Author's Note
I hope what you're about to read will leave you talking—breathless, even. I don't know why, but I just came up with this idea based on a horrible dream I personally had. I know a lot of famous poets used nightmares as inspiration to write, but hey, getting off track.
I spent...SO much time on this. I had one person look over this story ENTIRELY, and it would NOT be what it is now without his help. I had other people pre-read this and see if this premise was feasible and believable, and not totally ridiculous, which it's not. Every time I personally looked at this, I improved many things. This story has become very precious to me: it resembles exactly how far [so far] I have come as a [hobbyist] writer. All my skills are reflected here, and my passion is clear here.
But also let me know in the comments if I missed anything, be it a typo, a repeated word, anything
So yeah, comment and let me know what you think! ^w^
Hesitation Marks
Stalker
Hesitation Marks
********
Nightmare Night came only once a year. It was the time when all the children in Equestria—especially those in Ponyville—get to express their inner demon, witch, wizard, mummy, zombie, werewolf, timberwolf, vampire, recluse, sheet-ghost, paper bag, murderous psychopathic schizophrenic bipolar maniac, or hyperactive attention-deficit guy with a polka-dot football mask . . .
"I'm so excited!"
Sure, it was just two days away, but one little filly swore that she was the most excited out of all Ponyville's population. The town did quite a bit for the occasion, and it was certainly enough to sate any child's sweet tooth from a year's worth of waiting.
"Rarity, wake the heck up!" the filly said. "Pleeeeaase?" She started seeing results, and she giggled: Rarity awoke with narrow eyes and outstretched hooves. She was pleased to see her little sister, Sweetie Belle, so prompt and energetic.
"Well hello, you," she smiled. "All ready for today?"
"I sure am!" She carefully presented and set a full breakfast tray above Rarity's lap, the legs on each side standing on her bed, and the cloth underneath the contents was hanging alongside them. The older sister was surprised to see what the younger had undertaken upon herself—and how she managed not to burn anything this time around, including the house.
On the tray, a stack of five hot pumpkin-shaped blueberry pancakes stood up on top of each other, with the one on top hovering over a large cup of coffee. She adjusted the top-most cake so it would not fall off, and the steam from the hot drink looked to be mixed exactly to her preference: eleven packs of cream and nine teaspoons of sugar. She caught the whiff of the coffee first, which brought her to thank Sweetie Belle with more gratitude than normal, as it wasn't a normal occurrence that she would prepare breakfast for her. On the side, there were six halves of three thick, toasted raisin bagels, with a stick of butter to use with both them and the pancakes. There was also a hefty banana-nut muffin, and little nuggets of hash-browns, with such an aesthetically pleasing texture to them that Rarity could already taste them.
"Wow," she uttered, looking at how well she'd done, clearly amazed. "Thank you again, Sweetie. It looks so. . .good! And you haven't burned a single thing!" She just had to mention that, but they found themselves laughing together — that incident had long passed.
Sweetie beamed. "Only the best-est for the best-est-est sister in Equestria!"
Rarity laughed at that. "Have you got everything you need for your sleepover, silly?"
"Yep, everything's all packed in just one bag!" she emphasized." I'm only taking things I know I'll need to have the best Nightmare Night Party ever! You eat your breakfast while I go take a shower and stuff!" With that, Sweetie Belle took off, leaving Rarity in bed, breakfast on her lap.
"Well isn't she excited?" She watched her close the door. Then she looked at all the food before her and commented: "She knows me much too well. Hehe!"
Sweetie Belle had everything ready to go by the time Rarity was out of bed. With her impeccable hairstyle, she looked to have gotten out of her aforementioned shower just fifteen minutes ago. Her mane smelled strongly of strawberries, and her smile was as bright as could be. She must have used just a little too much shampoo again, but her sister never paid it any mind. She was always scrupulous about her hygiene, as with Rarity. In fact, the mare would have done the same for herself that morning, but she needed to be awake extra early to see Sweetie off with her friends. Besides, it wasn't like she terribly needed a shower at the moment anyway; she had just taken one the night before.
Meeting up at the front door, they heard the sound of a carriage stopping near the building. Rarity looked out the window and saw that it was Big Macintosh, Applejack's brother.
"Oh, Big Mac is here! That's awfully nice of him. And convenient, too!" Rarity waved at him through an opened window, and he waved right back. Sweetie Belle opened the door and announced to him that she would be out in a second, leaving it slightly cracked open.
"Bye, Rarity!" Sweetie was plenty energetic in the sudden hug she gave her sister.
"Have a great time, darling." Rarity hugged her back gently. "I love you."
Sweetie Belle hummed pleasantly and repeated after her sister. "I love you, too! And I will. Hay, it'll be a blast!"
She opened the door again and she headed out to greet the stallion. Rarity watched the two chat and laugh for a bit before they took off toward Sweet Apple Acres, to the north of Carousel Boutique. When they were far enough away, she headed to the bathroom to begin her normal routine, where she would admittedly use too much shampoo while washing in the shower, and spend a decent amount of time brushing and flossing her teeth. Then the time came to prep all her tools, counters, and materials up for the day: she had a big day of her own ahead, and she welcomed it with a confident smile.
This was one of the few days in which Nightmare Night costume orders would hit her the hardest. "Let's get to it then," she thought to herself.
Twelve tired hours passed, with Rarity being busy the majority of that time. She continually glanced outside, only to see the sun heading to the horizon. She stood behind the two counters that curved around her, working hard on commissioned orders as they came up. Most of them didn't take very long to complete, while others required patience and total concentration. She was pleased with the amount of work she was receiving, but most of her customers were ordering in such a way that did not require them to come into her store:
She achieved this through use of a new and improved postal system, allowing the delivery of larger packages and custom orders selected out of a monthly catalog Rarity had published. She was a large supporter and somewhat of a pioneer for both of these new systems, using them to create a service all her own. It would all take effect in just the upcoming week if the small community of Ponyville found it to be favorable.
Though, it was already looking like they would:
In the past months, Rarity diligently thought of ways to share her love of sewing and creating magnificent art that one could wear. She devised advertising kits that her customers could order so they could make the same amazing clothing that Rarity was known for, in all forms of media; be it newsletters, adverts in the paper, posters pasted in alleyways, and even the newest facet of technology, the 'radio'. She also offered patterns of a wider variety, not limited to just dresses. Headwear, scarves, leg-wear, shoes—or 'booties' as she liked to call them. Even lingerie, for those who were into that sort of thing.
After all, the more ponies that shared her love for crafting, the more pleased she was with the quality of her life, and the lives of those who chose to wear her couture.
The commissions stopped for about eight minutes, and when Rarity surmised she could take a breather, she jumped on the opportunity to kick back. Not long after the first minute of her break, the bell atop the door ra
ng, and Rarity perked her ears up high — a gorgeous mare walked in through the front doors. She was relieved to hear someone actually come into her store, instead of another faceless order. It broke the tedious monotony just a tad.
"Hello, and welcome to Carousel Boutique! Where every garment is chic, unique, and magnifique! May I help—" Rarity stopped her welcome speech, correcting herself when she saw the face of her friend. "Oh hello, Rose! Always nice to see you here!"
"Hi, Rarity! How are you doing today?"
"I am doing absolutely wonderful, thank you for asking. And it's a beautiful day out, too! What can I do for you today?"
Rose was a beautiful, scarlet-maned mare who was almost a regular customer for Rarity. She was one of the only ponies—aside from Rarity herself—that was interested in crafting clothing from scratch. Rose didn't speak of her interest in needlework all that much: she already had the job at her flower shop, and her weekend stall in the marketplace taking up quite a bit of her time. Rose was usually busy, but she made the time to purchase as many scraps of material and nifty accessories that her creative mind could meld into new and surprisingly beautiful objects.
"Well I wouldn't be in here if you couldn't," she teased. "It is a little personal though . . . With what help I need."
Rarity sat down on a nearby couch behind the counter but used her generous voice to usher her into an approach. Rose obliged and closed the door behind her. By this time, it was late in the afternoon. Rarity wouldn't have any more orders coming in; the shop would close in the next few minutes.
"So, yeah, Lily and Daisy are moving away for their biology majors."
"Tomorrow, you said?"
Rose nodded her head in a somber fashion. "Mmhmm. That means I've got to find another source of income so I can keep my home." Rose paused, her eyes downcast and crestfallen. "And my flowers, too. So that's the main reason I came in here, . . . to see you."
"Well the great news is...no, not good news. The great news, mind you, is that I could always use extra help around here. There's enough work for more than one pony to do and I never have enough hooves around to do it. Especially right now with Nightmare Night orders coming in left and right." She felt like she was blabbering on. "There's really nothing to this job, given the experience you must have. I would say I'd take you in a heartbeat. But I feel like I should give you a trial period, and now's a perfect time. Sweetie Belle is out with her friends for a few days, so I'm here all by myself."
"I'll do anything you need me or want me to do," Rose said, with firm conviction.
"And I admire your devotion, as I have this entire time. However, that's hardly necessary here. In all honesty, I must say that you appeal to me more in the sense of a friend. Now, don't think I'm saying I doubt your skills. I'm sure you'll be able to prove to me you can do the job because I'll be letting you work side by side with me. So, if you can be here at eleven-thirty in the—" Rose wrapped her hooves around Rarity as she was coming out from behind the counters. "Eleven-thirty in the morning. Hehe."
"Thank you SO much, Rarity! Oh sweet Celestia, thank you!" Rarity hugged her back, running her hooves along her withers.
"I wouldn't want you to leave this lovely town, Rose. In a way, I'm glad no one else took you because now you'll spend most of your time here! When you're not watching over your flowers, of course." Rarity admitted all this before they pulled out of the hug.
"This was the first place I thought of. You were the first one." Rose confessed with a smile.
"That's awfully flattering, you know," Rarity chuckled. "We'll be seeing a lot of each other soon enough."
"Now, I need to let Lily and Daisy know that I'll be okay with them gone. The rent was hardly a problem with us splitting it three ways."
"If you're going," Rarity started looking outside, where the sky was getting darker. "let me walk you home, dear. It would be my pleasure."
Rose did not deny the company but welcomed it. "Oh, okay!" Her wide smiles were still uncontrollable at this point.
The two mares started walking toward the door, with Rarity trailing Rose before she slowed down.
"And, um, Rarity?" the mare with the scarlet mane asked halfway to the door, sounding slightly rattled; shaken up.
"Yes, dear?" Rarity responded, almost casually. However, she caught onto Rose's tone of voice but didn't address it, whatever her inquiry could be. Upon being asked, the mare hesitated for a moment, gently flicking her head to her right and biting her lip just a tiny bit.
"If you don't mind me asking, how long has that been there?" Rarity looked to the right, as Rose gestured, and failed to see anything out of the ordinary. "And why is it over there?"
"I'm sorry, but what do you mean, exactly?" She re-addressed Rose, confused.
"That . . . old pony-quin over there. I didn't know you still used those."
Rarity found herself aghast, to say the least. Behind the dark curtains that hung alongside the window, there was indeed one of her old practice pony-quins just standing there, concealed. She knew there couldn't have been one of those up here, as she kept all of those stashed away for safe-keeping. She didn't exactly know why she wanted to keep them, other than the sentimental value they held. They had served her for years until she had finally found a way to reach her real nationwide fame, in addition to her being part of a six-mare team that saved the world on multiple occasions.
Perhaps Sweetie Belle brought it there and draped the curtains over it, as a decoration for any Nightmare Night customers to see.
"Uhm. . ." Insincere groans were all that escaped her half-gaping mouth, through her half-candid words. "I have an . . . Well, I have a bit of an emotional attachment to these things, I guess you could say. Hehe. . ."
"Well yeah, you must have kept them in the back for years!" Rose had always found herself in a better mood while in Rarity's company, as influential as she was, being one of the very first ponies to revolutionize both marketing and consumer affairs. Her mere presence was awe-inspiring. "It's perfectly okay to try new things out, Rarity," Rose confessed, smiling happily. "You of all ponies definitely know that." She knew Rarity was listening to her, even though her eyes were locked on the pony-quin.
"Well, thank you, Rose! Aside from my closest friends, you're the only one who comes into my actual, physical store anymore. But somehow, when you're here, you always make my day, if you hadn't already figured that out." Rarity smiled walking up to Rose and stepping outside with her. She stopped for a moment and locked up the boutique before they headed out on their way.
The breeze outside was incredibly pleasant and perfect for an evening stroll. The sun was setting behind the Smokey Mountains far off to the west, leaving the sky to take on a dark, hazy turquoise. The streetlights lit up the cobblestone path that they walked on, down one side of the empty road.
"So where is your sister, Rarity?" Rose asked as she trotted alongside her.
"She's staying at my friend's home on the Apples' orchard," she answered with a smile.
They talked during the entire trip: from their plans for the actual holiday to their favorite seasons, beginning with a chat about the weather for each one. Falling leaves hit their faces, and crunched beneath their hooves. Coincidentally, those were some of the reasons why fall was both their favorite: Rarity explained that it wasn't too warm or too cold, so she could wear whatever it was she wanted, while Rose's reasoning was that the foliage in her garden would stand out, incredibly so. And she was vigilant enough about feeding them all that they required for that to be the exact outcome.
"Oh, I remember my first Nightmare Night," Rose quietly added. "I remember it being scary, but only because I was by myself, I swear," she giggled quietly. "I didn't have very many friends as a filly, so...yeah."
"I'm terribly sorry to hear that, dear." Rarity consoled. "But all the more reason to look forward to tomorrow, right?"
Appropriately, Rose was enthusiastic. "Heh, yeah," she muttered. "Yeah, it is!"
Rose's home came into view; a duplex-style house that stood at the end of the block. She didn't live where she worked but she nurtured and cared for a few small plots: her 'garden'. It was about four meters by two on either side of the walkway, leading to the door, full of a variety of flowers that were mostly roses. They soon approached the doorstep, being welcomed by several beautiful rosebushes on either side. She could hardly see them, or the mat underneath their hooves, on a moonless night, but she could sure smell them.
"So, you'll be expecting me," Rose needed to clarify. "at eleven-thirty, right?"
"That's correct, eleven-thirty. I'll be expecting you." Rarity paused, looking for the mare's beautiful green eyes in the dark. "Honestly, you could come at any time. You're always welcome, darling. I'll gladly have your company for as long as you'd care to stay." Her own smile went unnoticed in the darkness.
"Again, thank you so much, Rarity." The mares hugged each other briefly before parting. "And again for walking me home."
Rarity pat her on her shoulder. "It was a genuine pleasure. You always have a friend in me." They both shared another smile, but the wind threw Rose's mane in her face.
"Well, . . . Good night!" Rose opened the door and took one step inside before turning back. "I'll see you in the morning." She added as she closed the door. Rarity heard several locks click before she began her walk home.
With the wind picking up, Rarity made haste in getting home as she retraced her steps. Because of this, she noticed storm clouds moving in from the Everfree, with occasional flashes of lightning. The darkness of the moonless night was growing darker. She quickened her pace; she sure didn't want to be caught out in the rain.
Rarity quickly approached her own destination: the Carousel Boutique. It was her home, but it also doubled as her place of business. No matter which way she looked at it, she was absolutely shocked to find the lights on, and the front door open, swaying on its hinges in the gusty winds. She kept quiet, and approached likewise.
She crept up to the doorway and peeked through the window, aside from the howling wind and a few leaves on the floor, there was little sign of anyone inside. She cautiously moved inside, closing and locking the door with her magic once again. She heard nothing until she called out the first name she thought of:
"Sweetie Belle? Are you here?" When she made her way to the middle of the room, she called out again. "Did you forget something?"
She looked around for any signs of her sister, searching places where she would have gone first. She thought to look more toward the back room, where the filly had first packed her bag that morning, but there was nothing there. Her bag wasn't there, and there were no dropped items—only something that drew her breath away.
"What are you doing here??"
One of her old tempered-plastic pony-quins stood tall, posed on its pedestal; not even five feet from Rarity. It was the very same one she investigated before she left earlier, with Rose. "My word," she spoke to it. She examined its head, having found herself thoroughly intrigued once more. "I am pretty sure I didn't leave you here like this." There were multiple shallow etchings on its head, giving it a more life-like appearance. Rarity ran her hoof over what, she swore, had to be her little sister's early 'artistic' work.
"Well . . . it's certainly creepy, I'll give her that much. It would make sense if this was part of a costume or something, Sweetie," she reasoned to herself.
It was a simple, make-believe face that was fully anatomically correct, aside from how purely evil it looked. It was still simple, though—with the exception of the sharp teeth on the top and bottom of its open jaw, that looked to be grinning. The angry eyes were exemplified with crooked, slanted brows and pink irises: poorly colored in crayon. Sweetie Belle must have been going for the scare factor here, but she was just too much of a sweetheart.
Its head was a bit askew, looking in the direction of the front door as if expecting somepony to walk through. Apart from that, she paid it little mind, chalking it up to sheer coincidence for the moment: she moved on and started to search for the cause as to how and why it was moved to begin with.
However, after a few minutes of scouring her home for intruders, she failed to find a trace of anypony, not even Sweetie Belle, in having come home for whatever reason she might. Rarity even looked in the filly's room, but she found no sign of anyone. At this point, she couldn't fathom any reason as to how that door opened on its own. Rarity was exhausted, both physically and mentally, so with how sluggish she felt, she decided that it was time for a well-deserved rest.
But with Sweetie out of the question, who else was there. . . ?
Regardless of how she felt, however, she headed back to the huge room to prep up for the next business day. She passed the pony-quin on her way to her counters to check the till—on the off-chance, she had another walk-in customer. Halfway there, a brilliant light flashed outside, but the interior lights instantaneously went out with a loud crack. Soon after, Rarity heard loud booming thunder, causing her windows to rattle in their frames. She moved a little slower now, listening to the raindrops violently pummeling the roof and windows. Rarity's horn lit up as she cast a large candlelight spell to illuminate the majority of the room, and she continued preparing for the next day.
Just as she was finishing up, she heard a very unsettling noise that didn't fit with that of the storm raging outside. A horrendous screech broke through the sounds of the storm. It was loud; far louder than the sounds of the wild nature outside. She looked around the room, then glanced over her shoulder only to see the pony-quin again, and much closer this time, with the counter being the only thing that separated them. The loud screech echoed through the room for a little longer, all while it just stared at her with its wicked smile and angry eyes, mere inches from the counter. . .
She didn't breathe a single word. She abandoned the very last duty she needed to do. Sliding between the counters, she kept her eyes locked on the pony-quin and circled around it. The dummy only stood there, keeping its inanimate glare at the wall. She crept quickly and silently, but the sneaking soon turned into a fast trot across the room. She didn't look behind her, but she soon halted and made a sharp turn to the right. She rushed her door open and slid herself behind it as it closed, keeping the knob turned in her magic so she could silently close the door; like she was a teenager sneaking in after a night out. An uneasy feeling was growing in the back of her head. However, in her defense, it was that time of year again—
"Right, the day after tomorrow . . . It's Nightmare Night."
She sighed in relief as she locked the deadbolt and silently slid her back down the door. "I need to stop talking to inanimate objects," she muttered to herself.
The cliched phrase, 'it was a dark and stormy night' instantly came to mind.
Rarity headed to her bed with the intention of slipping herself inside her covers' warm, tight embrace. She was a little thirsty, but that could wait; she didn't want to go back out there. She swore she could taste the coffee she had set in the pot that morning, ready to be brewed during the next, given that the electricity would hopefully return. Perhaps she needed a cup earlier that evening, with how tired she was. Yes, she figured that it might have helped her, but she could rest easy knowing that she'd have some in the morning, and with some friendly company, too. And now, finally crawling on her bed, and knowing her window was locked as well, she didn't feel the need to worry anymore. Soothing thoughts began to surface in her head.
"I do hope Sweetie's having fun at her sleepover already."
She laid herself gently in bed and wriggled down beneath a thin layer of covers, moving the accent pillows and extra blankets aside. "Apple Bloom and Scootaloo are two of the nicest fillies out there. I'm sure she's having the time of her life." Her lips shaped into a smile on her face, thinking of her sister.
She remembered the year when Derpy Hooves 'helped' teach Sweetie the ins and outs of trick-or-treating, which was completely backwards, but the adventure that the mare told her made her giggle for days. And of course, she knows not to actually trick-or-treat at houses to try and literally swipe false teeth out of elder ponies mouths. Granny Smith still remembers the 'trick' from that year.
"That damned pillowcase." Rarity giggled to herself upon digging through her memories more thoroughly. She remembered the mare's ultra-simplistic costume, the same one that she used for years after—a purple pillowcase over her head. However, compared to the short amount of time it took her to form that smile, its duration was shorter still.
She swore she heard a quick shuffling along the floor, and her comfort and peace of mind disrupted once again. She partially sat up with a huff, looking past the foot of her bed as best she could. The window to the left side of her room illuminated the floor, as the old streetlights outside burned their oil and shined their light through it, despite the storm. She sat up a little more and saw all the water droplets on the window, their splattered counterparts also carried onto the floor with the help of the light shining through.
Rarity kept her voice low, asking herself numerous questions. She could barely hear herself think over the muffled noises coming through the window. A small sphere of faint light suddenly topped her horn as she charged her magic, to which she launched with perfect trajectory into the center of the room. It flickered and pulsated momentarily as it became stable.
A chill ran down her spine as she took notice of an extended hoof. When the magical light dimmed and began to burn away, she was certain she had made out the presence of the pony-quin once again, somehow making its way into her locked room. More of its shape was coming into light, and her eyes adjusted, her interest was immediately replaced with fear—raw fear that held her in a paralyzed state.
"I see you," she muttered as she stared at it, frozen. "But I didn't . . . How in the world could you have possibly gotten in?"
The pony-quin's head was turned to look at her. Its body looked as if it were facing the wall, but she couldn't explain why it was... staring at her. Eventually, she was able to see its frightening face again. She found herself reaching for those blankets she had moved aside and pulled them all on top of her. Ducked under the covers, she laid comfortably on her side, slowly trying to settle into a comfortable state of mind as well. It was already warm and cozy, but with the scare very fresh in her mind, it felt safer with those few additional layers over her head.
"I really need to stop talking to inanimate objects. . ."
Rarity didn't sleep that night. She laid there sweating under her sheets for almost an hour before she mustered up the courage to rise from her bed; to face the darkness and turn the lights on. She could have turned them on with her magic, but she was much too stressed to do so without straining herself. But it wasn't so much about the creepy pony-quin anymore. She rose from her sheets, irritated.
"Well if I can't sleep," she muttered on her way to the switch, giving in to a minor fit of frustration and flipping the switch. "then I might as well get myself ahead of schedule." Looking back behind her, she studied how everything was placed in the room, in hopes that it was just her imagination playing tricks on her. Everything was indeed where she remembered it, but then she came to lay her eyes on the troublesome pony-quin where she decided to inspect it, announcing that she would keep it in front of her. The time came for that sooner than she expected; she hopped up on her chair. "And I'll have my eyes on you this time."
Rarity had a unique gift that allowed her to create her work without flaw, even if she was sluggish, drowsy, or completely out of character. She loved her craft more than most things in her life, after all. So with the pony-quin moved to her right, and her butt in her seat, she continued working on the few commissions she had lying on her desk that were only partially completed.
She quickly entered a trance-like state, putting everything aside as she worked.
The early morning also rolled around sooner than Rarity expected. In her drowsy state her sense of time was altered. A few times she almost fell asleep, but it was like she was shaken and forced to stay awake and work. She knew how it was, though, she would eventually give in.
She took a few seconds to look out the double-pane window to watch as the sun highlighted the grass near the roads. "I'm happy to see you. . .sun." The window was twenty feet in diameter, so she stared a little longer, taking notice of the aftermath from the storm. She noted the large amount of leaves and fallen branches on the ground. Puddles of all sizes dotted the ground, large pools of rainwater that refused to dry, but they would all disappear in time.
She also saw new signs, either inside or outside of select buildings. One read; 'Last-minute deals for tomorrow night, Nightmare Night'. Another more blatant—and much larger—sign read; 'NEED MORE CANDY BECAUSE THERE ARE TOO MANY SWEET TEETH OUT THERE? RESUPPLY AND RE-SURVIVE THE NIGHT AT SUGARCUBE CORNAMAZEMENT-ER!'. There was more to that last one. Rarity squinted her eyes to read further. 'IF you can survive IN THE FIRST PLACE O-O-OOOOO'.
Rarity let her head down softly on her desk. "I wonder if I'll survive the night. . ." She rolled her cheek onto a small stack of specialty ribbons she'd made, "Or even the day. . ." then promptly fell into a deep sleep.
Rarity jolted awake to knocking on her front door. Once the first one was heard, there was a relentless barrage of more, gentle knocks. Rarity took very little time to compose herself, taking off her glasses as she grunted with a hop to the floor. She made haste toward the door. However, the knocking stopped as soon as she made stumbled halfway, in which she then heard the same rapid thumping on the window that was now at her back.
"Rarity!!" She swung herself around as if she was going to slip and fall. After the split-second haze that followed, she saw her little sister, Sweetie Belle, pounding on the windows with her forehooves, pleading. "Rarity, let me in!!" Panic did not set in just yet, but the older sibling was more than certain to oblige.
"Sweetie, what in Celestia's name are you doing!?" Rarity quickly slid the inner layer of glass aside so Sweetie could jump in the room. She then slid it back and locked it with a little knob. "Sweetie Belle, what happened to you?? What happened at all?" She swiftly turned around to face her, but Sweetie took no time to launch herself at Rarity with open forelegs.
"I think somepony at the party...was like, going crazy or something!" Sweetie squeaked, nestling her cheek into Rarity's pristine coat, but she was gently pushed away. Her eyes started to fill in with tears as they locked with her sister's. "It was so bad!"
"Sweetie, tell me, . . . What was so bad? What happened? Oh, Celestia forbid. .somepony or something has gone. . . crazy." Rarity turned back and closed the curtains on the window.
The sun still shined through, casting shadows on parts of the room. The lenses of Rarity's glasses refracted light across the room onto the wall. A rising commotion from the town's citizens was heard through the closed window, causing Sweetie Belle's ears to perk up.
"Do you hear something?" Rarity asked promptly.
"I hear, them," was all that slurred from her cautious lips.
"Who?"
"Everyone. . . They're trying to get in." Sweetie mumbled, cowering on the floor. "That scary dummy, too."
Rarity froze, "What. . . Dummy?" She asked, looking Sweetie in the eyes, the filly's engrossed gaze slowly forced Rarity to look behind her. "And again??"
Outside, an equine figure stood tall; almost tall enough for its head to reach the upper part of the window. In an instant, Rarity shifted her gaze to the pony-quin she'd placed near her desk the night before, but when she looked directly at it, she was unsure what to make of it: that pony-quin was also looking at her, in the exact same spot as before. But yet...there was another, and it was just outside.
Rarity was genuinely frightened now. However, she continued to reassure Sweetie Belle. "This is only a foalish prank, Sweetie," she consoled her, confident in her beliefs. Rarity stood tall in defiance, defending her sister. "You must be the one who had my sister pounding on my window like a madmare! How dare you take it this far!" Sweetie reached for her sister, silently pleading for her to back down, but her attempt went unnoticed, and Rarity did not cease.
The figure did not move, but they both heard the window shudder. Nonetheless, Rarity protected her frightened sister as she continued:
"How dare you! You foals are all the same and you get worse every year! You take and you take, and you give absolutely nothing in return, to anypony at all, not even your parents! You're all such spoiled brats, you don't even realize how good you have it." Sweetie moved cautiously to the open door to her left, hopeful she could find sanctuary inside. That door was the entrance to Rarity's walk-in closet, where she planned to take shelter behind the rows of dresses. "My sister, Sweetie Belle, would never hurt anyone, and she's at her wits' end! To be perfectly honest, I think it's about time you leave her alone! I have half a mind to find out who your parents are and—"
"Wait!" Sweetie called quietly, turning herself around completely. Rarity gave her a quick glance, which Sweetie then picked up the volume, realizing there was another shape for her to see. "S-Scootaloo?"
Rarity couldn't see, but Sweetie noticed the head of what looked to be a canine, with ears perked up and a protruding muzzle ending with two pointy fangs. It moved slightly while staring at the window, then a voice piped up.
"Sweetie?" It said in a light, raspy voice. "You're here! I need to tell you that—" The little voice was suddenly cut short, but another was heard, as the pony-quin fell to the ground with a light 'thud'.
"Well, well, well."
Rarity let out a sigh of relief and smirked. "I knew I could chase them away." Sweetie got up and took her time to approach the window, keeping her head low and leaving the curtains untouched.
Sweetie nodded in agreement. "That bully will get what's coming to her, Scootaloo!"
The raspy voice from before turned bothered. "I was not scared, and I am not a chicken. . ."
"Hold a moment," Rarity requested, finally recognizing the little voice outside. "Is that Scootaloo out there!? Oh, and over there in the distance . . . That looks like Diamond Tiara?" She did indeed see another filly approaching.
Sweetie's voice took on a raspy tone this time. "Yeah, it's Diamond Tiara. . ."
Rarity walked to the opposite side of her work table, leaning on it for a better look of whatever scene was going on outside, but something else caught her eye.
"My ribbons are gone. . ." More accurately, half a meter of the table was stripped of objects she'd been using the night before. "Where did everything go?" Rarity questioned. Focusing on the more pressing issue, though, she paid the table little mind and proceeded to turn about with hopes that this foalish prank was over.
It wasn't much, but it shook her up. Especially the night before. Maybe she had dreamed the whole thing. Having Rose point out the old pony-quin, and with Nightmare Night only a day away, she'd expected herself to be a little jumpy, while also knowing she was prone to getting scared fairly easy.
"Hey, Rarity!" Sweetie called. "This time, do you think you could give this real bully out here that same talking to?"
"Hey, Rarity."
The mare stopped dead.
"Diamond Tiara, just be quiet, alright?!"
"We've been watching the both of you."
"Oh, and nice costume . . . loser!"
"I could say the same for you, too. . . !"
"You're the ones who're naked anyway!"
"She's right, you know."
"Just face it, you'll never be good at fighting back."
Laughter. . .
"How does it feel?"
Endless laughter. . .
Rarity's rump pressed against the end of the desk as she was confronted by the insidious pony-quin. It towered over her; the living, moving, dummy she'd seen just minutes prior, now just standing a single foot away. Though, from an intellectual standpoint, this was no dummy at all.
"I can't. . . I don't believe it. . ." she gasped. "I don't believe this at all! Sweetie Belle?! Sweetie Belle, help me!!"
With sentience also came speech as it closed her in. With its tall slender stature, it grinned evilly at her, its terrifying etched-in-crayon eyes obscured by a veil made from the very ribbons that Rarity had lost.
However intelligent it was, it stammered with its words. "Oh, no, Rarity." The frightened mare felt the force of the window slamming shut behind her, in which she took an opportunity to crawl underneath her desk. It deeply frightened her—a deep, primal fear—and she had every right to be afraid. "I only want to play a game with you. That's all I.." Its head convulsed ever so slightly as it paused; only the feeling of dread lingering in the air. "all I want to show you. . ." the creature continued.
Rarity suddenly heard screaming outside, she knew in the pit of her stomach, her sister was in danger. She wanted to scream in terror herself; to scream for somepony to save her, but there was only darkness. Suddenly, what looked to be the darkest tendrils—straight from Tartarus—enveloped the legs of the desk. She took brief respite in believing that those table legs were her only defense, but what of Sweetie Belle? She could only lie there in silence as she listened to her sister scream and fight, unbeknownst of what could possibly be happening to her.
In her state of shock, she swore she could hear Sweetie screaming; "They're gonna take you!!" alongside her desperate pleas for her big sister to save her. Loud thumps on the glass lead to a shattering window, and she trembled just as much as Sweetie must have been. "I don't know, but they're..!" She screamed out in pain. "after you. . . !!"
By the sounds outside, Rarity theorized that there was a great struggle going on, as there were more than a few loud crashes. She deathly worried for Sweetie's life, but she could not help her, as badly as she wanted to. The clash, as rapidly as it started, quickly faded, but the faint sound of hoofsteps could still be heard. The space around her was becoming tight and suffocating, and she found it harder and harder to breathe.
With another shout, Sweetie Belle prayed to her God before she became nothing but a quiet echo, ringing in Rarity's ears. Small beads of sweat dripped off the mare's face as she struggled to move any part of her body, which, on second thought, she dared not to.
Then one final cry: "Rarity!! Rarity!!!"
"If you won't do the work, we will rob you of it."
Rarity's mouth was sealed shut by a hard hoof that was cold to its touch. All she thought, amidst the quiet maniacal laughter, was the sound of Sweetie begging for her help. She wanted to beg for it herself, but she couldn't scream even if she tried, she blacked out shortly after.
"And yes, Rarity . . . We will put your name to shame."
Then . . . Nothing.
Rarity woke up yet again to another series of pounding noises. She laid in her bed, flat on her back; she stared up into the darkness that enveloped the whole room. She raised a hoof and wiped away the beads of sweat from underneath her mane. She sighed.
"Goodness, . . ." she murmured. "That was just such a, . . . A horrible dream." She rolled onto her side, unable to get that monster's face out of her mind. She was absolutely terrified as she grabbed her sheets to cover herself up, hiding the only way she could. She begrudgingly focused on the pony-quin's face again, unfortunately knowing that this thing existed, and actually had those terrible facial features. "Oh my . . . Merciful Luna"
She thought about the terror she experienced in her dream, amplified by all the darker outlines and heavier saturation in that pony-quin's eyes; from pink to a near-magenta. And just the fact that it was mobile bewildered her the most, especially with how forceful it was with her—and how it spoke with her, too. It was all just so plain . . . unnatural. She deduced that anything was possible with magic, but there was none present. Though, it was a dream...
Anything was also possible in dreams.
She grabbed her pillow and rolled herself onto her other side, irritated with how warm she was. Fear kept her from lifting the covers, but she found it hard to breathe underneath them. She felt suffocated, just as she had in her dream. The fear soon controlled her as well.
"There's nothing out there . . . There is nothing out there. It does not exist." She whimpered, attempting to comfort herself. She quickly grew to be panicked. She lifted the covers, but just over her lips so that she could breathe out; and immediately, she was confronted with a whole new level of discomfort.
She observed the crisp edge of the sheet and felt a strange gelatinous texture brush her lips. She gently shoved it back and realized that she was now surrounded by that same substance, however it came to lather along the edges of her bedsheets. She was trapped underneath and started figuratively choking. It began to smell musty and putrid as the minutes slowly went on, one by one. Rarity wondered, with all of her wildest, imaginary scenarios, what in the world could possibly be happening.
More minutes carried on, and her body got so hot that she was now sweating profusely, and only adding to the horrid aroma, . . . And holding her breath, . . . And literally choking now, . . . She couldn't breathe in. The sheets clung tightly to her body. And in a fit of blind rage at what she assumed to be another bad dream, she readied herself. She was giving in. She needed release. . .
She shouted; "Damn it all!" as she tossed the covers off her body.
There was nothing, however; only the half-lit room, exactly as she remembered it, in all its glorious, silent darkness. Yet . . . she still felt smothered and suffocated. She was catching her breath, yet she still felt constricted.
She slowly sat up and glided her hoof across where she lie, assuring herself that there was nothing, and oddly curious as to how much she had sweat. She felt it as if her thick coat had caught none of it, but upon an uncomfortably close inspection, she saw that she had lapped up too much, and it had sunk down and touched her flesh. She tried to fling it away, but it stuck to her no matter how hard she swung her hoof. She panicked and brushed it against her other hoof in hopes to remove it, but when she did, both of her hooves stuck together with what she believed to be the same viscous material she felt on her lips before. She tried to break free but as hard as she tried, she just couldn't. She quickly found it hard to breathe again.
"What in all of Tartarus is happening to me?!" She didn't expect an answer, but she ended up getting one, and promptly. She froze, staying absolutely still with her perceptions enhanced.
"Do you find my work favorable?"
"Work. . . ?"
"Yes, what you're wearing right now. Tell me, do you appreciate my attention to detail?"
"I . . . What is this??"
"It's your sister. Lovely, isn't it?"
Hesitance. . .
"What. . . ? S-Sweetie Belle??"
"You had your chance to redeem yourself."
Stalker
Black Noise
*****
Rarity knew she was still sitting up, and suddenly, focused rays of bright light incapacitated her, making her flinch. It was abrupt, but she didn't waste any time of her own to shield her one open eye with her hoof. Sure, it was instinct, and she was surprised at how her hooves were no longer stuck together. She leaned on her opposite foreleg; she could see the window at the end of her room serving as the source of the light: the sun. But something made a contrast to that comforting light.
Casting a tall shadow that reached her was the pony-quin, standing motionless with the light at its back. Its silhouetted body—and more importantly, its face— was covered in shadow, but all Rarity found herself doing was staring as it acted likewise, staring back with its wicked smile.
"What, what do . . . you want..? From me?" She dared not move; she could hardly speak as she stared at the creature through tightly squinted eyes. "What are you?"
"Are you eager to see my next piece?"
Rarity then heard a familiar sound: the rapid whirring of her sewing machine at her desk across her room. Given that she never received a real answer, she jumped off her bed with the resolve to get one, and to end this nightmare. The pony-quin watched her quizzically as its head swayed slightly. As she approached, it suddenly collapsed onto the floor, as if it had been lightly pushed.
Then, she saw another pony-quin as it slid out from one of the dark corners of the room, heading to her desk to operate the machine. Rarity sidled around the fallen dummy, surprised that nothing from the darkened borders touched her. This was surely one nightmare after another, and they would be tough to conquer.
"What do you plan to accomplish using my machine? That is mine!" She took a quick glance behind her and witnessed the fallen pony-quin making its way up from the floor, bending its body as if it were a real living being, and it threatened her peace by looking at her again. This time around, though, its face was visible, and it made her turn tail in an instant.
She made haste toward the pony-quin working at her desk; she found herself almost trotting forward, and then in a full-on gallop after she heard a blood-curdling scream coming from ahead. She heard yet another, and more, and even more to follow. They were sickly, gut-wrenching cries, full of agony and suffering caused by what she feared to be absurd amounts of pain.
But she continued running with another fear in her mind: she swore she was faintly able to hear Sweetie Belle's voice cut into those screams. She quickly grew certain that they belonged to her. They just had to. She broke into a full-on sprint. But she could only run so far—the question was how much farther?
Nine seconds into her sprint, she was completely out of breath. The screaming became more and more silent and muffled when it finally subsided, and her own breathing was the only thing she could hear. She turned around and didn't see the other pony-quin in sight. With the little distance she covered, she finally noticed that she was making actual progress toward the pony-quin at her desk
"Aaah, this one should come together nicely. . ."
Exhausted, Rarity stumbled beside the passive pony-quin, absorbed in its own work. Her eyes fell on its heavy hoof, laid on the table, and then onto its unforgettable face when it quickly turned to look at her with its dark, pastel magenta eyes.
"I'm not scared of you. . . !" She hesitated, though, and the puppet peered right through her bravery.
"Admit it, Rarity," it started. "You're through. You had your chance."
"What in the world . . . What in the Hell are you talking about?" She was indignant now.
"Would you like to see, Rarity? Would you like to see how you're going to end? All you've been keeping from us? The majesty?" The pony-quin moved its hoof from the side of the machine, and as it expected, Rarity immediately looked away, reacting appropriately.
"Oh my God. . . !"
"You could have prevented this if you had just listened."
A dead, mutilated filly. . .
The moist, eviscerated contents of a filly's insides were spread all around the workstation. Only the pointiest of needles was installed on the sewing machine; it glistened in the window's light, highlighting the fresh blood and bits of gore that stuck to it. Those pieces progressively slid off—with the weight of the blood they were soaked in—and it drew Rarity's eyes to look back at all the butchered remains.
Despite her incredulous disgust, she found herself gazing over it all, and she saw that large chunks of the filly's ribcage were also present, all cut up in varying sizes. A rough fraction of a small skull sat upside-down on the far side of the machine—with a sizable amount of moist brain matter still left clinging to whatever stable parts of the structure was left—with no fur on it at all. Rarity felt absolutely sick to her stomach. She tightly closed her eyes and struggled to keep her urge to vomit under control, and the faint, yet abhorrent smell sure wasn't helping her cause.
Four tiny, bloodied legs stood tall with all metatarsals bare, and they were positioned to resemble how a living filly would stand, both in height and normal stature. In addition to some splint bones, a bit of cartilage was still attached, but there was no fur present on the legs, either. Her eyes glanced over many other bones that she could name, and some that she couldn't, but then she begrudgingly brought herself to scour the scene further; she could not bring herself to look away. She gagged and turned her head away, but she came right back. . .
She focused on all the dark stretches of gore now, so terribly shaken up. Chunks of torn muscles and shredded intestines were spread out much like everything else, over the pints and pints of blood that were gently soaking into the wood from all over, tainting what she knew was previously a polished, flawless surface.
A detached eyeball, torn out by its optic nerve, was spotted. It came straight from the skull she saw earlier, with blood totally absent from it, despite all the crimson blood and gore that surrounded it. It looked lifelessly in her direction, dilated and deflated, with a huge bloody puncture where its pupil should have been. She couldn't shake the feeling that it very well could have been aware, watching her tremble. She noticed how grey it was near the area it was stabbed, as if its soft structure was becoming sore, or even compromised.
Even worse, the eye was slumped against a slightly more disturbing sight. A countless number of red teeth were tightly wound together in a circle, surrounding and helping support a torn tongue that was completely saturated in blood, having punctures similar to the eye. She couldn't possibly know who this young pony was, or why she was chosen to suffer what she knew for a fact to be an incredibly painful end, but she prayed for it not to be her sister. She had entirely too much reason to dread that it could have been, though, with how clearly she recalled Sweetie Belle's screaming; specifically addressed to her.
Rarity took all this in, horrified. But premature, the gut-wrenching was; she had identified a different victim, with absolute certainty:
"Oh yes, do you like my new tiara, too, Rarity?"
Out of all emotions mustered, Rarity exuded disgust and anger, coining a brand-new term for the pony-quin:
"You're a monster!!" she yelled.
"Hm?" This is beauty, Rarity. Just gaze at my mastery. The beauty! But now all I need is constructive criticism. Yours."
Rarity's patience and frame of mind were both cut short. She gritted her teeth and launched herself at the vulnerable figure, thrashing her forearms in desperation. However, it was not open to attack like she had hoped: two other pony-quins approached her from behind and restrained her, locking their hooves around hers and holding her back.
"There's . . . more of you. . . ?!!"
They each brought their heads close to her own, running their noses and their forearms along her and her silky-smooth coat, all over her body. She shuddered, she whimpered; she tried to lift one of the four bones on top of the table with the intention of bludgeoning them away, but her magic wasn't materializing. She clenched her eyelids shut once more, her head hanging low.
"There are many of us, you know. We've been leaving you to your own devices for far too long, Rarity."
She yelled at it with deadly intent. "Where is my sister!??"
As mentioned, more living pony-quins came from the dark corners, approaching Rarity. They surrounded her, observing her. Their hooves were all over her, and while they did not speak, they hummed pleasantly. They enjoyed what they saw, and they didn't stop touching her until word from their supposed leader—the one Rarity had encountered multiple times now. The 'monster'.
"This is not just another nightmare, Rarity," It spoke louder; progressively louder. "You're going to live through this, and you're going to pay us what you owe us."
Her magic couldn't help her. No one could help her. She alone could not even help her sister, who she knew was still in danger elsewhere, in some way. Rarity was hopeless, and she felt that exact same way, as she could muster no more strength within her body. Another burning sensation developed and pierced through her body as the pony-quins smothered her.
"But why. . . ?" she asked. "Why me? What did I even do??" Despite her weakness, she tried her best to struggle in their grasp. "Where in this hell have you taken my sister, damn it?!"
"Sweetie Belle is mere . . . She is the literal price you are paying, for straying away with her from your duties. To inspire you."
"She's my sister, God damn it!!" she hissed. "I am her role model!! And what do you mean my duties?! My sewing is my business and nothing more! It's not your business, it's mine!! And Sweetie Belle has absolutely nothing to do with my work!!"
"Do not lie to us, Rarity. We know your sister's name. We know your pretty little friends' names. And most importantly, we know . . . you. We're quite aware of your mastery."
"What, do you mean to stalk ponies? Do you feel the need to ruin them, you freak; whatever the hell you are?! All of you!?"
"The problem is that you deserve this, Rarity." It reached for the tiara on its head and removed it, patting Rarity's own head with it. "But not this. Not yet. You're not the queen unless you show to us that you have . . . the temper."
"I have done nothing wrong!!"
With strength that was quickly expended, she wriggled only slightly within the puppets' hold. She indeed denied that she had ever done anything so wrong to be owed such torture. Such horror—
"Look at yourself, Rarity. Covering up your crime; denying it, even."
Such a terrible nightmare, all come to life.
"But don't worry. As your last request, you'll get to see her one last time, but you must also show us your method. After all, you are one for . . . fresh and awe-striking new trends."
"I know who I am!! But who. . . ?! Who the fuck are you?!!"
The 'monster' reached for the little tower of teeth from the table with one hoof and manipulated it, turning the topped tongue clockwise and making it faintly tick; like a kitchen timer. It turned its head around with serpentine precision, approaching Rarity with eyes that were now a thicker, heavier layer of mahogany, saturating its 'eyes' now more than ever before. It placed the gore-soiled tiara on her head, taking the time to carefully clip it around her ears. She accepted it, terrified and unable to stop any of this from happening. Afterward, it lowered its head down to her level. It placed its hoof on the bottom of Rarity's chin and raised her head, her eyes clasped shut with an aggressive wincing expression.
It looked at her weary head and gave a smirk that distorted the entire lower portion of its face. Thankfully, Rarity spared herself of the terrifying sight, refusing to open her eyes. She knew something unspeakable was going to happen to her.
"Do you really know who you are, Rarity?"
Tick . . . Tick . . . Tick . . .
"We sure know."
***********
Rarity's eyelids violently lifted. She knew how long she had kept them shut, but not for a moment did she recall parting them. Nevertheless, there was nothing for her to lay her sights on, as a metaphorical blanket of darkness was her only company. It wasn't preferred company; albeit, but she seemed to find her way around, regardless of her aimless wandering.
"Here," she heard a voice say to her. "Take our lead. We shall guide you in the right direction." During those few moments, she was greeted with company she was quite grateful for.
"Why are you all here?" she asked.
Her five closest friends soon came into her view, but they spoke no words. They did not greet her, and she did not greet them—she only moved along with them as they did indeed guide her through the darkness, just as they said they would.
Rarity quickly realized she wasn't in control of her body. She was watching her body move entirely on its own, knowing she was making absolutely no effort to do so. She surmised to have been viewing herself in yet another dream, as she had also retained all the prior instances: and thus, there was some assurance to be had. While she could not voluntarily move, her mind was certainly active; frantic and racing. And somehow, she could hear the rising, fearful sounds of crying.
She had it clear in her mind that it was Sweetie Belle calling out to her. She desperately wanted to run toward her voice, but she could only watch as she walked along with her friends. She listened to herself speak to them, but her words did not exemplify kind, generous concern.
"Where is she?" she asked, forceful in her tone.
"We've made sure she won't be going anywhere, Rarity."
"Satisfactory, ladies," she said.
She wasn't in control anymore—she was merely an observer. Deprived of the very freedom her life was entitled to.
"I'm going to kill her. I must."
What was going on in this alternate reality?
"I'M SO SORRY, RARITY!" Sweetie cried, as loud as her injuries allowed.
"What all have you done to her?" Rarity asked, once more.
"She's not going anywhere. No one cared to defend her. Rest assured that she is yours from now on."
"LISTEN TO ME! PLEASE!!"
But she didn't listen to her. She didn't stop. She didn't care. She was forced to watch through her double's eyes as her own body was led to the filly, desperately trying to crawl her way across the floor. She laid on her stomach with her lithe hind legs viciously cut, bruised, and bloodied. She whined weakly as the group approached her as a whole, all so menacingly. The poor little filly begged for them to stop.
Rarity clearly wanted to put a stop to this as well, but she couldn't push her influence through, no matter how hard she wished for it.
"Go away!! Get away from me!!" Sweetie tried her best to flee, but her sister, in the advantageous position, picked her up by the scruff of her neck like a mere pet. She brought her close and grinned at her, and her expression insinuated that she was trying to hold in laughter, or eagerness, anticipating something. Her sister's body was terribly warm, and so was her heavy breath. The filly painfully wiggled in her grip, coughing blood onto her face, to which she whimpered louder as Rarity's face still retained that same crooked smile. This scared whatever daylight was left out of her, and she began thrashing about to the best of her ability.
She had the feeling that this was going to be the end of her life.
"I'm too young, Rarity . . . Please stop this. . ." She bawled. "P-please let me go. . ." Rarity said nothing and instead turned to face her friends, who were all heading toward a four-legged table. She followed suit a little faster, carrying her sister with a gentle magical hold on the way.
*****
"I'm sorry. . ."
*****
The doppelganger soon reached the table, and on it, alone, was Rarity's own faithful sewing machine. It never served a single operational failure, nor did it ever need a single repair. It could handle any job she tossed under its needle. It brought her great pride and satisfaction; all the wonderful things she could craft with its assistance. However, the impostor's smile transformed from the familiar form on her face to that of a disciplined, insidious foal presented with something that could be maimed for entertainment's sake. She casually laid Sweetie down on the table, with a care for her comfort.
"No, no, NO, Rarity! STOP! PLEASE!!"
***********
"I'm so sorry! Sweetie Belle. . . !!"
***********
The mare's five friends were gathered around the table, watching her position Sweetie Belle underneath the machine's needles with precise measurements, directly underneath her sight. The crying and pleading did not stop her, nor the thrashing: she couldn't escape the mare's powerful hold. She stared dead into the machine's shiny, thin metallic needle, crying and pleading as she struggled, but her saddening cries abruptly turned to deathly screams when the needle began thrusting itself down, the needle puncturing and tearing at Sweetie Belle's ear at an astronomical speed. The needle continued thrusting as the mare pushed her forward to the base, slicing the skin as it attempted to pierce its way through her skull. Then, with a sickening pop, the needle forced its way into her skull and began to ravage her facial anatomy.
She continued wiggling and flailing underneath the machine, with continuous punctures and penetration for only a few seconds before the needle reached her face. She had her eyes slammed shut, but it wasn't like it was going to shield her:
The filly's eye burst open under the enormous force behind the small needle, sending out disgusting amounts of intraocular fluid, mixed with blood and tears that were already present; to which the latter liquid failed to induce sympathy from any of the mares. It was sliced into several pieces with the fast and furious thrusting, sending pieces flying out in every direction, all complemented by generous, but nauseating amounts of blood. Her ravenous screams reached a loud, haunting crescendo before she started choking on them. They were fighting their way through her throat before they started dying down entirely.
Watching helplessly, Rarity felt the very same pain that she watched her mimic inflict upon Sweetie Belle. It was an incredibly realistic, direct rush of pain: it was as if her skull was being split open with repeated, powerful blows to her head, only adding on to the terribly authentic feeling that someone was literally gouging her eye out. She writhed in agony as she felt like she was the one being torn apart and exploited instead. She had no body to move, she could not scream; she could only suffer the pain in silence, overwhelmed by it all.
She continued dissecting the structure of the skull, made easier now that the body was limp, lifeless, and no longer resisting. She pressed holes deep into her coat, her flesh, her bones, cartilage, sinew, fat; all the way through. The sounds of the bones crunching under the needle pleased her, and while they became significantly weaker, it made her job much easier. She continued pressing her machine into the dead filly's skull until she had made punctures all around. She also made sure to trim off the mane from her scalp, adjusting the timing and the height of the needle bar, as doing so was a slow and delicate process that trailed all the way down the neck.
After she detached the mane, she gradually moved the bare neck underneath the needle, where she began cutting away at the flesh. It took no time at all for her to precisely sever the head from the body. Blood gushed out from the new, gaping hole in between the shoulders, and then it gradually oozed out, coming to a trickle as the body became little more than a bone-filled husk as it drained. Her spinal cord was now exposed and hanging from the detached head, in which she merely ripped out and tossed it to the side with her magic.
As if she weren't already in enough of this twisted new take on pain, Rarity felt her neck painfully tighten up, and fast. From this horrible view, she heard a terrible ripping sound, to which she saw the mimic's own neck ripping and tearing. She was still alive, but she felt every single wound that was being inflicted upon her sister's feeble body.
She set the lifeless and detached head aside and started working on the rest of the body, repeating almost the exact same process. She traced the needle along all the edges of the small body and all four legs, pinching the fur tightly and delicately ripping it from the tiny body. If there was still life inside the body, and it could scream... The sound would curdle blood.
As she continued doing this, the slack that soon built up was manipulated to fall onto the floor as she held the rope of fur with her magic, slowly filling into a pile. Tracing along the body was easy, but she had to make another bloody mess—or at least contribute to the trail of gore she was eviscerating from out of the body.
Rarity was in so much of her own pain that she could hardly breathe. She felt it all so vividly. But she continued to watch, even in her own nauseated state. She writhed in the most ultimate form of torment; one she could have never possibly imagined before now. Her head felt like it was being squeezed in the grips of a vise...
Without her own head to see, she continued stripping the dead body of its fur until she was finished. The stainless steel needle was still strong enough to make its way through the rest of the body. She dug through chest and ribcage, tearing and lifting out her heart in the process. She made her way down to her midsection and disemboweled her in a ragged mess of putrid intestines and red, slimy meat. Every internal organ of hers was becoming paste with how fast Rarity had the needle thrusting down. She was smiling. She was composed. She was content.
And it made Rarity squirm. . .
The bones were crushed into little pieces and shards, and the slick, meaty organs were mashed up into a thick, viscous jelly that spread all over the desk. The body was now just an open, empty carcass. What she was really focused on now was the fur that she harvested from the body.
She gave it all a quick look over — blood was soaked in and seeped deep into the pristine white coat, but that didn't discourage her, as it was nothing that couldn't be washed out in secrecy. She admired her beautiful work and smiled, but it took a different form this time around. She looked legitimately pleased with a job well done, thus heaving a heavy sigh of relief. Her friends admired her work to that point, but she was only halfway done.
Rarity had come to suffer the same fate as her sister, but to no avail could she rest just yet, even in death. There were still horrors that she was due to bear.
And so she got back to work. She sewed all the loose ends and flaps together into sleeves; meant to be worn comfortably. She split the tail into several thin intricately measured strips and crafted them into an even more intricate addition to the back. She crafted the mane into a thick wreath that would be worn around and sewn into the lapel of the coat she was crafting.
She then hemmed the ends of the sleeves, and with the remaining material, she sewed cuffs onto the end of each leg, coming up to the point where an average mare's hoof would pivot with her movement. She even took measures to improve the color of those pieces by applying light pressure on them with the vast array of bloodied organs that laid on the table.
Finally, with the last bit of material, she sewed in an emblem at the chest; six inches in diameter across a small, perfect hexagonal shape. She gently dyed her initial in the upper-left corner with a dull, rounded shard of bone dabbed in blood that was still liquefied to her desired volume. She ran it along the lighter area a few times so that it was made to be a permanent blemish.
Finally, the time came for her to try it on, as a benchmark for all the material she used. She backed up from her table and lifted the coat with her magic. She excitedly threw it over her head but struggled as she wriggled it along her body. It fit a little too tight, in all areas, too; it tightly hugged her stomach and legs, which wasn't exactly as she wanted. She raised her hoof and analyzed the sleeve, trying to figure out what exactly needed to be changed about her craft.
"No."
Her leg was slender and lanky, and her exposed hoof was not as she recalled it to be.
"This is perfection."
This was not Rarity. Not at all. This was nothing more than a headless pony-quin that was literally breaking down, trembling as it stood otherwise motionless. It shared exactly all the same scars that Sweetie Belle's body had endured both before and after her death.
"Yes, you win. I suppose we were wrong about you yet again. You're not afraid to get your hooves dirty after all, queen Rarity."
The damaged pony-quin carefully turned itself to the right and looked at its own head on the ground, showing the same wear that its body did. It slowly raised one of its forelegs and smashed its weary weight onto its head, destroying it; and in turn, its entire structure collapsed onto the ground.
Her friends were the only ones left. They stood at the three opposite sides of the bloody table. But like Rarity, they were not who they appeared to be, as there were now five other dummies standing exactly where they did. They barely had any facial features to speak of; only small black tendrils protruded from their faces, forming wicked grins.
They all looked across the gory table, at another sentient pony-quin who was wearing the coat, standing right where Rarity's doppelganger did before it destroyed itself.
Rarity was the one to inspire them...by murdering her own sister. And, in turn, utterly destroyed herself as well. Her pride, her reputation, and her life.
"You've shown us, but we are all friends here, and we will gladly carry on your new line of work."
The mannequins dispersed in five different directions.
"We will showcase our work to the world firsthand, just as you wanted to do yourself."
Author's Note
I just really wanted to have a chapter called 'Black Noise'. Freaking awesome name.
