The Trotsburg Files

[Timestamp: November 6, 12:00 AM]

“Don’t you like them?”

“Who’s there?” Swift barely whispers, fear taking a firm grasp on his throat.

The room is dead silent, as before.

“Clyde! Rivet! Come on out!” Swift coughs.

The room seems to hiss like a gas leak, the chattering noise of laughter filling it once again.

“Don’t you like them?”

“Who is…” Swift trails off, not finishing his thought.

“I worked really hard on them.”

Swift’s chest is heaving as he looks around to room, eyes wide.

“Please tell me you like them.”

Swift slams two shaking hooves on either side of his head in an effort to drown out the feminine voice drifting on the air and the accompanying chattering.

“Please?”

Swift clenches his teeth, his eyes filled with frenzy and fear.

“Don’t you like them?”

“SHUT UP!” Swift screams, slamming both hooves on the ground and knocking the stack of pictures away from himself. “JUST SHUT UP!”

The laughter fades from the air as Swift’s lip trembles and he shakily gets to his hooves. Grabbing the camera, he charges out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

Swift quickly makes his way back to the camp they set up in the waiting room of the hospital. As he descends the stairs he barely holds back, his breath trembling and whimpering. He nears the last step and trips, sending him to the ground below. The new fright and the old seem almost too much for him. Swift sits on the floor, the camera has fallen a few inches away from him, upside down. He puts a hoof over his eyes as he continues to shake.

“What the hell was that?”

[Camera 1]

“Well, we found some cool stuff, and we’ll definitely come back down here in the morning.” Clyde states from behind the camera.

“I wonder what Swift is up to.” Rivet looks back at the lens.

“I hope he hasn’t done anything stupid.”

“I’m sure he’s fine.”

“Maybe he’s already asleep. We can ask him in the morning.”

“It’s already morning… Boy, I’m tired…”

“Let’s just get upstairs and get some rest.”

“I’m good with that.”

[Timestamp: November 6, 9:46 AM]

“Hey, Swift,” Rivet begins, the camera sitting on the floor across from him, Swift behind it. “You haven’t eaten much this morning, you feeling alright?” They are back in their camp site, it is morning, and the sun is shining through the windows, lighting up the group having breakfast.

“Hm?” Swift asks, “Yeah… I’m fine.”

“You don’t sound it.”

“I’m just tired is all.”

“Did you find anything last night?” Clyde asks, sitting to one side of Rivet, enjoying something from a can.

“Not really…” Swift slowly shakes his head, swallowing uneasily. “Some hoof paintings, that’s all.”

“Hoof paintings?” Rivet cocks an eyebrow. “Like, a foal’s hoof painting?”

“No.” Swift shakes his head again. “Like… I’m thinking a filly drew them. Like, one our age.”

“That’s creepy.” Clyde notes.

Swift just nods again. “How about you guys?”

“We found the files room!” Rivet smiles. “It’s in the second basement, with all the spooky stuff. I’ll be honest… I was a little scared to go down there… But we found it!”

“Anything interesting?”

“Yeah, actually.” Clyde replies. “We found a couple of files related to the journal.”

Rivet nods, “Yeah, we even found out about some of those legends you were talking about!”

“Which ones?”

“Remember the Dressmaker?” Rivet half grins, “We found a mare matching her description in the payroll, and in the journal.”

“So, there’s a chance?” Swift asks, a little more excited.

“We also found some really weird patient files.” Clyde notes, “Remember the one with all the shocks?”

“Yeah…” Rivet sighs. “There was one file we found… It had at least ten EST treatments in one week.”

“Ten?” Swift coughs, “That’s insane!”

Rivet lifts a hoof to his chin, “The weirdest part is, they were all signed by the same doctor, or nurse, we couldn’t tell.”

“Why not?”

“It was written by a medical professional.” Clyde states seriously before cracking a smile and waving his hooves in the air. “It always looks like they’re flailing around while they write!”

The group shares a chuckle, before Swift becomes serious.

“Did you find anything out about the foal’s room?”

“Not really, but it shouldn’t be too hard.” Rivet shrugs. “The room is organized by the patient’s room number, so if you can get me that, I can find the file.”

“I still want to know about the Dressmaker Legend.” Clyde pipes in.

“We can look that one up next!” Rivet smiles.

“I thought you didn’t believe in ghosts.”

“There are no ghosts,” Rivet shakes his head, “This is just spooky history.”

“I guess we’ll have to cover our bases ourselves if we want the most out of this trip.” Clyde states.

“Maybe we should stick together.” Swift notes.

Clyde laughs, “Were you scared last night?”

Swift immediately hisses, “No!”

“It’s fine if you were.” Rivet raises his hooves defensively.

“I wasn’t scared.” Swift shakes his head. “But after it gets dark, your mind starts playing tricks on you.”

“Well, if you really want us to stay together after it gets dark, we can.” Rivet nods, “Okay?”

“Sure,” Swift agrees.

“No harm,” Rivet smiles, “No foul.”

[Timestamp: November 6, 1:42 PM]

The camera focuses to show the similar second basement scene, now lighted by the midday sun drifting out from the stairwell. The intimidating metal doors look more eerie in the low light than in night vision.

“The rooms probably don’t have lights that still in them.” Rivet notes, looking down at the map. “Or any windows this deep down.”

“Good thing I came prepared.” Swift replies. The sound of rummaging in a saddlebag can be heard from behind the camera, and a flashlight is produced and given to each of the other two stallions.

Clyde groans, “You couldn’t have given those to us last night?”

“I didn’t think we’d be out as late as we were.”

“Where do we go first?” Rivet asks, shining some light on the various doors. “Name something morbid.”

“Electric shock seems to be a common theme here,” Clyde looks into the lens with fake enthusiasm, “Why not start there?”

Rivet’s flashlight illuminates a door to their left. “There’s one.”

“Why not.” Swift groans.

“Hey!” Rivet looks back, “This was your idea for a trip, remember?”

“Yeah, yeah…”

Rivet pulls the keys out of his saddlebag and fights with the door for a moment before pushing the squealing door inwards. The room within is dark, just as suspected. Inside, there is a surgical table in the centre of the room, and a booth with a large glass window in the corner. A light dangles from the ceiling above the table, and a massive machine sits behind the table. In the booth, a series of switchboards can be seen.

“That’s just creepy.” Rivet shakes his head. He directs the camera to take a closer look at the table.

On the table, there are a number of leather straps for all four hooves, as well as the torso and head. A metal ring with several wires leading to it rests on the end of the table.

Swift zooms in on the equipment, “Is that the…”

Rivet nods, “Yeah…”

“Why are we down here?” Clyde asks, looking around.

“Hold on…” Rivet pauses, and then reaches back into his saddlebag. “I think there was something about…” He fishes out the journal and flips through it. “Yeah.”

“What?” Swift asks.

“May 12,
I have been noticing a great deal of log entries being made into the therapy rooms in the basement. All of them during Night Watch shifts. I would enquire as to why these are happening so frequently, but I have more pressing matters at the moment. Besides, the number of violent outbursts at night has decreased substantially since the increased logs. I can’t say I like the method, Electric Shock Therapy has never been my favourite treatment, but I cannot argue with the results. However, since the beginning of these events, my patient has been extremely on edge about talking to me about her hallucinations. I may have to have a word with the Night staff about this. I am worried that EST may not be a feasible treatment for her, and I would hate to see anything happen to her.
Doctor Chlorohoof, MD.”

Swift mutters, “So…”

“Someone was torturing patients.” Clyde decides.

“So they wouldn’t cause trouble at night.” Rivet finished, “Or at least if they did, they would keep it to themselves this way.”

“That’s awful.” Swift whispers.

“It was science at the time.” Rivet cocks his head. “That’s what they thought worked.”

Swift shakes his head. “Even if it worked…”

Rivet lays a hoof on the table, running it up and down the metal. He looks sternly at it and rubs it again. “There are scratches on it.”

“Why wouldn’t there be?” Clyde scowls.

[Camera 1]

Rivet is seen sitting at the desk in Doctor Chlorohoof’s office, three files sit opened on the desk before him. His snout is angled directly into the journal of Doctor Chlorohoof, and his eyes continually jump from the book to the files. He sits with his back in the chair, and his back legs crossed on the desk.

“Here’s an interesting bit…” Rivet looks up at the camera sitting on the desk, giving it a firm vantage point for the scene.

“November 30
My patient seems to be improving. Every day, I like to come into her room and ask her questions about her family, which she is always very happy to talk about. Sometimes I give her paint when I’m there, and ask her to draw what she looks forward to when she leaves the institute. Most times, she just draws herself alone, and very sad. But today, incredibly, she drew herself smiling, with a stallion and a colt of her own. Now, normally, we attempt to keep her from discussing or drawing foals, but I felt she deserved this one chance to express herself without scrutiny.
Doctor Chlorohoof, MD.”

“And then… Later…” Rivet turns the pages to find another entry.

“The Head Nurse of Night Watch is continually logging my patient into the EST rooms for sessions. I understand she can have violent outbursts at night. But in my experience, it has only been when somepony or something has upset her. For instance, when one of my psychiatric staff was doing an interview, they mentioned that the foals she sees are all in her head. When he told her that, she practically clawed his eyes out. She acted as if he had tried to kill her child. When talking with her, one needs to be mindful of her mental state concerning the foals she sees. They are never to be dismissed. She will defend the foals she sees with her life, or yours.
Doctor Chlorohoof, MD.”

“So, obviously something happened to her. Something to do with a foal, or several, that pushed her mind past the breaking point.” Rivet notes. “I’ve been reading her file, and the file of the Nurse the doctor is speaking of, and I have yet to find a cause for the foals, or for the nurse to hate the patient. I’ll need to keep looking…”

[Camera 3]

The secondary basement of the hospital is dimly lit by the beam of a small flashlight. The hall still seems as dismal and monochrome as before, even though it is in colour instead of night vision. Looking around the hall, a voice comes from behind the camera.

“B2-03…” Clyde notes to himself, again and again. “B2… 03…”

Finally, the camera comes to a halt on a door with the stated indicator number. Clyde pushes the door open to show a concrete room, much like the rest. However, instead of a bed in the corner or therapy equipment, there are two steel autopsy tables and several locked cooler doors on the walls.

“The morgue.” Clyde whispers, “Just like in the legend.”

Clyde walks slowly over to the furthest cooler door. After hesitating for a moment, he turns the handle firmly and hauls back on the door, opening the cabinet and pulling the tray out with it. Clyde lets out a deep sigh as turns out to be empty, only a metal tray protruding from the wall. The camera is turned to peer into the dark hole in the wall before Clyde closes up the cabinet.

“Okay…” Clyde turns the camera around to show the whole room. “So, you heard most of the story from Swift. Despite what he thinks, I do pay attention. That’s not the first time I’ve heard the story. I remember a part of the story-part he didn’t tell last time. The dressmaker made dresses out of dead patients’ clothes, but another legend stays she made them out of the patients themselves… And another says she locked herself in the morgue when the place closed down. Which could only mean that she’s still here.” Clyde pauses to look around the room, pausing on the cooler doors.

“I mean, it also says she wanders the hall in search of more dead patients to finish her dress. But that’s garbage too.” Clyde lets the room go silent and fiddles with the camera.

[November 6, 3:29 PM]

Swift is sitting by the box in the foal’s room again. The light of the midday sun casting short shadows on the room. The camera is laid on the floor, showing Swift staring intently at the box. Without a word, he leans in closer to the box with a frown on his face. Taking a deep breath, Swift pushed open the lid and peered down at the hoof paintings from before.

“Well…” Swift sighs, “Might as well get it over with.”

He reaches down and hesitantly pulls up the painting on top. Looking around, he lets out a sigh of relief when no noises come into the room.

“I must have been overtired last night.” Swift decides. “I was just hearing things.”

He drops the pictures back into the box and breathes deeply.

[Camera 3]

Clyde stares intently into the lens of the camera. “Alright. I’m opening all of them up.”

He turns the camera and lays it on the previously opened cabinet, giving it full view of the others. Standing cautiously over the next door, Clyde takes a deep breath before gripping it firmly and ripping the door open.

Clyde sighs, “Empty.”

Moving to the next door, he repeats the process, the entire room echoing with the squealing of rusted metal on metal as the crude door is pulled from the wall for the first time in decades.

“Empty.”

Again, he pulls another door open, now there is only one door that has not been opened. The one farthest from the door, and farthest from the camera. Clyde trots back to the camera to give it a better angle from one of the tables. Taking one final, deep breath, Clyde grips the handle and tears on the door, creating the same horrid shriek. However, this time, the door catches on something, causing Clyde to stumble and almost fall to the floor.

Standing back up, Clyde composes himself before tugging again, this time, adding a disgusting cracking noise to the shriek as the door is freed from whatever held it in place before racing outwards. The sudden burst causes Clyde to fall, tripping into the table the camera is stationed on and knocking it to the floor with him.

Clyde checks himself over for injury before standing back up with a cough. When he finally gets back up, the camera only shows his hooves, but it is seen that Clyde turns back to the now opened cabinet.

“What in the…”

He scrambles to pick up the camera, his hoofs shaking slightly, making it apparent something has caused his pulse to race. The camera loses focus, but a large, off-white mass is visible on the table protruding from the wall. Clyde’s heavy breaths are all that can be heard as the camera struggles back into focus, as if even it does not want to see what is on the table.

The mass takes shape, the outline of an equine body is apparent, nearly bleached white. Its face is contorted into a sinister and maniacal smile, even in death. It is the skeleton of a unicorn. It is laid out like an anatomical diagram, yet the head is jostled, and the forelegs cross the chest. Eyes, skin and muscle have abandoned their host, only her bright, ivory bones and long hair remain.

The horn of the unicorn is normally the most well kept part of the unicorn’s body. But on this one, the horn has been broken into pieces, apparently what had been jamming the door. Perhaps the most sinister thing about the body of the mare, not her smile, her perfect positioning, or her decaying body, but the cloth she grasps tightly in her lifeless hooves. Scraps sewn together with precision and care.

A dress.