It was on an unassuming Sunday in the month of June, the twenty-eighth day of that month precisely, during the Twelfth Solar Era beneath the reign of our dearest Princess Celestia. Under such a splendorous sun that rose amidst a breathtaking sky of the purest blue, dotted here and there by the cottony white of clouds. It was that day a friend whom I held near and dear to my heart, the honest and kind-hearted Applejack, had won first prize in the Ponyville apple pie eating contest. And I shant soon forget that it was also the day the mayor herself planted the very first Crystal Spruce tree, one of the purest trees you could hope find in nature, of fair yellow bark and stately canopy that cast a light rather than a shade beneath its wide boughs. And of course it was a day well recalled, and well joked, by the fire brigade who were summoned in a frenzy by my friend, Rarity. She had gotten a splinter in her hoof, you see. These happenings, among others, catch in my mind as well as if they had only happened yesterday. I shall never forget the smallest detail of that horrible day.
I’d retired myself from my morning study at about eleven o’clock. Study is a very therapeutic release for me which I partake of on a daily basis. I’d made it something of a goal to read and ponder every single book in my library in alphabetical order, a task which took many months to complete. I’d just completed reading Nuances of Zebrican Tribal Customs, an incredibly fascinating read, when a knock came at my door.
At that present hour, I may not be far from guessing that Fluttershy had decided to stop by for a mid-morning visit to liven the day with her bright spirit and soft voice. It wouldn’t be unusual to expect her around that time. What came to greet me was not Fluttershy.
As I went to open the door I couldn’t help noticing with some distaste the unkempt state of the library, with books and quills strewn over the counters and desks, volumes left un-alphabetized in unsightly piles in the corner and on the floor. Unpresentable, but I’d have to bear it, as would my impromptu guest for the time being. I came to the door and peered out the window. It was curious, I thought, that I could see nopony through the window. Nevertheless, I would never refuse a guest, however invisible they may be, and I opened the door.
When I peered outside, I thought my initial suspicions confirmed. There was nopony to be seen. So the window had not been playing tricks with my eyes, but then who had knocked? It was indeed a puzzle to ponder, though I didn’t doubt some local foals had had their fun with a prank at my expense.
It seems that something, whether instinct or otherworldly impulse, that a pony should look down when nopony appears at the doorstep, though there be a knock to summon you. It was by this odd impulse that I now found myself checking the stoop before me, as though I expected to find my absent knocker hidden beneath the doormat. Upon my doormat I was surprised to find instead a stone, very small and plain, with smooth and uninteresting contours, and no sort of device to distinguish it from any others. I emphasize its plainness, for there was absolutely no reason in all of happy Equestria that I should recognize this stone. Yet I did recognize it. This stone was none other than the stone with which I had played a very distasteful game called “Camouflage”. I won’t expound upon the details of this game, only that we were insisted to play it by the sister to another of my dear friends. The point I am eventually getting around to is that I recognized this stone when I shouldn’t have. I recognized the color, the shape, and size of this very specific stone, which shouldn’t be any different than a pebble in the street. It even had a name, which for some odd reason I knew: Boulder.
Outside I peered for any sign of my friend’s sister to whom the stone belonged. Her name was Maude, and had both character and disposition very much like the stones she loved so much. It pained me to imagine what sorrows poor Maude must be feeling without her precious Boulder, for I knew she loved the stone as if it were her only child. But spying neither hair nor eyelash of Maude, I could only assume that Maude’s separation from her pet Boulder was an unfortunate accident. My thoughts immediately turned back to Maude’s sorrow, and how she would undoubtedly be searching for Boulder. It was likely that soon I’d see Pinkie Pie, Maude’s sister, and put Boulder into her hooves to then give back to her sister. I swept up the stone in my hooves and took it inside.
I set Boulder gently on my desk beside my copy of Nuances of Zebrican Tribal Customs. From the kitchen I heard the kettle singing, so I left to retrieve it. Typically my assistant, Spike, would attend to such affairs as tea-kettle setting, but I’d sent him into town to pick up a humidifier for my friend, Rainbow Dash; she’d come down with a nasty Hayfever, you see. It wouldn’t have surprised me one iota if Spike had actually used that time to fawn after Rarity, perhaps offering to scrape the mildew from her showers with his coarse scales. I set the steaming kettle aside and poured myself a cup of tea: Rosehip with a hint of lemon. One of my favorites.
As I returned to my desk, I once more noted the lamentable state of the library. Last time it had been such a mess was when Rainbow Dash had used it to host a party for the pegasus ponies of the tornado crew, many of whom were still extremely dizzy even before dipping into the cider. Such a dismal mess, but I had to start somewhere. I started by retrieving the book I’d finished reading from the desk. My hoof stopped in mid-air above my desk, and the cup of tea fell from my other hoof. The desk was as it had been when I left it, with ink wells off to the left edge, my favorite quill with frayed plume lying tucked beneath the cover of the book, but there was one crucial detail out of order. Boulder had gone missing.
I chided my clumsiness and first picked up the porcelain bits of teacup from the floor. It was silly of me to overreact to such things, but it is simply my nature to go on edge if even the slightest feature is out of alignment; you can ask anypony how I reacted when somepony labeled a number “25” on napkin holder number twenty-four at the Grand Galloping Gala. Before I rose from the floor I looked to where Boulder must have fallen to the ground beneath the desk. There he sat, as plainly as ever a stone could, and I picked him up, thinking lightly of how he could have fallen from the desk. It was of little concern at the time.
After I’d placed Boulder on the desk once more, I decided to go into town to find Spike and to check in on Rainbow Dash, for she’s positively climbing the walls after two days of being bedridden. I left the library and trotted down into town. My first stop was, of course, Rarity’s boutique, for discovering Spike in Carousel Boutique was as commonplace as finding mail in a mailbox. Spike was indeed at the boutique, and attending to Rarity no less. There he stood amidst an agitated crowd of ponies from the fire brigade, looking greatly concerned. Rarity in the meantime was yeowling and moaning to raise the dead. I first reprimanded Spike, for he had not retrieved the humidifier as I’d asked, then commanded him to follow me. He reluctantly agreed to follow only because I’d convinced him that while we were retrieving Rainbow’s humidifier at the spa we could pick up some bath salts to ease the pain in Rarity’s hoof.
We passed through town and arrived at the square. There was some sort of commotion going on and a number of ponies had gathered and were shuffling about and chattering excitedly with their neighbors. I looked around and observed that the town had been decorated splendidly for a festival. Bright banners of gold and green had been strung between the street lamps, and the blossoming trees had been adorned with ribbons of the same colors. It had slipped my mind until that moment, then I saw the mayor in the center of the crowd holding up a clay pot containing a rather pretty sapling. Somehow in the recent fervor of my studies I had forgotten the “Summer Days Festival” happening that afternoon. The mayor had even asked me to organize the affair, but I had to refuse her, for my studies had been my priority as of late.
Now, it had not been part of my initial itinerary to greet Pinkie Pie on this outing, but Spike and I were very near to Sugar Cube Corner at that point. I decided we’d stop by the sweets shop to let Pinkie Pie know I had Boulder back at the library. I’m typically much more organized about my outings, but if felt rather thrilling to deviate from the schedule and just drop into any shop I pleased.
We entered Sugar Cube Corner, the local confectionary shop owned by a charming couple fittingly named Mr. and Mrs. Cake. There was a sizable crowd gathered in the shop when we entered, though this was not uncommon, especially while the “Summer Days Festival” was in full swing. A cheer erupted from the crowd of ponies as we entered, but the cheer was not meant for us. There had been an apple pie eating contest taking place right there and then, which my friend Applejack had just won, and was now receiving praise for her feats of gluttony. Pinkie Pie was standing behind the front counter overseeing the entire affair. She’s typically restricted from participating in food consumption events owing to her legendary appetite for sweets.
After giving Applejack a few congratulatory waves, Spike and I approached the front counter. Pinkie Pie greeted us in her typical fashion, bouncing a few times and smiling as radiantly as the sun. I said hello and began to tell her of how I’d found her sister’s pet rock outside the library, and how I’d taken him in.
Pinkie replied by saying: “Thank you so much for bringing Boulder, Twilight! I can’t begin to tell you how much Maude has been missing him this past week! Thanks for taking such good care of him. I’ll take him from here!” Therein came my twofold shock. Outlandish talk is one of Pinkie’s fortes, but I could hardly believe that Boulder had sat outside my library for an entire week without me noticing. My second shock was that Pinkie thought I had brought Boulder to her.
“I’m sorry, Pinkie,” I replied, “but you must have misunderstood me. I don’t have Boulder with me; I left him back at the library.”
She paused and gave me a queer look, then her hoof reached above my horn and retrieved something from the top of my head. She opened her hoof to reveal Boulder.
“No, he’s right here, silly! He was sitting on your head!” Pinkie giggled.
I was struck dumb. My hooves stayed rooted to the floor in pure shock. I knew for certain that I’d left Boulder on my desk in the library, but maybe my thoughts were muddled between picking up the teacup and organizing the library, and I’d accidentally taken Boulder with me. But no, I distinctly remembered retrieving him from the floor and setting him on the desk. How had I come to carry him without realizing it? And why had I carried him on my head? I must have held that dumbfounded expression on my face for ten solid seconds as I tried to work out what had happened.
Pinkie rolled up her cheeks with glee. “Tee-hee, looks like he hitched a ride! Don’t worry, I’ll get him back to Maude, and let her know how you took care of him for her. Thanks again for stopping by, Twilight!”
I made a weak wave good-bye. Spike looked at me quizzically, for he had no idea what had happened either. I asked him if he had seen Boulder on the front step when he left the library that morning. He said he hadn’t. I racked my brains over this strange thing: Maude had been missing Boulder for a week, but Boulder had apparently only appeared at my library this morning at eleven o’clock. Most unsettling was how I’d managed to bring him to Pinkie Pie without ever meaning to. Her haunting statement hovered like a shadow in my brain: “Looks like he hitched a ride.” I decisively pushed the issue beyond my mind, thinking it foolish to dwell on such a trivial matter. At the time I had no idea how far from trivial the matter actually was.
Spike and I left Sugar Cube Corner to return to our scheduled tasks. We made a stop by the spa to retrieve a humidifier for Rainbow Dash, plus a few lavender-scented bath salts for Rarity. The care Spike took when selecting the bath salts you would think he was purchasing an engagement ring. After the spa we made a pilgrimage across town to Rainbow Dash’s cloud house. All along the way we were enticed by the scents of sweet pastries, warm popcorn, and other mouth-watering delights from street vendors displaying their wares for the festival. We came to Rainbow’s house at length. I had to leave Spike outside, for dragons are unable to walk on clouds. I brought the humidifier and engaged poor Rainbow with a few minutes conversation of the goings-on in Ponyville. She was in a miserable state of boredom, her only solace being her pet tortoise and collection of Daring Do books, which she’d now read thrice through in their entirety. When I left I made a mental note to bring her more books for her to read on my next visit. Our final stop was back at Carousel Boutique, and Spike was all too eager to see that Rarity was in good health. We found the fire brigade had left, and Rarity was dressed in her bathrobe lying propped up among a mountain of cushions on her couch. Spike poured and warmed a tub of warm water without hesitation, and added his carefully-chosen bath salts to the hoof bath. Rarity thanked him profusely, and Spike swooned. It was then I noticed that the afternoon was wearing on, and I needed to return to the library and begin cleaning. Spike decided to stay in case Rarity’s tub needed further warming or if she desired to have water turned into wine. It was nearly one o’clock by the time I left the boutique.
Out in the afternoon, the good denizens of Ponyville were enjoying the festivities, and I sorely wished to join them. I had half the mind to abandon my schedule and partake in the festival; I’d already deviated from my schedule once that day by stopping at Sugar Cube Corner to see Pinkie. However I remembered that half of the “P’s” section was spilling into the “Q’s”, which would create great turmoil whenever I needed to pull down a copy of Prudence Quillo’s Framing Farming: An Agricultural Photo Collection. I could not in good conscience leave the library disorganized any longer.
A mere minute after I returned to the library I set about the business of emptying the bookshelves into organized piles. It appeared that most of the alphabetical sections from “A” to “K” were in decent order since last I’d organized them. The other shelves had smatterings of books from completely different sections, and so took much longer to sort out. “P’s” and “Q’s” I minded very carefully.
For much of the afternoon I was buried in books and a fierce haze of organization, my purest elements. These activities occupy my mind to the fullest, which is why I had barely enough time to notice the danger. I had just finished replacing all of the books in the “Geology and Speleology” shelf, when I heard a curious groaning sound. It came not a moment too soon, for my recognition of the sound a falling bookshelf makes—vital skill for a librarian—allowed me to leap out of the way in the nick of time. The entire shelf of gem catalogues and cave diagrams crashed to the floor where I’d been standing not a moment before. I stood frozen for several seconds, my heart racing as adrenaline coursed through my veins, but my despair was not caused by the fallen bookshelf. It was because of he who sat atop the scattered books, beyond all belief or reason or stretch of sanity. I did not want to believe my own eyes, but there was no denying the horrible truth any longer. He was sitting there before me, looking grey and plain as ever he had.
Boulder and I stared deep into each other’s souls for the next several minutes. With each breath I took I could feel him studying me for weakness, testing my resolve, waiting for that moment I would turn my back. But I had grown wise to his tactics and would not dare let him leave my sight. He sat there like any stone would, except he had the look of a cold-blooded killer. Every curve of his surface, every grey lump and layer carried some menace about it which I’d foolishly overlooked earlier. And as the minutes passed and the clock struck three, I knew that something must be done about this evil stone that had tried to kill me.
For a while I wondered why I didn’t try to approach him, then I realized that it would be far too dangerous, for his secret was out, and he would not try to play games with me anymore. If I called for help that would only invite an unwitting victim into this nightmare, not to mention undoubtedly rousing Boulder to action. Magic seemed like my best option, but typically my spells needed a short time to channel from my horn. That channeling would be too much of a telegraph, giving a trained killer like Boulder plenty of time to react. Waiting was serving me well enough for now, but I could feel my resolve weakening. The library was getting terribly hot and stuffy. Sweat dripped down the tip of my nose. I knew that before long I would collapse from exhaustion or dehydration; after all, I was only flesh and bone. But Boulder was pure evil, and didn’t need any physical sustenance. He could bide his time until I was weak.
We had been staring at each other for two eternities—which sane ponies would try to convince me was only twenty minutes—but finally my nerve broke. I knew Boulder sensed my panic, but I never saw his reaction, for I had fairly well mastered Teleportations spells and could cast them in the blink of an eye. My quick teleport had only brought me upstairs to my room, but it was all that I needed to take a breath and cry a little bit, before leaping out the window to get help.
I flew across town to Sugar Cube Corner. Pinkie Pie had to know, she had to. Boulder was out for blood, I sensed it from the moment I saw him on my porch, but I refused to believe my suspicions until the moment I had nearly become his next victim. I was out of breath and hysterical by the time I reached Sugar Cube Corner. Pinkie Pie was in the kitchen preparing something that didn’t matter as much as imminent murder. I dragged her from her work, which made her very displeased, but I had to tell her. “Pinkie!” I said, “You’ve got to help me! Boulder just tried to kill me! He’s in the library right now!”
The look Pinkie gave me could not have been more skeptical even if you told it tales about beanstalks in Atlantis. “Don’t be silly, Twilight!” she said. “Boulder’s been here with me the whole time! See?”
She brought forth a small velvet pouch and opened its contents onto the counter. My blood froze like ice, for there was Boulder again, sitting right in front of my very eyes with his sinister plainness. I leapt behind Pinkie Pie with a little “eek!” Pinkie then did something which is not unusual for her, but in this case I thought it was in very poor taste: she laughed at me.
“Ahaha! Heehee! Oh, Twilight, why’re you being such a fraidy-cat? Boulder doesn’t bite or anything. Go ahead and pet him, and you’ll see he’s perfectly safe!”
“No….I-I can’t….” I stuttered.
“Now you’re just being silly, which I can relate to. But seriously? Afraid of Boulder?” said Pinkie as she scooped up the tiny stone in her hoof. “Hold out your hoof to me,” she commanded, holding Boulder perilously in front of me. I reared back.
“Keep that...that thing away from me!”
“C’mon, just hold out your hooves. See? Boulder likes you!” And without further warning, she dropped Boulder onto me. I nearly screamed.
But something caught me before I let out a single scream, something happened to me right then, a little lightbulb came on. Pieces of reason and logic fell back into their customary places inside my brain. What was wrong with me? Why was I afraid of a little rock? And I was still afraid of it even as it sat harmlessly in my open hooves! I shook my head, thinking over how foolishly I’d reacted. Boulder hadn’t attacked me. That overstuffed bookshelf had fallen over on its own; I’d only imagined that I saw Boulder sitting on it. All the long days and sleepless nights filled with study had taken a toll on my sanity. I desperately needed a vacation.
“I’m sorry, Pinkie,” I said with a shaky laugh. “Something came over me that I can’t really explain, but I’m glad its passed now. I know there’s nothing wrong with Boulder.” I rolled the stone over in my hooves, thinking how plain and unthreatening it looked. Such a small stone, barely even a pebble; It couldn’t be a threat to anything larger than a hummingbird. I felt relieved and foolish.
***
Pinkie waved me good-bye, holding up Boulder’s traveling pouch to jokingly emphasize that Boulder was still with her. I returned home with a much lighter skip than I’d had earlier that day. The feeling I had was like the feeling you get when you’ve found an extra five bits at the bottom of your saddlebag; though you’ve been wealthy the whole time, you’ve only just realized it. I was so happy that I decided to indulge in some cotton candy before returning to the library.
When I’d returned, I immediately returned to the task of organizing books, but not before giving brief scrutiny of the fallen shelf to ensure Boulder was not lingering around it. A quick inspection revealed Boulder to be nowhere in sight. I finished tidying up the library without many more interruptions. The only event to speak of was Spike returning from his afternoon spent with Rarity. It seemed that she’d found a use for Spike after all: her personal ottoman.
It took me most of the remaining hours of daylight to reshelve the books, and by the time I had finished I was due for some rest. Typically I’d begin some late-night studying and eventually fall asleep face-deep in a book, but tonight was different. My harrowing experience earlier that day had been a needed wake-up call. I had been pushing myself too far lately, and my sanity was suffering for it. I needed a healthy night’s sleep for a change.
But that sleep did not come easily to me. For many hours I lay awake in my bed, tossing and turning, never quite able to find the perfect position to get comfortable. The night was warm, so I opened a window to let a cross-breeze through. I abandoned my quilts on the floor and lay in bed with my hind hooves on my pillow. I rose to get a cup of water. I read a few chapters in Ayn Reigned’s Atlas Winked. I tried reciting by memory professor Fathomless Bore’s lectures on observation techniques for drying paint. I counted sheep. At length I fell asleep, but it was not peaceful, for my dreams were filled with terrible knocking noises and monochrome pictures of psychotic serial-killer pebbles poised above my shower curtain with kitchen knives.
I awoke suddenly in the middle of the night to a thumping noise. My entire body, from my mane to my hooves was covered in cold sweat, and my head pounded fiercely as though a wrecking crew was at work inside my skull. I was feverish, but I knew that I’d heard a sound. I held my breath for several seconds and listened intently.
*THUMP*
Immediately I rose and donned my bathrobe, then cast a pale magical light about the room. In the dim purple glow, I looked around and saw everything as it should be; Spike dozing soundly in his basket-bed, my telescope pointing out to the moon, Owlicious absent from his perch, for of course owls are nocturnal and active at night. I looked to the window—still open, so it had not closed shut nor made noise. The night air was peaceful and steady.
*THUMP*
My heart leapt in my throat, choking me before I had the chance to scream. The sound came from downstairs in the library. Unbidden thoughts and fears crowded into my mind, absurd things I’d thought pushed out to make room for reason and sense:
Boulder was in the library. He was back.
He hadn’t finished the job.
Yet.
*THUMP*
This time I was ready for him. He wasn’t fooling around, and neither was I. With my face stern and my horn glowing with vengeant magic, I silently tip-hoofed downstairs.
All seemed quiet and undisturbed in the library. The books all appeared to be in their proper shelves, and for that I breathed an imaginary sigh of relief. However, if the deadly killer was indeed down here, then I feared I may soon be arranging these books again. If I could help it I would avoid an outright fight by simply immobilizing Boulder, but if things got out of hoof I would be forced to use more drastic methods for the sake of self-defence.
*THUMP-THUMP*
Two rapid thumps whose tempo matched that of my racing heart, but they were not coming from the library; they were further down. Boulder was in the basement. It then became clear to me what he was trying to do: He wanted to lure me further down into the earth, where he was amongst his kin and had the homefield advantage. I was not to be shaken by this. Boulder may very well have set a lethal trap for me down below, but he also left himself no escape. Behind the closed door of the basement he may as well have been my prisoner. My horn glowed brighter as I grinned with smug pleasure at this thought. I flung the basement door open and shut it firmly as soon as I’d passed through. My eyes lit up like fire and I laughed wildly down into the darkness:
“Haha, now you’re in here with me! You are mine, puny pebble!”
The light from my horn cast itself bleakly upon the walls of the basement, and my eyes pierced the darkness, greedily seeking out my foe.
My poor, poor eyes. Had they known what they were to find, they would not have looked so fervently. They will forever be cursed to see what was burned into them down there.
*THUMP*
My eyes rested on a distorted shape lying upon the ground in the middle of the basement floor. The shape was indistinct, but moving slightly. I prepared a magic spell to blast at my foe, but before I released the spell my eyes focused on what was lying below me. I rubbed them to be sure that what I was seeing was correct. When my vision was confirmed I knew I must be dreaming, so I knew it was safe to vomit uncontrollably. But then in a moment of horror I realized that I was not in some sort of demented dream, for I have never passed out in a dream before.
***
I awoke the next morning in a puddle of vomit on the upper landing of the basement. Groggily I rose and bathed to remove the smelly filth from my body. Afterwards, I came back downstairs where Spike was preparing a breakfast of eggs and scones. I gave him a little nod of “Good Morning” but that was all. I returned to the basement to clean up the mess I’d left there the night before. When I saw the room in front of me, the scene I’d witnessed last night came flooding back to me and hit me like an encyclopedia to the face. I left the basement—leaving more vomit on the landing than was there when I’d entered—and took a second bath.
Last night was an overwhelming affair and I was still recovering from it. As soon as I distracted myself with writing my daily checklist things began returning to normal. My sanity had somewhat returned to me. I was in my proper state of mind, already organizing the rest of my day, leaving the terrible memory of last night behind. However, I made a few extra checklist items so that I might remember to purchase sleeping pills and earplugs.
I saw Rainbow Dash again that afternoon. She seemed much quieter than she had been yesterday, and not nearly as eager to engage in conversation. All the same, I had questions.
“So, Dash, feeling any better?”
“Meh, throat still scratches.”
“What I saw you doing last night with Boulder…..”
“I really don’t want to talk about it, okay Twilight?”
“Brings a whole new meaning to the phrase ‘Getting your rocks off,’ doesn’t it?”
“Hardy-fucking-har. Go away. Leave your Daring Do books here, though.”
I left without saying much more, for vomiting in her presence again would have been rude.