Some Horrors Cannot Be Hemmed In
Despite the fumbling, half-certain nature of the attempt to head off all which was to come, there were ways in which it was a valiant effort. And so, like every valiant effort associated with the genre, it failed.
"Are you sure you won't come with us?" Twilight said, and the only thing keeping it from being outright pleading was her own attempt to get rid of the wince which had appeared on her face after the first denial.
Rarity had missed it. Her attention was focused on the Boutique's interior, which currently had soft blue glow placing a number of holiday preparations in place. After all, one had to be ready for such occasions, and Rarity was setting things up with the ease of long practice. Twilight was fully aware that with just a little more work, Rarity would be completely prepared for the night's events, and that was why she had to be stopped right now.
"Dear," the designer distractedly replied, carefully adjusting one of the more crucial pieces, "I cannot. Additionally, I shall not. Simply for starters, are you aware of what the costumes themselves are?"
Immediately with wince removed by the automatic assumption of lecturing tones, "Well, traditionally, they're a way to hide yourself from --" and then hesitation, followed by a much more awkward, "-- um... you know, everypony should really find a new reason for that..."
"They," Rarity declared, "are fashion." And derisively sniffed.
Nothing more came for a few seconds (although a number of smaller items were brought much closer to infliction), and so Twilight had some time to consider her verbal options before resorting to a careful repeat of "Fashion."
"Indeed," Rarity stated, still not facing her friend: the adjustments had to come first. "Oh, there are styles which have been with us for some time, most of them regrettable, and when one makes a rather charitable attempt to suggest a means by which one might update..." Another sniff, which seemed to be substituting for a distinctly non-ladylike snort. "But for others, Twilight? There are trends. Every year, a given book or three shall come into focus, and everypony will believe that they, and only they, are being original through making themselves into one of those characters. Recently, one has been able to say the same thing about film. But attempting to predict exactly what will catch on with our youth and adults, then following that fashion in a unique way without ever precisely or even approximately duplicating the homemade efforts of just about every parent in the settled zone..."
She rolled her eyes, with only her curtains able to appreciate it: they had been drawn in order to keep the Boutique's interior a surprise until the proper hour. It seemed as if the town's residents understood that need, for even before Rarity had officially begun, she had noted a distinct traffic trend shifting hoof and wing travel away from her shop.
"So you won't come with us," Twilight carefully tried, "because of fashion."
"I have rather enough trends for which I must attempt some degree of tracking," Rarity insisted (with just a hint of exasperation). "Not to mention trying to create such. To immerse myself in the fad culture for moons in order to work out my best options -- no. That is time best used for other things, Twilight. And it is why I generally will not spend time in making such costumes. Well... one reason. My costs would be too high for the casual buyer, the majority of ponies do tend to create their own, and additionally, when it comes to suitable attire for the occasion..."
She shuddered. Her eyes narrowed, and the left one briefly twitched.
"...we shall not discuss 'additionally' at this time."
Twilight, who knew everything about the consequences which came from 'additionally' and was still hoping there was some chance to stop them, valiantly kept going. "But we'd love to have you! It just wouldn't be a holiday without you, and you don't come, you never come, and just this once, you should really --"
Rarity turned, and her smile cut off the words of a mare who currently had no internal means of appreciating it.
"Furthermore," Rarity smiled, "I am supposed to be Generosity, am I not? And as such, it seems to me that on a night which, in some ways, is built around the making of offerings, I am best suited to remain behind, giving things to others instead of trotting about the rounds so that I might receive. I would hardly use the bulk of it anyway, and I trust Sweetie in her ability to gather a personal supply, something she does not need to increase through sneaking part of my own. Even her own so-called 'haul' is excessive, not to mention potentially injurious. I have spoken to -- well, that will likely come up this evening. Several times."
This time, the right eye twitched.
Twilight managed a breath.
"We'll miss you."
"It is but for an evening," Rarity steadily replied. "And of course, you can drop by. Everypony can! Is that not part of the intent?" She glanced at the wall again, and another thing floated into place. Both mares tried to avoid looking at it, followed by carefully avoiding the three which Rarity's field carefully hung from the ceiling.
"It's just not the same without you," Twilight tried.
"On the contrary," Rarity decided. "As I do the same thing every year, it will be exactly the same without me."
One last try, and with all of her planned ammunition having been exhausted without landing a single hit, she went for the cheapest shot she could think of. "I'm sure Spike --" she thought it had been a subtle emphasis "-- would just love it if you --"
"-- Twilight?"
After a fearful moment, "...yes?"
"I am staying in," Rarity regally said. "Please do drop by if you can. And now, if you will pardon me, I have rather more preparations to do, and I must steel myself for much of it, as so much of this should never see the light of Sun, much less what I shall be doing with it this evening. Good day."
And Twilight left.
At the moment the Boutique's doors closed, Applejack stepped out from behind the tree.
"Did y'do it?"
Twilight sighed. "No."
Applejack softly groaned. "Twi... did y'even tell her?"
"...no," Twilight eventually admitted. "I wanted to, but when I thought about how she'd react... I couldn't." She rarely glared at Applejack, seldom got mad at her friend -- and for a second, got about as close on both as she ever did. "Why didn't you go in there?"
"'cause Ah woulda told her," Applejack simply said. "Straight out. An' she might not have believed me. Which, when y'think 'bout it, is really annoyin'. Or she would have, an'..." The farmer sighed. "That wouldn't have ended well. You're a little better at diplomacy than me, Twi, because diplomacy's mostly lyin'. So I didn't wanna hurt her, an' you couldn't hurt her, an'... she's in there. Again."
Twilight glanced back at the Boutique, and her ears picked up on the sounds of another thing dropping down to its appointed place. She winced. "So... what do we do?"
Applejack sighed, turned away from her friend just long enough to look at the rest of the street, with every last business finalizing its own preparations.
"We wait until Sun goes down," she simply stated, unable to face Twilight again. "We wait for Nightmare Night. An' after that... we jus' wait for the screamin' t' begin..."
Sun had been lowered and for some of those who had the Boutique as a first-time part of their holiday rounds, that happened despite popular demand.
Rarity sat within the deliberately-altered lighting of her shop, close to the door. Waiting, as she did every year.
She glanced behind her. The horrors seemed to be on sufficient display. She imagined that for a particularly fragile mind, simply having to sit among so much abomination for an evening would constitute an assault on one's sanity, but she was up to it. After all, she had brought out the nightmares every single year and she was just fine. It was nothing she hadn't dealt with before, even if every reprisal and fresh addition had her wishing to never deal with it again. But -- was that not the purpose of the genre? At its heart, horror was a cautionary lesson: do not do this, or this will happen. Perhaps it will happen to you.
Really, she was protecting them.
The next glance was directed at the bowl waiting on her right, just out of sight from any opened Boutique doors. Fully prepared as well, not to mention just being full. Well, it would likely be empty in a few hours.
And finally, reluctantly, a glance down at herself.
She shuddered.
And she waited.
She could hear them outside now. The laughter. The crunching, as so much of what they were gathering went crunch when consumed. Really, it could get on one's nerves after a while, at least if one was a pony of lesser resolve. But she was sitting among the horrors, and she had... she was in...
...very loud crunching, really. Somepony would have to speak with Bon-Bon in the morning. Again.
So much laughter, and of course none of it was at her. They hadn't even seen her yet. Not until the first knock came upon her door, and that was probably seconds away, seconds before they would see her in --
-- protecting them. It is only for a few hours. And I am protecting them.
She didn't feel her eyes twitching. She never did.
The first knock came.
It was an interesting sort of knock, for those willing to listen to some of the more subtle harmonics. There was a reluctant note to it, as if the hoof truly did not want to be anywhere near the wood of the door, a suggestion which would have been somewhat amplified in anyone who had picked up on the scrabbling of all four hooves a few seconds earlier as their owner was insistently head-pushed towards the Boutique. But the knock had come, for the dare which Rarity knew nothing of could not be denied. And so she stood up, strode across the two body lengths to that door, and ignited her horn so that her field might fling open the final barrier between those outside and the horror within.
There were seven children. It was impossible to identify everypony in the mini-herd, of course: some of the costumes were full-body specimens with additional head coverings. (For those in the bulkiest of offerings, it was often just about impossible to spot covered wings, and of course anything which came with a hat...) But she saw enough to recognize that there were two truly new arrivals in the group, a colt and filly who had yet to spend their first full year in Ponyville, making this into their first trip to...
...the BOOtique.
"BEHOLD!" Rarity cried out, forcing herself to stand in the best of the altered light, striking her most dramatic pose so that all might see and be warned. "Behold the horrors!"
Five of the children, who had been there before and knew what was coming, backed up two hoofsteps each. The two new arrivals simply... stared.
"BEHOLD!" Rarity cried again, for it didn't seem to have completely taken.
"What's that?" asked the new colt.
She repressed the urge to sigh. There was always one every year. Sometimes there were several. Well, this one would learn soon enough. "What," she inquired carefully, "is meant by 'that'? As I believe I have offered something of a selection, some narrowing down would be appreciated in the process of definition."
After a moment of visibly trying to sort through the sentence structure, the colt pointed his right forehoof over her shoulder.
Rarity didn't have to look back. "AH!" she cried. "That is my first attempt to find a theme for last spring's catalog! Force yourself to gaze upon the woeful hues! Resist the urge to run when you fully understand what was mistakenly done with the drape line! SEE how, in my tired state, I failed to leave sufficient accommodation for the tail!"
The colt blinked.
"Also," Rarity added, "I had some thoughts of gifting my floor model to Fluttershy, so really, the tail mistake is completely unforgivable." She paused. "It would probably help to have seen her tail."
Colt and filly were now staring at the display behind her in sibling concert. "What are they on?" the filly asked. "The dresses, I mean."
"Dressmaker forms," Rarity explained. "Full-body ones, with all limbs and a head, as it is often necessary to add a hat."
"And... why are they hanging from ropes?"
"Because they deserve to be," Rarity theatrically hissed. "It is the least of what they deserve..."
There was a long, rather uncomfortable silence, during which both colt and filly seemed to be reevaluating the standards their new friends had for 'scary.'
Finally, the filly tried out, "And... what are you wearing?"
Rarity shuddered.
"The MISTAKE."
It had taken three hours to pick out that year's MISTAKE. Another two to alter it so that it would fit her own body, and four more to stop beating herself up for having once again had an actual selection to consider. For while her Cabinet Of Horrors (or rather, Closet) had a number of annual offerings, the MISTAKE was always something from the year which had led up to the holiday, as a lesson to her so that she would have no new MISTAKE to publicly don on the next Nightmare Night. And yet there the MISTAKE had been, among what had felt like far too many possible options.
She was... wearing it. She would wear it for the entire duration, no matter how much it seemed to constrict about her ribs and throat (the high throat collar had been a major aspect of the MISTAKE), even when she knew she'd sized it properly...
But she was protecting them.
"Behold me," Rarity whispered, "Behold my shame. And if you take nothing else from this night of nightmares, retain this: never allow yourself to be seen wearing a MISTAKE."
The five who'd been there before braced themselves. The new arrivals simply gave each other a long look, then turned to her and in bored chorus, said "Nightmare Night, what a fright, give us something sweet to bite."
Rarity kept the sigh internal. Well, denial was a well-known way of dealing with fear. It would probably sink in about halfway through their dreams. "Very well." Seven bubbles of soft blue field were sent just out of sight, came forward again bearing a single treat each, and floated those offerings out to the children.
The new colt took a very long look at his.
"What's that?"
The five long-term residents flinched.
Really, where are these new arrivals moving in from? "It is a tangerine," Rarity stated, with part of her wondering if they would be asking about Moon next. "It is sweet and can be bitten. For those unwilling to suck out the interiors, your parents should all have devices to assist with the peel."
"The rest of the shops," the filly petulantly stated, "are giving us candy."
"Yes," Rarity simply explained. "And that is why I have given you a tangerine. Because even natural sugars can be bad enough in quantity, but I would rather gift that to you as my offering rather than increase your inevitable overload of the refined sort. Seriously, dear, do you have any concept of the kind of damage you might do to your body before Sun is once again raised? To your teeth?"
And as in every horror story, there was a final moment when the potential victims still could have turned back. When a single action would have changed everything. A moment in which the now-inevitable victims did exactly the wrong thing.
"I don't care," the filly said --
-- and then, only then, did she see the sudden glint rising in Rarity's eyes.
"You will," the adult whispered. "Oh, if I can accomplish nothing else on this of all nights, you will..."
The five who'd been there before forced themselves to sit, to wait, bracing for when the inevitable became the real. The two glanced at each other again, and then each turned, looked closely at the glint in those now-twitching eyes.
They spun. They began to run.
Rarity's corona blazed, and her field dragged them back. Turned them to face her, propped their chins up to give the best possible viewing angle. For really, she supposed it was possible that for some mares, to be caught within a gallery of their own errors, wearing a MISTAKE for hours on end, would be a stressful experience. But for Rarity? Not so at all. She was there to serve as a warning.
And there was just so much to warn them about.
A thick book floated out from the hidden space. Five children cringed. Two stopped struggling against soft blue energy long enough to stare.
"I have," she told the long-timers, "updated this somewhat. Previously, I was working with artist's concepts and drawings of the real. But thanks to certain advances in printing, I am proud to say that this year, we shall be viewing the consequences through the art of close-up color photography."
Three of the returnees began to hyperventilate. A sudden outburst of vibration at a costume's sides told her which one was Featherweight. And Rarity smiled.
"Let us begin," Rarity said, "with the aftermath of a root canal."
Her field turned the page, rotated the book for all to see.
Seven screams broke the night.
Well, the new book was an improvement. She'd had the filly swearing off sugared hay twists before reaching the brilliant red which hallmarked the twenty-page spread on gum disease. And she didn't even think anypony was giving out sugared hay twists this year: the sounds of Twilight's grumbling about the inevitably inadequate results would have been the first sign. Maybe she'd just overlooked it among the... other sounds. Well, nothing to do but wait now --
-- another knock. Rarity smiled. This would be an active evening! At this rate, surely her tangerine supply would be gone well before the gathering time was over: fortunately, she had some imported miniature kiwanos to serve as backup.
Her horn ignited again. The door was dramatically flung open, and Rarity opened her mouth to begin her speech --
-- kept it open.
Eventually, words emerged.
"And what," she told the near-teen, "is that supposed to be?"
"My costume, you mean?" the near-teen sneered. "Princess Platinum! How can you not know that? What kind of pony doesn't even recognize --"
-- which was when the first twitch registered.
"That," Rarity softly said, "is hardly Princess Platinum. That is the look of a young mare who realized, rather too late for a proper costume, that she was in fact not too old for Nightmare Night, or at least not so old that she still didn't desire the results of the gathering. And so she threw a scrap of carpet over her back and called it a cape, and put something -- something -- let us leave it at that, shall we? -- something upon her head and called it a crown. I have been Princess Platinum, upon the stage. And no Princess Platinum of note would be caught in that laughable attempt at her classic appearance --" she began to smile "-- in any way other than dead..."
The near-teen was starting to pull back.
"It's my costume," she tried to defend herself. "I can wear whatever I want."
"For such a notable part of legend?" Rarity took a step forward, bringing the MISTAKE under Moon's light. Well, all the more ponies to see her and be warned, then. Hardly stressful at all. "No. You cannot. I will not permit it. Certainly not for somepony I have been."
The moment came. The moment when the inevitable victim could have done one thing which permitted escape. The moment when the wrong thing was once again committed to and brought out under open sky, so that all who were watching from a distance would know never to make that fatal error.
"And what," the near-teen ill-advisedly challenged, "are you going to do about it?"
Rarity smiled.
"I," she said as her horn ignited, as soft blue surrounded suddenly-scrabbling forehooves, began to drag them forward, "am going to help you..."
The near-teen was pulled inside. The door slammed itself shut.
And if anypony had been passing by a few minutes later, they would have heard the screams begin.
"NO! I DON'T WANT TO BE HISTORICALLY ACCURATE FOR THE ERA! NOOOOO!"
But nopony was passing by. And as with all true horror, nopony came to save her.
After all, it was so much more fun to stand directly outside the Boutique and watch through the opened curtains.
"So what's the count?" a weary Twilight asked, watching another Commander Hurricane (Recently Revised) staggering off into the night.
"Got ten who've sworn off candy for the rest of their lives, or at least until t'morrow," Applejack sighed. "Ah saw at least three with pinpricks, an' Ah know she tells 'em not t' struggle an' everythin' will be okay. But they jus' keep strugglin'..."
"Did you see the one washing her mouth out at the fountain?"
"Yeah."
"They usually stop after the first ten minutes."
"Well, you're the one who ordered her the color photography this year," Applejack crossly reminded Twilight. "Ah guess it's havin', let's jus' say, the desired effect."
Another scream came from the Boutique. Neither mare turned.
"I know that scream," Twilight said.
"Yep," Applejack groaned. "So do Ah."
Wearily, "Somepony just told her they liked the MISTAKE, didn't they?"
"Happens every year," Applejack sighed. "Every single... well, Ah guess it's not possible for anypony t' die 'cause somepony forces you t' look at fashion catalogs an' history books 'til your eyes bleed."
"No," Twilight said as the memory of twitches came in. "You just start wishing for it. In less than an hour. A lot less."
"It was your first year," Applejack shrugged. "Ah thought you'd know more 'bout dresses an' stuff, spendin' so much time in the palace an' all."
Dryly, "Applejack?"
"Yeah?"
"Have you met me?"
A soft chuckle. "...yeah."
Another scream shattered their local part of the night. The scream of a pony being made to view the Barneigh's catalog against their will, for horror was about educating ponies on what not to do.
"You know," Twilight mused, "Pinkie told me some ponies like being scared."
Applejack nodded.
"And ponies know what she's like tonight," Twilight added. "At least, the ones who've been here a while do. And some of them still go back to the Boutique, year after year..."
"What can Ah say?" Applejack shrugged. "She's good at a lot of what she does, Rarity. Even when she probably shouldn't be. So we 'bout done here?"
Twilight nodded. "We can't save the ones who know from themselves, and the rest of them... well, they'll learn. Or not. Let's go." The mares began to trot away --
-- but Applejack shot a glance back. One filled with regret.
"Be nice to have her at a party, though," she said. "Jus' the once. An' then we wouldn't have t' talk Bon-Bon out from under her counter t'morrow."
"Or," Twilight suggested with the tones of a pony who knew she wouldn't be able to talk her friend out of being the most terrifying thing on Nightmare Night next year either, "it could just be a horror show..."
They both giggled and left, well before the pony who had birthed so many abominations could get a look at their costumes. And behind them, there was one more scream, the scream of a pony who'd had the last of their faith in a rational world shattered, seen all sanity reduced to naught but ash and smoke, told to face down the cruelty of a mad universe and found their only remaining response was to break.
Or it was a pony who'd just been forced to look at the autumn catalog's saddlebag section.
Same thing, really.
