Unsanitary Darkness
Based heavily on Life After Us: The System
Written by Dragonborne Fox
A lone stallion walked along a dirty, moonlit street slowly, horn aglow with its own light. His brown pelt and silver eyes contrasted his teal mane in an unsettling way. He looked towards a piece of paper that floated before him every few moments as he sauntered, his light revealing words and lines running rampant on the thin frame.
He sighed, rolling up the paper and placing it in a saddlebag strapped to his midsection before turning his head towards an iron gate with a moonlit building beyond.
“Here I am,” He murmured, ears twitching for a moment, “Vanhoover Sanitarium.”
The gates opened slowly, metallic groaning and creaking resonating as if welcoming the pony who merely looked at it. He arched a brow at the sight, trotting past the gates towards the building afterwards. As soon as he was a few feet between the two entities, the gate closed shut in a fraction of a second with no warning, only a hollow metallic echo resounding soon after that.
The stallion jumped and turned around, eyes widening for a moment as he saw the closed iron bars.
“Ah, great.” He mumbled, ears twitching as his face twisted to a frown and narrowed eyes, “How am I gonna get Mrs. Heminghoof’s granddaughter out of this hellhole now?” He scoffed and continued making his way towards the sanitarium, the front door opening as if to welcome him, much like the gate that had him trapped at the moment.
Just as he finished passing the front door, that too slammed shut before he could react. He scoffed, ears twitching in annoyance, as he glanced around with his horn providing light to that which the moon couldn’t penetrate.
The room he stood in was decrepit, untouched for some time. There were shelves on either side of him, empty and barren and attacked by rust, as well as two sets of double doors--one on the left, and one on the right. Dust hung heavy in the air, and the wall between the sets of doors was growing some kind of black ilk on its frame. The room also reeked of mildew and rot, and the stallion curled his nose as the acrid aroma hit him harder than a pile of bricks.
He took a few moments to get used to the smell alone. Painfully long moments. At first, the smell was so awful it made his eyes water, but as the moments flew by, his nose relaxed little by little. Once that was said and done, he opened his saddlebag with his magic, pulling out a picture of a lovely young mare with a short, black mane, grey pelt, and gold eyes. She was wearing a white gown adorned with some faint polka dot pattern.
He groaned as he looked at it, shaking his head disapprovingly as he put the picture back in his bag. “Charcoal, why’d you have to run all the way here?” He grumbled, trotting to the doors on the right. He turned the knobs with his magic, but they would move no more than a little bit. In other words, this set of doors had been locked, or perhaps even barred off of the other side.
The stallion turned to the other set of double doors and trotted to them, trying the knobs with his magic once more. This time, the knobs turned fully, and the doors swung open obediently. What met him was a dirty hall that, again, split to the left and right in a T-shape. It was just as decrepit as the room he trotted from, doors once more shutting behind him in an instant.
He heard something that eerily sounded like hooves hitting the worn tile floor. He stood still as a rock as the sound persisted before fading into a dull echo. Slowly, he moved to the intersected hallway, hooves delicately touching the ground without any sound coming from them. The stallion turned his head left, then right once he passed the corners.
“Was that Charcoal…?” He murmured, keeping his voice low to ensure that nothing else could hear it. He turned to the right again, noticing three doors beyond--two on the sides, the one to the right being ajar, and one between those two. Something seemed to drag him towards the only open door, and he cautiously went inside to find himself in a room with three beds to one side, and a table in the middle.
A cabinet was at the far end, its glass doors made broken and useless like the rest of the place. The table held surprisingly well, and the beds were stained with dirt and age. The one closest to the door also had a red substance on the old sheets, and a small dresser next to it.
But the unusual thing was, above the same bed stained in red, plastered on the wall was a message.
“I want Mr. Teddy.”
The stallion’s eyes widened at the sight. He shook his head for a moment before approaching the bed. Sitting on the drawer next to it was a piece of paper, which he then lifted in his magic and brought to his face so he could examine it.
“Today, a mean old mare took Mr. Teddy away from me. She said I was too old for childish things. But I can’t go to sleep without Mr. Teddy. I need him…”
The stallion shook his head disapprovingly. “I came here to find a mare with a foal’s mind, not some damn bear…” He murmured, and as if in response, a deep rumbling sound resonated not just in that room, but seemingly through the entire sanitarium. The place shook briefly, almost as if disturbed by his very statement.
“Fine!” He declared, stomping one of his hooves. The rumbling ceased in a way it felt that whatever caused it was listening intently for his next choice of words. “I’ll get the damn teddy.” He said, a scowl on his face. He put the piece of paper in his saddlebag, swiftly turning out of the room and re-entering the accursed filthy hallway. He tried the doors in front and to his right, grunting as he found that both were locked as well.
The lone stallion slowly, cautiously, walked down to the other side, not wanting to arouse the force that momentarily shook the building in a way said force would be enraged. He was met with a door on the end, alone, and open as if beckoning him inside. He grunted, resuming his slow pace as he passed the anomaly.
He scanned this area, much like he did the other rooms he visited prior. Now, many rooms marked with doors were lined out on either side, once more ending before another T-intersection. The doors barely held together, and some of them had been barred off with wood planks.
But why? That, he didn’t know. Perhaps the rooms beyond the barred doors were simply stuffed with too much junk? He simply ignored the barred doors and trotted to the doors without the irksome planks, and as expected, all of them were locked. Upon approaching the intersection, he noticed immediately the right side of the hall was completely blocked off with boxes, old bedposts, and chairs.
“Looks like there’s only one way to go…” The stallion murmured, turning left and trotting down that hall. Another door on the left side beckoned him inside with its wide-open frame. He went inside, and found boxes piled to one side, as well as a table with chairs sitting on top of it rather than beside it. To the other side, there was a two-drawer filing cabinet, the top drawer being missing. Atop it was another piece of paper.
The lone stallion sighed as he trotted to the cabinet, his glowing horn bright enough to reveal a small, brown bear sitting where the missing drawer should be. He hoisted it up in his magic, carefully placing it in the saddlebag before turning his attention to the piece of paper. He leaned over, looking at it to be greeted with a message consisting of this:
“Dr. Tarhorn told me to never tell anypony. He took me in a spare room and looked at me head to hoof, and even my private parts. He said it would make me feel better…”
The stallion stashed the paper in his bag, a faint chill running down his spine. “I do hope it was just an examination and nothing more…” He murmured, ears flattening on his skull for a moment. He closed his eyes briefly before making his way out of the room, and quickly.
The faint sound of hooves hitting the worn tile hit his ears again. He froze instantly. The sound faded into a dull echo, but he was still petrified for a few lingering seconds. Something in the back of his mind screamed at him, telling him to just find Charcoal and get the hell out of this place. He winced as his gut began to twist in pain, as if agreeing with his subconscious.
He made his way back to the room that had the first note on the dresser next to the bed, and he didn’t stall during the trip. He placed the teddy on the dresser drawer before the building shook once more, this time with enough force that caused his hooves to slip from underneath him and allowed his head to hit the dresser drawer, knocking him unconscious.
In the world of black, though, he had a faint vision of the mare he searched for, two hooves much like his own in color at the sides of her head. She was crying, face reddened, and she wailed in pain before one of the hooves slapped her across the face.
“Stop, Dr. Tarhorn! It hurts! It hurts!” She wailed, only to be replied with a gruff voice that said something along the lines of “Quiet!” before being slapped again.
The vision ended, and the darkness embraced him. It felt like an eternity before he woke up, and he was certainly not before the dresser drawer he hit his head on.
And already he could tell that something was most definitely wrong. But one question lingered in his mind:
Just who was Dr. Tarhorn?
That name sounded familiar to the stallion--too familiar.