Paper seems harmless upon first glance...

The room seemed small and simple. It did not have a stone table with chains. It did not have a table full of tools. There was no mildew on the ceiling or atmosphere of dread. It was merely a small grey room with unremarkable walls, a floor that was the colour of dingy bleh, and a ceiling that was entirely forgettable. The only remarkable things in the room were two ponies, one of which stood frozen and was unable to move, his eyes wide with terror. There was also a floating sheet of paper.

“You don’t know me yet, but you will know me soon,” promised Rookwood, moving in a circle slowly around the frozen pony. “Usually, my dream realm is bit more sunny and full of pastoral terrors like bunnies. I created this space just for you. I wanted to get to know you, to get acquainted with you. You and I, we are going to spend so much time getting to know one another.”

Gibbous Moon stood frozen, unable to move, unable to respond, his eyes glancing at Rookwood, his barrel heaving. Sweat began to bead along his pelt.

“Hades gave me some marvelous advice before I set off on my task this evening,” commented Rookwood, looking up at the sheet of paper. “Find a common fear. Personally, while I have an acute case of dental horror, I too share this fear with you. Not having any magic in life, I had to handle paper with my delicate lips. All to often I felt the cruel sting of paper.”

As Rookwood spoke, the paper moved suddenly, the edge sliding over the tip of Gibbous Moon’s ear, slicing it open and causing blood to trickle down. Gibbous Moon screamed and whimpered pitifully.

“How disappointing. We’ve barely started and here you are. No spine at all,” Rookwood observed, his face creased with displeasure.

The paper made another pass on Gibbous Moon’s ear, drawing another trickle of blood.

“Paper cuts!” exclaimed Rookwood. “We both share a fear of paper cuts. Isn’t that nice? Once I begin to know your flesh and you and I begin to talk at length, this should aid the communication process. We have something in common. Isn’t that good news?” asked Rookwood.

Gibbous Moon did not reply, he cowered, frozen in place, making pitiful mewling noises in his throat. Blood continued to trickle from his ear.

“This is my first nightmare, how am I doing? Are you a satisfied customer?” queried Rookwood, real concern on his face. “I do this for your benefit you know, to drive you back into the light and into the good graces of those you will answer to when you die. It isn’t too late. You could give yourself up and come along quietly when we come for you. And we will come for you.” promised Rookwood, now floating the paper in front of Gibbous Moon’s nose.

“You did awful things to Violet. Inexcusable things. Things you will answer for in time,” Rookwood announced, slowly leading the edge of the paper over a nostril. “Where is your Goddess now? Why hasn’t she come to your rescue?”

The paper jerked suddenly, the long edge trailing over the tender flesh of Gibbous Moon’s nostril, slowly working its way deep into the flesh as it passed, leaving behind a noticeable split in the now bloodied nostril.

Gibbous Moon began to howl.

Rookwood leaned in close to Gibbous Moon and spoke; “I’ve only just begun to know your flesh. I did not know you would break so easily. I expected more from Violet’s murderers. I mistook you for hardened killers.”

The paper began to drift and dance in the air teasingly, its edge creeping spine tinglingly close to exposed tender flesh, and Gibbous Moon’s eyes followed every movement.

“You should be afraid of more than just a sheet of paper. Real terror comes for you even now. Nightmare Moon will not save you. She didn’t save your now dead compatriot. She allowed him to be taken, just like she will allow you to be taken,” said Rookwood, still making the paper dance, slowly, carefully, the edge now turned towards Gibbous Moon’s field of vision.

The paper made a quick darting motion and opened up a deep paper thin slice on Gibbous Moon’s lip. He yowled in painful terror, now panting between cries, his barrel heaving from his ragged breathing. The floor was now spattered with bloody droplets.

The paper was still clean and white.

“I wonder if I could conjure up some lemon juice?” said Rookwood, thinking out loud, looking pensive and concerned, chewing on his lip.

“No… please no!” begged Gibbous Moon, speaking for the first time.

“Violet said no as well,” Rookwood said, now looking disinterested.

The paper came down in a smooth fluid motion and left another bloody tear in Gibbous Moon’s lip, causing Gibbous Moon to gibber with pain and fear.

“So far, this has been mostly harmless and not at all scary. Not like what I went through. Perhaps it is time for you and I to become a little better acquainted,” offered Rookwood. “Shall we start with a bit of oral horror?”

Gibbous Moon shook his head no, Rookwood allowing him a tiny bit of freedom. And then, that freedom vanished, and Gibbous Moon was frozen in place. His mouth began to be pried open by some unseen force, his lips pulled away from his teeth.

Rookwood peered in, examining the open maw of Gibbous Moon.

“Where should I start?” asked Rookwood.

The paper darted and moved sideways suddenly, ripping open twin tears on the edges of Gibbous Moon’s mouth, in the corners of his lips, extending his smile by almost a half inch. The room flooded with garbled screams from a mouth that could not close.

Very much against his will, Gibbous Moon’s tongue began to unfurl from his mouth, being stretched out by some invisible force, and Rookwood pursed his lips, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied Gibbous Moon’s tongue.

“This wont be easy to look at, but I shall do my best,” whispered Rookwood, “it is my duty as the soon to be Lord of Nightmares.”

The paper’s edge slipped over the tip of Gibbous Moon’s tongue in a slow drawn out movement, the edge creeping inch by inch as it traveled over the exposed and vulnerable fleshy tongue. It slowly pulled away, leaving behind a considerable split on the tip of the tongue. With a quick movement, the paper darted swiftly, shearing off a few taste buds and a thin sliver of skin from the side edge of Gibbous Moon’s tongue, causing the room to be filled with anguished howls.

The sliver of flesh fell to the floor with a faint ‘splat’ and did not move.

“You know, I just realised, I have made a mistake and Hades would be most upset with me. I admire Hades a great deal. He has been a good mentor. I would never knowingly want to disappoint him. He is very much like a father that I’ve never known,” said Rookwood, speaking his thoughts.

The paper vanished from Gibbous Moon’s field of vision and Rookwood chuckled.

Gibbous Moon felt his tail jerked upwards and an invisible force manipulated his pucker, causing the wrinkled flesh to protrude outward. There was a sudden searing pain as a papercut was slashed into his exposed and defenseless anus, followed by another searing slash, and then another.

The paper drifted lazily back into Gibbous Moon’s field of vision.

“Now, the paper has been soiled,” Rookwood said in disappointed tones. “It is no longer sanitary. Think about how reckless I am!”

The paper moved once again over Gibbous Moon’s tongue, making several quick searing slashes, the last and final slice discerped a long sliver of tongue free from the exposed and bleeding organ, the shaved away flesh curling away and falling to the floor as though it was a wood shaving.

“I must warn you, what lies ahead will be unpleasant. We’ve only just begun. I have such lovely pain to introduce you to. I’ve gone through such trouble to craft this nightmare for you. Are you scared yet? Because we are now moving on to other places,” explained Rookwood in exalted tones, his eyes going wide with excitement.

Gibbous Moon felt something begin to tug at his sheath.

“You know, this really makes me uncomfortable, having to manipulate you in this fashion. Trust me, I do not find you attractive, but this is part of the job description of the Lord of Nightmares. So please, don’t look me in the eye any more than you have to, or beg me for a kiss or a cuddle afterwards, alright? Let us just get this over with so we can get on with our lives,” whispered Rookwood, his voice a terrifying whisper as Gibbous Moon’s penis was slowly pulled from its place of hiding.

Quite against his will, Gibbous Moon found himself growing hard.

Rookwood tittered obscenely as he observed the tumescent organ, and then turned his gaze away. “Oh dear, even I cannot watch this, I shall have to confess to Hades. Confession is good for the soul. But this isn’t good for the hole,” rhymed Rookwood, as the paper made a single tearing slash over the tip of the exposed penis, gashing open the urethra, leaving behind a deep split.

“Hades tells me I am a bastard,” confessed Rookwood, using his magic to now squeeze Gibbous Moon’s bladder. “The effort of this is two fold. You will wake up knowing you wet the bed, and, when the piss starts to come out, this is going to sting something awful!” giggled Rookwood.

Just before the urine came flooding out, the paper swooped and left behind another blood weeping slice over the urethral opening. As the first drops of urine flowed, Gibbous Moon let out an unearthly howl.

“There is a memory that will last in the waking world. My only regret is that the harm done is not permanent. Such a pity,” commented Rookwood.

The paper hovered overhead, quivering.

It dove down in a swift fluid movement, sliding in between Gibbous Moon’s broad teeth, and left behind a single red bloodied line along his gum.

“It was your eyes that brought Violet to such agony,” lamented Rookwood, now looking sad, his face a theatrical exaggeration of sorrow, his lips in a pouting moue.

Rookwood took hold of an eyelid, stretching it and pulling it out, ignoring Gibbous Moon’s pitiful pleading cries, leaning in and examining the exposed eyelid.

“Silence your cries, I grow tired of your mewling and your bleating. Violet cried as well and you did nothing to cease your relentless activities as you corrupted the very fabric of her soul.” Rookwood shouted angrily. “You left behind a pollution so foul that it prevented a foal from ever entering Elysium. She will NEVER KNOW PEACE!”

Rookwood slashed away with the paper, shredding the eyelid and leaving it in tatters, dozens of strokes happening in seconds, and with a disgusted jerk, he tore the remains of the eyelid free from Gibbous Moon’s face. Real anger showed on Rookwood’s face now, all sense of theatrics now gone. There was only rage.

“A foal, unable to enter Elysium,” hissed Rookwood. “A foal! You did something so foul that her soul is unable to pass beyond the barrier. She cannot pass the gate. Hades did everything within his power to no avail. You cannot even imagine the punishments we have in store for you,” growled Rookwood. “I hate you… I hate you so much.”

The paper now hovered before Gibbous Moon’s exposed eyeball. All of the screaming had stopped, there was no sound. The paper danced teasingly, darting in close, and then swishing away. It moved in a hypnotic pattern, almost like a wavering snake, edging closer and then whipping away, sometimes almost grazing the exposed eyeball.

Gibbous Moon was forced to watch all of this in silence, unable to protest, unable to stop the inevitable assault on his exposed eye, a real sense of violation now creeping through his panicked brain, his heart in the real world now thumping perilously close to bursting.

With a slow deliberate movement, the corner of the paper teased the exposed pupil and then slowly, with such agonising slowness, the paper’s edge began to trail over the exposed eye, tearing it, slicing it, with each inch of passing the eyeball opened a little more, until at last, the edge of the paper was reached and the end corner passed over the eye, leaving it yawning open, a wide slit now opening the front.

Something new appeared in Gibbous Moon’s vision. It was small, white, and wiggling.

“This is a corpse worm. We have them in Tartarus. I want you to know what awaits you,” said Rookwood, lifting the tiny white worm.

Without another word, Rookwood jammed the wiggling worm into the yawning slit that hung open on the exposed eye and the hungry worm began to devour defenseless flesh.

Finally, Gibbous Moon was allowed to scream, his anguished and agonised cries muffled from his tortured tongue.

Scowling, Rookwood waited and refused to allow Gibbous Moon to wake, holding him as long as he could.

Author's Note

Hello? Still there?

Take a deep breath.

Still with me?

Good...

I still have so much to show you.