The Trotsburg Files

[Timestamp: November 4, 6:16 AM]

“Is it on?”

“I think so. I don’t see anything.”

“Take the cap off, moron.”

“Oh. There it is.”

The lens adjusts to the image of the forest in the early morning. The sun has not even begun to peek through the trees, but there is enough ambient light to make night vision useless. The camera turns to the outside of the green tent, with Clyde standing just ahead of the camera.

“Okay.” Clyde whispers. “So, you’ve seen how Swift gets all serious when he talks about ghosts. Well, I think he really believes those things. And that ‘foal story’ I told last night, was one that really used to get him when we were younger. I was better at telling it then.” He looks over at the tent, then back to the camera, smile growing on his face. “So, we’re gonna see just how much he believes those stories.”

“This is gonna be great.” Rivet snickers behind the camera. “But are you sure it’s a good idea?”

“If you get cold hooves, just remember,” Clyde states quietly, “He pushed us into that puddle yesterday without a second thought. ‘Kay?”

Rivet holds back his laughter. “Yup. He deserves it.”

The two of them move to opposite sides of the tent and stand perfectly still. Rivet clears his throat and moves his face close to the wall of the tent, presumably where Swift’s head would be if he was asleep.

Rivet almost sounds like he’s about to throw up a hairball for a moment, but begins to form words. “Where’s mah rusty horseshoe…”

Clyde snickers.

Rivet does the same noise again, “Where’s mah rusty horseshoe…”

A rustling sound comes from the tent. The voice of Swift worriedly asks, “What?”

Rivet calls out loudly. “DO YOU HAVE MAH RUSTY HORSESHOE?” before he and Clyde begin ramming into the tent, shaking it from side to side, causing Swift to let out a high pitched squeal. At that sound, the other two burst out laughing.

Pushing his way out of the tent, Swift scrambles to his hooves. “You guys are assholes!”

“And you scream like a filly!” Clyde manages through laughing fits.

“Turn that thing off!” Swift shouts, pointing at the camera.

“Don’t act like it’s not hilarious!” Rivet calls back.

Swift goes straight faced, as if he’s going to punch one or both of them. Then he cracks a smile and shakes his head, pointing back at the camera.

“Shut it o-”

[Timestamp: November 4, 10:32 AM]

A new part of the forest comes into view as the camera is moving down a less beaten path. Tall grass and weeds cover the ground, and trees canvas the area, allowing little light through.

“Alright.” The Voice of Swift comes into the microphone. “So, camp’s been cleaned up, we’ve had a good canned breakfast, and we’re back on the road to Trotsburg’s.”

“How much longer is it?” Clyde groans at Rivet.

“If I’m reading the map right,” Rivet pauses, “We should be there by night fall.”

“Awesome!” Swift cheers into the camera. “We’ll be there at witching hour!”

Rivet sighs. “Thanks for reminding me.”

“I thought you didn’t believe in ghosts and stuff.” Swift turns the camera to Rivet, who is adjusting the pack on his back.

“I don’t.” Rivet shakes his head dismissively. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t get spooked.”

“You do!” Clyde laughs. “You do so believe in ghosts!”

“It’s not that I do or don’t.” Rivet stops walking. “It’s that I’m not sure, you know? And that’s the weirdest part.”

The group goes silent for a moment before the camera turns to Clyde, who begins laughing at Rivet.

“Oh, come on!” Clyde continues laughing at Rivet. “Scared of ghosts? You’re just a little B-”

[Timestamp: November 4, 3:14 PM]

“Are we there yet?”

“No.”

[Timestamp: November 4, 3:23 PM]

“Now?”

“NO!”

[Timestamp: November 4, 3:29 PM]

“Rivet…”

“Do you see it? I don’t! Stop asking!”

[Timestamp: November 4, 5:22 PM]

The forest is slightly tinted orange by the afternoon sun. There is still a mixture of clouds and trees dampening the light further. The camera is set on the ground, Rivet and Clyde are visible on screen, but only Swift’s hoof comes into the shot.

“Okay, so do you want to share any more of those weird stories?” Clyde chuckles at Swift.

Swift’s voice booms from above the camera. “Sure.” He adjusts his position. “Okay… There is this one story I heard. There was a mare who worked in the ward as a nurse. Her job was to take bodies to the morgue after incidents. Now, when she was younger, there was an accident with her and her sister. She had just made a dress for her sister, and her sister was wearing it during the accident.

"After the accident, she was found next to the body whimpering “Ruined… Ruined” over and over again.
No one is really sure why she took the job at the Institute, but when she got there, some weird stuff started happening. Clothes and blankets began disappearing from the morgue. These aren’t like good clothes, either. These are body coverings, bloody linens, disgusting. The legend goes that she was collecting them to remake the dress her sister was in during the accident, most think that that’s what she meant when she whimpered “ruined”. She was shallowly talking about the dress. Ponies were just objects to her. What mattered to her was her own creations.

"I think the accident just drove her insane.

"Either way, when the place closed down, some say she hid inside and continued to work away at the dress in the morgue, using whatever she could. Anything. And I mean anything. Supposedly, if you go in there, you can still hear her crying and repeating “Ruined… Ruined”. Others, though, have reported her… Singing. Just a work song. Some say it sounds like a siren song. Her voice drawing them in to the depths so she can kill them.”

“That’s stupid.” Clyde shakes his head.

“I thought he did a pretty good job of telling it.” Rivet defends.

“Yeah, what’s wrong with it?” Swift asks.

“Oh, I get it.” Rivet sighs.

Clyde coughs and shifts uneasily.

“What?” Swift asks.

Rivet nods, “You’re with that seamstress chick back home, aren’t you?”

Clyde changes a frustrated expression, keeping his head down.

Rivet smirks, “It is!”

“You sly dog!” Swift laughs.

Nudging Clyde’s arm, Rivet adds, “What was her name again?”

“Shut up.” Mutters Clyde.

“Weird name for a mare.” Rivet coughs.

Swift chuckles, “Maybe it’s a stallion.” He picks up the camera and points it directly at Clyde.

“Buck off!” Clyde hisses. “I’ll kick both of your a-”

“Whoa!” Shouts Swift, “You can’t say that on television.”

“Buck that!” Clyde rages, throwing up his hooves. “I can say whatever the-”

[Timestamp: November 4, 8:42 PM]

The forest is mostly dark, the light of the sun is hardly visible now. The moon is likely high in the sky, as a bluish glow envelopes the area. The trees are thinning, and the moon freely shines down. A light fog or dust creates an eerie glow. Rivet and Clyde are just ahead of the camera, but, as the camera is mostly aimed at the ground, their hooves are the only visible part.

“I think we made it.” Swift whispers into the microphone, almost reverently.

At his words, the camera turns upward, revealing a tall stone building. The windows of the building are mostly shattered, the shadows within seem to almost ooze out of the building, like wounds. Plants like ivy have wound their way up the walls, creeping into the windows as if to pull it under the surface of the earth. Almost as if the very earth itself was trying to eradicate this place from it's face.

Rivet takes a deep breath, “Gentlemen… Welcome to Trotsburg’s.”

An eerie silence falls long on the group.

“Well…” Clyde swallows. “What are we waiting for? It’s just an old building.”

None of them move.

“Come on.” Clyde begins walking over to the massive building. “Let’s go.”

“Why don’t we just set up camp out here?” Swift asks, standing still.

“It’s already dark.” Clyde notes. “And I’m tired. It would be easier to sleep inside.”

“We said we wouldn’t.” Rivet reminds Clyde.

Stopping, Clyde peers over to Swift. “Do you always keep promises to strangers?”

Without another word, Rivet follows Clyde, but Swift stands his ground. After a moment, he too follows Clyde. Swift keeps the camera trained on the asylum, slowly but surely making his way into the cold, dark abyss.

The image on the camera fades to black as they go into the building.

“Well, at least I get to test this out.” Swift sighs. The sound of a button being clicked on the side of the camera. Suddenly, the image returns, only tinted a very light green colour, the room bathed in an odd glow. The image is sideways.

“Try what out?” Rivet turns back to Swift.

Swift turns the camera right side up. “Night vision.”

“How does that work?” Clyde looks over, the infrared light reflecting off of his eyes.

“I dunno.” Swift shrugs. “But it looks cool.”

[Timestamp: November 4, 10:23 PM]

The picture is still in the night vision style, but now it is in the middle of a room, Clyde laying on his sleeping bag, Rivet sitting quietly upon his, and Swift rolling his out. Clyde is closest to the camera, and Swift is furthest.

“Any more stories you wanna share before we hit the sack?” Clyde calls over to Swift.

“You know what?” Swift looks around, his ears not as perky as they have been before. “I think I’ll skip it for tonight. I’m wiped, and a little nervous about being in here.”

“Afraid of ghosts?” Clyde makes and ‘ooh’ing sound.

Swift just looks over at Clyde, as if to say “shut up”.

“Fine, fine!” Clyde shakes his head and slides into the sleeping bag.

“I guess we’ll get to looking around in the morning, eh?” Rivet looks at the other two. When they nod, he himself slides into hid bag.

“Can you shut off the camera?” Swift asks Clyde. “It’s the red button on the side.”

“Yeah.” Clyde rolls over to the camera and fiddles with it for a moment.