Hide From Your Fears

by MetricOnion

Rating: teen
Tags: Tragedy, Dark
Length: 3661

A mysterious source is doing their level best to scare Sweetie Belle straight. But for what purpose?

I know who you are. You know me. I see you every day. I know where you reside. I have methods of removing your blood. I have a match that has the capacity to burn everything you own to the ground. I could kill you with a single touch. You stand on a knife edge. You can’t hide from me. Don’t try to run. Do not cry and do not speak to anyone about this or I will be the one to end your life. It doesn’t matter where you go, because I will be waiting for you.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2014-09-21 20:27:54 UTC

I See You

Sweetie Belle was the funny type. She was great at making me laugh and she was always amusing when she did her stuff. In the first two weeks of me joining the school, I had taken a liking to her. I understood her plight to get her cutie mark, which kinda helped get me into her good books even though I had already received mine two years prior. At first she was hesitant with me. I seemed a little threatening and scary, but I soon got her to be my friend, the hard way.

I had my own pen and paper everywhere I went. I would use the highest quality ink, and write down all of the threats that I had been abused with throughout my short life. Making it fancy was the final touch. I researched the English language, dating far back to Anglo-Saxon times and even as long ago as the Romanes. My head was a library of knowledge of the dialect and I was able to pen out words so professional that a king (or princess) could have written it. Hurtful words were encompassing about four pages each month, and each year, I would compile all of them, and burn them in my back garden with a box of twenty matches that I bought every year on New Year’s Eve with which I started a light show at midnight. It felt good to see all of my enemy’s words being destroyed before my eyes.

When Sweetie began to become ignorant and was reluctant to answer my questions, I kept the sheets of paper from before I change schools. I picked up a piece of paper one night and wrote down words of hurt on the paper. I would compose these letters late at night using the candle light to guide me. Unicorns had it easy. I, being an earth pony, had to use my mouth to write everything which was a very laborious task, especially with my impatience. Sometimes I would throw the pen at the floor and smash my head into the wall to relieve the stress. After this, I would instantly blow out the candle and sneak into bed before my parents checked on me.

After they would leave, I would relight the candle and keep going. Sometimes I even punched myself in the stomach mid-sentence to stop my body seizing up. There were many cases where I had done so. I would cry for the attention of my parents and head to the hospital because I was internally bleeding. One time I hit myself so hard that I coughed up blood on my desk. I didn’t bother cleaning it up because I was too lazy, so I went down to the crafts shop the next day and bought some red paint to cover it up. My useless parents never noticed.

When I had written my first letter, I burned the corners slightly, before turning it over. I thought about signing it, but then that would make it obvious, so I racked my brains all night for something to make my mark. The next morning I had come up with something. It was simple yet powerful. I wasn’t allowed knives upstairs, so I took an empty drinks can, tore it in half and placed it to my wrist. In a last second hesitation, I pulled it away because I wasn’t sure if I should do this. After a stern talk with myself, I tried again. I stuffed my mouth with a folded piece of bread, and slashed down the flesh. I screamed into the food and bit down through it in pain. I got my pen ready with a small pot underneath it. Blood dribbled out, onto my nib and into the pot. After I had collected enough, and when I started to get a little light headed, I wrapped a bandage about my self-inflicted wound, and got to work.

The mark was simple. It was a letter ‘D ‘, written in blood.

The next morning, I got up early and walked around to her house, Carousel Boutique. There was a doormat outside that said, ‘Welcome’ in big, friendly letters. I laughed and thought to myself, “This won’t be.”

I taped the letter to the mat and walked back home where I slipped back into my bed just in time to be conveniently fast asleep when my mother trotted into my room and opened the curtains like she did every morning. I sat up and yawned loudly, trying my best to make it sound real. She walked out and downstairs, letting me get ready for the hilarity that would be Sweetie Belle.

Letter 1 (2nd September):

I know who you are. You know me. I see you every day. I know where you reside. I have methods of removing your blood. I have a match that has the capacity to burn everything you own to the ground. I could kill you with a single touch. You stand on a knife edge. You can’t hide from me. Don’t try to run. Do not cry and do not speak to anyone about this or I will be the one to end your life. It doesn’t matter where you go, because I will be waiting for you.

D

Sweetie Belle was a mess when she got into school. She looked like she had seen a ghost and her eyes swivelled every way. She was greeted by her two over enthusiastic friends, Applebloom and Scootaloo. I sat on a bench from a distance, my usual trilby atop my head and a pencil twirling around my hoof.

“Come on in class!” called Cheerilee from the classroom window. “It’s time for another great day of learning!”

I actually didn’t know what I hated more: the ignorance of Sweetie or the teacher. I could hardly stand her constant ecstasy and her wonderfully styled mane and tail. That day was unlike no other. It was all the boring stuff about maths and stuff that we learned every day. Sweetie sat silently in the middle of the room. Her book lay open and the page was completely blank. Suddenly, Diamond Tiara leaned over and whispered in her ear while Cheerilee was explaining basic algebra.

“Hey, you know what that page reminds me of?”

“No,” said the white filly, not caring about the obvious insult that was coming

“…Your flank!”

“Thanks,” still not caring.

“Hey! Stop being mean to her!” I threatened.

“What is going on over there?” exclaimed the teacher.

“Diamond Tiara was being mean to Sweetie Belle!”

“…WAS NOT!” complained the brat.

“Diamond Tiara, is this true?” (Cheerilee)

“Of course not!” (Brat)

“Diamond, be honest!” (Cheerilee)

“I am miss! I am!” (Brat)

“Ok! I don’t want to see any more fighting out of you. If I do, you will be sent out!” (Cheerilee)

Letter 2: (3rd September):

You’ve done well. I am still not done with you though. I want you to place this note on your back for your school day. Don’t take it off under any circumstance. Remove it before midnight or you will see my knife blade tomorrow.

D

The filly looked even worse than before. I greeted her at the school gates before her other friends did. I asked what was wrong and she showed me the note taped to her back. I led her over to my usual bench where she sat down, head in her knees.

“Oh no!” she said, fear in her voice.

“What?”

“N-Nothing!”

“You’re acting very strangely lately,”

“I… I…!” Tears. She cried quietly into her elbow. I took the risk and pulled her into a soft hug. I patted her head and she wept into my chest fur.

“Shh, it’s alright. I’m here for you!”

“R-Really?”

“Yeah, I’ll protect you,”

“Th-thanks, *sniff* *cough*,”

My plan had worked. I had lulled her into a false sense of security, and I was now free to do whatever I wanted. She called me her friend the other day so now I was able to do what pleased me. I waited until my family was asleep, and I snuck out of bed. I threw on a black coat and a pair of sunglasses and slowly cracked the door open. I slunk out and came to the top of the stairs. I knew from experience that there were dodgy steps that would make it obvious that something was on them, so I sat on the hoof rail and slid down to the bottom where I planted my hooves carefully and strolled into the kitchen.

I knew that my coat would be ruined, but I didn’t care. The knife sat in my pocket as I approached carousel boutique. I took out the paper clip and screw drive from the garage and picked the front door lock before entering the home. I saw one of Rarity’s beautiful dresses and walked up to it. It was a deep blue colour with orange swirls around it. I ran my knife across the chest, tearing the fabric. Rarity was my next target. Her door was unlocked, so I tip-toed silently to her bedside.

I placed the knife on her bottom lip. The metal made her jolt slightly and she woke up. She magicked off her eye cover, and I plunged the knife blade straight into the top of her mouth and into the brain. She couldn’t even scream before she was dead. I pulled the knife out with blood smeared on it from tip to base. Opalescence lay in his basket blissfully unaware of the current situation. I smiled at the thought that entered my head.

The full grown mare’s weight was enough to crush a few bones in the cat’s body and maybe even kill her outright. I walked out of the room, Rarity’s dead body crushing her feline pet.

I pushed open the door to Sweetie’s room and walked to the bed. I held the knife above her head before she suddenly opened her eyes. A scream was let out and she held her covers up to her neck.

“Hello there Sweetie Belle. I think that those letters have made us rather acquainted!”

“DON’T KILL ME!” “HELP ME RARITY!”

“Don’t bother screaming. Rarity is dead,”

“NO! WAKE ME UP!”

“You aren’t dreaming,” “How’s about you think about my knife?”

The corpse lay there, knife embedded in her skull. I leaned over and kissed her dead lips, before removing the knife.

Letter 7 (8th September):

I stood there, silent for a while. The knife was in my hoof, covered completely in blood. I laughed at my horrible life, and raised the point to my neck. I slit my throat. I lost consciousness, and died. I love you Sweetie Belle. I’m sorry for killing you. I felt the only right thing to do was to kill myself. Love, Relentless.

D

The End.

Torment

“Hey Relentless!” yelled the thick voice of the colt sitting at another table. We were sitting in a German classroom waiting for the teacher to arrive to the lesson.

“What?” I called back with my airless voice.

“Remember that time when you limped off the rugby pitch on the wrong leg?”

“You’re still holding me to that? That was three years ago!” I was already beginning to slide my hoof into my saddlebags.

“It’s just a joke! Learn to take one!”

“It’s only a joke if it’s supposed to be funny,”

“It seems pretty funny: am I right guys?” he looked to his cronies who all laughed and nodded in agreement. “See?”

“Stop looking at your ‘friends’ to help you,” I placed the word ‘friends’ in air quotes to show sarcasm which he was too dim to understand.

“I guess that medication didn't improve your attitude!” The malicious words left his mouth to be met by silence. “All that cancer hasn’t knocked any sense into you!” I sat stunned at the mention of the condition. Nopony had ever brought it up before, yet here he was, jesting about such a serious topic.

The bastard had crossed the line. A red mist formed and my heart began to race. Adrenaline tensed my muscles and I felt my eyelid twitch. In an instant, I had pulled a sharp pair of scissors from my saddlebag and kicked away my chair in anger. The colt looked a little shocked but then laughed it off and started calling me an idiot and saying it was “all a joke!” I wasn’t taking that bull for an excuse, so I kicked away his desk and wrestled him to the floor. He struggled against me but my weight made him lethargic and his efforts were in vain. I shoved my knee into his ribcage and heard him scream as an unsettling but enjoyable crack resounded through the room.

All of the other ponies stood back: shocked and scared, with me cackling in ecstasy over the terrified body of the one who challenged me. I cut his arms with my scissors and blood dribbled out of the incisions. I pinned his head down with one hoof and placed as much pressure as possible on his windpipe. He lay suffocating helplessly but against all morals, I continued to attack, this time sinking my teeth into his shoulder and sucking out the blood before spitting it into his face effectively blinding him.

I felt hooves pull me back. I writhed and kicked as somepony drew me away from my target. My teacher got me to the floor after much struggling to contain my aggression and pinned my arm behind my back. The mist was clearing and I was no longer tunnel visioning on anyone. The sharp blades were taken from me when I was pulled onto my hind legs after plenty of kicking. I tried to plant my elbow into the teacher’s chest but she was too far out of the way for me to do that. People were now crowding the unconscious body that dared make light of my Glottic Cancer.

The headmaster (principal if you’re American) stared at me appalled at my behaviour. I looked like a vampire and I had taken a tissue to clean up my face. He sighed and scratched his scalp unskilfully hidden by hair. “Relentless, what were you thinking?” he finally said after a few minutes of awkward silence.

“I was thinking about attacking him sir,” I replied, unafraid of the inevitable bollocking that I was sure to receive.

“Don’t be sarcastic with me! This is a serious matter. You have caused grievous bodily harm to another student as well as permanently damaging his eyesight. Do you have any idea of the consequences of your actions?”

“Yes sir. But what was told is not quite the truth,”

“From what I heard you lashed out when he made a joke that you didn’t think was funny,”

“You see, that is only partially correct because there was, in fact, a joke made about something that wasn't funny. The only thing is this joke was about my cancer and how it didn't improve my attitude. This is on top of all of the rest of the bullying that I have received in my time at this poorly run establishment which all culminated to me going to my final resort of violence. He had it coming and it seemed that he was completely fine with making fun of a life threatening illness. I think that it should be him in here as well apologising to me. He brought this on himself and I just exacted the punishment.” When I had finished my speech the door knocked and in walked my parents and two police officers, one stallion and one mare. My mother was crying and my father had the 1000 yard stare that seemed to say “You've crossed the line!”

I didn't react when my parents yelled at me for doing such a bad thing. I just sat there in silence, letting it go in one ear and out the other. It was the best way I thought of dealing with the situation because getting emotional lets them know that they’ve dominated you and have full control. I didn't even argue when I was walked off to the police station where I put in a prison cell. I had been carrying my bags with me all the way to the police station and managed to sneak out a small scrap of paper, a pen and some rocks that I had brought in for geography. I had no idea but I thought one was flint.

I hid them where no one would think to look, in my hair. I did this by making it look like I was scratching my head and luckily, the amount of hair on my head was enough to conceal most of the items. The rocks were painful because the sharp edges ground on my head but I endured it until I was alone.

I sat on the floor in the furthest corner and wrote down what insults had been mentioned that day. The page wasn’t very full when I placed it on the floor and tried to spark the two rocks together.

Midnight came and I was still awake. Every time I wanted to go to sleep I would smash me ears with my hooves to disorient myself and make it harder to move towards the wall bed. I didn’t know why I was punishing myself like this but it felt right in an odd way.

A week passed and I had only gotten 13 hours of sleep. My family hadn’t visited me yet and I could only hope that my sentence wouldn’t be too long.

My cell door opened one day and a few ponies stood silhouetted against the fluorescent lights that were balanced on the ceiling behind them. Two of them were my parents and the rest were police or something, I didn’t really know. They told me that I wasn’t completely accountable for my actions and that I would have to go through a year’s rehab and community service to complete my sentence. I agreed with their offer, anything to get out of the hellhole.

The rehab and service consisted of me being asked if I wanted to talk about anything and picking up litter which was in no way interesting. I was constantly under the watchful eyes of my councillor, a mare by the name of Viridescence based in Ponyville. She had a very dark red mane that flowed a bit like another pony’s mane whose name I never asked. From listening around I managed to get the name Fluttershy. Anyway, her fur was a deep green to match her eyes. She had a tick where she would roll her shoulders whenever I came into the room.

My parents would regularly chat with her to check my progress but I never heard any of it.

When August came around I announced my Birthday to her on the third day. She bought me a present the next day and gave it to me as soon as I saw her. It was wrapped in blue striped wrapping paper and was in the shape of a box. There was a red bow on the top as the icing on the cake. I quickly untied the bow and tore open the paper. Inside was a white box with a pen pictured on the front. Upon opening it, nestled in the felt lining, laid a shiny black and silver fountain pen.

“That pen’s made out of real Onyx and Silver!” she pointed out. At that moment, for the first time in years, I felt happy. “It cost me 350 bits and 99 cents.” She continued with a blush and a grin. “I hope you like it because I know you like writing down your thoughts,”

“I-I love it,” I whispered in astonishment. The pen was slick and translucent, showing curls and waves of crystal. The ink inside was pitch black and the nib sharp. Viridescence ruffled my hair and we continued with the session that she had planned.

At the end of my year of rehabilitation I walked out of the meeting room with a new view of the world. I went back to school to continue with work. When I first re-entered education I was given a very wide berth by everyone. Word had gone round school instantly so I had to last as long as possible with nopony to talk to.

I managed to work alone for about two months. The streak was only broken by a new colt that joined the school. He found out as soon as he sat down and came up to me. I knew he was a bad kid the moment I saw him and my predictions proved correct. He placed his mouth a few inches from my ear so that I could feel his breath and he spoke, “You probably should have died of cancer!” He turned and walked away.

***

I walked in through the unfamiliar school gates, the memory of the beaten pony lying in a hedge still fresh in my mind a year later. There were ponies playing in the field in their own little friendship groups. Seeing them flitting around carefree like that was something that I had never seen before where I was from. I was beginning to feel a little jealous. It was then that somepony caught my eye. It was a filly talking to two others with the colour schemes ‘White, Yellow and Orange’. The pony with the white fur was cute so I decided to try and talk to her.

“Hey,” the filly turned her head along with her friends, surprised to see a black colt with burgundy hair that they didn’t recognise walking towards them. “I’m new here, what’s your name?” The white filly looked confused.

“Who, me?”

“Yeah,”

“S-Sweetie Belle,” she said nervously. “Wh-Who are you?”

“Me?” I grinned, bearing my teeth. “Relentless.”