Home Is Where The Heart Is

by The Ranger

Rating: mature
Tags: Slice of Life, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Original Character, Tragedy, Horror, Sex, Human, Gore
Length: 4356

A collection of short horror stories and tales of terrors centered around the same theme - home.

(This was originally meant to be a Halloween collection, but due to my computer crashing I lost more than half of the work I had. Because of this, I have chosen to publish it as it is and then add the rest of the stories, until completion. Human tag is only present because of one chapter. No HiE here. Same with the sex tag, only one chapter.)

A day like any other, a young mare goes shopping for her loving family. A little filly has a nightly visitor. Ponies struggle to live in peace and harmony with total strangers, and accidents come when we least expect it.

Home Is Where The Heart Is - A collection of short horror stories and tales of terror all centered around the same theme.

Home.

Published 2014-10-31 23:00:05 UTC
Last updated 2014-10-31 23:00:05 UTC

The Visitor

It all began when I was around four years old. At least, that’s as far back as I can remember. This could have been going on since the day of my birth for all I know. Maybe she was there even before that.

My nightly visitor.

But my first memory is one from when I was four, like I said. I think the reason it’s so vivid is because this first memory comes from the night that my mother passed away. She’d been sick for a long while, as I’m sure you remember, and on that particular night, she couldn’t cope any longer. At the time, it was the worst night of my life, and I thought that nothing was worse than lying in bed, listening to her rustling coughing.

Boy, was I wrong.

Because of what happened that night, I had trouble falling asleep. On one hoof I wanted to sleep and shut out those ghastly noises my mother made from the next room, but on the other, I couldn’t bear the thought of not being there. I was a conflicted child, I guess.

So I drifted back and forth between awake and asleep, and it was during one of these shifts that it first happened.

I saw my visitor.

At first, I thought it to be my mother, since by then, the house had gone silent. I thought she came to check on me. Then I thought that perhaps it was you who did the same thing, or perhaps... I was terrified of the thought that maybe you were there because something had happened to mom, but I just couldn’t manage to keep my eyes open for too long.

Of course, it wasn’t mom or you. It was something different. Whatever it was, it came to me and me alone.

This first time that I saw her, she was just standing at the other side of my room, partially hidden in the shadow behind my door. I could still see her, though, and despite my young self not being particularly scared of her white coat and empty face, I know better now. Now, I say it’s a her, even though I have no way of knowing if it is. I don’t know why, but it just feels like a female, somehow. If that makes any lick of sense.

From that day on, she would stand behind my door each and every night, time after time. Just standing there, watching me. I was too young to be afraid, and eventually I started seeing her as a sort of imaginary friend, a thing of comfort. I was a stupid child.

Exactly one year after mother’s death, something changed with my nightly visitor. I went to sleep as always, feeling safe with the knowledge that she would stand watch over me and keep me safe. But when I woke up in the night and looked at my door, something felt wrong the moment my eyes came upon her.

She’d moved.

Not much, maybe just a step, but still enough to notice. And with this one step, her face had finally emerged from the shadows.

You came rushing into my room when my screams awoke you. You got in bed with me and held me, tried to comfort me, but I was too distraught. Oh, her face terrifies me so.

I was awake all night, even when you had fallen asleep next to me with your hooves around me. All night I lay awake, staring at the visitor behind my door. Staring at her horrid face.

For the longest time I couldn’t sleep, I was too afraid to go to bed and I kept you awake all night with my crying and tantrums. I blankly refused to sleep, and nothing could change my mind. It took several months before I actually calmed down and again, learned to just live with my visitor.

I started sleeping with my back against her so that I wouldn’t have to see her. At first it was almost scarier than seeing her, thinking that he might be standing next to my bed instead, but as time went on I realized that she didn’t move any more, and quickly got used to it.

And then another year passed, and on the night of my mother’s death, the visitor moved again.

This went on for many years, that horrid face moving a few inches closer every year on that particular night. It wasn’t until the age of ten that I finally had the courage to tell you about her. I hoped you would understand me and help me, take me away from her and keep me safe. Instead, we spent every weekend of the following year in the office of some child psychologist. It drove me crazy, as you might expect.

Eventually, the doctors just gave up on me. Said there was nothing wrong with me and that my “ nightmares” was nothing but a faze and that I would grow out of it. I wanted to believe them so desperately, but by then I knew better.

At the age of fifteen, she’d moved past my door, and I’d given up all hope of ever being free of her. I never told you about her again, for fear of sounding like a lunatic, but I did try to tell my closest friends in school. At first they thought I was just joking. But the more I swore she was real, the less they believed me. I became the class psycho, the one with delusions and paranoia. Nopony wanted to be close to me.

And each and every year, she came closer. Inch by inch she stalked me.

She slowly moved right across the room. One night I found her standing at the end of my bed. Even though I was an adult at the time, I screamed like a baby, screamed for my dad without any thought of the fact that I had moved out of my childhood home a long time ago. Moved away from you.

I was alone in my own home, yet she still followed me.

The following year she came closer. Now she had her front hooves up on the bed itself. I keep calling it a her, but like I said, there’s no way of knowing. After all these years of her standing so close, it’s been hard not to look at her out of both curiosity and fright. And what I’ve seen is that it is nothing. No features, masculine or feminine, no genitalia. It’s just a blank, white body.

And her face. I still can’t stand her face. It’s even worse now that I can see it up close. I can’t be awake because of her, and I can’t sleep because of her.

So now I sit here, alone in me bed room, writing this down for you, father. Now, at the age of fifty, I can’t take it anymore. The light of my candle is slowly fading, and I can already feel her presence in the room, but I have to write this down no matter what.

I’m sure you know what day it is today, and what night it is. Tonight she will move again, and I’m so sorry. I should’ve told you, I should have forced you to listen if you didn’t believe me.

This entire year has been terrible. Three hundred and sixty four days ago, I woke up with her dreadful face mere inches away from mine. She was standing over me in bed, her four legs encasing me like pale bars. Oh, by Celestia, I can’t take her anymore. What does she want from me?! Why does she have to haunt me like this? I wish she could just leave me alone. Why won’t she leave me alone, dad? Fifty years!

I can’t go to sleep. If I do, she’ll move again, and who knows what’ll happen then. I can’t go to sleep. I can’t.

I really hope that you’ll never have to read this letter. I hope that the next time you come here, I can tell you in person. I’d make you that tea that you love so much, and we’d look at photos from when I was a little filly.

But if you somehow do have to read this, then know one thing. She was real dad, she always was, and still is. She wasn’t a nightmare or an imaginary friend or a way of coping with what happened to mom. She was always there. And she still is. I will pray that I’ the only one she’s visited, and hope that she won’t lash on to you.

I’m sorry dad. You know how much I love you. Even though you might not always have been the best father. And I’m sorry if I wasn’t the daughter you wanted. I’m sorry for making you think I was just delusional. She’s real, dad. She’s here. She’s my visitor.

I’m so tired, but I can’t go to sleep, can’t let her get me.

Oh goddess, what happens if I fall asleep? Please dad, I know you’re far away, but please, your daughter needs you. Right here, right now. I need you. Save me from her, please.

I’m

So

Tired-

Accident

A stallion lay in his bed, panting heavily, his face covered in beads of sweat. His chest rose up and down in a rhythmic movement as air filled and escaped his lungs in spouts of harsh breathing. He stared into the ceiling dazedly, his eyes coated in a thin layer of dreamy bliss.

The sex had been great, as always.

Still gazing at the ceiling, he reached out a hoof and fumbled around the wet bed sheets until he found what he was searching for. He let his hoof wrap itself around another one, belonging to his significant other. Judging from the way her side of the bed was moving, she had just as much trouble breathing as he did, and he couldn’t help but let a devilish grin spread across his lips.

Once his breathing had calmed itself slightly, the stallion slowly rolled over on his left side.

He was greeted by the dazed eyes of his wife, partially closed as if she was about to fall asleep. She’d always been the most beautiful mare he’d ever seen, no matter what. Especially now, in such a state of ecstasy and pleasure. Her mouth opened and closed slowly, like she wanted to say something but was unable to find the correct words.

He tenderly stroked away a strand of her wet mane out of her eyes, telling her not to speak as he did. It was all too perfect for spoken words. Her gaze lazily followed his hoof as he tucked her hair behind her ear. She moved her mouth in a way that made it look like she tried to nibble on his hoof, but he quickly pulled it away. Teasingly.

Once his hoof was back where it belonged, on top of hers, the stallion couldn’t stop himself from looking down on the rest of her body. Her stomach looked thin and frail, and he could even see the hint of one of her ribs.

Oftentimes he told himself he was lucky, not many stallions had the good fortune of marrying a mare that looked like a photo model. And ever since her little accident in the shower the week prior, she’d been losing a lot more weight. Not that he complained, he loved her too much to contradict her.

Slowly, his eyes travelled further down, greedily taking in every inch of her, trying to memorize the scene before him in perfect detail. For later use.

The lowest part of her abdomen, as well as one of her inner thighs, coated in drying stains of white substance. His substance, caked into her fur. From the angle he was in, he couldn’t see any further, but he already knew that it was dripping out of her as well, staining the bed sheets underneath her.

Maybe she wasn’t the kindest or most romantic mare in Equestria, but she sure was a goddess in bed, and he’d been saving himself up for his goddess.

As his eyes travelled back up to her face, he could suddenly hear the faint sound of ponies screaming. He paid it no heed; it was outside their house, locked away by their windows. Whatever happened out there, it wasn’t his problem or his concern. All he had to care about was her. The rest of the world didn’t matter.

Carefully, the stallion moved down the bed and undid the brace around one of his wife’s lower hoofs and threw it off the bed carelessly. He leaned over her and did the same with the other. Her legs looked so fragile without them, barren even. Cold. He took one of her hooves between his own, rubbed it to keep it warm.

The eyes of his wife met his when he planted a few kisses on her hoof before letting it go.

Her eyes still followed him when he scooted up to her side. He took one of fore hoofs in his own and started to undo the next brace. The stallion gave the now free hoof a tender kiss as well, and when he let it go, it instantly lashed out at him. She wanted more, the poor thing. And she would, very soon.

When he leaned over her to undo the final bracelet, she reached up and wrapped her free hoof around him, tugged at his neck and back furiously. He couldn’t hold back a chuckle, her appetite surely was insatiable.

With a loud click, the last brace came open. His wife settled down as she heard the sound, and the stallion returned to his place next to her. Both of them looked intently at the brace which still partially enclosed her last hoof, and the long chain attached to it.

A wide smile grew across the stallions face as his wife threw himself over him. The chain rattled to the floor and joined the previous ones, and the bed creaked loudly as she pushed him down into the mattress. She crawled over him, and he could feel something drip unto his lower abdomen. He knew perfectly well what it was, and it made his grin even wider, if it was even possible.

She did love him, more than anything else in the world. His fluids dripping out of her proved that perfectly. She loved him enough to risk him doing something like that to her, knowing fully what it could lead to.

As she lowered her mouth over his face, he could hear the ponies screaming outside again. It had been pretty quiet the last few days. It had been worst the day that his wife fell in the shower. Ponies had been screaming all day, sirens glared and panic had enveloped the world outside their home.

His wife had fallen in the shower and hit her head. It wasn’t her fault, it was an accident. She didn’t hear the frenzied pony enter the room, and he himself had been knocked out cold on medication and didn’t notice anything.

It wasn’t her fault that the pony attacked her with the same verbosity as a savage animal. It was an accident. It wasn’t his fault that the bathroom was soaked in her blood. It was an accident.

The bite marks on her leg wasn’t her fault.

Jagged, broken teeth suddenly dug themselves into his throat, and he had to force himself not to scream. The pain was terrible, and for some reason he now also became acutely aware of his wife’s smell.

She reeked of death. Decay. Rotting, rancid meat.

In this final moment of clarity, he came to terms with what was happening, and an involuntary scream pressed itself out of his clamping throat. He could feel every little sensation as he teeth sawed into him, gnawed at him with tenacious hunger. He heard his own flesh rip as she tore his throat out.

His own blood sprayed over his face as she reared up her face, teeth still working frantically on the piece she’d torn from him. His heart kicked into a frenzy and his body started to fight, his legs kicked spastically and writhed beneath her.

But his mind had become completely clean. His body and mind worked on two different levels, one panicked and one indifferent. Contempt, even. Despite his body thrashing wildly and his throat filled with gurgling screams, his mind was at ease.

The mare reached down again, his time sinking her teeth into one of his eyes. Something within him snapped, and his screams turned into frantic cries. Warm blood trickled into his mouth, and the pain was the most unbearable thing he’d ever felt. The sheets of the bed became warm and wet when his bladder emptied itself and his body stopped kicking.

Everything that had once been him slipped away and left nothing but oblivion in its wake. Nothing remained as he slipped into shadow. The stallion stopped moving, stopped screaming. His wife remained on top of him, ripping through his face and neck.

His eyes could no longer see the blood. His ears no longer heard the screams. No more pain. No more tears.

A smile played across what little was left of the stallion’s face.

Finally, he’d joined his mare in eternity.

And the sex had been amazing.

Just as always.

Road Kill

Oh, fuck. What have I done?

I was just driving, that’s it. Driving down the same road through the woods, like I do every day. I wasn’t drunk, never. I was just driving, and maybe the headlights of my car was a bit weaker that night? Maybe there was some fog, I don’t know!

I was just driving, minding my own business, listening to some late night radio show. I didn’t know what would happen, honest! And if I did, I wouldn’t even have gotten in the car in the first place.

But it happened anyway. Fuck. Just out of nowhere. She came out of nowhere. I mean, why would there be a person in the middle of the road in the middle of a pitch-fucking-black forest at night? It’s not something you’d expect.

Like a deer in the headlights. I don’t know what she was doing or why she was there, and maybe it doesn’t even matter now. It happened to fast; I didn’t even have time to push the brakes.

The car just slammed right into her. I’ll never forget that, I could feel the entire crash in my spine.

I did brake, but too late, and once I stopped she was already down and I just rushed out of the car towards her hoping that she would be alright. And when I got to her, I just… I lost it.

Oh, fuck. Shit, fucking fuck! Holy hell, her face! It wasn’t a face at all, it was just a red mess, I-!

Right, nobody panic. Stay calm. Still, I think I have the right to panic, wouldn’t you agree? Do you have any fucking idea how disgustingly terrible it feels to look down at a dead body and know that you caused that shit? Do you?

So yeah, I panicked. I completely lost it, went ape-shit. And instead of thinking like a rational human being and calling the cops, you know what I did? I grabbed her and pulled her into the goddamned woods, dumped her there and covered her up with leaves! I mean, who the hell does that? Serial killers, that’s who!

Then I got back into my car and hurried back home as fast as I could, and then I made myself at home inside a bottle of rum. Hey, I said I wasn’t drunk when I hit her, not afterwards! I killed someone, I needed that drink and nobody could stop me. I had to get pissed as hell, end of story.

But all that damned booze did was make me feel more guilty and paranoid and more like a psychotic fucking shithead who didn’t deserve to breathe, I-!

I went back for her. Yeah, that time I was drunk, but at least I didn’t cause any accidents or deaths that time. I brought an old rug from my garage and several trash bags. You know those big, black ones that murderers always stuff their victims in? Yeah, those bags. Doesn’t really help my case, but whatever.

I managed to find her again, but it was difficult and it took me a long while, that’s for sure. I dug her out of the leaves, and picked her up but dropped her again, almost threw up in the process. Like… when I was a kid I had this dog, a Retriever, yeah. And when he died I buried him myself, and there was this thing with his stomach, this… lump.

Yeah, all of his inner organs and shit clumped together. It was fucking disgusting, and… and she was like that too, man. It was horrible feeling that fucking lump. Yes, I did throw up later when I picked her up again. I held it back the first try, but then I just thought ‘fuck it’, and that’s what I did.

Wrapped her in the plastic bags, then rolled her up in the rug, carried her to my car. I think I had a fucking stroke when I was stuffing her into the trunk; I was shaking so badly I couldn’t even get a good grip on her.

So I got in my car and drove back home, shaking like… I don’t know, a popcorn machine? A popcorn machine inside a fucking tornado? Yeah, that sounds about right. How the hell I managed to stay on the road, I don’t know, but I did.

I hoisted her out of the trunk and carried her through my house into the backyard. Now she’s gone, and a fresh pile of dirt is in my yard.

Well, what was I supposed to do? I was drunk and terrified, at the time I thought it was the best thing to do! I just kept pacing back and forth all night, looking through the windows and just waiting for the cops to bash down my door and shove a baton up my ass or something. Like I said, I was drunk as all hell, not thinking rationally.

So you know what I did? I sat down and tried to focus on something else, something to take my mind of the hole in my yard. So, I, uh... this is a bit embarrassing, to be honest, but what the hell? I mean, I’ve just confessed to having a body in my backyard, for crying out loud!

I started watching My Little Pony.

You heard of it? You have, right. Yes, I’m one of those people.

A new episode had just come out, so I thought I could watch it to relax, you know? But something was odd the moment the damn thing started. Even the name was odd. The Missing Mare. Mare. You know, a female horse? Or pony, in this case.

And the episode felt weird too, like I wasn’t even watching the same show. The colours somehow felt... off? I don’t know, something was wrong anyway. One of the Mane Six had apparently gone missing, and the other five tried to find her, but they just couldn’t. It was like she had been erased from existence or some shit like that. Voodoo or whatever.

That’s when I started thinking. That lady I hit, she’d been very… light. Too light, and her body felt odd, and she was wearing very colourful clothing. At first I thought that the panic and alcohol had fucked my sense of… everything, but something still didn’t feel right.

So I paused the episode midway and crawled back into the yard and started to dig again. It was not pleasant, no. Just the thought of digging up a grave was disgusting, and then there was the fact that I myself had dug that grave to conceal someone that I had killed!

Enough to drive a man crazy, I tell you.

And when I finally reached her, tore my way through the plastic bags… I understood. And I threw up again. Not on her, of course, the scene was disgusting enough already. But by then I was somewhat sober, and I could see. No alcohol, no adrenaline and panic clouding my judgement. I saw why she felt so light and soft, why her body felt strange and I saw that she in fact had no colourful clothes at all.

I filled the hole back up again and ran into the house, my head feeling like a dozen people was working my brain with cheese graters. Fucking Gordon Ramsay peeling my skull with a sushi knife or something. Fuck.

So then I returned to the episode and tried to sit through to the end, even though I had an idea of how it would end. And what do you know, I was right. The ponies never found her, and the episode didn’t say that ‘to be continued’ crap. She was gone, removed from the show.

All the ponies kept looking for her like crazy, but she was nowhere to be found. I know they will never find her. I know the show will never be the same again. I know I will never be the same again either.

Because Twilight Sparkle is buried in my back yard.