Chapter 3: The First Calling

Sunset couldn’t remember her ride home. After Cranky’s story, everything felt flat, almost lifeless, and the light drizzle matched her mood perfectly.

‘Why am I so caught up with this?’

At first it was just banal, morbid curiosity. A murder might have had a supernatural cause, and yet despite the tragic and violent death of a girl and the incarceration of a local boy she knew, it felt so far away, so distant. Murder wouldn’t affect her idyllic life in the slightest, because that was something that happened to other people. She had responded with detachment even when it happened to a friend of a friend. After the, retelling right down to Pinkie’s last moments and words, she felt almost wounded.

‘I wonder what her last thoughts were?’

Did Pinkie think about her time with Blaze? Her sisters? Anger at her parent’s zealotry? Cranky’s story said Limestone heard her cursing her parents and laughing.

Sunset shivered.

She pulled up to her parking spot and marched up to her apartment room. It wasn’t much; just one apartment amongst nineteen others. The door led into her kitchen and she dropped her keys into a basket. Adjacent to the kitchen was the living room, and it was scattered with discarded clothes, a few dishes, and whatever crap she didn’t feel like picking up just yet.

“I really need to clean up after myself.”

When it became necessary.

A quick shower and a reheated dish of some Chinese takeout later, Sunset walked into her bedroom clad in only her underwear. Nudity was one of the human taboos she questioned, and being in the buff at home felt so much more comfortable than wearing reams and reams of clothes. She sat her naked rear down on the bed, put her rice and pork egg rolls on the bedside table, and pulled out her laptop.

She normally would have spent a little more time relaxing. Rainbow Dash had given Sunset her Netflix password. There were several books and movies to enjoy, some magical in origin but most were related to modern history and medicine. Sunset had a fascination with human history, and that was probably one of the few reasons she and Cranky could carry a civil conversation. There were dozens of civilizations and races across her homeworld. There was only one species here capable of cognitive, sapient thought. The biodiversity was perhaps even more vast than Equestria’s, but there was only one species here that dominated. Odd.

She could always partake in a little preening and cleaning. She didn’t consider herself vain, at least nothing comparable to Rarity. Sunset still liked to doll herself up every now and then and just revel in feeling sexy. Physical appearance wasn’t as much of a factor in relationships in Equestria, but it was here, and the little bodily maintenance gave her a confidence boost. There was something oddly satisfying about running a hand across smooth, unblemished skin.

Regardless of her normal routine, she didn’t feel much like indulging herself today. Her computer booted up and she ran the first search.

GHOST MYTHS

She closed the window before she even got the results. First things first: what exactly did she know about this myth? A girl was killed by her parents, and it takes ritualistically calling her name five times to summon her.

“No, not even that.”

Calling her name existed in legend only; there was no way to confirm that summoned Pinkie’s spirit, if she could be summoned at all. Testing that out right now seemed unwise.

“C’mon, think this through.”

Pinkie died a violent and cruel death. Providing Cranky’s version of events was accurate, Pinkie, a girl of boundless enthusiasm and life, had snapped and uttered her vengeance against her murderers. Loss of love and life. Those were powerful things.

Sunset swallowed the lump in her throat. If she was about to die, what would be her last thoughts? Anger at her murderers would be pretty up there. Remembering her friends and family? Well, her friends more than her family. The nights spent at each other’s houses. Her time with Celestia.

Could attachments be a strong enough motivator for a girl like Pinkie to cheat death? No, otherwise the world would be flooded with confirmed sightings of spirits rather than fables and folktales. Something special happened here.

“If something happened at all,” she lamented.

Still, her gut was telling her this was something worth looking into. Feeling a little chill, she put on a shirt and sweatpants. The most likely cause was this world’s weird effects on magic creating something new. Magic acted differently here, seemingly focused more on altering the body more than anything else. Her own transformations and her friend’s tendency to “pony-up” were indications that conventional spellcraft required using the body as some sort of focus.

But Pinkie didn’t have any magic. She died almost three decades ago and wasn’t exposed to magic from Equestria’s side of the gate.

“Wait...”

The sirens came before Twilight and herself, and there was a possibility that more entities passed through the barrier prior to them. Even if Pinkie wasn’t exposed to the portal, there was a chance she was exposed to something else. Maybe this Blaze individual was magical? Cranky said only Pinkie could identify her by that name. On second thought, Marble would know her by sight, but her parents were caught before she could spill the beans.

“I’ll have to ask Cranky where Marble is sometime.”

...Could Cranky be from the other side?

Hmmm. A thought to file away for later.

There was a probability, even if she didn’t know how small, that Pinkie could have come into contact with Equestrian magic to give her the fortitude to persist after death. Magic required a clear goal and focused mind to work, and given her targeted depression and rage during her... end... that could have been enough to trigger a magical transformation. It could have developed her body enough to persist after it failed. Her body, dead, but something new in its place.

Sunset wrapped herself in blankets to stave off the cold. What kind of life would it be to be stuck in a body neither living nor dead? Now that she thought about it, there was a human term for it. What was it now...?

“A shade.”

Was the mirror even needed? If Pinkie was a pseudo-incorporeal spirit, a being of emotion and thought, calling her name, the thought of her could be what draws her attention and ire. Like likes like. Happy thoughts invoke more happy thoughts. Anger begets anger. Pinkie begets Pinkie.

It was a theory with no proof whatsoever, but it was possible. Unlikely, but still possible.

Poor Pinkie, cast out for loving another girl.

...

It was getting very cold in the bedroom...

Sunset’s breath misted in the air. Goosebumps dotted her arms and legs and she shivered. It was October and sixty degrees out when she left school.

She slowly closed the lid of her computer and got out of bed, dropping the blankets. The air bit at her slender body, freezing her blood. She was very much aware of her thudding heartbeat and the light movements of her many neighbors. Regretting she wasn’t wearing at least another three layers, she slowly reached for the door and turned the knob. The door noiselessly opened.

Nothing was there.

Her throat felt so very dry, but each breath seemed to freeze her lungs. The feeling of unease she’d acquired ever since the library was creeping further and further up her spine. She was very careful to make no noise with each step towards the front door. Her eyes drifted towards every little shadow of her dark apartment. Why hadn’t she turned on any lights?

Nothing in the kitchen or the living room. Good, but that didn’t stop her from walking through window sunbeams when possible. As cold as it was, she was sweating. She reached for the doorknob.

Sunset shivered as the burning cold of death froze her hand.

She flipped over her doormat to reveal a small thaumaturgical circle. It was only one stroke from being unfinished, which was what the little stick of chalk was for. A slight warmth made her sigh in relief, but the omnipresent, oppressive chill did not recede. There was something in the air, something that didn’t belong.

There were defensive wards all over her apartment. Some were already in place, but Sunset felt this was a time to activate all of them for good measure. Maybe a little reinforcement wouldn’t hurt.

Every fiber of her being was telling her to not open that door.

Room by room she moved, eyes always alert and ears searching. Signs and spellcraft against evil and forceful entry. She only knew one ward for spirits, and she prayed to Celestia there was enough strength in her work. All doors in and out, each tiny window and vent was warded. Sunset’s breath hitched in her throat as she finished with the bathroom and looked in the mirror.

Nothing.

She tossed a towel over the mirror.

Mistake. Perhaps it wasn’t ritualistic after all. Could calling her once work? She hadn’t even considered the possibility.

She could smell blood and fresh earth in the air.

Sunset finished warding the door to her bedroom and backed into the wall. She saw a compact and the mirror inside on her desk and tossed a stray shirt over it. She quickly donned a sweater, pants, and socks before pulling out a knife from her underwear drawer. It would do little good against a ghost, but it was comforting to have and was certainly better than just a bad attitude. Sunset stared at the door within a nest of blankets, eyes locked on the door.

Author's Note

This one's a little sadder than my other works. If you like it and can spare the coin, feel free to visit my patreon at Patreon.

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