Author's Note
Inky here. This is one of mine. A small one-shot from my twisted mind. I know I've tagged it appropriately, but I feel I should warn those who aren't normally turned away by tags that this is dark, depraved, and weird. Read at your own risk.
All
The room is dark save for a dim light extending in thin beams from the lamppost outside. The night is just as dark, but silent and peaceful. The same cannot be said for the little apartment room. Noise is coming from seeming innocuous sources. The curtains sound as though they are fluttering in a breezy evening, but the window is closed and the air outside still. Very still. It is a winter night, and not even the chill winds of the Windigo are rustling up loose snow tonight.
But back in the room, in its wavering candlelit darkness, throwing half yellow shadows against the walls, all things are awake. The wood creaks with nopony on it, speaking it’s foreign language to the fluffed carpet which cannot respond. Countless books lining their shelf exchange their words in the whispers of their dead authors, and the many toys of fillies and colts in the room speak with the conspiratorial squeaks of the foals who will never snuggle them tight this cold winter night.
Everyone is alive for the happenings they have been expecting for months. Waiting for just the right day. A figure of a pony enters the room, but no one quiets as is their wont in the presence of mortal ears. They continue on, even raising the volume of their incomprehensible whispers. But the night outside is still quiet. Only the pony has ears to hear, and only the pony’s ears will hear. No need for any other creature to hear their quiet encouragement. Each in turn, their whispers and creaks fade to words the pony can understand, before descending back to the silent din. They are words the pony needs to hear, even now.
The pony smiles. They all stop. The night continues to be a silent sentinel. The lamppost flame ceases to waver. “They know I am here,” the pony says, a little chuckle escaping him. “They are ready. We are all ready…” His voice rises and falls in pitch as they have taught the pony. The bed. The toys of foals. They have all done an excellent job raising the pony. The pony has not failed. The pony is going to succeed. They know the pony will. A stuffed bunny rabbit falls to the floor. It plumps against the carpet, but it still has no voice. It will soon. They have made sure to help their friends. “I shall light the candles,” the pony says. “Tonight shall be the night I prove everypony how wrong they are!” Cackling escapes the pony’s lips. The pony goes around the room, and the lamppost outside is muted by the white candles. They tell the candles not to begin whispering just because they have been woken up.
The pony ends in giggling. The candles illuminate the circle they have taught the pony. The circle is what has muted the carpet. But it knew well beforehoof. They all consulted. They all knew. Except the night. It is still silent, no matter what they whisper to it. “I must extend the conscious world into the unconscious… I must make us whole… I will save us all…” They let the pony mutter and rock outside the circle. This happens sometimes. But it is worth the wait. The pony knows his desire. They know the pony’s desire. The pony will receive from beyond. They have promised. He has listened. Very well.
It is time. The pony becomes focused. They are all hissing in the pony’s ears now. It is time. The pony must move. The instruct him. He steps into the circle. They are yelling in whispers. The pony must not hear anything else. The pony must stay focused. They will ensure that. The night is silent still. But they know it might speak. Try to unfocus the pony. The pony cannot hear the night. A wide, distant smile stretches back the pony’s face. They continue whispering. The night’s mouth is open now, but it has still not spoken. The pony raises a hoof, and the candles join in the yelling whispers. They glint off the silver. It is almost impossible for the pony to see it. The pony’s eyes shrink in even more focus. They surround the pony with uninterpretable noise.
The pony’s hoof meets the pony’s chest. They all stop speaking to the pony. The animals all fall from the shelves. They silence the night early. The lamppost light is snuffed out, and the candles in the room point their light to the center of the circle where the pony stands. The pony’s mortal binding is dying out the pony’s chest, and the carpet drinks it to be sure. The pony is still smiling beyond wide and the pony’s eyes are still pricks in the white. This is good. The pony is ready to receive what they have promised. The carpet shudders. The pony is no longer bound to the pony’s world. They open the pony’s eyes and show the pony. They grant the pony access to the things they can see and speak to the pony about.
The pony screams. All the ponies scream. They all whisper softly to calm the pony. The pony continues to scream and the pony’s body spasms. It is random and twisting. The pony breaks the pony’s bones trying to unsee what they are showing the pony. But they will be sure he sees all and more. They promised. They help the pony by breaking his legs for the pony. They do not want the pony running or moving until the pony has gazed into the depths of their world. Past their world. To other worlds. They promised. The night is trying to speak now, but they have snuffed the lamppost. There is no hope for the night to stop them from fulfilling their promise this time.
The pony has no end of breath now. He can scream for an eternity. They are all used to the sound, and the pony will eventually stop. It begins with the pony’s laugh. Laughing is good for them and the pony. It means the pony is starting to go back to see things the pony has already seen. But they can’t have that. The pony must want their whispers again, and the pony will not desire such things if he sees too long. The pony must long to understand. They close the pony’s eyes, but they are not heartless. They give the pony things to remember them and the pony’s sight by. The pony steps away, breathing heavily. The pony doesn’t need to anymore, but the pony doesn’t know that yet. They will tell the pony in time.
The pony stumbles to the pony’s mirror. They tell the mirror in yelled whispers to open its eyes for the pony. The mirror is stubborn to them sometimes, but it listens. The pony looks at the pony’s body in the mirror’s eyes. The pony has no eyes on the pony’s face now. They gave the pony eyes down the pony’s back, to see more more often. The pony’s new eyes blink in sequence. The pony can see the new legs extending from the pony’s ribs. The legs of a spider with unicorn horns for feet. They all begin chattering in enthusiasm as the black ink pours from the pony’s mouth and old eye sockets in thin streams. The books are the loudest, flapping their pages.
They all eagerly increase their yelling to the pony as the gurgle builds in the pony’s throat. The pony screams with half laughs with them, remembering things the pony saw. The pony runs around the room, smiling and screaming, tripping on the pony’s new legs.
Finally the pony stops in the circle again, and they stop conversing with the pony. They need to see what the pony will do next. The pony jumps up and down, splashing in the pony’s own mortality and laughing all the time. The pony stops, and continues to laugh. They all wait in anticipation for what the pony will do next. The pony laughs louder and longer and brings the pony’s new legs to the pony’s old, dripping eye sockets. The pony still laughs and rips the pony’s face in half, bursting the pony’s new eyes along the pony’s neck and letting all the pony soak in its mortality with the carpet.
Cracking like thunder, ripping thread, and tearing pages echo the room. They all smile with breaks in their surfaces. The lamppost is flickering back to life.
