The Cracks in the Wall

by Quill_Illuminator

Rating: teen
Tags: Dark, Adventure, Tragedy
Length: 5595

A new pony arrives in Ponyville, unresponsive and frail. Twilight believes that something dark has followed him after reading his journal, but does not know what it is or why. Nightmares creep into their dreams, and start invading their waking lives.

What happens when a spirit born of knowledge, accumulated over thousands of years, brings itself to Ponyville ? Nightmares and sorrow ensue, causing the residents to question their very reality. What can be done when the culprit refuses to show itself, and the lives and minds of all of Ponyville begin to unravel?

Twilight begins her studies, but finds that the more she learns and delves into these books, the more she is turned to darkness. Other ponies begin to be affected as well, but with Twilight losing herself so quickly, how are they to battle something they know so little about?

This is a suspenseful horrorfic I will try and update at least once a week.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2014-06-21 03:08:40 UTC

Prologue: Who Are You?

Excerpts from the journal of Quill Illuminator

May 3rd Celestia’s Year 989

I’ve just arrived at this wonderful place; it’s full of books and ponies that have been hidden from the world since they were just a child. They gave it a name, it sounds ridiculous, but after they explained to me what they do here, it kind of makes sense. It’s called The Monastery of the Sands of Time. It’s amazing, everywhere I wander there are tall marble columns, or precious metals and stones worked into filigree around important areas. The books, they are everywhere, bookshelves line walls stuffed full, and books were still laid about in stacks in the corners of the rooms.

The Abbess was practically waiting for me at the door, it’s hard to understand all of these strange things, but there was a feast prepared for my arrival. Apparently, every five years someone shows up to work here and nopony else even knows that this place exists.

It was strange, because before they let me into the monastery they asked me about my dreams. Those that arrive have been called by dreams. A few of them told me theirs, stories involving a voice calling to them so that they can gain knowledge, and help ponykind. I wish I could tell them a story that was similar, a happy beckoning to a light or a loved one’s embrace, but my dream is something I fear.

I saw all of Equestria like a map, and darkness seemed to roll over it from the mountains. I saw the columns from the monastery, but I didn’t know at that time where they were from, they began to crack and crumble into dust. The ponies that walked among them began to shrivel and age and the books that surrounded them set up in a dire conflagration, all was ash and all was darkness. Then a single column of light, it enveloped me in a warm and gentle glow, and what lay before me was a shining green quill and a book with a silver cover, lined with gold. I stared down at them and as I picked up the quill, a scream rang through my head. It was my voice, torn from my own throat and I was covered in sweat. I’d be drawn to the mountains afterwards, like gravity pulling me sideways instead of downward.

I don’t know if I’m filling in details now, or if this is actually true, but the ponies I saw that died. They look familiar now, ponies I’ve met and laughed with in these halls. I don’t know what brought me here, but I hope that the darkness will not come because of me.

January 9th Celestia’s Year, 997

It’s been a good day today! I was accepted as a novice into The Order of the Yellow Sun. It seems my practice in book repair and illuminating has been noticed. I’ve been here for almost eight years, and I’ve finally made a decision, I want my skills to be remembered. I want to make my mark on this monastery, to leave my skills for future generations.

The monastery is a bastion of knowledge, as it keeps the history of Equestria safe and in one place. We are unbiased, as we are a part of no kingdom. We do not have any records of Celestia coming here, so most here believe she does not even know that we exist. New ponies come to the temple every five years, and they are entered into The Order of the Pink Dawn. All of the monastery’s needed skills originate from this order; the novices begin by repairing the bindings and covers of books. It’s a mixture of magic, leather, and thread. Once they are skilled enough, they are brought into the adept ranks and ponies are taught to repair and re-ink the illustrations and text that have faded but are still legible. The masters have the most difficult job, and only unicorns are allowed to be a part of it. They are taught the difficult magic of divination. Words that are too illegible and have no other surviving copy to reference are divined from the past so that they can be rewritten. There is another order, limited only to Unicorns, The Order of the White Moon; they are the masters of divination. Their job is to reach into the past and find history that we have yet to record, they make notes and give them to the order that I am now a part of.

My new order is one that records the history properly into books, calligraphically on illuminated pages. Its beauty must be matched only by its accuracy. I mentioned before that I would be making my mark on the monastery; my illuminations as I grow in skill will be unique with my own creative flare and style. In the future, when the books I’ve written have begun to wear with use; those young ponies new to The Order of the Pink Dawn will pick up my illuminations, my drawings, and redraw them. They will copy my skill and style, recreating it, and I will help shape their own abilities. Skill augmenting skill, an endless cycle of improvement.

It’s a bright new day, and the dawn is behind me!

August 9th, Year of the Two Sisters, 5

It happened, my dream has come back to haunt me after all of these long years. The mountain that the monastery sat upon, silent and peaceful for uncounted centuries began to shake and smoke earlier this week. I was ordered to leave, and given a gift from Abbess Flowing Song. She said that if at the end of the week I don’t see her, then I should take the pack and depart from the mountain; that I should consider whatever it held my own.

Today is the final day of the week, and the sky is filled with darkness, if any ponies were still alive up on the top of the mountain then they would have suffocated by now. The little flickers of light that I see every now and then through the smoke are not sunlight, if the mountain is going to turn violent, then it will not be long. As I’m writing this a bit of smoke parted, a shaft of light encircles me and turns my thoughts back to the nightmares that brought me here when I was a foal. I don’t know if I can withstand the world outside of my marble columns and gold filigree. My mind will remain here. Always.

Twilight stared at the book; she wasn’t sure what to make of it. The pony laying on the cot in the corner sure seemed like his mind was in another place. “Spike…can you fix some tea?” She stared at the pony she assumed was sleeping, unmoving to be sure, but it wasn’t very different than what he was doing when he walked into town.

She walked over to him; his fur was blue with a soft pink mane. His spectacles were wire rimmed either gold or gold plated, and his cutie mark was a large ‘A’ written calligraphically with a quill stuck through it. Suitable enough, she thought, if he was a scribe and illuminator like his journal says. Spike had returned with the tea, setting it on the nearby table, the small dragon fidgeting at he watched Twilight stare at the strange pony. “So, Twilight…what are you going to do with him?”

She turned and looked at her friend, and then back to the scribe, “I don’t know…I barely understand who he is, but…he doesn’t seem dangerous.” She moved back to the table and sipped at her tea, sighing before she looked back at his journal. “I haven’t looked through the rest of his pack yet…I was hoping I wouldn’t have to.” She paused again, frowning, what was the right thing to do?

Her main concern was not truly that he would harm the village; he hardly seemed to have the ability or the drive to do so…he was just lying there.  Did he bring something that could hurt her friends? Or would something follow him here?

“I…I’m going to bring him to the hospital and let them take care of him there,” Twilight said slowly, taking a gulp of tea and pushing the mug back across the table from her.  “I will continue to look through his things here.” Twilight moved and picked up the blue pony’s pack, but something fell out; two things. A dark green quill, possibly emerald, and a book plated in silver and lined with gold. “That was…from the journal, his dream.”

Wordlessly, Twilight left to bring the orderlies from the hospital to bring this unusual pony to where he can get help. As for her, she had some studying to do, whatever broke his mind could just be the loss of his home, but she could not shake a sinking feeling in her stomach. Something dark was headed to Ponyville, and whether he knew it or not, this pony was right in the middle of it.

Chapter 1 - The Broken Quill

Chapter 1 – The Cracked Quill

The marbled floors Quill had come to know and love were no longer the immaculate shining expanses he remembered. They were cracked, disjointed at angles that made him feel uncomfortable and on edge. The tall columns, that towered up to a ceiling that encompassed the open air courtyard at the center of the structure that held the majority of his monastery’s books were no longer glittering and smooth, they were dark as if they were absorbing the very light that seemed as if it should cascade around them but didn't.

“What…what happened?” He looked down, his legs were scratched up, and bleeding slightly and his hooves were chipped and jagged as if he had climbed the side of the mountain bare hooved. He began trembling, his eyes starting to wander upward to follow the columns into the darkness, but it was as if someone was shouting into his head.

Look up, please you must go back! Save us, and let us rest!

He screwed his eyes shut and stumbled onto the ground, his face pressed against the cracked floor and he sobbed not knowing why his stomach was poisoned with this sorrow, or who was still beckoning his forward, screaming and scratching at the inside of his mind.

He didn't know how long he lay there, but the voice in his mind quieted with one last warning, “Do not look up, whatever they tell you, never look up. Find Abbess Flowing Song and she will show you the way.”

He forced himself to his feet as he muttered to himself, repeating the Abbess’s name over and over again to try and focus his clouded mind. It was all familiar, like he had done this before. He began walking the circle around the open air courtyard and glancing at those books shelved along the wall and the others stacked into corners; they appeared ancient and misused, the complete opposite of the monastery he remembered. It seemed more unnerving to him than the cracked marble or the deep and impenetrable darkness that seemed to invade the normally light filled halls.

The monastery was large; however, it was quite simple in its design. It had two primary sections. The northern wing held offices, workrooms, and dormitories. It was a solid piece of architecture, each floor holding a large roundabout encircling the wing with rooms on either side. The southern wing held a roundabout, but the inner walls were missing, being replaced with the ornate columns and a railing. The railing overlooked what was once a garden where students could read during their free time. Around the inner wall were bookshelves and writing desks, and book repair tools.

Quill’s legs shook as he took the roundabout on the first floor of the southern wing; he glanced at the moldering books, and the unused writing desks caked with dust and cobwebs. Then to the expanse across the inside of the wing, leaning against the railing and stared out across the large expanse. “Where did they go…?” The courtyard, once full of flowers and trees, numerous nooks and crannies for students to hide away and lose themselves in a book; it was a place of beauty and of peace. Now, tombstones rose from the ground, the mountain reaching up with its slow and powerful fingers as if to grab every pony in the monastery and drag them down. Everything seemed threatening, reaching out to grab him. We were dragged up, we wait for you. End it, for us.

The voices again, it was as if they were striking his soul, the impact resonating inside of him and numbing his mind and body. The graves were empty, they were right, they were taken.  Where were they? And why shouldn't he look up? His head began to drag itself upward, something pulling at him underneath his chin, his eyes straining to look down as if he knew the secret that was about to rend him asunder, but it was inevitable.

It was as if they were nailed to sky, an unseen force binding them to the shattered ceiling. All of the ponies he knew and grew up with, their bodies aged and then regressed at odd intervals. At one second they seemed just as he remembered them in their prime, hanging limply, and the next they were ancient, held together by scraps of skin straining to keep a form that should have turned to dust long ago. One began to move, a strange surreal movement caused by unseen strings that were being pulled and jerking his body this way and that. Quill could see his dark red coat and blue mane, it could only be Dusk, his only close friend in a sea of words and the swirling beauty of ink. “D-Dusk! No!” Quill’s mind reeled, taking steps back, his eyes were riveted on the sight.

Then, air pumped into Dusk's long dead lungs, he began to speak. “Quill, kill yourself. It is the only way…to free us, and to stop—ghhhk!” His sentence was cut short, Quill didn't know why, but he did not have time to think about it. His mind went blank; his memories sliding out of him like sand through an hourglass, impossible to stop. He felt nothing, but could see himself dashing his face and his head against the nearest column. There was a sickening crunch and then darkness.

Quill lay on the floor just inside the door that leads into the monastery. He groaned, and lifted his head up. What happened? He had just walked into the door when he blacked out, but now his head was bleeding and it pounded as if someone had taken a hammer to it. “Ouch…I don’t…I don’t get it.” He started to push himself up, the scratches in his legs and the jaggedness of his hoof marks were still there, but he couldn't remember how he got them. Every time he tried, he would remember that some pony spoke to him. He didn't know who, and he didn't know what they said, but after that he just remembered being in pain and then nothing…waking up here. He felt like this wasn't the only time it had happened, but he didn't know what to make of it. There was a whispering within his head, but it was drowned out by the pounding pain.

He pushed himself onto his feet, the voice in his head becoming a shout, “Do not look up, whatever they tell you, never look up. Find Abbess Flowing Song and she will show you the way.” He stumbled forward and to the left path, if something was giving him these injuries and dropping him back at the beginning, then he needed to head straight to her chambers, and find out what was happening before he was too beaten up to move.

He climbed the stairs, his gaze constantly downward. He knew these halls, and he knew exactly where Abbess Flowing Song was, but…something stopped him. He was now in the third floor of the staircase in between the northern and southern staircases. A large portion of dormitories were in the northern section, and his dorm lay nestled in the opposite side of the roundabout. He could hear quiet sobbing echoing throughout the hall, it resounded upon itself, doubling and tripling until it sounded less like an echo and more like a multitude of voiced sorrows.

His feet, almost unbidden, began to walk toward the northern wing, the hallway it was in seeming to extend with each step so that he would never make it to the end. Only by closing his eyes would he make it to the end, and by some good fortune he did, his horn bumping softly against the stone wall that began the inside of the roundabout. It caused him pause, his tender skull shifted underneath the flesh, causing an explosion of pain that drowned out the sound of the sobbing all about him. He wasn’t sure if it was a reprieve or a punishment.

The doors were pristine, perfectly preserved forms of the oaken portals that were bound and framed with silver, though the walls around them still were cracked and falling to pieces. Some of the doors were ajar, Quill approached the first one. He still could not hear, but he did see a pony within. Bright pink fur and a white mane, he had passed her so often in the halls, but had never spoken to her. She was sobbing, sitting on her bed. She suddenly looked up and stared Quill in the eyes, her own eyes captured him, holding him within their consuming emptiness. A pony that seemed so alive, but was actually a husk, with only her body showing the facade of action and emotion. Tears still flowed, but as he was stuck in her gaze she began falling apart. Her nose bled and her eyes closed and sunk inward. Her teeth began to fall out as a scream began to peal out of her throat, increasing in volume and knocking Quill out of his trance.

He slammed the door and stumbled back, pressing his hooves frantically to his ears, taking a moment to realize the scream ended immediately as the door was closed. He threw himself forward onto his hooves and began running down the roundabout frantically, terrified, he had to know what was in his room. What horror would lay for him in his own personal sanctum that he retreated to so often back when things were bright and cheery?

The sound of Quill’s hooves striking the stone drowned out any noise that may have come from the doors he was passing. His horn flared a bright yellow light as he approached his door, the magic throwing it open so violently that it snapped one of the hinges and left it hanging slightly off-kilter. He barreled into the room and into something soft. He looked up to meet the eyes of two ponies he hadn't seen in a very long time. Their warm smiles soothed the terror that had gripped his heart.  The way they wrapped their hooves around Quill, and drew him close to their comforting warmth made the pain he felt seem so far away. “We’re here for you, son…you've made us proud, and we will show you the way to peace.”

It was his father that spoke, his large figure was intimidating to most with his black mane and fur, but Quill knew him to be a caring and gentle pony that was an even more devoted father. His mother was next to speak, green fur and white mane, she was always reading and he believed she was where he received his love of books and knowledge. “Walk with us, Quill…we will protect you from the encroaching darkness. Our love will guide you, and you will make the right decision.”

Quill nodded, dizzy from the change of atmosphere, his room was actually lit by the sunlight outside. The walls of his room were whole and shimmering, and all of his writings and books that he had created were there with them. “Mom…Dad…I thought I’d never see you again, please take me away from here. I’m so scared.” Quill sobbed, his voice breaking, he leaned into his mother’s mane and felt his father nuzzling his cheek comfortingly. “I keep getting hurt, I don’t know why, and these voices…they’re always calling to me, they won’t stop! Help me, make it quiet again, make them stop screaming!”

They sat there for a long time, Quill wasn't sure how long, but his parents allowed him to cry out all of his excess emotions, the sharp sting of his recent ordeals fading into a dull blur. He sniffed and stood up, taking a few shaky steps away from his parents. “I’m ready…I’m ready to walk, show me where to go. I just want this to end, please.” His manic tone had passed, his pleads were slow and monotone, his emotions inside had turned off, and simply run out.

Wordlessly, his parents began to walk out of his room, without even looking back to see if he followed them, but they didn't need to. He hurried after them, a scared foal afraid of the dark. He wasn't sure how, but as their hooves touched the broken floor, it caused the rubble to shimmer with a golden light and ripple outward. It was pure and whole, it held no more fear. The monastery was returning to normal with their presence, and its reassurance gave him no end of comfort, and a deep trust in their ability to save him.

They walked through the roundabout, no sobs echoing through the corridors now, nothing to distract them from their destination. Through the hallway that held the large ornate stairwells, and into the southern wing with the roundabout of books, Quill noted with relief that their presence seemed to repair and clean the bookshelves around him.  His life’s work was intact, whatever this abominable illusion was, was now gone thanks to his parents. He would be free, and he would spend the rest of his life with his mother and father.

When the three ponies reached the railing that overlooked the courtyard, Quill glanced downward, the graveyard was still there. It seemed his parent’s influence did not reach so far in so evil a place. They had stopped with him here; they were no longer leading him to their secret destination. “What…what do I do now? Where do we go?”

They both looked at him, they no longer held smiles or leaned into him with comforting touches. They seemed hesitant to speak, as if their voice would undo whatever spell had been laid upon them that held back the darkness. After a moment, Quill broke the silence, “Please! Tell me! I want to go back home, but I don’t know what to do! Mom! Dad! Please!”

His mother stifled a sob, looking away, but his father, stone faced, stared Quill in his eyes. The scribe felt a sudden and terrible sinking feeling in his stomach as his father spoke. “Kill yourself. Jump from the balcony, and dash your bones upon the stones below. Do it, save your friends, kill yourself.”

Quill froze, what in the world had made his father spout this insanity. He turned to his mother, tears welling in his eyes, “M-Mom?” He asked, the single word begging her to tell him something to make it all go away, that this was some sick joke.

“Kill yourself Quill, we no longer want you, your friends need you. You left us long ago, crying in the night and wondering where you were.” His mother had turned back to him, her face holding an anger and ferocity that he had never seen in her before. Quill turned, his mind completed shut down, his front hooves climbing onto the balcony. He peered down, the tombstones reaching up, no longer smooth and round, but jagged claws waiting to wrap around his flesh. His hind legs kicked out, and the last thing he remembered after tumbling downward was the sound of bones shattering against stone.

Nurse Redheart sat in her office, writing up the paperwork to admit the pony that had wandered into town this morning. She had never seen anything like it, it was like a horrible example from one of the textbooks in psychology she had to read during school; something that she had to understand to finish her school, but a horror that she would never have to deal with.

Twilight had said that the stallion's name was Quill, and that he was from some monastery in the mountains. She had never heard of such a place being there, but Twilight said all the information she had was from his journal. Quill had simply walked into town, a blank expression on his face, lying down in the middle of the road near the town square. He was unable to respond to any pony, and wouldn't move even when pushed or put on his feet. Twilight had said that someone had to run down to Sweet Apple Acres to get Big Mac to carry him into Twilight’s library so they could figure out what to do with him.

Nurse Redheart leaned back in her chair, staring up at the ceiling. “What…are we going to do with you, Quill?” She filed the paperwork away, and trotted out into the hall, heading towards the room he had been given, Room 77E, a private room that was in the non-violent area of the psychiatric ward. She looked through the window, and he was still lying in bed, in the same position the orderlies had left him. She opened the door, then closed it quietly behind her before walking up to the scribe. “Oh, look at you…what’s wrong?” She whispered, running a hoof across his mane. The pony had tears running down his cheeks, perfectly quiet, perfectly still, but some dark sadness hid from her behind his eyes. She would have to find some way to reach him, or else he would never find his way out.

Just as she was thinking this, his head whipped upward, and he gasped for air, flailing around in a blind terror. One of his hooves caught the Nurse flat in the chest, knocking her to the ground as he jumped up, his body slamming itself into the wall, whether from some sort of seizure or some destructive desire within him, she could not tell.

“Orderlies!” Nurse Redheart shouted frantically when she was able to regain her breath, scrambling to her feet and opening the door to scream at the top of her lungs. “Orderlies! Get here now! This is an emergency!” Time seemed to slow for her, as she heard the orderlies stampeding down the hall and into the room to restrain Quill. Out of the corner of her eye, Nurse Redheart swore she could see a shadow rising from the flailing form of the scribe; it was gone before she could look closer.

Quill awoke on the stairs of the third floor of the monastery, where was he? What had just happened? He felt as if he had been in a landslide, but didn't know why…the last thing he remembered was waking up in front of the doors on the first floor, and now he was waking up on what he believed to be the third. He tried to stand, but cried out in pain and fell back down.  Two of his legs were broken, one of his hind and one of his fore legs. Looking around, his vision was strange and he felt a complete lack of depth perception…it was his right eye. Placing a hoof against it, he winced and cried out once more. The socket was empty, only a trail of blood and thick viscous fluid running down his cheek.

“What happened to me?” He whimpered, dragging himself awkwardly up the stairs, a voice ringing in his head that seemed familiar, a voice he believed he had heard countless times in memories that he just seemed to no longer have.

“Do not look up, whatever they tell you, never look up. Find Abbess Flowing Song and she will show you the way.” It sounded ominous, a warning that was given to him before, yet he kept waking up with more and more injuries. Had he heeded the warning before? He wasn't sure…but he knew that if he didn't do something, he would eventually be far too damaged to move, and then he would be lost forever.

There was chanting now, coming from up above him, but he screwed his eyes shut to eliminate any temptation to look up to them and began dragging himself across the floor to continue climbing the stairs to Abbess Flowing Song’s chambers. The chanting never stopped, it seeped into his bones and fell into rhythm with his movements, becoming a part of the throbbing pain, the sound of his hooves being dragged limply across the disheveled and cracked marble, his breathing, and his very heartbeat.

Body, Body, lying on the ground

Open your eyes, and look around

Your given form will finally melt away

Friends will see the light of another day

So, behold the shadows of the grateful dead

Open your mind, find the marble, and use your head

Once again, fall down the mountain, stones will catch you

Then cast yourself upon the tombs, and light will shine through

Choose! Finally save us and banish the darkness before you reach her

Or continue your journey, and allow Madness itself to be your teacher.

The chant was discordant and the rhythm seemed to falter and change, but with it his breath and the beating of his heart shifted and changed uncomfortably. He felt he was lost among the insanity that seemed to press in about him, but after what felt like hours he had pulled himself up to the fifth floor, and looked down the hallway to the north wing; the inner walls contained the Abbess’ private chambers.

He was so close, picking up the pace and frantically pulling his broken body along the corridor, the pony poured his last amounts of effort into his aching muscles. As he came closer, the darkness seemed to recede and be replaced by a gentle white light, encouraging him and driving him to move faster, and faster.

When he reached the door, Quill's heart was pounding rapidly, and he couldn't seem to catch his breath. His body was hot, and his stomach churned and threatened to empty itself, but he steeled himself and began to reach up. The chanting reached a crescendo, filling his ears and his mind; his body seeming to vibrate with the sheer force of the resonating sound.

He managed to press the latch on the door and collapse against it, landing limply on the ground as the door swung quickly inward. He heard the voice of the Abbess choke and sob softly, “No…no, Quill…”

Quill looked up, confused by the tone of her voice. He had made it, he had come to her, to save everyone and to stop the pain and the sadness. To keep him from waking up in random places; not remembering why he was there, or what had continued to steadily destroy his body. “Abbess…please…tell me how to stop it.” He choked, coughing, his mouth dry as if he had stuffed cotton inside of his throat, “I finally made it…to save you and everyone.”

“Oh, Quill…I’m so sorry, but…you've doomed us all…” She broke down into inconsolable tears, and when the broken scribe looked up, surveying the room, he noticed a dark figure crouching behind the Abbess, who had hidden her face as if she was unable to watch what she knew was about to happen.

“Yes, Quill…thank you…you’ve opened up the most private parts of your mind, your greatest secrets, and through this deepest and most personal place I can escape.” He cackled, drawing up to his full height, which dwarfed both of the ponies, and made the massive room almost cramped with his presence. “I will be merciful, and thank you for your hard work. I release you from your unending dreams, and let you escape your mind with me. You will be one of the last to succumb to me and my influence, use your final days to make peace with what you have done. After all, your friends and your parents were kind enough to tell you how to stop me. Too bad you didn't listen to them, it was all to keep you from opening that door.”

Tears welled in Quill’s eyes, and the chants flooded back into his memory, then his parents, and his closest friend nailed to the sky, the very wind had begged for his death as he climbed the mountain with his bare hooves. He didn’t know how many times he had leapt from the side of the mountain before he made it to the top. He had lost count, but here he was…the pony that had died uncountable times, and woken up with no memory. Quill’s thoughts echoed the creature’s words as it left the Abbess' chambers in a blur of motion, the monastery dissolving into darkness, as he slowly began to wake. “If only you had truly died Quill, then none of this would have happened.”