The Filly and her Ghosts

Specks of light began to appear like stars in the night sky, and through a gap under the fabric, sunlight streamed into Sweetie Belle’s eyes, waking the filly up. She blinked. She closed up the gap so that the light couldn’t enter, however she hadn’t reckoned on the way the sun would shine through the thin silk, creating all those hundreds of glimmers of light...

This was the inside of Sweetie Belle’s tent, and she was extremely proud of it, thank you very much.

It had happened like this. Her parents had gone on holiday but she had refused to join them, this, after all, being the week of her sister’s birthday. So with no time wasted she’d packed her bags and had been dropped off at Rarity’s; that evening she had been put in the guest room, and what a grandly boring room it was too, there was nothing to do in there.

‘Rarity, can’t we go play in the snow? It’s not even late.’

‘No.’

‘Pleeease?’

‘No, Sweetie Belle. I’m incredibly busy at the moment and I cannot afford for you to go and catch a cold. Go back to your room. Go to sleep.’

Dejected, the young white unicorn trotted back to the guest room; yet not for nothing was Sweetie Belle a Cutie Mark Crusader. What did she have? A four poster bed without curtains (they were being washed); a sheet of silky material placed neatly on a desk; and a ball of string, perhaps belonging to the cat. What to do with a bed, fabric and string? The way her face lit up when she thought of the answer could’ve brightened the depths of a cave- within twenty minutes the string was tied from post to post and, after much effort, she managed to hang up the sheet of fabric, creating a tent for herself on the bed. Magnificent! For an hour afterwards she had been utterly convinced she’d earned a cutie mark for it, however there’s only so many times you can glance at your own blank flank before you have to admit you’re kidding yourself.

In her tent, by lantern light, she worked long into the night on her birthday present, the thought of Rarity’s beaming face keeping her going (she scarcely slept it made her so happy). But when the following morning arrived, not even the sight of those thousand accidental stars could keep the joy alive.

‘Sweetie Belle! My darling, what have you done?’

‘Do you like it?’ asked Sweetie, poking her head out of the tent, spotting her older sister in the doorway. ‘I spent ages on it, and-

‘But, b-but that fabric! You used my special Manehattan silk!’

‘Sure did! It was juuust right.’

At the same rate it takes morning sunlight to climb a wall, Sweetie realised that it wasn’t a look of amazement which graced her sister’s face, but one of horror. The filly frowned.

‘... You don’t like it, do you?’

‘Like it?’ said Rarity. ‘Like it? Sweetie you’ve ruined it. Look at those creases! However will I sort this out?’

‘With an iron?’

It was such an obvious answer that even before Sweetie finished speaking she knew it was entirely the wrong thing to say. Rarity dropped any pretence of calmness. ‘You think I could just iron this?’ she cried. ‘Do you know what an iron would do to it? This is going to take simply aaages to sort out; oh how could you? My own sister.’

‘I didn’t know,’ whispered Sweetie. ‘I’m really sorry.’

‘Well you should be. And you couldn’t have left well enough alone; such wonderful material, it must’ve simply begged you not to even think about touching it. And you went and... you went and...’

The purple-maned unicorn stared at the silk as though it was the grave of a loved one. ‘I can fix it,’ said the filly. ‘I’ll go and-

‘No no no. You couldn’t. You mustn’t! You caused so much trouble already, so I shall handle this,’ Rarity said, drawing herself up importantly, ‘in the proper manner.’

‘The proper what-now?’

Rarity sighed. ‘I suppose you’re too young to understand. Now go! Go stand in the corner where you can’t ruin things.’

A new feeling seeped into Sweetie, and though she tried to ignore it, it wasn't long before it engulfed her in the same way that a river bursts its banks after a heavy rainfall. Go to the corner where she couldn’t ruin anything? Too young to understand? A part of her, small though it had been, had slowly been coming around to her sister’s point of view; the silk must’ve been expensive, and she hated the thought that it might have been for a dress for an important client, or maybe even for Rarity herself. But now she wanted to shout, lash out, gnash her teeth. To think that she had skipped a holiday for this!

... The holiday...

There was a reason she had missed it. Sweetie bit her lip but the fact remained: what sort of sister would she be if she were to shout at Rarity on her birthday, of all days?

‘Sister,’ Rarity said. ‘Out of the tent.’

‘Huh? You mean out, out?’

‘Well obviously 'out, out', whatever other type is there?’

Sweetie bit her lip even harder, her anger suddenly overwhelmed with nerves. Her present! It was still in the tent. Annoyed as she was, she didn’t want Rarity to see it- not like this, not when they hated one another.

‘Um, just a second,’ said Sweetie, drawing her head back into the tent. But with one fell swoop of magic her sister lifted the silk, folded it up and placed it back on the desk, leaving the exposed foal with no choice but to throw herself over the present.

‘What is that?’ asked Rarity.

‘What’s what?’

‘Sweetie Belle, stop playing games and get up.’

‘No.’

‘Don’t make me make you.’

‘No!’

‘Oh, so this is how you want to do this? It. Is. On.’

The next thing the little unicorn knew was that she was being pushed off the bed with Rarity’s magic, and she tumbled to the floor, smacking her head. Her heart sank as she heard the older unicorn gasp.

‘... Happy birthday,’ Sweetie said feebly, staring at her hooves.

Rarity didn’t answer.

Looking up, the filly saw that her sister hadn’t even noticed the present (it was a picture of herself and Rarity hugging); instead she had eyes only for the crayon marks on the blanket.

‘You couldn’t have used the desk?’

‘Sis, I-

‘Sweetie Belle, I do not want to speak to you. Leave me be. Stay out of my sight.’

‘But sis, I-

Rarity huffed. Before stepping out into the hallway, Sweetie, her eyes tearing, turned and said: ‘I missed a holiday for you, you know. It’s just crayons, can’t you clean it up?’

Rarity ignored her.

Eyes still watering, Sweetie left her alone. Not even ten in the morning and she had already ruined things.

***

In the snow, it would’ve been remarkably easy to lose the two unicorns were it not for the filly’s pink and purple mane; though not as purple as Rarity’s and not quite as curly. Everywhere was snow: it rested on roofs like frosting; it transformed meadows into great white canvases; trees sagged under its weight; and in the far distance, the mountains of Canterlot were like icy giants standing watch over the glistening landscape. With the sun setting and with a chill in the air, it felt, to Sweetie Belle, absolutely perfect, oh if only the weather team would let it be this way all the time. She rolled a snowball with her hooves, got ready to hurl it at her sister-

‘You throw that at me and you’re grounded until Mother and Father pick you up.’

‘But I-

‘No ‘buts’. I put a lot of work into this ensemble, not to have it ruined with snowballs. You’re on thin enough ice as it is young lady.’

The ‘ensemble’ was a plain navy jumper and boots, by Rarity’s standards almost shockingly simple (‘minimal is in this season’). Sighing, Sweetie dropped the snowball, then a few minutes later they reached the large, hollowed out tree that was the town library, and home of Twilight Sparkle.

The door was unlocked. Rarity opened it.

‘SURPRIIIISE!’

Sweetie giggled as her sister leapt a foot in the air and as their friends appeared all around them (Spike aside, who had business in Canterlot): Fluttershy, Twilight, Rainbow Dash; and Applejack was there, and to Sweetie's delight, Apple Bloom. Standing in front of a shocked Rarity was-

‘Were you surprised?’ asked Pinkie Pie. ‘Everypony said you wouldn’t be since this wasn’t a surprise party, but then I shouted SURPRIIIISE anyway and it worked! I wish you could’ve been me and I could’ve been you so you could’ve seen yourself, you would’ve loved it, the look on your face!’

The pink pony said this very quickly. Rarity looked up at her other friends. ‘Not my idea,’ said Rainbow Dash, shaking her head.

But where a whole day of apologies had failed, a good fright succeeded in doing what Sweetie wanted most in the whole world: her sister smiled. ‘Humph,’ said Rarity. ‘Very rude manners if I don’t say so myself.’

Now she wasn’t just smiling, but beaming. A second later Pinkie Pie had music playing and the ponies lost themselves in games, cake and drinks, dancing, fun.

***

‘So let me get this straight,’ said Apple Bloom. ‘You made a good ol’ tent for yourself an’ your sis’ jus’ goes an’ ruins it?’

‘Sure did,’ said Sweetie Belle with a solemn nod. Apple Bloom looked back at her with pity on her face; but then the yellow filly frowned as a thought came to her.

‘Ya... ya didn’t use her special Manehatten silk did ya?’

Sweetie’s mouth dropped. ‘How did you-

‘’Cos your sis’ was round visiting Applejack the other day an’ it’s all she talked about, silk this, silk tha’,’ said the earth pony, retching. ‘Jeez Sweetie, even ah wouldn’t have used that. Maybe ya should go apologise.’

‘She won’t let me,’ said Sweetie. Her ears drooped. ‘All I wanna do is say sorry.’

‘Are you girls alright?’

A lavender unicorn appeared in front of them: Twilight Sparkle. ‘We’re good,’ Sweetie told her, but Apple Bloom said: ‘we’re booored Twi. It’s fine for you gals an’ all but I've been dragged to this, an’ this ain’t no fun for ‘lil fillies.’

‘Well you know,’ said Twilight, placing a hoof on her chin. ‘If you two want to go and play alone upstairs you’re more than welcome to.’

‘We can? Ya really mean it?’

‘Of course. Oh! I know what you can do!’ Twilight spoke as though she’d found a chest overflowing with gold and candy and a million other wonderful things. ‘I got a new delivery of books today but I’ve been so busy helping Pinkie that I haven’t had time to sort them yet. You girls could pre-sort them for me! Wouldn’t that be fun?’

Sweetie raised an eyebrow. ‘Pre-sort?’

‘You know,’ said Twilight, clapping her hooves together joyfully. ‘There are five different stages to sorting books- or five and a half if you use the Trottingham University system (but seriously, what pony does anymore, am I right?). I remember when I was your age, and every Saturday morning, ooo, I’d trot down to the library to help pre-sort the books, and it was the most fun that a filly could ever possibly-

‘Yeah, Twi, we probably ain’t gonna do that.’

‘But we might do,’ Sweetie added as the smile slid from Twilight’s face. ‘If you let us upstairs. Pleeease?’

‘... You girls don’t know what you’re missing out on,’ Twilight said at last without even the faintest hint of irony. ‘Be safe now.’

‘We will, promise,’ said Apple Bloom. With that, the two fillies exchanged an excited glance before dashing up the stairs.

Even a pony who didn’t like books would’ve found it hard not to marvel at Twilight’s home. Sweetie had always wondered if the tree was still alive and growing, or, perhaps it was magic that kept the wood looking perpetually fresh. Twilight’s bedroom was almost as big as the main library. Like the rest of the tree, the walls here were crammed with books: big ones, small ones, new ones, old ones, some with bright spines crying for attention, others so inconspicuous that you could look straight at them and never spot them hidden in plain sight.

‘Bit dark in here,’ said Apple Bloom. ‘Ain’t there a switch or somethin’?’

‘Got it,’ said Sweetie, flipping on the light.

They had never been in Twilight’s bedroom before. Even so, the chest in the middle of the floor was so out of place that it was obvious it didn’t belong there. It was made of dark wood and black iron, and shut with the most formidable padlock. Painted on the chest was what looked like a cutie mark- a spark of light, like a star, or perhaps the flash of a camera.

‘What d’ya s’pose is in there?’ Apple Bloom whispered. She couldn’t help but whisper. Something about that chest put the fillies in mind of graveyards and cold winter nights.

Sweetie gulped. ‘Only one way to find out,’ she whispered back. Approaching it tentatively, she breathed in, reached out a hoof...

It was locked.

‘Gosh darn it. An' ah so wanted to know what was in there.’

‘It's probably just books.’

‘Uh-huh. Then how come we’re still whisperin’? That there chest, it’s proper creepy Sweetie, an’ I couldn’t even tell you why if I wanted to.’

They both stared at the chest. It was hard to shake the sensation that it was staring straight back. ‘You uh... ya wanna help Twi sort ‘em out?’ said Apple Bloom, gesturing to a large pile of books next to the chest. ‘Um, Cutie Mark Crusader pre-sorters?’

A few minutes ago, sorting out the books was the last thing they had wanted to do. Now- though neither of them would admit it, for it was the most peculiar thing- there was something oddly comforting about the idea.

The pile of books began to subside.

The chest lingered at the edges of their vision.

Then, after a few minutes: ‘‘A Hearth’s Warming Carol’,’ said Sweetie. ‘That belongs in music.’

‘Ya crazy or somethin’? That there’s a ghost story, even ah know that. Belongs in tales.’

‘But it’s about a carol.’

‘Ah say tales.’

‘Music.’

‘Tales.’

‘Music.’

CLUNK.

They yelped, fixing their eyes upon the chest: the padlock, that big, metal, heavy padlock, had fallen clean off.

Apple Bloom breathed as though she’d galloped a mile. Ice gushed through Sweetie’s veins. The two of them remained deathly silent, hardly daring to blink, staring, staring at the chest. Outside, a freezing wind began to blow.

‘It was locked,’ Apple Bloom whispered. ‘Ya saw it yourself. Ya even touched it...’

Instinct, sheer instinct told Sweetie that they had to leave, had to get Twilight (it was remarkable how far away the party suddenly sounded).

But then...

It came from nowhere, like a meteorite blazing through the stars on a November night: the most powerful curiosity you could imagine, more powerful than the forces which kept the Sun and the Moon in motion above Equestria. What was in the chest?

‘Sweetie Belle, what ya doin’?’

She was walking up to the chest. The closer she got the more mesmerized she became.

‘Sweetie?’

A voice in the unicorn’s head told her to take another step, another and another, and then another.

‘Sweetie?’

Now she was looking inside. It was full of books and papers and she was all alone in the world, and there was one Book in particular-

Apple Bloom smacked into Sweetie, whacked the Book out of her hooves, knocked her to the floor. Sweetie growled-

Then she came back to herself.

‘Wh- what happened?’ she gasped as though she'd been holding her breath underwater. ‘How come I’m on the floor?’

Noticing where she was, Sweetie gulped a second time and ran over to the corner, joined a second later by her friend. ‘It was like... it was like ya weren’t you anymore,’ whispered Apple Bloom. ‘Your eyes, they was all glazed over, ya couldn’t hear me.’

Sweetie wanted to throw up. That had happened? Yet the last thing she could remember was staring at the chest and quivering next to her friend; though only seconds had passed, she really had no memory of what Apple Bloom was telling her. She couldn’t remember walking up to the chest. She couldn’t remember opening it. She couldn’t remember picking up the Book which now rested by their hooves.

‘... Can we go and get Twilight now?’ the unicorn whispered, because looking at the Book gave her the very real sense they weren’t the only ones in the bedroom anymore. The Book was big and it had a black cover. It was extraordinarily old. It lay open halfway through and the pages were blank.

‘Sweetie, don’t,’ hissed Apple Bloom but too late: Sweetie, bursting with dark curiosity, touched one of the blank pages with a hoof.

The lights flickered. Where the unicorn touched the Book a black blot appeared, from which grew thin tendrils of ink which spread over the page like vines. Sweetie’s jaw dropped. In time, the ink faded away save for a tiny sentence: ‘He’s almost home,’ Apple Bloom read. ‘Wha’ does that mean?’

As if in response, more writing started to appear from nowhere, as though an invisible pony was scrawling on the page; except ‘scrawling’ wasn’t quite the right word- the hoofwriting was impeccable.

For the longest time he’s been lost in the darkness,

but he’s almost home.

Equestrian soil draws closer and closer and closer.

Sweetie’s heart pumped furiously. Her head felt light.

He’s back. It’s starting to snow.

‘Hah! It’s not,’ said Apple Bloom. ‘The Book’s lyin’.’

But Sweetie glanced out the window. Sure enough, though the weather team were supposed to have finished for the day, a light snow was beginning to fall...

Nopony is aware he’s returned, except two fillies- a white unicorn and a yellow earth pony. The more they read the less they wished they knew, however if they stopped reading then they wouldn’t know the truth: that he’s looking at a tree with windows and the windows are lit.

He can hear music.

He walks closer

he’s by the door

he looks up, and

it is

such

a

big door.

He reaches out a hoof and

KNOCK. KNOCK.

At that precise moment the light-bulb blew out, and the fillies well and truly screamed, holding onto each other for dear life. Sweetie wished that her sister was there. She wished she could bury her face into that curly purple mane, shut her eyes forever and ever. But as clear as the sun shines on a summer’s day, she also realised that Rarity had been right all along: she couldn’t have left things to Twilight. She couldn’t have left well enough alone.

Downstairs, the music stopped. Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom heard Twilight’s voice drift up the stairwell: ‘Who’s knocking at this hour?’

The fillies glanced at each other. Book forgotten on the floor, they ran out of the bedroom, hoping to Celestia that they weren’t too late...