Harriet Hollow

Chapters

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5

Part 1

Between the Crystal Mountains to the North and Neighagra Falls to the South, stands a monument of the most unusual home on the planet. Among the fields of January snow, there is a property with a stone and rusty iron fence that surrounds it. At present, the mountain of a structure stands alone in the falling snow, numb and frozen to the landscape. Yet, this mansion has been unusual, even to the locals of the nearest town that was miles away. It was tall, of seven stories of painted wood and intact, darkens windows. But the base of the residence was very wide as it hosted towers, balconies, and miles of roofing that seemed to stretch out like a castle than a home.

It was one of those places where the border was outlined with rusty signs, warning trespassers not to cross it. But up the old, snow-covered road, with their backs against the bitter winds, three ponies were approaching the front gate. They were by no means lost, nor unprepared. Three ponies approach the Gothic fence in thick winter coats, heavy saddlebags, and sleds that they pulled behind them.

The one leading the group stopped at a stone pillar next to the twisted front gate. Reaching up a hoof, he brushed away the frost for them to see the bronze plaque.

Harriet Hollow.

“This is it guys, we’re here,” the one to brush the plaque spoke, taking off his goggles and turning to the two behind him. “This is the place.”

The other two removed their goggles as well as their hoods. To the left was a soft red unicorn mare; on the right was a blue earth pony, both of whom looked up at the structure before them.

“Whoa,” said the unicorn. “This place is huge.”

“I know,” the other spoke, “just looking at it, I can tell it’s gonna be a nightmare to film.”

“How about once we get in, we can rest in there,” the leader of the group pointed towards the front door. “By then, we should be able to get out of this wind.”

The earth pony walked over to the gate that had a thick chain and an ancient padlock on it. “So director, do you still have the key with you?”

“Give me a sec,” he reached into the thick padding of his coat to pull out a skeleton key. It took a while to get it to turn as the lock was aged with rust. But once the mechanism gave in, popping the iron loop to release the chain, all fell away for them to open the gate.

They walked through the remains of the garden, the marble statues and around an arctic fountain until they’ve reached the porch. Up to the double front doors where the lower half was made out of redwood while the upper had stained glass that had a white and yellow diamond shape pattern. The leader of the group used the key again to find that it unlocked it with a “click.”

The director paused, “You all do realize that we’re gonna be the first ponies to step in here for the first time in eighty years, right?”

“Yeah, we’re aware,” the earth pony replied. “Now come on, it’s freezing as it is out here.”

After pushing on the door, the three of them entered into the foyer of the mansion. After pulling their sleds to the porch and unhooking themselves from it, they closed the doors behind them. The first room they’ve found themselves in, while although was layered in a coating of dust and neglected spider webs overhead, was magnificent. A wooden floor with different hues lay as a kind of mosaic in the circular room. Before them, a staircase that split itself in two that was lined in a red carpet where to the left and right side were entrances to corridors that lead off to different sections of the mansion. The walls showed cream-colored, textured wallpaper, with brass lamps sticking out. Overhead, a chandler in webbing loomed over on the ceiling.

At this point, the leader of the group finally took off his hood. The stallion that had a white coat and a very dark purple mane, unfolded his wings. “Oh wow…” he said to himself. “Now this is incredible.” He turned to the other two ponies, “So Lost Scroll, do you have the script with you?”

The earth pony nodded as he pulled out from his saddlebag a bundle of papers. “Ready to go,” he looked around. “So where do you think we should film Iris, Mr. Oatberg?”

Thinking for a moment, he looked around at the room, taking notice of the light from the windows and thought about angles, position until he said, “Let her come down from the staircase. In the meantime, while we catch our breath, let her look through her lines and then we’ll get started.”

About twenty minutes later, after they pulled their supplies inside. They set up the camera, a tiny microphone and have the unicorn mare time to memorize her lines; the three of them were ready to shoot. Iris took off her heavy winter coat to put on a smartly dressed suit to which she placed the tiny microphone on the flap of her breast coat pocket.

“Are we ready?” Mr. Oatberg inquired. When told that they were, the Pegasus positions that camera that was aimed towards the staircase. “Okay Mr. Scroll, let’s have the board.”

The earth pony walked in front with a black and white board in his mouth. Scrolled on it, was the name of their documentary: “Exploring Harriet Hollow: Scene 1, Take 1.” After which he positioned it to be held in his hooves, raise and slammed the clapper, he moved out of the way.

“Action,” called out the director.

The mare slowly walked down the staircase and recited, “The story of Harriet Hollow is have been said by modern horror writers to be the inspiration of the haunted house. Any stories from ‘The House of Usher,’ to ‘House on Haunted Hill’ are indebted to this real location. The seven-floor mansion has a history in which became the muse of so many ghost stories – and for good reason. Harriet is the strangest house in Equestrian history. Shrouded in mystery and speculation, this very house has been closed off to the public for eighty years since Mrs. Harriet died in 922. It has been left abandoned, sealing itself from the world, leaving everything exactly the way it was all those years ago.

“This film is going to take you on a journey. Not only to its history but into the mansion itself, for we have gained special access to this mysterious place to explore for the first time in eighty years. With director, Oatberg, historian, and writer Lost Scroll, and I, your narrator, Iris Lens, we will take you into the home that was said was designed from the beyond.”

“And cut,” the director said as he stopped filming. “Let’s do that a couple more times before we start our exploration.”

“Sir,” the writer spoke up as he glanced down a hallway. “Where exactly are we going to go after we film this scene? And more importantly, how are we going to be able to find our way back here?”

“You have the map with you, right?”

“Yes, but that’s still a problem.”

“How so?”

The blue earth pony reached out into his papers until he pulled out what he was looking for. “These copies, I’m rather concerned about how reliable they are. Because this was drawn up about five years before Mrs. Harriet died. And she was known to the workers of changing her mind on a whim when this thing was in construction. On a daily occurrence, she would order a new room, hallway or whatever one day and have some of them being torn down the next. It makes me wonder what if we get to a point we’re so deep in the house that we can’t find our way out.”

“That’s why I’ve brought these,” Oatberg went over to where his supplies were and pulled out a fishing reel. “Each of these as enough wire to stretch ten miles, and they have the strength of holding up a wagon. So once we get started with this exhibition, I’ll hook one end of the line to the front door, and we’ll start walking. That way, if we need to turn around, we just follow the line back.”

“This place just gives me the creeps,” Iris shuttered. “I swear that its cold inside as it is outside.”

“Do you need to warm up a bit?” Mr. Scroll inquired.

“I’m fine for now, but let’s hurry up with the takes so I can put my coat on again.”

“Sure thing,” the director nodded. “Back on the platform of the staircase and let’s start again.”

Only when the tiny crew had finished filming the first scene did they began to set out exploring the mansion. It was agreed upon that they should search the first floor to see where else to shoot. They went down through hallways and rooms while sticking to the sides where they could see the falling blizzard outside. Despite the numbing cold where they could see every breath they take, and the dust that chokes the air, the three of them admitted to themselves that they’re amazed of how well preserved it all was. There was an icy elegance through the carved, wooden arches to the elaborate stained-glass windows. Every so often, they would pass by an oil painting or two that showed still lifes and landscapes.

“Am I the only one that's starting to notice that there are no photographs so far?” Iris asked. The two stallions inquire what she meant by that. “I mean, even when we’ve filmed at those other haunted houses that were built at the same time as this place, there were photos from the period. Heck, you did say that the lady of this place was super rich, right?”

“She was,” Lost nodded. “Mrs. Harriet was the heir to the Harriet Repeating Crossbow Company. The same weapon that made it quicker to reload arrows was the one that won the North Luna Seas War. At the time that she married her husband, they were incredibly rich.”

“Okay, but for the sake of the next scene, what was the reason she builds this place and where did she get the money from to do so?”

“Well,” the historian began as they turned a corner into another long hallway. “The story goes that at one point, the two of them had a daughter that quickly died when she was an infant. Years later, her husband basically drowned in his own blood and dies. Leaving her alone, grief-stricken as you can imagine. Well, legend has it that at her own home in Fillydelphia, she had the continuous feeling of being watched at every waking moment, as if something was following her. Her friends got her in contact of a medium in Manehattan to have him come down to explain what was going on. In a séance, the medium was able to contact her husband that was warning her that their company was cursed by everypony that was killed by the weapon they’ve manufactured. That the spirits were out for blood and they were targeting the family that created the crossbow that killed them.

“However, the spirit of her husband told her that there was a way to escape this same fate. In it that she must move, and build a home for the innocent spirits that once construction has begun, it would never, ever be finished. And to make it big and confusing enough to bewilder the evil ones so that she may remain not only safe but could live forever. But if work did stop, she would die. So that’s exactly what she did. Mrs. Harriet bought an unfinished eight room farmhouse, and from there she hired carpenters, glass-makers, masons, bricklayers, painters, servants, you name it to build this house. And construction went around the clock for twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, for the next thirty-eight years – up to the day she died.”

“So how was she able to afford to do that?” Iris asked.

“Records said that she basically had an income of a thousand bits per day at the time, thanks to the inherited company. So money was no object.”

“I’ll say,” Oatberg said, taking note of another staircase. “It’s like walking around a museum. So Scroll, how did you find out about this place’s history?”

“Admittedly, there’s actually very little of it to go around. Everything I could find about this place was from old newspaper clippings, a couple of journal entries that talked about what they’ve heard from the workers here. And a very important memoir that was written by the butler of Mrs. Harriet herself, however, everything else is left up to obscurity. I have tried hard to separate what is indeed fact from rumor.”

It was then that Iris paused, through an open doorway, from the corner of her eye; she could have sworn that something moved. Lighting up her horn, she pulled open the door. “Hey guys, take a look at this.” Behind it, the three of them entered a rather large room that had a wide space of marble flooring, thirteen chandlers that hung overhead, an organ with black pipes trimmed with gold at the ends, and two large stain-glass windows that looked out into a courtyard. They were the only things that illuminated the space in a gloomy light.

The director went up to the windows as that it had written on them: “These same thoughts ponies this little world,” read one. “Wide unclasp the tables of their thoughts,” read the other.

“They’re from Shakespeare,” Iris pointed out. “Only, they’re from different plays, and neither of them is using the full quote.”

Scroll raised an eyebrow, “And how do you know that?”

She snorted, “I was in the theater for a while, and I have my share of Shakespeare too. Still, I find it odd that she would use these in windows. Especially in, what I think is the ballroom.”

“Makes me wonder about the context of ‘thoughts’ in both,” The director thought aloud as he prepared the camera. “Do you think that it might be referring to ponies from the outside wondering what she’s doing in here?”

“Possible,” Scroll shrugged, “the locals from the nearby towns did become curious at the sheer size of this place when it was being built.”

“I think we’ll shoot our next scene in here,” Oatberg told them. “So let’s do this, I’ll film you between those windows where you walk forward and I’ll pan out to reveal both of these things. Then you head over that way towards the organ, finish your lines there and we’ll call it quits.”

Iris took a moment to look through to memorize her lines before taking off her coat and putting the tiny microphone on her. She took her place by the windows, but before Scroll, with the clapboard, could call out to start the scene, the three of them heard something coming from above. From the ceiling, they heard hoofsteps walking across to the other side. All three of them looked at one another.

“I thought you said that we’re the only ones allowed in here?” Iris inquired.

“We are,” the Pegasus put down the camera and flew up to the dusty ceiling to put his ear to it. Listening carefully at the direction of the steps, and he could swear that there was a faint whistle. “Hello? Somepony here?” he called out, banging against the ceiling. After that, there was nothing. No other sound other than the wind outside. Looking down, he saw Scroll picking up the camera, aiming at him. “Did somepony else get here before us?”

“How could they?” Iris pointed out, “You were the only one to have the key to this place.”

“And we didn’t see any tracks in the snow on our way here.” Scroll added, “And we’ve just come from the nearest town.”

The ballroom was still, as the ponies waited to witness something else. But after a few minutes of nothing happening, the film crew proceeded to film their next scene.

Part 2

“Do you guys think this place is really haunted?”

Lost Scroll and Iris Lens looked up at their director. By now, they had returned to the foyer to camp there for the night. In the very center of the room, the three ponies were gathered around a tiny stove that provided both the means to cook a late dinner and to warm up. Nearby in the icy room where their sleeping supplies and their equipment they’ve brought with them.

“What,” began the writer, “You mean those noises we’ve heard in that ballroom?” His boss nodded, “I’m sure it’s probably nothing,” Scroll shrugged while rubbing his hooves over the only source of heat. “I mean this place has been neglected for roughly eighty years. Who’s to say that something had fallen off, or it was the pipes or something?”

Oatberg looked around, “I don’t know… Does it strike any of you as odd of that very fact that it has been neglected for that long that it’s still in one piece?”

“But we’ve only explored a small part of the mansion,” Iris pointed out. “Sure, what we saw was well preserved, but who’s to say that the other floors are like that? It makes me kinda nervous, to be honest about going upstairs.”

“How come?” the earth pony asked.

“If this whole place is made out of wood, how do we know that termites haven’t eaten a good chunk of the house? I’m kinda scared of stepping on the wrong floorboard and falling through several stories crashing through. Or trying to walk up a staircase that instantly turns to dust.”

“She’s right you know,” Scroll added. “Maybe that’s what we’ve heard earlier that it might be pieces of the ceiling falling onto some floorboards.”

The director shook his head, “But that doesn’t explain one thing though.”

“What’s that?”

“You all saw how I’ve put my ear to the ceiling?” they nodded, “When I did that, I swear that I’ve heard somepony whistling.”

The dusty foyer became quiet for a minute. “Are you sure?” Scroll inquired.

“Tune and all. Like the kind that somepony was going to work or something like that.” He looked up at the vaulted ceiling. “So… What if there’s somepony else in the house?”

“This again,” Iris groaned.

“Now wait, hear me out on this,” Oatberg said, adjusting the blanket around him. “I’ve been thinking this out for a while now. And I’m starting to wonder if somepony really had gotten in, like a Pegasus that found an open window-”

“In this weather?” Scroll raised an eyebrow in a deadpanned expression.

“What can I say? Pegasi have a somewhat higher tolerance for the cold when we’re flying up there.”

“Even so,” Iris said, “Even Pegasi have their own limits of how long they could stand in a freezing environment without shelter. Heck, you’re a Pegasi and here you are by a gas stove wrapped in a blanket.”

“Then again…” Scroll mused. “It might not be a far off explanation. After all, that town we’ve come from to get permission to come here is roughly five miles away. It could be someone going to or from there just got caught in the blizzard and found this place.”

“It would be nice to know if that were true,” Oatberg muttered. “I’m going to go to bed, so I suggest the rest of you do the same. I think we’ll start heading up to the second floor tomorrow.”

“Just a thought,” said the mare. “Do you think that we ought to pack this stuff and take it with us, just in case we don’t get back to the foyer tomorrow night?”

The director snorted, “Remember the wire I’ve brought? It’s not like we’re gonna get lost in here.”

By morning, the three of them packed up their filming equipment, food, and water to venture on the second floor. Oatberg made sure to tie one end of the wire reel to the railing posts of the staircase before they began to venture off. As they went deeper, they’ve noticed that unlike the ground floor, the second was indeed more maze-like. All the while, they walked carefully as every board creaked and groaned underneath them. Hallways that bend and turned at sharp corners, rooms big and small lead off to other places of the house, and even for the most part, lead them to dead ends.

Lost Scroll at one point opened a door, only to find that it was walled up and covered in wallpaper. Iris Lens was about to descend a staircase, only to find that it leads to nowhere. And Oatberg was perplexed of finding a skylight build into the floor.

“It’s starting to be like walking through a fun-house,” the director said as he went up to a door. He opened it to find a bedroom with half a ceiling missing. “Hey, Scroll, was Mrs. Harriet her own architect?”

“As far as I know,” Scroll told him as they continued down a hallway. “I think that she was. There was a story that as soon as she bought the property, she would hold séances every night so that she would allow the spirits to sketch up blueprints to give to her workers the following morning. I had dismissed it was just rumor, but how this is turning out…” he looked down into a hallway that turned into a walk-in closet. “I’m beginning to think that she was losing her mind when she built this place.”

“That’s easy to believe,” Iris muttered as she peeked her head through an archway that leads to a tower of a spiraled staircase.

“Let’s try to keep together,” the director called out. “I can’t afford to lose anyone in this place.”

The three of them followed the pegasus, weaving through crooked hallways and across rooms that baffled rational thought. From a library that has its floor and ceiling is made entirely out of mirrors to stain-glass windows that have no light whatsoever being shined in. They’ve also found many bedrooms in which no two designs were alike. In one, the bed was well sunken through the floor while in another all the furniture was screwed sideways on a wall.

“Hey, look at this,” Oatberg pointed towards a hallway that, unlike most of what they’ve seen, this hallway was unfinished. The entrance to it looked like it was once a wall that was knocked down, still leaving the small wooden planks for plaster sticking out of it. It was also very dark, as it had no windows or doors for the gray light to come in. Turning on their flashlights, the three of them entered the space of unfinished walls, visible beams overhead, and as they went in deeper, they found to their surprise, tools lay scattered about.

Lost Scroll picked up a dusty hammer from a wooden toolbox that had a mark burned on the handle of it. “‘Iron Brothers, 912…’ Wasn’t it that a company that went bankrupt in the fifties?”

Iris, meanwhile, was looking around with her horn glowed brightly. Looking up at the beams and noticing the nails that were still sticking out of the wood. “It’s all unfinished, isn’t it?”

“Huh?”

“Look around you. There are tools everywhere, this hallway looks far from finished, and just up here, the nails still haven’t been hammered in.”

“I see what you mean,” Oatberg nodded. “It was like the workers suddenly dropped whatever they had and never came back.”

“You sure about that?” Scroll asked, and the other two ponies inquired what he meant. “I mean, look at this hammer. Sure, it’s defiantly old, but there’s no rust on this thing,” he looked into the toolbox. “Or any of these tools either. Even in a place like this, you would think that anything made out of iron would have some rust on it. But this stuff, while clearly used by the scrapes here and there, only it doesn’t show any signs of rust.”

Oatberg went over to another toolbox and picked up a saw with his wing. “This has no rust on it either…”

“Something fishy is going on around here,” Iris muttered. “Question here is what?”

The director hummed, “I would like to film our next scene, but let’s get out of this hallway for light.”

“Are you sure this is the way we came?” the unicorn mare asked with growing concern. “This doesn’t look familiar to me.”

“Of course it is,” Oatberg said was he wound up the reel of wire.

“But wasn’t there a hallway back there?” She looked up to a dusty, simple chandler overhead. “And I’m sure that Chandler wasn’t there before.”

“It might be your mind playing a trick on you,” Scroll suggested.

This he received a stern look from the actress. “Not funny Lost.”

“I’m being serious. In a place this huge and confusingly designed, it must be easy to get disoriented. Like for example, picking up things that you haven’t noticed before and such, I’m sure that we haven’t noticed some of this when we first walked down here.”

Iris raised an eyebrow, pointing her hoof to a stain-glass window that was designed like a spider’s web. “How does anypony miss something like that?”

“Hey, cool it you two,” their boss called out, “Let’s just focused on getting back to base and a cup of hot chocolate. I know it has been a long and weird day, but we can relax once we…” he trailed off as he pulled on the reel, only to find it suddenly ends. “Wha… What the?” He looked at the severed line, with thin metal wires curl and unwinds from the place it snapped from. “Oh no…” he went around a corner. Only to find it walled up. He rushed up to feel that it was indeed solid. “What…? What’s going on!” He looked frantically around, “I know that the staircase was right there but… who put up a wall?!”

Lost Scroll picked up the broken end of the wire, “Looked like it snapped.”

“Except that it can’t!” Oatberg said frantically. “That thing is strong enough to lift fifteen full grown ponies! It can’t just snap!” He returned his attention to the wall. “No no no no no no no! This is really bad you guys.”

“Boss!” Iris spoke out as she went over to put both hooves on him. “First of all, calm down. And second, don’t you think that it might be possible that you’re mistaken too?”

“What?”

“To be fair, some of the hallways do look alike, so who’s to say that we came out from there,” she pointed towards the wall. “Maybe the stairs is nearby. And if worst comes to worst, we could always find another staircase to go down. We may be a little lost at the moment, but I’m sure we can find a way back to the foyer.”

“Uh… hey guys,” the two of them turned to the blue earth pony that was holding up a white feather in his hoof. “I think there might be somepony else in the house after all.”

Iris lit up her horn to pluck the feather from his hoof. “Huh… It makes me wonder who this belongs to… Still, it’s evident enough that there aren’t any ghosts in this place.” She turned to her boss, “So, do you want to go look for the foyer, or whoever’s feather this belongs to?” After taking some calming breaths, he responded that they should try to figure out where the foyer was. “Fine by me, I’ve seen a staircase nearby, so let’s see where that leads to.”

They followed the mare back through the halls to the tower of stairs when she looked around confused.

“What’s wrong?” Scroll asked.

“Funny, I could have sworn that I saw steps leading downward. But there’s nothing but a solid floor here. And the only direction this goes is up.”

Oatberg walked into the center of the tower, looking straight up. “Doesn’t it feel like that the house is purposely directing us somewhere?” He asked as he filmed a few seconds of what he was looking at.

Scroll snorted, “C’mon Boss, listen to yourself. You’re making it sound as if this mansion is alive or something.” He started to ascend the steps. “Maybe if we go to the next floor, we might be able to find some stairs leading downwards. It shouldn’t be too hard, right?”

The three of them climbed up to the third floor in which a platform that only led to a wall with hooks on them. The kind where one would hand their clothing onto, and as they counted, they were thirteen in all.

“Don’t tell me that it’s going to be like this all the way up,” Iris groaned.

“Hold on a sec, something seems off here,” Lost Scroll went up to the hooks for a closer look. At one of the hooks, he noticed that some of the paint has been scrapped. Upon further inspection, he looked closely at the paneling of this hooked wall, particularly towards the edges. “I think this is a door.” He took hold of the hook, and after pulling it towards the direction of the scrape, did he find that he was able to push the wall open.

Curious, the three of them entered a small, blue room with white paneling. In the very center was a small, round table with a simple dark blue cloth on it. What gave all of them a pause, was on this table was a planchette that had a pencil in it, which was over a large piece of paper.

“I think that it’s safe to say,” The director began, “that we just found Mrs. Harriet’s séance room.”

Part 3

“Boss,” Iris said as she leaned up against the walls. “Can we stop for a while? My hooves are killing me.”

Oatberg looked at his watch. “I’m afraid that we have to. It’s already past ten.”

“H-Hold on,” Lost Scroll objected. “Are you saying that we have to sleep here?”

“I’m afraid so,” the director sighed as he slumped to the floor. “We have no idea where in the house we are Mr. Scroll. If we try to go around, we might end up losing the much-needed energy to find the foyer.”

“But we’ve left our sleeping bags and the gas stove in there.”

“But we’ve brought our blankets at least,” the unicorn mare pointed out. As she said this, she went over to the table in the center of the room. Raising a hoof, she drew a line across the paper, taking notice of the clean line on the layer of dust. She eyed the planchette, waiting there. “I can safely say that we shouldn’t touch this thing.”

“Why’s that?” Scroll raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t you know? In every horror story, movie and urban legend ever made, every time somepony uses anything resembling an Ouija board, something bad happens. Every, single, time.”

The historian looked at the table. “Except, if you noticed, there’s nothing on here expect a blank piece of paper… Wait a sec…” Scroll put a hoof to his chin, “I just remembered something I said earlier, about how Harriet would hold séances to draw up plans for this house. I think this is exactly how it was done every night. And considering that all the blueprints have come from this thing, it explains a lot.”

“I think that Ms. Iris is right in one aspect,” the director said as he unloaded his saddle bag. “This place is technically a historical site, and I don’t want to touch anything that is personal belongings that we happen to find. This thing,” he pointed to the table, “is most likely one of them. If what you say Scroll is true, then I think that might be Mrs. Harriet’s. So all of you, don’t touch that table. Let’s try to get some sleep while we still can.”

The three of them set out to do just that. They unloaded their saddlebags, pulled out their blankets and huddled together in a corner of the room so that they could keep warm. After putting out the last of their lights, while the wintery cold leaked into the room, all three of them tried to sleep. The room became pitch black dark, so much so, that Scroll couldn’t see his own hoof in front of his face – even with his glasses were still on him.

In the bitter still cold, the three of them waited for sleep while the wind still howled outside from the windows. Here and there, creaks and groans could be heard from the ancient wood. Iris lay her head down on the floor, trying to fall asleep among the noise that came now and again. But her ear, still pressed against the floor she thought she picked up on something. It was muffled and distant, but she could have sworn that she heard a little foal crying.

“Guys! Wake up!”

This was the call from Lost Scroll that jolted the two other ponies awake. Iris and Oatberg blinked and rubbed their eyes from the bright light from the windows. “Ugh, what is it?” the director grumbled. After his eyes adjusted, he found the historian over by the table.

“Did any of you go near the table last night?” he questioned.

“What are you talking about?” the unicorn mare asked getting up. “We just woke up.”

Scroll’s eyes narrowed, “No seriously, who was it to draw this on the table?”

That compelled the two ponies to look at the sketch. While the planchette remained in the same position as it was when they went to sleep, the paper underneath was no longer blank. The drawing showed blueprints of a single floor. It was detailed in its labyrinthine design from the twin kitchens to intertwining hallways that coil like a snake. It told us about where windows should go to installing a door right into the floor.

Oatberg looked at it in disbelief. “Did either of you make this?”

“How could we?” the unicorn question. “The place was pitch black, and by the looks of this thing, it might have taken somepony hours to draw.”

Lost Scroll looked at her with a raised eyebrow, “So both of you are saying that you didn’t do this?”

“I can’t draw to save my life,” the mare said.

“And I only draw stick ponies,” Oatberg admitted. “So I’m guessing you didn’t draw this either?”

He shook his head, “I just woke up myself,” the historian looked at the plans again. Taking out the copies of the map he had, he examined both of them for a moment. “This looks like an expansion of the fifth floor – as if it has been enlarged three times over. But who could have drawn all of this without waking us up?”

“More importantly,” Iris asked, craning her neck, “Why draw it up at all?”

The Pegasus director, meanwhile, was reaching out for the camera, turning it on. “Whatever the reason,” he said, “We still have a documentary to make and to find our way back downstairs. For now, let’s film the next scene in here before we move on. Scroll, do you have the script for the next scene?”

“Yeah,” the earth pony reached into his saddlebag for the scraps of paper. “It’s here.” He gave it over to the mare to look through them while staring at the blueprints lying before them. Scroll shook his head. “What is going on around here?”

Hours later, the three of them did everything they could to ignore the hunger in their stomachs. What food they had was decided to be eaten only sparingly, to ration it out until they were able to find a way back down. But so far, it was as if the icy house would not let them. They went down shadowy hallways and confusing rooms without finding a single staircase to take them to the second floor (much less the first). The layout was confusion to the group for just as they thought they had it, suddenly, it would seem as if the architecture does a somersault and hits them in the face of their sense of direction. Somehow, the third floor was worst the second for it had no sense of symmetry, geometry, or even proportion because the three of them had to squeeze through doors that were almost too small to go through.

It was almost as if the house itself were mocking them for the very act of navigating their way out. Even when they tried to go down through any of the windows, they found that they were sealed shut from the ice outside, making it impossible for any of them to budge open. And the chimneys were too small to crawl up through the ashy pipes. Even more frustrating still, even when Oatberg had used one of the reels of wires to tie a line from where they were to the séance room, they again found that connection snapped.

Eventually, the director called for a rest by having the three of them sit on a couch that was nailed to the wall, suspended several inches above the floor. Oatberg was hunched over, burying his face in his hooves. “Ugh! What is up with this place?”

“I know,” Scroll moaned, “I swear we’ve gone down this hallway three times now.”

“Something is definitely wrong here,” the director said as he looked up. “But I just don’t understand what is going on. We went that way to the left but ended up here, then we went right and came back, and even when we went backward we run into this same spot! It’s like… Like the rooms keep shifting every couple of minutes or so.”

“How?” the historian questioned. “Did Mrs. Harriet install some giant machine to switch rooms at a whim and somepony forgotten to turn it off? Even if that were the case, we would have heard some… I don’t know… gears grinding or rumbling or… something.”

“Said the stallion that doesn’t believe that the house is moving,” Iris pointed it out, she rested her chin on her hoof, looking down the hallway they just came from when she noticed something on the floor. “What’s this?” she got up and off from the couch and walked over, picking up a white envelope with her magic. “Hey, guys? Was this here before?”

The two other stallions went over to her to examine the envelope. “That’s weird,” Scroll pointed out, “this thing looks new compared to the rest of the house. Even down to the stamp in the corner.”

Oatberg looked up and down the hallway and spotted two of them from opposite ends of the hallway. He flew to both ends to see even more letters that go into other rooms. “Guys, this is a breadcrumb trail. Somepony else really is in here!”

“Great!” Iris said, “Let’s follow it to where it leads.”

“Yeah,” Lost Scroll agreed. “We may either find whoever else is in here or a way out.”

“Let’s follow the trail then,” the director said with gaining confidence. And so, the three of them went from one letter to the next, leading them from room to room, hallway to hallway, passageway to passageway, and stairs to stairs. Like bloodhounds catching promising sent, the navigated through the freezing house, determined to find the end or beginning of the trail. Envelope by envelope they followed until they came into a hall that had nothing in it except for thirteen fireplaces and a low iron basket of old firewood. And there is a corner of the room was a shivering pegasus in a blue uniform, curled up into a ball with a disregarded, empty mailbag by his side.

“Oh Goddesses,” while Iris and Scroll went up to the cold stallion, Oatberg started filming. The mare touched the stallion’s coat, “This guy is freezing. We’ve gotta get him warmed up.” She pointed to the iron basket. “Scroll, Oatberg, use that to start a fire and give me your guy’s blankets.”

And so, the three of them spent nearly an hour to not only light a fire from one of the many hearths but trying to get their stranger to warm up – all the while, they took notice of who this stallion was. By his uniform and obvious trail of letters, it was clear that he was a mail carrier. His coat was as white as ice and his wings were shaking uncontrollably. The stallion’s cutie mark was a compass.

By the time the stranger was able to open his eyes, the first thing he asked was shivering, “A-Am I d-dead?”

“No,” Oatberg replied. “We just found ya not too long ago and we’re trying to get ya warmed up.”

“What’s your name?” Scroll asked.

The white pegasus looked around in the hall before replying. “W-Way F-F-Find-der.”

Iris dug through her bag and pulled out a still wrapped granola bar. “You hungry?”

Nodding, the postal pegasus was given the spared ration and immediately devoured it. “Th-Thanks,” he said. “I h-haven’t e-e-eaten in d-days.”

“Days?” the director’s eyes widen in surprise. At the same time, he glanced at his writer with a ‘Told you so,’ look. “I guess that might explain what we’ve been hearing in the past few days.” Unexpectedly, the three of them heard a sob coming from the mail pony, finding that tears were running down his face. “Hey, hey there,” Oatberg patted the crying stallion on his back. “It’s fine now, why are you getting upset about?”

“I-I’m n-never g-g-gonna go h-h-home,” he wailed. “W-We’re n-never are g-g-etting o-out of h-h-here!” But before any of the group could say their words of comfort, Way Finder let out something that startled all of them when he said with his quiet voice. “T-They d-don’t w-w-want us t-to go.”

Part 4

It took nearly all afternoon for the three of them to calm down the mail pony, as well to get him warmed up again. For a while, the white pegasus was near hysterical. Crying off and on, glancing at both ends of the fireplace hallway, as if dreading to see someone appear. The director, meanwhile, had already made up his mind to film an interview with Way Finder once he was stable enough to carry a full conversation without bursting into tears. Iris and scroll were able to drag in a now table from another room in order to have the camera be stable enough to point at the mail carrier.

“Mr. Finder?” Oatberg asked, “Are you ready to talk about what happened to you in here?”

The white stallion adjusted the blanket that was wrapped around him. He looked at the tiny microphone that was clasped to the fabric. “I… I think so. Yeah, I’m ready now.”

Oatberg pressed a button from the camera; a red recording light glowed as the director leaned forward. With one last glance at his microphone, he said, “Mr. Way Finder, let’s start this off by asking, how is a mail pony like yourself been able to get inside of Harriet Hollow?”

He gulped, “I was out making a delivery towards Neighagra Falls when I got lost in the blizzard. That was odd because my special talent is to be able to know exactly where I was going, I mean, you could have put a blindfold on me and I’ll still be able to figure out. However, with the combination of the winds getting me off course and the snow that was hitting me in the face; I couldn’t see where I was going. And it was so cold too. I have never seen a blizzard like this before where the winds were so bitter and the snow so confusing that, in short, I lost my way.

“It had gotten so bad to the point where I needed shelter so I could wait for the storm out. For a while, I couldn’t see anything except for the outline of this place. I spotted the huge mansion that seemed promising for me to escape from the winds so I flew up to one of the balconies and banged on the windows to let me in. However, it was dark so I went to the next one, and the next in hopes of seeing if anypony was home. Only it didn’t seem that way. I was about to leave until I spotted that one of the doors of the balcony was wide open, swaying there in the wind. So I bolted right in, closing the doors behind me.”

“What floor were you on?”

The mail pegasus shrugged, “The fifth floor I guess? All I know is that I went inside a bedroom that was covered in a layer of dust. Like the place had been abandoned for years or something. Of course, I called out to see if anyone was home because, technically, I am trespassing for a good reason. Even when I got out of that room and called down a hallway, there was still no one around. And since this place looks abandoned and there was a blizzard outside, I thought that I might as well have a look around while I wait. And I can tell you that I got lost pretty fast.”

“How come you stayed in the house? Didn’t you try any of the balcony doors or the windows?”

He snorted, “Don’t you think that was the first thing I tried? I mean, I tried smashing several with a hammer I found lying around, but the thing is, these windows can’t break! No matter how hard I hit them, or what kind of windows they were, or even the ways I tried to get through, not one had so much as a crack on them. I couldn’t get any of them to shatter like they’re made out of see-through metal. Even prying them open didn’t do anything like all of them are sealed shut.”

“Funny,” Oatberg muttered. “We had the exact same problem.”

“Then I thought about trying to go downstairs to see if there’s a door to the outside,” Way Finder continued. “But this place… I don’t know how to describe it, because this is more than just a maze. Mazes for me are easy to navigate through. But here, it keeps on changing all the time with no rhyme or reason. Like stairs that are half finished that doesn’t lead to anywhere except a wall. I also saw an upside-down ballroom where the chairs and decorations are nailed to the ceiling. And even a hallway that has no corners that weave around like a snake. But that’s all worst at night.”

All three ponies looked at one another, “Why’s that?” the director inquired.

“That’s when they come out.” Way Finder replied as the blanket shifted again. “I keep hearing hoofsteps that were coming from the walls, a full-blown argument that when I went to find its source to find nopony there. And even whispers that sounded like they’re coming from everywhere and nowhere at the same time. That’s how it started at first…” A sniff was heard before he continued. “Then I keep seeing these… shadow ponies everywhere.”

Oatberg tilted his head, “Shadow ponies?”

The pegasus nodded, “In the day, I keep seeing silhouettes, some of them are stallions, others mares, and even foals too. They are everywhere. And they kept following me. Sometimes I see them at the end of the room, but most of the time they come right up to my face. It’s… It’s as if they knew I wasn’t welcomed here.”

“But I don’t understand why you’re afraid of shadows.”

“They touched me,” Finder replied. “I felt them touch me. Heck, I was shoved by a few and…” He looked over his shoulder. “And I saw some of them carrying crossbows. Chasing me from room to room, floor to floor as they fire bolts at me. Yesterday I had spent hours trying to hide and outrun them, I think I’m being hunted you see.

“But the worst is at night.”

“Why? What happens at night?”

The mail pony took in a few deep breaths. “I know, what I’m going to say sounds really, really crazy. But every word I’m about to say is the truth… this house, this place, is alive. Don’t give me that look! I’ll swear to Celestia’s mother or whatever divine entity there is that I’m telling the truth!”

No pony spoke a word in that pause until Lost Scroll leaned over the director’s ear, “Sir, a word?”

“Not yet,” Oatberg told him before turning back to the mail pony. “Could you clarify what you mean by the house being alive?”

“How long have both of you been in here?” Way Finder inquired.

Iris tapped her hoof to her chin in thought. “Three days, I think.”

“Tell me I’m not the only one that’s noticed this. Have any of you ever wondered how come this room appeared or that hallway disappeared, finding nothing but a wall in place when there wasn’t one? Or how stairs you just came down don’t exist by the time you come back to it? Or how you’ve noticed that certain windows were put in place that you haven’t seen before? I could go on, walking in circles, finding entire floors missing, coming back to an unfinished room only to find it completed. Hallways that take five minutes walking down towards the other side, or seeing the same thirteen doors again and again – don’ t any of you get it by now? This place is alive.”

“Sir, a word,” Scroll asked sternly.

With a sigh, Oatberg called “Cut” for them to take a rest from the interview while the film crew goes out of earshot of Way Finder. However, the mail pony begged them not to leave him, so as a compromise, the promised that they would only go to the far end of the hallway of fire while they whispered to one another.

“Sir,” Lost Scroll began. “I can’t in good consciousness consider this guy as credible.”

“Why not?” The director asked.

“First of all, this guy’s story is full of holes. I mean, indestructible windows? Ghosts? And a house that practically builds itself? If that latter claim were remotely true, then this house should be a whole lot bigger than it was in 922. Plus, all that crap about ghosts?”

“Wait a sec,” Iris raised a hoof. “If you don’t believe in ghosts, then what are you doing here anyway?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Scroll deadpanned. “I’m here for research purposes, writing, and a needed outside perspective with a critical eye.”

“He’s right,” Oatberg whispered. “It’s why I hired him to begin with. For in a way, he’s like a detective when it comes to history. He tries to find stuff that doesn’t make sense from written records, and come here to find any answers that the physical location provides.”

“Okay, but let’s get back on topic,” Iris looked over to see the mail pony was still where they left him. Staring at them, “So what are we gonna do with him now?”

“I think the stallion has either suffered a mental breakdown or has cracked from getting lost in this place. Leaving him here is out of the question, but at the time, I don’t know if he won’t be stable enough to not attack us. Still, I do feel bad about letting him fend for himself.”

“How about this?” Oatberg suggested. “Once we find our way back to the foyer, we’ll go back into town to have him taken care of. Then we return to the house for our exploration. Besides, if we do so, then we’ll get more supplies since we’re really underestimated the mansion.”

Iris folded her forelegs, “Alright fine. But I think it would be a good idea to keep him around. Chances are, he might recognize something that we don’t. It could give us a clue where to go from here.”

The three of them agreed. They returned to the frightened pegasus and told him that they decided to take him downstairs so they could take him to a nearby town. Way Finder was more than willing to offer his help.

Hours later, thanks to finding a skylight in the floor, the camera crew plus the mail pony managed to find their way down to the second floor. But after leaving the warmth of the hallway of fire, they returned to the numbingly cold of the house with stomachs demanding food. All the while, Way Finder was constantly looking over his shoulder, expecting to see something emerge from the shadowy rooms.

“Is it getting dark already?” Way Finder asks. “What time is it anyway?”

The director looked at his watch, “It’s almost six. Hopefully, we might find some stairs around here.”

“I do really hope to find that we can get to the foyer,” Iris grumbled. “A can of tomato soup sounds amazing right now.”

“I wouldn’t care if I was served up a bowl of soggy toilet paper,” Lost Scroll added, looking at the copy of the map. “I think there might be a flight of stairs nearby.”

A few minutes of walking through the maze later, Oatberg’s ears picked up on something, “Hey, everypony stop for a second.” The crew asked what for, “Do any of you hear that?”

All four ponies listened in for a second, their ears scanning back and forth. “Hear what?” Iris inquired.

Way Finder leaned his head against one of the wooden posts and froze. “Oh Goddesses… it’s them.” Before anyone could ask what, the answer became manifested as they hear the sound of voices coming from the other end of the hall. None of them could make out what they were saying as it was muffled, but the angry cadences and multiple shouting sounded like a full blown argument going on. As the four of them slowly drew closer to the source, violent curses and threats were becoming clearer. They only stopped when they heard somepony begging.

“Guys! Put those down! W-We can still talk about this! Just give me some more ti-”

“We’ve waited long enough,” another, colder voice replied before the film crew plus the mail pony heard several clicking sounds.

“No! Wait! Don-” Then that voice was cut short as suddenly the door and wall had arrows penetrates through. The film crew screamed as black arrows came out, making the four of them flee for cover. Galloping down the hallway as some of the arrows seemed to chase after them, and a few had even hit their saddle bags. Once they were out of the barrage firing range, the arrows soon stopped. But not one of them dared to so much as poking their heads out to see if the coast was clear. They listened for any change, but it was all silent except for the wind outside. Finally, Scroll took out a sheet of paper and held it out, waving about to see if anything would happen. But nothing did.

The four of them cautiously looked out into the hallway where some of the arrows have landed. They reentered it towards the end of it where the door still had many arrows that hadn’t gone through, stuck in the wood. Oatberg reached out a hoof to turn the doorknob to reveal a destroyed kitchen where the glass had been shattered from its cabinets and arrows impaled the door, walls and even the floor. Yet, what was odd about it was there was a large spot near the door that was about the size of a body.

But that wasn’t even the strangest part. As Scroll pointed out, “You guys, there’s only one door in here… So how did they get out?” It was true. This kitchen had only one door for anypony to go in or out.

Iris picked up one of the arrows in her aura, taking a closer look to see that these were not only real, but each one had the same patented cast iron arrowhead with the initials of “H. R. C. C.”

“Harriet Repeating Crossbow Company,” she muttered. “Where did these arrows come from?”

“More importantly,” the director asked, “Who was shooting at who?”

“Don’t any of you see,” Way Finder picked up one of the arrows. “This, right here, is absolute proof of what I have been talking about! There are ghosts here that are armed! We just nearly got killed back there because something was shooting at something else.”

“There has to be some… reasonable explanation,” Scroll began but was cut off by the mail pegasus.

“Like what!? The oven has crossbows? The pantry has arrows? There aren’t any windows for Celestia’s sake! Don’t you see?” He waved his hoof around the room that has been shot at. “Regardless of what you think, we are in danger. The longer any of us stay here, the likelier we’ll get hurt. And after what we saw, I suggest you start believing in ghost stories now. Because we’re in one.”

Part 5

The emptiness in their stomachs was painful enough to move around. Every couple of minutes, that particular organ roared for something to fill it, after all the rations were eaten. Judging off the fading light of the windows, it was getting close to sunset as the illuminance gray from distant clouds crept away. Yet, despite their hours of exploration, the four of them were still unable to find a direct way to the first floor.

“This is getting us nowhere!” Scroll complained as he eyed the spider webbed stain-glass window. “We’ve been walking around for days, and this map is useless!” he tossed the copy of the map aside. This getting the attention of the other ponies as he marched over to a wooden chair that was next to a table – and before they could react, Lost Scroll took the chair in his hooves and threw it at the window as hard as he could. A shocked gasp was heard before the chair shattered upon impact, leaving the window unscratched.

“I tried to tell you,” Way Finder said, “the windows are unbreakable, as well as sealed shut.”

“This is insane,” Iris rubbed her eyes. “You know Oatberg, I don’t think that this place was home at all. It’s perfectly designed to drive ponies crazy.”

“Or built by insanity,” the director muttered. It was then that his ears perked up as he heard a noise. A mummer of saws, hammers and something heavy being dragged was heard. Oatberg scanned this way and that, “It’s coming from down there.”

“H-Hold on!” the mail pony rushed over to the front of him. “You all do realize that this must be a trick right? For all we know, where ever that noise is coming from might get any of us killed.”

“So what do you want us to do? Walk around of something that Equestrian should know or-” the noise instantly stopped. With a raised eyebrow, he walked over down a familiar hallway and immediately stopped at an archway. Glancing down back at the other three, he inquired, “Guys? Wasn’t that tall staircase here before?”

“Oh, what now?” Scroll was the first to take the lead as he went over to where the director was. He too stopped wide-eyed as he looked around him. The other two ponies went up to join them to find that the staircase that went up to the seventh floor was replaced with a long, windowless hallway with a single door on the other side.

“We can’t go down there,” Way Finder stood between them. “This is obviously a trap don’t you think?”

The unicorn mare raised a hoof, “Wait a minute,” she turned to the mail pony. “Let’s pretend for a moment that this mansion is, indeed, alive. One that can rearrange every room and corridor in any way that it wants-”

“Where are you going with this?” Scroll interrupted.

“As I was saying,” Iris continued. “What if this house is trying to show us something? Trying to tell us something important that wants somepony to know after being left alone for so long.”

“Yeah, like a venus fly trap inviting flies into its mouth,” Way Finder deadpanned.

It was then that the director got an idea. “How about this: I’ll go ahead to check out what’s on the other side of that door? If there’s any danger, I’ll just fly right back here, and if not, I’ll tell you guys that it’s all clear.”

The others agreed to this and let the director, still holding the camera to go ahead of them. Three ponies watched their leader walk down as calmly as possible to the other end. Oatberg looked forward, pretending to himself that there wasn’t any cause to worry or dread what is behind the white door. He mentally tied the knot of the back of his head tighter to keep on the mask of being calm on as he got closer still. When he finally reached to the other end, he lifted a hoof, tested the doorknob to see that it was indeed unlocked and pulled it open.

From the other side, they saw the director sighed in relief as he entered, “It’s just a small room,” he called out. “In fact, there’s nothing he-” Then the door slammed on its own.

“Boss!” both Script and Iris screamed as they and the mail pony made a mad gallop towards the other end of the hallway. Flinging the door open, they not only found that the director was gone, but the small room with nothing in it was turned into a dusty nursery. There among the cobwebs of infant toys and a crib was the camera that had fallen on its side with the bright light on.

“W-Where did he go?” Script looked around the nursery. “What happened to him?”

“Oh Celestia, they’ve taken him…” Way Finder collapsed on the floor, whimpering at his statement.

Iris was the first to pick up the camera to reverse the footage on it. The other two stallions’ eyes were on the tiny screen where she rewound the frames backward before the moment their director opened the door. The unicorn pressed the pause then play buttons to move the past forward. The camera at first showed Oatberg opening the door, entering into a wooden room that was about the size of a broom closet. Swinging the camera around back down the hall, he tells them: “It’s just a small room. In fact, there’s nothing he-” the door slammed shut. The pegasus screamed in the darkness as he fiddled for the light switch on the camera. When light does show, it showed him trying and failing to turn the door handle, only to find it locked. “Guys! Guys, I’m stuck!”

“Your room is ready,” a quiet, gentle voice spoke that chilled the viewer’s blood like the icy air. The voice was that of a mare’s, like that of an impossible old grandmother. The camera swung around, and for a brief moment, it fell upon a veiled mare in black, her hoof reached out to him when suddenly the camera dropped to the floor, and when it hit the ground, the empty broom closet had turned into the nursery that the three of them had burst into.

Iris Lens turned the camera off, glancing over to the other two stallions. “Who was that?”

“Who cares!” the post pony objected. “He’s taken gone, dead. This place wanted him so it snatched him away.” He turned around to really look at the room they’re in. “Why are we in a nursery?”

“Even that doesn’t make any sense,” Scroll scratched his head. “Mrs. Harriet was a widow when she built this place, and her daughter died way before she bought the farmhouse.”

“I think I know why,” Iris said. “Maybe it’s in memory of the daughter that died too young.”

Way Finder turned away towards the cobwebbed crib, in the very center was a tiny black and gilded case. Picking it up from the dust, he opened it to find that the case was picture frames where one held a yellowed, black-and-white photo while the other was a lock of blond hair. However, his eyes went wide when he saw the same veiled mare in the picture; it was the same one that was on camera. Only this time, he could clearly see her face. “G-Guys…”

The other two took a close look at what he was looking at. “That’s Mr. and Mrs. Harriet,” Scroll pointed at the couple in the picture, but between the suited stallion and the mare in black, she held a filly wrapped in swaddling clothing with its eyes closed and its face was the clearest. He read underneath aloud the title of the picture, “‘Family group photo before the funeral. 866.’ It looks like one of those Post-mortem photos. And if it is such, that that would mean-”

“This lock of hair was her baby’s.” Iris finished his sentence, making sense of the nursery around them when she noticed that the door to the room was closed. “Did somepony close that door?”

“Huh?” they looked at the door, Scroll walking up to it. “Weird, I don’t remember anyone…” he trailed off as he opened it to find the long hallway was replaced by a towering set of twin spiral staircases with windows around. “What the- we’ve moved!”

“What?” the unicorn stepped outside of the room and onto a platform where she and the other two could see through the windows that they were at the very top of the mansion. While the moon was out that help illuminate the snow-covered roofs and land underneath a blanket of snow in the midnight light, the wind still continued to howl louder than ever before. Scroll took out a flashlight to shine down the tower of intertwining stairs where in between there were platforms that lead off to different floors. “Six, five, four, three, two- You guys! This is the way out!”

“Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s get out of here!” Script exclaimed in a full gallop down the stairs.

“Hey! What about Oatberg?!” she called out when she was pulled down by the mail pony.

“He’s good as dead at this point! Let’s get out of here!”

Before Iris could object, she was almost dragged down the stairs, spinning around and around the tower with a ricochet of hooves echoing off the walls. Swiftly descending floor after floor without thinking about the steps underneath their hooves that fly over when suddenly, they heard Scroll scream before a sickening crack. Before they could wonder what had happened, their answer came just about they were to descend the fifth floor when Way Finder quickly snatched Iris Lens off the ground. “Hey! What was…” she then saw what he saved her from. The flight of stairs before her for the last several floors was nothing but an illusion. A realistic painting against the curved wall and the floor below where Lost Scroll lay there unmoving – the pegasus lowered her down to which they found that both twin staircases were left unfinished, leaving both staircases a deadly drop.

“Oh Celestia,” the unicorn mare grasped her muzzle in horror once they’ve reached the ground floor. She immediately went up to what remained of the historian, his neck bent at an odd angle. As much as she tried to feel a pulse, hoping that somehow he survived a fall like that, she instead found it still.

“We’ve got to move,” Way Finder told her. “Let’s do it now before the house changes on us.”

“We can’t just leave him h-”

“Now!” the post pony tried to pull away, to grab the unicorn again, but she used her magic to push him off of her.

“You get out!” she yelled. “The front door shouldn’t be somewhere nearby. I’m going to carry him out.”

He looked between her and the entrance towards the ground floor. “You get eaten by the house, I’m getting out of here,” and without saying goodbye, the pegasus ran into the darkness of the hallways.

Iris struggled to lift her employee onto her back of her back, but finding carrying him and the saddle bag as too heavy, she dropped the supplies she had left except for a flashlight to light her way. She carried the limp body carefully through the hallways and elegant rooms while following the windows that lead towards the outside.

At the same time, she listened for any signs of the cowardly Pegasus that fled. At every window, she almost expected to catch a glimpse of that pony flying off into the night. Only… she didn’t. The house was silent and still as if a predator was waiting for the right moment. What disturbed Iris the most wasn’t just the lack of sound, but as she carried Scroll’s body, she noticed that she couldn’t hear the wind as well. Like the wood and glass have at once became soundproof.

Finally, she recognized the layout of the hallways that she was able to find the foyer. There she found that not only did she find all the supplies were left untouched. So taking one of the sleds, she set to work into not only unloading the body onto it but to take some supplies off that wasn’t necessary so it wouldn’t be too heavy to pull.

“Okay Scroll,” the unicorn said as she hooked herself to the sled. “Let’s get you out of this crazy house and… tell your family the bad news.”

Before she could walk to the front door, she saw the doorknob turn and opened where a dark figured walked right in. “Oh, there you two are,” a mare’s voice behind a laced, black veil said as she closed the door behind her. “We’ve been looking all over for you. Your rooms are ready dears.”

Iris’s horn glowed in a menacing light. “Now who are you?”

“Well, you did trespass in my house some time ago. But that’s all forgiven, as of now, all of your rooms are ready.”

“Get out of my way lady,” the unicorn dragged past the veiled mare and towards the door. “I’m not planning to stay in this place any longer.” She flung opened the door and looked behind her as she said. “I don’t care if this place is haunted, but I have enough of this… what?” But instead of walking out into the snowy remains of a garden path, she instead found herself walking right back into the foyer. The veiled mare was there, waiting patiently in the center of the room – looking behind her, it only leads to a mirrored room with the exact same floor, wallpaper, staircase, and the mare in mourning clothes, “Hey, what’s going on here?”

“I did say that your rooms are ready.”

Mysterious Disappearance in Harriet Hollow

(Mountain Ridge, Equestria)

The director, Oatberg, along with the actress Iris Lens and writer Lost Scroll have gone missing while attempting to film a documentary of the enormous mansion, Harriet Hollow. When the three ponies haven’t returned around the time they said they would be, families of the missing ponies have contacted the local police of the nearest town from the mansion of Mountain Ridge. Soon search parties were organized to go inside the maze-like mansion. While they were able to find their supplies, research papers and even copies of the script, they were unable to find the film crew. The search had gone on for a week, with the search crew exploring every floor of the seven-floor mansion until they gave up the search and turned their attention towards the outside.

“I’m completely stumped,” said Sheriff Steel, the head of the search party. “We’ve been going around this place in circles for days, going in and out of wacky rooms but still can’t find any hide or hair of them.”

The mansion itself held some very strange peculiarities. Not just in the architecture of the interior in which stairs lead to ceilings, rooms that have one way in and three-way outs, and a chandelier that was installed in the floor just to name a few – but everything from the windows to the delicate fabric has been well preserved since it was abandoned eighty years ago. And during their searching, the search party has found evidence that there may have been other ponies that too have gotten lost in the labyrinth of the estate. From a trail of envelopes to a string of twine that suddenly ends. Some of the locals have attributed this to the childish dares to explore the titanic house over the years that have broken in and gotten lost.

However, no bodies have yet to be found.

“It could be possible that they’ve gotten out and got lost in the storm,” suggested Sheriff Steel. “After all, we had blistery cold blizzards for the past several days. If they’re not in here, then they might be somewhere outside.”

The search for the film crew will go on for the next two weeks. After which would the search team stop looking.