original room?  My thoughts reeled around in my head, before coming to a focus point of concise decision.  “Yes, Mr. Tumble, I would be delighted to stop by.”

“Excellent Amethyst, excellent! That’s great to hear. I can’t wait to talk to you tomorrow.”

I was about to respond, but was cut off abruptly by the sound of a dead line. He must have been in such an excited hurry that he hung up the phone?  “Huh,” I said out loud to myself, “I have to go tell Fluttershy…”

Chapter 3: I Feel…I Need…

The Voices inside My Head

By: The Sentimentalism Brony

Chapter 3

I Feel…I Need…

Rapping on Fluttershy’s door, she answered it hesitantly. It creaked and moaned open, as if to say for the one whom rapped upon the door should leave. The sentiment of the door was ignored however, due to the blatant and, may I say, intriguing nature of my urgent visit.

The door coming to full gape, Fluttershy eased and sighed heavily.

“Oh, Amethyst, it’s you!” She chimed excitedly. “Why, whatever has you over here so early? Couldn’t get enough tea, eh?” She poked quizzically.

“Actually, I’m not here for tea; I’m here for a bit more of a serious notion, perhaps severe.”

“Oh, well do come in. I would be very interested in hearing.” Fluttershy then motioned for me to enter. I walked in confidently, but underneath my flawless veneer, I was scared shitless. Of course I was happy, but something about the whole situation didn’t feel right. Foreign, I believe is the right word; yes, something felt foreign about the task. Whether it was the circumstance, or the severity of the matter, I am not too sure. But one thing I am sure about is: Time seemed to stand still in the morning sun; more so in that particular moment of the day than any other.

If you were to look to the sky in that moment, you would see nothing else other than the bright celestial body that hung overhead. But during the night, you could see the celestial body’s cousin, dancing along the darkened surface of the planet… This is the time I speak of, the separation between the standstill of time, and the continuation of consensual reality.

“I would like that very much so,” I said, walking over towards her kitchen. I normally would have ran there first upon entering, so it has remained just the itsy bit of a habit ever since.

“Okay,” Fluttershy responded lightly. “I will make us some tea and we can talk about it.”

2…

With the tea made, and the feeling of depravation looming over me, I began to speak to Fluttershy about what had happened. I told her how I had come downstairs earlier this morning, and how the phone had rang. I then proceeded to tell her how I thought it out of the ordinary, as I normally only get calls from my literary agent, Rosemary, or one of the publication houses –

I rarely got calls from the publication houses, but if I received a call, it was usually from Rosemary, so that’s who I suspected it to be if anypony else.

Fluttershy understood and nodded, affirming my thoughts. But I knew she was waiting for who had called, and I delivered as promised.

“It was your uncle, Tumble,” I said, waiting for her to gasp or eep loudly. But it never came. She just continued to look at me, as solid as stone. I then told her what he had wanted me to do. And with that, she looked to have nearly blacked out.

Too much, I thought. Maybe.

She looked away from me, peering outside the kitchen window and into the vast Everfree Forrest. She stayed that way for what felt like centuries. And it wasn’t until I snapped her back on track, that she turned back to look at me.

“Fluttershy?” I questioned. “Fluttershy, are you okay?”

“Y-Yeah,” She said. “It’s just that…” There was an uncontrollably, uncomfortable haze of silence, which seemed to wrap around the room like a fog. This fog then fell to the floor, dispersing all around our figures, circling us like a jungle cat. It made me feel overly anxious.

“I haven’t been, or heard anypony talk about that place in over ten years.” Tears began to brim upon the rim of her soft eyelids. The tears would have stained her fur, but she was a fighter after all, and continued to fight the oncoming flood as best she could.

“I-I see.” There was nothing else I could possibly answer her statement with. I had never been in the same position as her – Well, except for the time my great-grandmother had passed away. That day had pulled me for a loop. It was well over 15 years ago; I, myself, was only 15 at the time. And it happened to occur on a Saturday of all occasions.

To make a long story short, she had been suffering with a lung cancer for well over 9 months and had finally succumbed to the severity of the disease. After it occurred I was increadibly depressed, as she and I were very close. In fact, when she passed away, I didn’t know how to react at first. Perhaps it was the total confusion that overlain me? But once I contemplated the serious nature of the event that had occurred I lost all control of myself. I cried for well over a week, and couldn’t bring my younger self to do anything, not even write. I almost gave it up. But my mom came to me, comforted me in my moment of despair, which helped mold me into a better, smarter stallion. For if I was to have kept mulling the situation over in my head; I would have given into the pain, for a lack of a better word, killing myself in relation.

Now on the verge of crying myself, I tried to comfort Fluttershy. And I may have reverted back to my childhood like demeanor and pulled every fiber of my blessed mother from my being, projecting it onto Fluttershy in the process. This seemed to calm her considerably. Maybe it was the tone I spoke in, or, maybe it was the way I was holding her.

She was in my full embrace, both of my hooves draped around her in an overly wholehearted way. The feeling I felt while holding her was nice, natural even, almost as if it was meant to be. But I for one knew it wasn’t true, like a fairytale with a cliché ending. No way could this be resolved with my involvement alone. For I am one stallion – Not many.

Letting her go, I looked directly into her shinning, half tear glazed eyes. There was still something there, in her eyes. Something that made me want to hold her again, but I refrained from conducting as such.

“Fluttershy,” I stated, hoping it came across softy, lacking any and all aggression, “I won’t go to the hotel...If you don’t want me to. I don’t want to –“Fluttershy stopped my rambles by placing her hoof over my muzzle. I stopped, and attempted to listen.

“I don’t –“She stopped to clear her throat before continuing. “I don’t want to prevent you from going. I know how much you’ve wanted to see the hotel and even s-stay the night in it, but there’s just something – Something about the hotel just doesn’t f-feel right, like it’s d-demonic.”

Demonic, I thought, interesting proclamation.

I grabbed both of her hooves, and held them close to me, they practically touching my chest now. “I don’t want to upset you, though. I know that the –“She stopped me. Again.

“No –“She stated in an uproar that practically sent me back, overtop the chair I sat in. “I don’t want you to not go because of me!” Passion began to flood her words as she spoke. “I want you to go…If it means that much to you. Besides,” she continued, “you already promised him didn’t you.”

I felt, for lack of a better word, like shit. I had not only caused Fluttershy to cry, and relive everything that had occurred at the hotel prior, but now I made her think of the latter. The latter being me inside a complete recreation of where these events actually occurred. But, her approval sort of…Lifted me, made me feel as if I should go. It was a goal of mine after all, perhaps I should go.

3…

I left Fluttershy’s house later that evening. It was on the brink of dusk, and the sun had just begun its descent. The colors, as they had the days prior, danced across the sky, in a fashion that comforted what had just went down at the small cottage down the way. It’s not like I wanted to go – I mean, I did – But it’s not like I wanted to hurt her, to bruise her. Not physically, but metaphorically, mentally. The scarring of the mind can be just as damaging as the physical, and I knew this, as well did she. The only difference is that I had a disregarded it for a moment, for my own wants and needs.

I walked through the door of my cottage and made my way for the couch. Collapsing on it as I made it there, I almost immediately drifted off to sleep, the void of eternal darkness enveloping me like a warm quilt. It was comforting, like a mother’s hug, and made me feel whole.

The feeling of whole didn’t last very long, as my mind had drifted off to other things that had been on my mind. Things like: My supposed appointment at the hotel tomorrow; my novel, which I had been working quite adamantly on; and the fact that I had almost answered the phone by the name of one of my characters – The murderer, mind you. I guess the last one wasn’t that weird. I mean, every author has got a little too caught up in one of their characters from one time to another. I’m not the only person guilty of this; even Big Mac had done so on occasion. Although when he got carried away, it had this creepy overtone that sent a shiver down your spine.

I rolled over onto my side and faced the back of the couch. It was in this moment that I attempted to forget about that. I didn’t want to obsess over it, it wasn’t my place to. That was for Fluttershy, even if it was a horrible thought.

My stories – Particularly the thriller novels – Would always have a character that consisted of pain, and grief. It’s almost as if my outlet for my own pain is through the characters. And, perhaps, Fluttershy’s was Big Mac’s Characters. I shook my head. Nah. Impossible. Implausible. The connection was too fine, too fragile, like a set of china.

Huffing, I pulled myself to a seated position. It was uncomfortable, and caused my back to ache more. Celestia dammit, I thought. These damned back kinks need to stop. Maybe I should go see a chiropractor. Yeah… Eventually.

I stood, and walked across the room and to the stairs. Looking back, I stared to my desk. It seemed to call to me, wanting me to return for just one more page; just one more word. It was like I was being drawn to it. Sort of like a tractor beam in one of those crazy Science Fiction movies they’ve been playing at the movie theaters as of late. The one about the space captain that leads a crew of interstellar space travelers which, in one way or another, go out to chart new and unknown worlds. In the process of doing this, they usually end up in a point of conflict, and resolve it using their endless arsenal of photon torpedoes and pulse cannon fire.

Reluctant, I looked away from the table, and moved back to the first step of the staircase. I placed my left forehoof on the brink of the first step and began (with some effort), to climb the wooden staircase. Arriving at the top of the staircase, I made my way for the bedroom. Entering, I found the bed quickly and deposited my body upon the surface forcefully. “I need to get some sleep,” I said out loud to myself. “I have a big day tomorrow.”

4…

In the morning, I could be found at the Ponyville train station. It was here that I bought my ticket which would bring me to The Overlook Hotel. It was the hotel of my dreams, practically everypony’s dreams. Somewhere I would be able to rekindle a fire that had long been snuffed out of my soul.

I later boarded the train, and took my seat in the second train car from the engine. I decided to sit by the window, on the far side of the car, the side closest to the engine. That would be my requiem of solitude for the remainder of my trip. The train – When it was ready to arrive at the hotel dedicated station – Would signal its arrival with a loud, sky igniting bellow of considerable proportion. That last minute signal would jolt me from whatever state I would find myself in, and inform me to prepare myself to disembark.

Seating myself, I sighed heavily. If I wasn’t here, I would just be a home, planning and envisioning the future of my novel.

I looked through the window and peered out to the aerials that coated the sky. The motionless clouds with the reddish pink mist-like coat that was cast upon them by golden sunbeams. It was nice, to say the least.

As I continued to look out the window, the hours I would be waiting until I arrived at the hotel hit me like a ton of bricks. So, in this momentary rapture of thought, I thought it best to take a small nap until I got to the hotel’s train station.

So, placing my head upon the edging of the train’s window, I closed my eyes and began to drift off to sleep.

5…

There was a loud ear piercing whistle, and in the next instant I found myself lying on the hard, metal floor of the train car. I lifted myself up and brushed back my mane with my hoof. Luckily nopony was round to see what I had done. For falling on the floor because I was sleeping in a train car was not on my to-do-list today.

Brushing my chest off, I made my way to the doorway of the train car and stepped outside. The late evening sun cast over me, causing me to shield my eyes.

“Ah,” I groaned, rubbing the excess sleep from my eyes.

My eyes now felt like they were set ablaze by the sun. But such was not the case.

Stepping forward some more, I looked out from underneath my hoof and squinted. What sat in front of my weary, and extremely heavy eyes, was the Overlook Hotel. I nearly fainted. It was just as prestigious as the newspaper article had led on. Though it was new, it still looked as the original was described.

Going for nostalgia.

The building was large, four stories, to be exact. It was a mixture between a brown and a grey color, and was made primarily out of wood of some sort. It could have been standard oak or spruce, but I wasn’t too sure. The roof was shingled with small squares, which were also of a dark grey color.

This is it, I thought. Time to step into a dream, a nightmare, and the past

6…

Stepping into the building, I walked over to the receptionists’ desk. The desk was a darkly stained oak of some sort that seemed to shine in the light of the Overlook. A varnish probably.

I was then suddenly greeted by the receptionist.

“Hello, and welcome to the Overlook Hotel. How may I help you today?”

Her nametag read, ‘Miss Scrolls,’ so I only felt it appropriate to acknowledge her as such.

“Hello, Miss Scrolls. You most certainly can help me. I’m actually here to see –“

Something must have clicked deep within here head, because she nearly jumped out of her chair when I began to speak. Her horn then lit, and she pulled out a time card enveloped in a cyan aura, showing it to me.

“You’re Amethyst Pen, the author here to see Mr. Tumble correct?”

I motioned for her to lower her tone, and then answered, “Yes, I am. Where could I find him?”

“Well,” she began, “you go down the hall over there –“She motioned with her hoof to my immediate right “– Then, once you’ve reached the end of the hall, you take an immediate right, and it’s the door at the end of the hall.”

I nodded solemnly, and thanked her for her help. Then I turned and headed down the hall that she had referenced.

Walking down the long hallway, I noticed various pictures lining the walls. One of them was very interesting and caused me to stop, analyzing it as I did so. Initially looking at the picture, it looked to be normal. But, upon further investigation, I was proven to be wrong. For the picture I was looking at had an interesting individual within its paper walls.

Squinting as I got closer, I concentrated on the individual at the ‘front-and-center’ of the image. The stallion looked like Big Mac. But how could that be? The picture was taken at The Great Ball, in 980 A.N.M.M.

I was about to fly up and pull the picture down to get even a better look at it, but my actions were cut off by a wavering voice from down the hall. It was Mr. Tumble. And he looked ecstatic to see me. So ecstatic, in fact, that he seemed to be beaming down the hallway.

Practically pulled into his office, I was encouraged to sit. So, sit I did. I sat on a large couch-like seat. It was made out of some sort of suede material, and was dark grey in color. It was comfortable, and I melted into it so.

Mr. Tumble, on the other hoof, stationed himself behind his desk, and sat down as well. He sat down hard, causing the material of his seat to stress and stretch from his ministrations.

He then spoke.

“So,” he began, “you’re Amethyst Pen?” It came across as an obligatory question. And I was keen on answering it, but refrained from doing so, as he began to speak once more.

“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Pen.” He extended his hoof for a formal hoofshake. I reciprocated the notion, grabbing firmly, and shaking slowly.

“The pleasures all mine, Mr. Tumble. I just can’t believe I’m actually here.” I looked around the room once more, soaking it all in. The building truly was something amazing…Just like I envisioned it. Something to hold (metaphorically), cherish, and maintain.

“My, my, Mr. Pen, the advocate of respect, are we not? I like that. It shows you have something; something that’s been lacking in the new generation.”

I nodded, thanking him for the compliment. It was nice to receive praise on my attitude, and not for my works. I had always preferred the prior to the latter. It’s just the way I am and I never think I’ll change my opinion on that.

“Now,” Mr. Tumble began, “about what I have asked you here for.” He paused, most likely to cause a completely unneeded dramatic effect. “I have asked you here for something somewhat arbitrary, and selfish –“

“Selfish,” I jutted in. “That’s not the first I’ve heard of that... Please, continue.”

“Well, we are to be hosting a small celebratory convention, here at the Overlook. The convention is in the same category of your profession – Writing, or, in a sense books in general.”

“So it’s like a booklovers convention. Interesting.”

“And that is why I have asked you here: To be an active participant in the Overlook Hotel Booklovers Convention. The convention starts in three days, and we are prepping the halls as we speak. The convention lasts a total of five days, and your accommodations will be paid for you in full.” Mr. Tumble leaned over his desk. “So, what do ya’ say.”

“Well, I would love to help, but I’ve been off schedule with my recent endeavor, and I really need to work on it. Maybe if I –“

“Mr. Pen, you may bring your typewriter with you. In fact, we can supply you with as much parchment as you need, that way you don’t have to pack so much on your way here. Plus, it starts in a few days, you have plenty of – You know what? Let me show you something. I’m sure it will help make your mind up for you.”

Mr. Tumble then rose and walked towards the door of his office. He turned to see if I was following, which I was, so he continued on. We walked out into the center of the entrance of the hotel, and then into a much larger back-split of the building. He then walked me over to a glass case. And inside this glass case was something I never thought I would see in my entire life – Big Mac’s typewriter, staring right back at me…