//-------------------------------------------------------// Tales From Baltimare -by LoPon- //-------------------------------------------------------// //-------------------------------------------------------// The Wrapped Umbra //-------------------------------------------------------// The Wrapped Umbra I beg of you, DO NOT READ THIS UNLESS YOU ARE SURE. I cannot stress this enough. If you do not have it by now then you will surely have it by the end of this story, if you insolently decide to read this for some kind of cheap thrill! I'm sorry, I may be a bit impulsive and there is no way to erase what has been said -well, at least not on this movable type. Anyway, why did I get distracted?! WHY?!? I'm sorry about that outburst I... just, listen to me or read me or do what you must, this thing is, from at least what I know, beyond simply contagious. It is like the Clear Death of old, breathe it once and it's already a part of you and make no mistake in recognizing what I am saying because it will kill you. From what I know, I am the only one who has yet nearly survived it -this is why I am recording my story as I am too irrational right know to decide what may work- and, just as the Plague, I want to give my blood, figuratively, so that those who may yet have it will live. And I know it sounds vain but I do not want you to die. I do not want anyone to die. PLEASE, be sure that you know you have it before... okay, test yourself. You comprehend them, yes? If not, do not continue. Make sure you comprehend their white wrappings. If not, then it may not be to late. If this is you, simply write it off. Forget about it. Pretend it never happened. No, that it never happens. Even if you relapse, pretend... continue pretending. Just, if you do not comprehend the wrappings your unconscious may still yet win, so keep pretending. It does not matter how long it keeps after you, as long as you do not know it, you may still forget it. Just forget, JUST FORGET! If you have comprehended the wrappings, though... then I am sorry but this story is for you. And, I am sorry you must read it from my writing style -I am quite the generic political commentator journalist, worst of all journalists. Sorry for trying to brighten up the subject, I just want you to think of all this rationally -indeed, as you do with criticism- because you must find what I cannot right now, you must find a way to fight it, an easier cure because this one is... I will inform you of it later. Now relax -please do, it will help I swear- and please read -but do not annotate, I'm sorry but you may be wrong and, I beg you, do not risk the lives of others, no matter how sure you are, you cannot. It or they, I hopefully do not have anyone to hide this information from anymore, came for me a few days ago. I remember the first time I saw one, I was walking near the Ponitapsco river -near, but not on the closest sidewalk. I had been thinking of some kind of reason for why one mare/colt of the public was better then another, so that I would have have an upper hoof in next weeks writing. But, then I saw it. I remember not seeing it for that long, just a brief second of a look at a completely dark figure. The mere millisecond sight of it sent shudders across my spine. I remember wondering why such a simple, and generic even, brief second of view could scare me at all and... now I wish I had never found the answer. But I am sure that, by this point, you have had enough of me constantly wishing for a change in the time stream, when the time stream might not even exist, so I will continue the story instead. A few hours later, I made it to my home. I turned the key and just as I moved through the door, I believe, I saw two of them. They were standing side by side but -and this is where the story descends into the paranormal- one of them seemed to have a leaning head. Not just a head that leaned as any pony would when she/he was tired. But, a head that's neck was far too thin and yet way too long and, as its head leaned to the left, its ear rested on its left shoulder. This, as you may have guessed, gave me quite a fright and I quickly looked again and the pair of them had disappeared. I, again, felt more afraid than I should have and I wanted to know why. But, I was tired and believed I would deal with, what I believed to be, this delusion in the morning. So, I slipped in between my covers -being extra careful to not move it from its orderly position- and promptly went to sleep. I believe it was a few hours later, but not as many as earlier, I woke to several of the same sound. This sound cannot exactly be interpreted. If I was to describe it, it sounded as if multiple ponies had their full mouths open when they inhaled and exhaled, which filtered into the sound cauuughhuhauuugh -which is the closest I may come to describing it. I, being paranoid, opened my eyes and darted them towards the right side of the room, where the sound had originated. But, as I turned, I saw three or four of them galloping the other direction, out of the corner of my eye. I saw one of them somewhat more clearly at that time. From what I saw, it seemed that it was wearing some kind of clothing under its head and its mouth seemed to be completely open. But the sight of its passion for fashion was not my main concern. I sat in my covers scared and afraid. How they were able to get in my home, why they were following me, what they wanted with me, what they were, and why they cared about somepony as useless as me were the questions that circled, like windagos, in my head. I held my covers over every part of my body and threw my eyes all around the room hoping that I would not find anything more. And, I did not. But the premonition did not leave, I felt as if my brain wanted both to forget and seek whatever these things were. All through the night, I kept awakening to find nothing until finally I gave myself to the defenseless dream state. The next morning I awoke, believing I was, cured. I thought the previous nights fears had simply been nothing but the paranoia of an artist -again, I am sorry for any vanity; I just want you to understand. I jumped out of bed and quickly made for my lavatory -with a haste representative of the twilight between contentment and fear. I made it without a hitch. I then began to prepare my mane, while making sure there was nothing in my mirror and no discrepancies between it and the room. After the fifth check, I was happy to find that everything was as it had been before they had come. For a moment I felt happy. I thought that it was all nonsense. Just a bit later, somepony began knocking on my door. I began to move towards the door and just as I did, what felt like, a bandaged hoof grasped my side. I quickly jumped forward, out of the lavatory, and stared back to see the pony with the leaning neck. This time, though, I saw it more clearly. The pony was tightly wrapped in a white cloth that had huge circular splatters of some kind of a dark purple liquid. Some of the liquid, though, was not absorbed by the rags and dripped to the floor where it was caught by its hooves. These hooves did not move and yet, no matter where the liquid dropped, the liquid droplets would fall in a straight line and directly make contact with hooves. I tried to rationalize it but it seemed as is if my eyes could, somehow, not comprehend the sight of it. Its neck was bent as usual but I also noticed that its snout was very small. I also recognized that the sounds I had heard the night before were coming, unsurprisingly, from it, but strangely it was producing multiple of that same sound. The drips did not have a sound, though, or, at the very least, not one I could comprehend. But, I only was able to think of these things later because, at the time, the fear gave and took from me the ability to run. It still had its leg up from when it had grabbed me and slowly brought it down. When its hoof landed, it, again, did not make a noise and my mind filled with dread at the realization of just what that meant. Right when it began to stand normally again, it disappeared -taking no more than a second to vanish. I stood, glued to the floor, in the lavatory. More knocking came through the door and I walked to it -in the way cows are still forced to walk through factories. I put my hoof around the small handle. But I, I could not. I could not open it; what if it was them? Though, if it was them, why would they need to be invited in? How could a door stop them? Wait, the peephole! Yes... indeed the peephole gave me the sight I desperately needed. Thus, I aligned my eye with the small cylindrical vision scope; and saw that it had only been my psychiatrist. I quickly kicked open the door, pulled Maze Frolic inside, and slammed the door -Maze Frolic is a fake name, these kinds of secrets are important to Maze. Maze was quite surprised to see me in such a fearful state -Maze believed at least some progress had been made, after such a long time- but tried to lighten the subject and instead made a snarky comment -which I believe went- "this place seems to shrink, every time I come." And so, a conversation between us began, as we quickly made our way through the room. When we made it to the furniture we took our usual places -Maze stood near the couch and I sat on my bed. Maze then checked the one window I owned, to make sure none were watching. And, as soon as it was affirmed, Maze's forehead was engulfed in green flames. The flames began to slowly move down, revealing Maze's true body and painted cheek. Maze remarked, something to the effect of, "I love that we don't have to follow around the queen anymore. But, pony, I hate not being able to use my wings every day." Maze then sat down and began the evaluation. I believe, we talked a bit about my family insecurities -while I prowled for an opportune moment to bring my predicament to light. But how could I? All the fear, of madness, that came when I first spoke to Maze, again, returned to me. I really do not want to be insane. How can I go on knowing I... knowing that I am some kind of liar or faker or illogical one. No, how can logic exist if it is not logical to the consciousness that it addresses? Pony, that is what killers say. Is that what... No, I have gone of topic. I apologize, back to the past situation. Unfortunately for me, Maze talked quickly to speedily adjourn the meeting and begin the volunteer-ship, which Maze was required to accomplish by Red Changling Community Law. Soon, she/he began the finalization questions -such as "is there anything else you would enjoy discussing?" And, as I had to, I ascended my previously mentioned fear, I told Maze, I thought, I was being stalked. The feelings of joyous anticipation drained from Maze's expression and Maze quickly asked if I was fine, to which I quickly responded that I was not completely sure. Maze's eyes and mouth made an expression of concern for me as Maze stared into my thoughts through love, in hopes of finding my mind's defect. After a few minutes, Maze asked about my perpetrator's appearance. I sighed. Slowly and awkwardly I began to paint the picture, which you already know of. Confused yet relieved, Maze smiled as I finished. I was told that this was probably some type of stress manifestation, and that merely dealing with the stress accumulated from the parent would solve my predicament. I thought of objecting, but I wanted Maze to be right. I agreed. I would deal with the stress and simply disregard any manifestations -remember, I had already fully comprehended the wrappings. Maze thanked me, but, also decided to consult other sources. After stating this, my friend quickly left; and, just as I slammed the door as quickly as I could, I heard strange, chocked breathing sounds and saw a pony wrapped in cloths, staring at me, from across the street. I tried to ignore them for a full day. I began accepting them as a mere consciousness in passing -something which may be interesting but is on a completely different path. This plan appeared to work, for one day. When the sun arose again, they began to appear everywhere -and they had a new strategy. Early in the morning of the next day, I walked to my political writing duty -or towards my own failure. I, for some reason, decided to take a train and walked towards the Mare-O Subway -constantly surrounded by them. At some point, I felt an urge to purge myself of waste. I entered the lavatory. After staring around the room and outside the room, several times, I finally closed the door and positioned myself for relief. After a while, I began to fall farther and farther from being awake, as a result of my sleep deprivation. Suddenly, I began to see the faint outline of a figure within the room and the sound of chocked breathing. I awoke and my fear was justified. Standing in front of me, was a purple oozing, cloth wrapped earth pony -they all seemed to only be the same variation of life as me. I was trapped. I had no chance of escape and it was right there, ready to strike. I moved back as far as I could, eyes always on that thing. And, then the thing moved its right leg to its face -I definitely remember it was the right leg, grabbed onto the cloth near its left eye, and began to tear off the covering. As the truth was slowly revealed, I first saw that the thing had no eyes. There were just pitch dark eye sockets with hastily torn out eyelids -one was so hastily torn out that excess skin was taken with it and a white bone could be seen through that area. This darkness, though, was impossible. A lavatory light shined directly at it, yet the darkness remained without a hint of color reflected. That thing continued upwards, revealing its ears were nonexistent -not simply tied down as I had previously hoped. It finished removing the cloth from its eyes upwards and began pulling downwards. The reason the things snout was so small was unveiled. The thing's jaw was gone. No tongue, few teeth on the upper mouth, and a purple gelatinous solid in its mouth, were the remnants of its mouth. The thing had more holes in its head, all filled with the purple gelatin, which had, some type of, gas blown in and out of them creating the multiple sounds. The gelatin seemed to also be melting, without losing mass, and this created the purple oozing. The thing was somehow able to quickly pull off all the cloth on its body at the same speed as the head, and was soon only a hairless body, before me. I remember, definitely, thinking that I wanted to run and hide and be free of this thing -free of the fear of this thing. Then, in a perfectly clear tone, it spoke into my mind, "We want you to be free too, let us win. If you just let us win, you will be free. We can share this body, let us win. You only use so much of your mind anyway, let us win. We will always watch you, let us win. We died, let us live in you, just let us win." The thing repeated this over and over while walking slowly towards me. I tried to get up and get away. "Let us win." I fell on the floor, my hind-legs were asleep. "Let us win." I crawled towards the other side of the room. "Let us win." The thing was gaining on me. "Let us win." I finally made it to the wall, but the thing was standing between me and the door. "Let us win." It was hopeless. "Let us win." What do I do? I thought. "Let us win." I curled into a ball. "Let us win." I screamed at and begged it to just leave me alone. "Let us win." I accepted my fate. "Let u..." I looked up. The thing was gone. I wondered if that submission was what it wanted. No, it did not seem like it. I somewhat did not want to die. Is it hiding? Why would it hide? Were my thoughts. Suddenly, somepony banged on the door and said -she is here and I have confirmed this- "Lovely, when you are finished, you will require a talk with me." I quickly put on my clothes, checked myself in the mirror and with my hooves to confirm I had not changed, and slowly, carefully left the sight of so much horror. I met her outside and she told me about these things. According to her, they are apparently some sort of entity that, after being noticed, encamps itself in the mind. Its usual plan, though, is unknown -other than that it feeds off of something in the mind, and the supply of this increases the more one goes insane. I was intrigued by these revelations until I learned there was no way to simply make it leave other then... erasing certain memories. By this point, I'm sure you can understand why I am able to write this. We left the station and I am now in the home of the pony who saved me. She tells me that this procedure is quite effective and easily done. But, she seems a bit too omniscient. She knew my name, what it was, and most of all how to cure me. She did ask me to write this, though. Thus, it may be possible she is not lying. Really, though, I would just like to just put this all behind me. Those things are outside of this protected house waiting for me -several of them are staring at me with soulless sockets as I continue. So I will have it done -wether or not there is some ulterior motive. She has assured me nothing physical will be removed -which has, also, given her a bit more credibility and persuaded me to have the procedure enacted. I hope you will be able to triumph where I have failed. I hope to see that triumph. //-------------------------------------------------------// Canterlot Squire Publishing Company Introduction //-------------------------------------------------------// Canterlot Squire Publishing Company Introduction These tales are collected from the archives of The Baltimare Riverside Library. These stories have, for one reason or another, never been released outside of Baltimare -which is why it is such a pleasure that I, and the rest of Canterlot Squire Publishing Company, may publish them now. I must say, these stories quite match the town where they were conceived. Baltimare does seem to be the main hub of horror in this nation, would not you say? There is, most obviously, the interesting ways by which they use to bury their loved ones -in both the past and present, the factories that still cook our food, the original main import of the city, etcetera. But -from what I have learned -through my own friends in the city- I have found the thing those who write for Baltimare seem to have a fear of is not death but life -both their own and of those they do not yet understand. Not to say these stories are, by any means, a piece of pony supremacy; far from it, not only are the authors from Baltimare more diverse than most we have seen in much of our current literature but some of them, Red Hoof specifically, target the current order of our dealings with respect to others. It is quite incredible actually, these writings are all so diverse despite the date on all of the stories are from the same year -Baltimare must have received quite a spirited generation. But I believe I should apologize. I have been quite a bit more long winded then I had hoped to be and have only scratched the surface of my reason for this introduction, which is that these writers did not want me to publish these stories -they say it was for the protection of something but I am sure it was simply from the fear of publishing, which drives quite a few of those writers, who I have known, absolutely batty. But it could have been that they believed the stories too frightful for readers -which I quite understand, though I have not yet had the pleasure of reading them. But no further adieus, here for your pleasure is the writing, that has never been released.