Octavia Fights a Creepy Doll

by Hopeful_Ink_Hoof

Rating: mature
Tags: Horror, Gore, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Comedy, Octavia
Length: 6403

While moving into their new house, Octavia finds an old doll tied up and hidden in the basement

After the events of Vinyl Beats a Dead Horse, Octavia and Vinyl move into a new house. While in the basement, Octavia finds an old doll tied up and blindfolded in a box.

Although, maybe untying it was not the best idea.

Published 2017-04-28 20:10:01 UTC
Last updated 2017-04-28 20:10:01 UTC

In The Basement

Moving is never a simple task, and Ponyville is no exception. While it is true that between The Everfree Forest and Princess Twilight Sparkle and her friends, the town does have far more creatures of varying intellect attacks than the national average (the exact number eludes me, but I do believe that the information is archived in most libraries), it also has extremely less regular criminal activity than average as well. With its proximity to Canterlot making it a rather simple train commute, combined with both Twilight Sparkle's ascension and the appearance of her crystalline tree castle, some ponies have chosen to move to Ponyville, although not to such a degree that entire new neighborhoods are required. As such, it is a "seller's market," as they say.

To that end, selling our former residence was easy enough once we removed our unique interior design from it. At a profit, no less. Surprisingly, having a creature best described as an undead pony attack did not seem to be much of an issue.

Purchasing a new one, however, took significantly more time. None the less, we were able to find one. A lovely little place with a basement, enough distance that I shall not bother any neighbors during my practice, yet close enough that we can easily walk to the town market or Sugarcube Corner. Really, the only drawback is that our current view is not as scenic as our former. That aside, the new residence did meet all of our requirements, as well as our budgetary limitations.

Even with the help of professional movers, there was only so much unpacking that we could do the first day. As such, there was still quite a bit left packed the next. Included among such were pieces of Vinyl's musical equipment.

Which it turns out she needed one of the portable portions, as she had a performance that evening.

The pair of us were in the basement, where most of her equipment was now located as we were planning on making it into a studio. I had just opened my sixth box -- which happened to contain kitchenware (and no, Vinyl does not make her music by banging pots and pans together... even if it sounds like it at times) -- when I happen to notice something odd.

One of the stone walls had a wooden panel in it set into it. It was approximately one and one-half feet tall and two feet wide. The wood had started to rot, taking on a grayish tones, and I am fairly certain there were indications of black mold as well. With the little light the basement normally has, and being somewhat distracted by the realtor speaking as well as trying to take in the entirety of the space, it is reasonably understandable how such a thing could be easily overlooked. All the same, I could not help but wonder how I had managed to miss such a thing after seeing it.

A series of quick stomps from Vinyl told me she was trying to get my attention. Turning toward her, she was holding up the part we had been looking for. Her eyes were narrowed as she smirked at me.

"Yes, yes," I sighed, rolling my eyes. "You found it before I did. Good for you." Narrowing my eyes, I smirked back. "Although, if you had properly organized and packed your equipment like I had, you would not have needed to search for it in the first place."

Vinyl's smirk quickly gave away to a scowl before she stuck her tongue out at me.

I may not be able to tease her as much as she does me, but I can get a figurative "jab" in from time to time.

With the primary matter dealt with, I decided to investigate the newly discovered panel and what -- if anything -- was behind it. Upon closer inspection, the wood was noticeably warped and cracked. There was also a faint mustiness, a hint of mildew to it. Giving the board a tap with my hoof, I found it rather spongy and crumbling rather easily. Regardless of the quality of the wood originally, it was essentially mulch at this point.

After a single pull, the entirety gave way, leaving a gaping black maw.

When this is finished, I am most assuredly washing my hooves extra thoroughly.

And perhaps getting a tetanus shot as well.

"Vinyl? Could I have a little light, please? And no, I do not mean flashing multi-colored lights in time with your 'techno music.'"

My successful guess at what she would do got a scowl and snort of annoyance from Vinyl. Still, she was nice enough to light up her horn and shine it into the opening.

Inside it was a toy treasure chest. It was slightly smaller than the opening it had been inserted into. Pulling it out of the gap to get a better look, it appeared to be in better shape than the board that had covered its hiding spot. The wood had started to rot, but not was still rather sturdy, and bits of paint still remained on it. The latch was not lockable as it was just a clasp and pair of rivets, but it was rusted enough to be stuck.

"I don't suppose we have a pry bar I am unaware of?" I asked.

With a grin, Vinyl turned and ran toward the stairs, climbing up them as fast as she could.

Did we have a pry bar I was unaware of?

While she was off doing... whatever it was she was doing, I attempted to see if i could somehow manage to open the chest unassisted. It was not sufficiently rusted to turn brittle. I could probably break the wood, but that seemed more like a last resort. Perhaps if I could somehow manage to wedge the tip of my hoof between the back of the latch and wood, I could work it loose. Some sort of industrial lubrication would certainly help. Maybe--

My thoughts were interrupted by... I'm not sure how to describe it. A large dragon with a sore throat gargling rocks? A pony sized hummingbird with steel wings? However it may be described, it was loud, metallic, and annoying.

Naturally, Vinyl Scratch had to be responsible. Making her way back down the steps, she was grinning maniacally as the source of the ear-piercing banshee shrieks floated in her aura. Holding it up above her, she somehow managed to make it louder and more obnoxious.

"VINYL!" I shouted, trying to be heard over her machine. "VINYL! TURN THAT THING OFF THIS INSTANT!"

Turning it off, she looked at me as innocently as possible. If you ever saw Vinyl, you would know she could look quite innocent when she wanted to. However, if you actually knew her, you would be aware how far from innocent she could actually be.

"We are not -- not -- cutting this open with a chainsaw!"

Vinyl let out a huff, rolling her eyes before mouthing something. No sound came out, but I knew exactly what she had said.

"Yes!" I snapped. "I am a 'party pooper.' You are still not using that thing to open the treasure chest. More so since we do not know what is inside, and you very well may destroy it in the process."

At that, she was willing to look properly sheepish. While Vinyl can be quite brilliant at times -- especially when it came to technology as her equipment can attest -- she can also be quite foolish when she gets impetuous. Fortunately, she was willing to admit her mistakes and apologize.

Although some times, it made it very hard to stay mad with her.

With a sigh, I took the chest and headed upstairs.

"Perhaps I can pry it with a butter knife. Some oil or butter might help loosen it up."

Once again, Vinyl ran up the stairs as fast as she could, chainsaw still in tow.

Still don't know why she bought that thing.

Since I had packed the kitchenware, I knew exactly where the cutlery was, and found a butter knife immediately. While not the intended purpose, it was of decent quality. I am doubtful it would bend under the strain, to say nothing of breaking.

As I worked to slip the flat of the blade behind the clasp, Vinyl returned with as much enthusiasm as she always showed (note to self: look into getting carpeting -- or rugs -- with plenty of sound-resistant padding). That horrendously noisy device of hers was no longer in tow, thank Celestia, however, she was still carrying something with her. Coming to a sliding stop beside me, she grinned as she held out a tube of... uhm... "personal lubricant."

"Why do you even have that?!"

Before she could respond, I held up my hoof.

"On second thought, don't answer. I have no interest in whatever lewd little story you are planning on sharing. Just... can you please explain why you brought it down without any dirty jokes?"

Throwing her head back, Vinyl let out what for her was a groan (granted, groans normally have an audible portion, but I do not know what else to call it). Taking the knife from my grip, she squeezed the tube to generously coat the edge. Vinyl then proceeded to apply the pink gel to the hinges and rivets of the chest. With that finished, she waved her hoof at the chest, grinning widely as she puffed her chest out. You could practically hear the fanfare playing.

"Yes, very clever," I said as I started working the edge into the latch. "Probably better than using olive oil or butter, at least."

The blade slipped in easily, and the clasp began to work forward. It still took some work, slowly coming looser and looser as it moved further and further. Also, I would have much preferred if it had not created rather lewd, wet, slippery noise each time it moved back and forth.

"Shut up!" I snapped at Vinyl, who apparently found my embarrassment at the aforementioned sound. Unfortunately, this just made her laugh all the harder. "It is hardly funny, much less so extensively so. Keep it up, and you very well pass ou--"

A loud snapping sound echoed through the room, cutting off everything else and reminding me about the toy chest I had been trying to open. Between being distracted and frustrated, I must have used more of my strength than I had intended. The butter knife was twisted, but the rusted latch had broken.

I had hoped to keep the entire thing in tact.

The hinges were a little stiff, but with some work and the... lubricant... we were able to open the chest.

Inside was a doll. It had been wrapped in red string, and a similar colored ribbon had been placed over its eyes. Surprisingly, they seemed to be in pristine condition. Practically new.

As I pulled the doll out, Vinyl scowled. She looked into the chest, then let out a huff and shoved it before getting up.

"Really, what were you expecting?"

Still scowling, she held up one hoof, flat-side up, then pointed at her chest.

"Vinyl, this is a child's toy treasure chest," I explained. "If there had been any bits, it only would have been a few left over from an allowance, and any jewelry would be of the costume variety."

With a huff and dismissive wave of her hoof, Vinyl left me alone with the doll.

Wanting to get a better look at it, I began to remove the ribbon and string. The ribbon was simple enough, just having to lift it up and off. The string, however, was a bit more complicated. It had been wrapped around the doll numerous times, and very tightly, so it was incapable of simply sliding off. It had also been knotted numerous times, with each the impossibly dense type that foals seemed to be an expert at: as most mothers can attest to.

Free of its confines, the doll was quite surprising. From the material and design, it was most certainly an antique. I had seen quite a few in my grandmother's collection that were similar. It was probably a century old, if not older. Yet it looked to be in brand new condition. The fur was still perfectly white, showing no thinning, darkening from mold, nor discoloration from the string. The mane and tail were still bright pink, soft and smooth to the touch, with a hint of curl. The glass eyes were bright and shining, staring up at me blankly with a deep green coloration to them.

It was a lovely doll. Either it had been freshly purchased before it was bound and hidden, or very well taken care of. In either case, why would somepony take such a doll, tie it up, and hide it in the basement?

Perhaps tomorrow I could go to the town hall and find out about the prior owners. There should be prior records still. I might be able to find a relative, or even the pony responsible herself. That would allow me to return or give them the doll, and possibly ask the reasoning behind it. I could also visit Twilight Sparkle. There could be some magical reason behind this act, and she might have some information on the matter.

That could all wait until tomorrow. For now, I had other matters to attend to.

"VINYL! COME BACK HERE AND GET YOUR LUBRICANT THIS INSTANT! I DO NOT WANT IT LEFT ON THE KITCHEN TABLE!"

*****

After seeing Vinyl off and picking up some dinner, I headed home to get a little practice in, and relax. As I stepped inside, I felt rather uncomfortable. While I may call it a "home," I refer to as much more as the domicile I primarily reside in. Having just moved in, it was not yet a place I feel like is my own. All the more so now that I was there alone, and it was getting late. As such, the place left me feeling rather uncomfortable.

In retrospect, I probably should have invited a pony over to keep me company.

Maybe I still could?

As I made my way to the kitchen, I found the toy chest lying on the floor by the table. The lid had come off entirely, and several of the boards that made it up had come apart to varying degrees. With the mold and rot that had already been eating away at it, the thing was now beyond repair.

Collecting as many of the shards and chunks as I I could manage, I took them to the kitchen to throw away. While doing so, I found the doll on the floor by the oven.

Why would Vinyl have brought it in here and left it on the floor like that? Most likely for some sort of prank, but to what end? With her heading to Manehattan, she would not be able to see the result of it, and she was certainly not the type of mare to make a pony feel paranoid and suspicious for a joke. Her pranks tend to be on the loud and obvious side.

I should really put the doll somewhere safe. While I may not know the exact age, I was fairly certain it was an antique. There was a bookcase in the sitting room that had some extra space. It would be fine there until I figure out what should be done with it.

After putting dinner in the refrigerator and doll on the shelf, I considered finding a friend to invite over. Big Macintosh would just closing up the stall in the town center, so I would be able to get him before he returned to Sweet Apple Acres. Bon Bon would still be at work for a while, so Lyra would likely be free. Pinkie Pie was always about somewhere, and willing to help any pony who asked.

No. No. I was just being silly. This was to be our residence now, and it was better if I adjusted to it. I was merely nervous as it was a new place for me. Spending a quiet night alone would probably help me get comfortable to it more quickly.

After some unpacking and cello practice, day gave way to a lovely night. The sky was a deep shade of purple, with stars glittering all across it. The waxing crescent moon shined with its silver-white light. I could almost imagine the breeze, blowing gently through the night, carrying that hint of aroma that seems to mark autumnal coolness.

Shame we had no patio furniture. It was a perfect night to eat al fresco.

In the kitchen, I found the doll laying on the counter.

That was odd. I could have sworn I had taken it to the sitting room and placed it on the shelf. Hadn't I? I knew for certain that I intended to. Perhaps I had thought about to the point of imagining I had? That I had decided to, but got distracted after putting the food away and simply forgot to actually going through with it, thinking I had done so.

"Well, I suppose you can keep me company while I eat."

As I picked up the doll, I caught a glimpse of something that made me jump back. The knife struck the floor blade first, the edge cutting a little furrow into the linoleum. I doubt it would have actually struck me, much less caused injury, but it was still fortunate that I moved back from the utensil.

Still, what was it doing on the counter? I have not used the knives since unpacking the flatware, and I either would have returned it to the block or wash it. Neither did I recall Vinyl using one, and she had a tendency to leave it beside the sink (a lesson she learned after her turn at dishwashing caused her to get a cut which required an emergency room visit and two stitches).

My gaze turned toward the doll. Was it possible that... No. No. That would just be silly. It was a doll. A rather old doll, but still a doll. Approximately one-hundred years ago, most fillies would have owned at least one just like it. Granted, it was a possibility, and would by no means be the most peculiar occurrence in Ponyville, but it seemed as likely as... something I would not want to express for fear Discord may actually do such...

Unfortunately, the thought had left me slightly paranoid. While eating, I kept glancing at the doll. There were even times where I had thought it had moved, even that I caught it from the corner of my eye. Yet when I checked, it was still in the same spot, sitting in the same position as I had left it.

It was simply my anxiety causing me to become overly imaginative. That was all. Just feeling anxious about being alone in a new house, and it is making me jump at shadows.

The doll was just a doll.

*****

With a sigh of annoyance, I tossed the book back onto the bedside table. How in Equestria was it popular? The main character was flat, unemotional, and extremely dependent bordering on infantile despite being an adult with a well-paying job, and the love interest -- which I use very loosely -- was arrogant, manipulative, abusive, and I'm pretty sure is a clinical psychopath with no concept of empathy.

I was doubtful I was going to be able to finish the first book, to say nothing of the two sequels.

Having no interest in continuing that "story" for the evening, I turned off the light and went to bed.

As many can attest, this moment -- lying in bed in the darkness -- can be one of the most frightening when in an unfamiliar place. With so few distractions, so much more that one usually ignores becomes much more noticeable. Minor sounds which are normally inaudible seem to be near deafening. Plus, one's imagination becomes all the more active, trying to make sense of shadows and figure out the sources of the sounds one now hears.

Thus it was for me. I laid in bed, staring up at the ceiling. My ears shifted and twitched at every sound, trying to find the source and figure out what it may be. I looked upon the shadows and nighttime light above me, watching the various shapes and objects that formed.

I really should have invited a pony to keep me company after all.

Just as I was about to doze off, a faint creaking sound got my attention. From the corner of my eye, I could see my bedroom door opening. I know I closed it properly. It should not have opened on its own. But I had not heard any hooves on the steps, nor the clicking of the door knob. I had closed it all the way.

Had I not?

My body froze as I heard something. It was difficult to make out precisely, but it sounded small and close to the bed.

Mouse. It had to be a mouse. That was all, just a mouse.

Please, dear Celestia, let it just be a mouse.

There was a tugging sensation on the edge of my blanket. I had a desire to shriek out, to jump out of bed and kick the blankets as far from me as I could. Yet I was unable to. I was utterly paralyzed with dread, barely able to breath, much less cry out, and unable to get my limbs to move in the slightest.

The tugging continued, moving along the blanket. I could feel it growing stronger, moving closer and closer to me. It was like some sort of nightmare.

Perhaps it was. It was just a nightmare. I was already asleep, and this was just a subconscious manifestation of my anxieties from this new house. Any moment now, I would wake up in my bed unharmed, or Princess Luna will show up to help.

Oh, how I wished that were true.

A small weight pressed down near my flank, drawing my attention downward. I saw a small black figure, then a sudden flash of silver in the moonlight.

Knife!

Self-preservation overcame paralysis and I managed to throw myself away from whatever was attacking me. The knife cut through the sheets, slicing into the flesh of my thigh in the process.

It stung like fuck.

Yes, I am perfectly capable of swearing.

While I may not work on a farm and spend all day kicking trees, I am still an earth pony, and spend quite a large amount of time solely on my hind legs. Plus, I do walk a lot and often have to carry my cello. As such, I am capable of delivering quite a powerful kick when necessary.

Turning my body further, I kicked with my might at where I thought the... thing... was. I felt my hoof strike something. It was not a very powerful blow due to the awkward position I was in, but I managed to hit sufficiently enough to knock the thing from the bed. I then kept rolling, moving off the bed and onto the floor.

Upside: I now had the bed between myself and my attacker.

Downside: the room was dark, and my lamp was on the other side. As was the attacker, and my bedroom door. I would have to get past them to escape, but could not see them, and trying to turn on the light would mean the risk of approaching them.

Although... the bedroom door was open, and the thing was on the floor. In theory, I could jump on the bed, hop onto the table, and then dart for the doorway, possibl--

I screamed as pain exploded through my foreleg, the blade digging all the way down to the bone. Before I realized it, I was kicking out with my good leg at where I hoped the attacker was. This caused new pain to bloom forth, making me cry out once again. Over the sound of my own outcry and the pain in limb, I could hear a metallic snap.

Tensing up my body, I jumped as hard as I could for the bed. The soft cushioning sank under my weight, and the impact sent another flare of pain through my leg and thigh. I could feel something shift inside my foreleg, and the blood running down to my hoof. Grabbing the pillows, I threw one at the floor where I hoped the attacker was, while keeping the other with me. Admittedly, it would not be much of a weapon, but it was certainly better than nothing. With the improvised weapon firmly in my grip, I leaped for the door.

My wounded leg struck the hard floor first. The name "cannon" had never been more fitting as it felt like it exploded. The limb also refused to support my weight, giving out from under me and causing my jaw to slam into the floor. There was a minor burst of pain -- almost unnoticeable when compared to others -- and the coppery taste of blood filled my mouth.

Small black stars danced in my vision. They looked like little notes. A lovely little melody created by pain and potential head trauma.

La-da-dee-daaa, la-da-dee-daaa.

I let out a giggle at the little ditty before coughing. I spat out the blood and possibly a small piece of my tongue.

Right. Danger. I was in danger from something, and had to get away. No time to lie on the floor, composing Ode à la tête blessure when something was trying to kill me.

As I worked to get back up to my hooves, I caught sight of something darting out from under the bed and moving toward me. And I had dropped the pillow at some point in the incident, I lost the grip on my pillow, and was not quite sure where it was. Even with it, I doubt I was in any condition to face the thing directly, given as I was already wounded.

Grabbing the knob, I ran through the doorway and slammed the door shut behind me.

Well... I attempted to, at least. The aforementioned pillow had somehow managed to wedge itself between the door proper and the framework. As such, no matter how firmly, nor how repeatedly, I pulled the door, it simply would not shut all the way.

Shame it took me numerous -- five or perhaps six -- attempts to realize the problem. When I finally did, I shoved the door open as wide as possible and shoved the pillow out of the way.

That was when the thing jumped onto me. It slammed into my chest -- which did not even hurt -- and stabbed at me with the knife. Even with the tip broken off, the edges were still sharp enough to pierce my flesh. Such was demonstrated as it was driven into my forearm repeatedly.

Grabbing a hold of the thing, I slammed it as hard as I could against the door, then threw it at the furthest wall of my bedroom. I then yanked the door shut and tried to hold it there.

My gaze drifted down to my foreleg. It seemed that somepony had managed to spill wine on my blouse. Such was a danger of such performances as these: ponies would enjoy the complimentary wine, and wind up imbibing a bit too much. Results would range from slightly inebriated -- "buzzed" as Vinyl and her friends would put it -- to fully intoxicated -- "drunk of their ass." Many a times I had needed to fend off the drunken stallion or mare who poorly attempted to flirt with me using slurred speech, and sloshing their most recent glass around with each movement.

Such a shame too. It looked like it was a decent quality wine. Although it had an odd metallic aroma to it. And why was it warm? It didn't look like spiced wine, and we were in the wrong season.

Well, regardless, I should wash it before it sets.

No. No. That's not right. I was not at a concert. I was at home. There was no blouse, nor was that wine. I had been attacked by something, and it had stabbed me repeatedly. I was bleeding.

I need to get to the hospital. I was fairly certain I was going to need stitches, and somepony needed to remove the broken knife tip from my cannon. But...

My gaze drifted up to the door I was holding shut, with that thing on the other side. It had demonstrated that it could open the door, and likely would do so again were I to release my grip. The lock was on the other side, so that was not an option.

If I stayed, I would risk bleeding out.

If I let go, I would be attacked again.

I needed something. Some way that I can let go without risking it opening the door. A way to at least buy me sufficient time to leave before it came after me again.

The knife! During the brief conflict, the knife had fallen to the floor not far from me. Perhaps I could wedge it between the door and its jamb. It might make it more difficult to open.

Best case scenario: the thing was trapped until I could get some pony to properly handle the matter.

Worst case scenario: I get a head start, and warning that the thing is after me.

After pulling it closer with my back leg, I reached down and picked up the remains knife. Pressing the corner from the blade edge against the crevice, I pushed it down. It took a little bit of shifting, and quite a bit of likely diminished strength, but I was able to push it in about an inch or so (and I can practically hear Vinyl chuckling at the innuendo of my wording). I gave one last, hard shove, then pulled back.

Releasing my grip, I made my way for and down the stairs as quickly as I felt I safely could.

While on the staircase -- not even one-half way down -- when I suddenly felt light headed and dizzy, and my vision blurred. That combined with my being in mid-stride while on unfamiliar steps caused me to lose my balance.

I managed to avoid breaking my neck, thank Celestia, and took the brunt of the first impact with my shoulder. The rest of it quickly became a blur. The world spun, twisted, and bounced around me as my body did the same down the steps. Each impacted sent a new flare of pain through me. It was not the brief, electric burn of the cut, nor was it the deep, biting pain of the stabbing. This was a dull, flat pain that sank down to the bone and spread out from the point of impact. Should I survive this, I will certainly be bruised and aching tomorrow.

Finally came to to the end of my abusive journey, landing flat against the ceiling.

No. No that's not right. I wasn't a pegasus, and I doubt Discord was involved in what was going on.

Floor. I was lying on the floor. That is where a pony would end up after falling down the stairs. Not the ceiling.

Wincing, groaning, and letting out more than a few "fucks," I eventually managed to get back up to my hooves. I then attempted to walk, although it wound up being more sideways than forward and ended with me landing on my rump.

I experienced of light-headed dizziness. This time, it shot down my throat and into my stomach. It did not stay down there long, however, and it did not come up alone. Alas, it had decided to bring up my dinner with it as well.

It turns out that bleu cheese dressing does not taste much different regurgitated from when it was originally ingested. Although it now had a pink tone to it instead of the typical white.

After spitting out the last that I could, I wiped at my mouth as I looked away. My hind legs wobbled like rubber snakes, and it felt like ferrets were wrestling in my stomach, but I was able to get up and not vomit further. I tried to walk, and it was slow and shaky, like I was a filly taking her first steps again. I was able to make my way toward the door, but it was far slower than I would have liked. Also, quite painful, I might add. Every move sent fresh twinges of through my bruised and torn body.

Hours later, I managed to reach the front door. It admittedly took longer than I would have liked to open it. The numerous piercings to my left foreleg made it painful and difficult to sustain my weight, so I could not use it to hold up my front half while opening the door. Alternatively, it was difficult to lift and grip things -- especially with all the blood that seemed to be collecting around my hoof -- so I could not really use it to open the door either. Similarly, my right foreleg and back were sore and already turning stiff. Any attempts to balance on my hind legs made it feel like the hips and lower spine were being squeezed in a vice. So I could not simply reach up and grab the handle normally, or I would fall onto my face again, and I could not simply stand on my hind legs and open it, as doing so sent a flare of pain that made me drop to all fours again.

The method I came up with was to raise up enough that I could lean semi-upright against the wall beside the door. I then took a hold of the knob and opened the door.

A sigh of relief escaped me as I stepped outside. Honestly, I had been expecting something out there waiting for me. I made my way for the street and started in the direction of the hospital.

I looked up at the night sky, watching the stars and the crescent moon. There was a gentle, cool breeze, blowing through my and bringing the scent of some sweet nocturnal flowers.

"It is such a lovely night," I declared.

I got no response, but that was no surprise. Macintosh never was a very talkative stallion. Which was fine with me. He had a strong presence, and I could read many of his non-verbal cues. Perhaps not as thoroughly as I can Vinyl, but thoroughly enough that I can understand his mood.

"It was a lovely performance." I took a step closer to him. "And thank you for accompanying me. It is always wonderful to be out with you."

I could feel my cheeks warming up. While our relationship had not become sexual or exclusive, it was not entirely platonic either. There was an air of romance to our dates, and we even shared the occasion kiss, but it never went beyond that, and we did not really see each other as marefriend and coltfriend.

Although, admittedly, ever since Vinyl brought it up, I had found myself wondering if his nickname was as appropriate in a carnal sense as it was to the rest of his large, thick, powerful form. My blush grew hotter as I shifted, looking at the large green apple on his flank. If only there were a way for me to discretely look just a little lower.

"Octavia?" his deep, slow voice of his.

I bet he never did anything fast. Just slow, powerful, and able to go for a long, long time.

A large, rough hoof -- his hoof -- touched my shoulder. But... it was on the wrong side.

I turned to face him. In faint light of the moon, it was hard to see the the beautiful, grassy green of his eyes, but I could tell he was concerned.

"Mac? I..."

Everything once more turned blurry and spun around. I think I felt something hard and heard somepony calling my name before everything went black.

*****

I awoke in a hospital bed, surprisingly not feeling anything. Thank Celestia for modern anesthesia. I shortly learned that I had been given a transfusion, had a shard of metal removed from my leg, and then had all the piercings stitched up. There was no permanent neuromuscular damage, and they were confident that the risk of scarring was minimal.

When I told the nurse what I suspected happened -- that I had been attacked by a doll that I had found in a toy chest and let loose -- I had been expecting shock, disbelief, and possibly being asked what chemical substances I might have been imbibing. What I was not expecting was a mild look of curiosity, followed by her returning to the paperwork with a simple statement of, "that's a new one."

Apparently, the fact that we live next to a forest where there existed wolves comprised of wood that tried to eat ponies made an animated murderous doll seem plausible, to say nothing of all that had happened in Equestria as a whole -- and Ponyville in particular -- since the one thousandth summer sun celebration.

"Do you want me to send for Twilight?" the nurse asked.

"Yes, please."

While I princess and national hero, Twilight Sparkle was also Ponyville resident expert on magic. On top of that, she was well known to enjoy mysteries, puzzles, and discovering new knowledge. Thus, she was the one most likely to know of such a thing and be able to stop it, as well as enjoy learning about it if she had not.

As for me, I would be in the hospital for two more days before they were willing to release me. By then, the issue should be taken care of, and Vinyl would be back. I don't think I will want to be alone for a few days, but I would be going back.

I was not going to let a doll make me move again.