Don't Watch Me

by Flutterpriest

Rating: mature
Tags: Horror, Non-consensual, Violence, Sex, Profanity, Gore, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Death, Human, Anon, Original Character, Mystery, Second Person
Length: 6399

You are the librarian of the new Ponyville Library. Not that the town needs one, thanks to Twilight. When a homeless mare breathes their last inside its walls, you find that everything around you begins to change. If only somepony would believe you.

You are the librarian of the new Ponyville Library. Not that the town needs one, thanks to Twilight. When a homeless mare breathes their last inside its walls, you find that everything around you begins to change. If only somepony would believe you.

Warning: Contains Death, Blood, Prostitution, Psychological Trauma, Attempted Rape, Ghosts, Murder, Distortion of Reality, and the name Anon

Edited by anonpencil

Published 2018-10-31 02:20:02 UTC
Last updated 2018-10-31 02:20:02 UTC

Watch Me

"I'll just take a job at the Ponyville Library," you mutter to yourself as you put book after book on their designated shelves. "It'll be such a wonderful, relaxing job."

You sigh and push your empty cart back to the desk at the front of the Library. There isn't a soul in sight. Just you, hundreds of pony books that Princess Twilight has nearly worn the spine off of, and a list of ponies to call for overdue books.

The shelves themselves are dusty, the books outdated, and as organized as a worker with no pride is willing to give. But, it pays government bits and government benefits. So there's that at least.

In a few hours, that homeless pony will probably show up, and you'll have to shoo them out. Again.

If she provided any decent company, then maybe you could shelter her from the cool, nippy cold air that shoves the leaves out of their homes and across the world to be shattered. Instead, she usually huddles in a corner, scaring any kids who happen to come in looking for books on 'How to Make Paper Airplanes' or something like that. So, you have to send the old mare out. What else are you going to do? It's not often that your boss, the mayor, comes in to see how the Library is doing, but when she does, it's usually because you aren't doing your job right.

You take a deep breath and grab a box of recently donated VHS tapes to organize into the Library's collection. A lot of it is old educational tapes that have grown yellow with age or just isn't hip enough for today's children.

Carrying the box with you, you move back to the tape area at the back of the library. The selection of videos is anemic at best. The Ponyville library has, maybe, a couple dozen different tapes. Then, if one DOES come to the library that's of any use or relevance, it seems to turn up missing. That's the lion's share of your job. Find the things that go missing. Find out why. Get it back.

As you begin to place volume after of volume of 'Counting without Our Hooves' onto the shelves, you hear the entrance bell jingle, signaling the arrival of a new pony. You should probably welcome them into the library, but as you've found, following around ponies who are just looking for a book seems to really unsettle them. Not because you're a human, more because it's kind of weird. You'd think that Princess Twilight would show up more often, but she has, like, three libraries. In her castle. And most of the time, Ponyville residents use her library anyway. Not the Ponyville Public Library.

So while the arrival of a new guest is somewhat unusual, you know it's probably that homeless mare again. Your eyes move to a nearby window, where you examine the cloudy, stagnant day outside. It's colder than usual. Usually that means a bad winter is coming. Or at least, that's what it was like on Earth. Pony weather is weird.

You might as well let her stay for a little bit. Then she can warm her bones, and then you'll send her out. You might as well be generous. In her position? You can only imagine what she goes through.

Besides, it's not like any of the ponies in town want to visit the new Ponyville Library.

Placing tape after tape on the shelves, you find a few documentaries, a few news programs, a few tapes of Celestia's speeches that must have been converted from film reels. All in all though, nothing that's going to set ponies bursting through the door.

Oh well. You could hope.

Grabbing the empty box, you walk up towards your counter again, scanning aisle after aisle as you make your way back to the other end of the building. Sure enough, that mare with the silvery-rose colored mane is slowly making her way between the shelves. Her tattered brown cloak drags behind her, leaving a small movement trail on the carpet. For just a moment, you lock eyes with her, if only to say “Yeah, I know you’re here.”

Her sad distant eyes provide no response as they move from you to the lower shelves of the Do-It-Yourself section. You look away from her and get back to your desk. You sit down, tossing the box beside a little sign that says Returns.

You’ve got a copy of the paper, a pencil, a cup of coffee, that dating scene pamphlet, and a sudoku. Now it’s time to kill the other seven hours of your work day. Taking a sip of your drink, you look up to the mare, who seems to have sat down in one of the reading chairs and curled herself into a small, shivering ball. She looks from you, back to the ground. She closes her eyes, and you look back down to your clock. Fifteen minutes. That’s it.

You look up to the clock.

Okay. That was forty five. No excuses now.

You sit up from your seat and walk to the mare, who sits in the same chair, unmoving from when you watched her sit.

“Alright, miss,” you say, your tone firm. “It’s time to go. I was nice to you today.”

However, she remains silent. Probably fast asleep. God damnit.

“Hey, it’s time to go,” you growl, placing a hand on her back and giving a slight jostle.

Her skin is ice cold to the touch. She falls out of the chair, her limbs limp. Her normally grey skin a dull shade of grey-blue. She lies on the ground in an impossible position, completely still.

“Oh,” you involuntarily say, taking a step back. “Oh… Oh god.”

You close the Library door behind you, lock it, and flip the sign to closed. The police and ambulance ponies said they’d take it from here.

Somehow, the world feels even more empty than normal. Your feet drag themselves back to your desk, and you sit down. You look down to your half finished puzzle, but find yourself questioning what the point is. You blink and feel yourself slump in your seat.

Your body tells you to look up, and see the spot where she was laying. Your brain screams. Rebels. How dare you. Don’t remember that. It just hurts.

You close your eyes, raise your head, and look.

You can see her as if she were still laying on the ground. Motionless. Lifeless. She’s not there. You know she isn’t there. But she’s there for you.

You turn around, looking to see if there’s any work for you to do. It’s a terrible excuse. You know you get all of your real work done in the first thirty minutes of the day.

Yet. To your surprise, you have a return.

You reach into the box and pull out a single VHS Tape. On it’s side, a label saying “Watch Me.”

You know what? Fuck it. You could use a distraction. Besides, some numbskull peeled off the old label just to write on this with a marker. You’ve gotta know what it is to reclassify it.

You rise to your feet, and head over to one of the public use televisions with a VHS Player. You turn on the TV, put the tape in the VHS player, and hit rewind.

To your surprise, there’s a soft click almost immediately. Well, whoever returned it was kind enough to rewind, but not kind enough to keep it in one piece. Whatever. Let’s just see what this is.

You hit play, and the screen goes from black, to blue, to a color test image. You sit down in a terribly undersized plastic chair and place your head in your hands. You take a deep breath, and try to push down those numb feelings that swell in your chest.

“There’s nothing you could have done to save her life. You’re doing your job. It’s not your fault she passed. You have to believe that,” you say aloud to yourself. It’s probably stupid to say it out loud. You know it’s true.

Sometimes… it’s just nice to hear it said out loud.

The video starts.

In a carpeted room, with many bookshelves, sits a mare with a silvery-rose mane. At the bottom of the screen, is a human sitting behind a desk, sipping a cup of coffee.

That’s her.

That’s you.

You feel the breath escape your lungs as you stand up. You rise from the chair and look up to where the video would have been taken from to get this shot. This angle. There’s only a wall. The library has no security system.

You look back to the screen. The mare approaches the desk and looks at you. She remains silent. You don’t even seem to notice that she’s there. The recording of you scribbles down something on the desk. The sudoku. Did you really not notice that she walked up to you? How was this taken? What is this?

“You’ve been chosen,” she says.

Then, she walks back to her seat, and sits back down. The you in the video looks up from your puzzle, then goes back to the puzzle. The screen cuts to static and you leap in your seat at the sudden change.

“What the fuck is this?” you mutter.

You press stop on the VHS tape and hit rewind.

There’s a soft click almost immediately. You eject the tape, and examine the see-through end of the reel. To your surprise, it’s fully rewound.

Why? You played the tape. You watched it for at least three minutes. At least, it felt like three minutes. And it’s as if it never played at all.

You put the tape back in and press play one more time. This time, there’s only hazy white static being played from the tape. You feel a shadow caressing the back of your neck. You know you saw the tape playing. You stop the tape, rise to your feet and walk away from the television.

The static starts once more.

You turn around, and the television plays that white and black haze of pixels once again. You turn around, and it shuts off.

“What the fuck.”

Three loud knocks on the front door of the library makes you nearly leap from your skin. But in some way, you feel more at ease. At least you know there’s some pony at the door.

“Coming!” you call towards the front. You briskly trot to the front, and through the glass of the door, you can see two police ponies standing there. You unlock the door and open wide.

“Hello, Officers,” you say, somewhat nervously. “What can I do for you?”

“Hello, Anonymous,” a more portly stallion says, the mare beside him holds a notepad and a pencil rests behind her left ear. “We’re just here to take a statement. Standard procedure and all of that. We’ll be out of your hair quickly.”

“Sure, of course. Should I call the mayor’s office?” you ask.

The stallion’s lips curl into a small frown.

“Well, you could. And then we could get you a lawyer. But then we can’t really help you now, could we?”

“Help me?” you ask. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” he said. “How about we just sit down. I’ll ask you some questions. You can tell me what you know. And everything will just work itself out. How’s that sound?”

You take a step back, feeling almost offended.

“Am I a suspect?”

“How about we just sit down,” the police stallion says. “Nopony thinks you’ve done anything. And I’m sure we’d like to keep it that way. Don’t you? If we start getting a bunch of ponies in here… well. We’d get pretty concerned, now wouldn’t we?”

You feel your muscles tense. You look over your shoulder briefly, and nod.

“Sure, come in.”

The two police ponies walk in and you close the door behind them. You can’t help but swallow the saliva in your mouth. These ponies can’t possibly think that you…

No. Like they said. Standard procedure. They have no reason to think you killed her. Besides, they had have to seen her around somewhere before. There aren’t many homeless ponies in Ponyville.

You lead the police to a table in the center of the library and extend a hand to offer them a seat. They recline into their chairs and you sit across from them. You fold your hands, take a deep breath, and look him in the eye.

“What can I answer for you?”

“When exactly did the pony from earlier come into the library?” he asks. The mare takes the pencil from behind her ear and prepares to take notes.

“Uh. This morning. Probably around ten A.M.? I usually get all of my work done in about an hour or two. I heard her come in as I was putting video tapes away. Once I was done with the tapes, I went to the front of the library to make sure there weren’t any returns, and I saw the mare walking through the aisles. I sat down at my desk, and just tried to keep an eye on her.”

“I see,” he says, the mare scribbling furiously as he replies. He pauses for a moment, probably to let his partner catch up. “Does she come to the library often?”

“Well, yes. A lot of the homeless ponies do. They come in to get some relief from the heat or the cold. It was a really cold day today, so I wasn’t really surprised to see her come in.”

“I’m sorry, but to clarify,” the policeman says. “You said she was homeless?”

You pause, looking at him, then to the mare, who scrutinizes your facial expression.

“I mean,” you stutter. “I suppose I didn’t know for sure if she was homeless. She came in so often, and never checked out any books. I suppose I just assumed.”

“I see,” the officer continues. “So what’s your usual process for having somepony who wants to loiter in the building.”

“Well, typically we ask them to leave. We don’t have any security or anything, but usually if somepony puts up a fight, I can pick them up and carry them out.”

“Uh-huh,” he says. “Would you say that you’re able to overpower most ponies?”

“Um. Well. I don’t really see what that has to do with this.”

“I suppose you’re right,” he says with a smile. “It doesn’t really, does it?”

The deputy furiously scribbles, her eyes move from her partner to you. You can feel a chill rub against your neck. A flashing light grabs your attention just beyond the officers.

Off in-between the aisle behind them, you can see the television you were watching earlier flip on. There again is the video. Playing. You sitting behind your desk. The mare sitting in her chair.

Actually. It’s the chair at the next table over. You close your eyes for a moment, realizing that fact. But when you do, you swear you can see her face. Those lifeless eyes.

”You did nothing.”

You open your eyes.

“I’m sorry, what?” you ask, your tone nervous.

“What did you do when you got to your desk?” he asks.

“Well, I sat down. Drank my coffee. Worked on today’s sudoku. And I suppose I just watched her for awhile.”

“I see. You didn’t kick her out?”

“Not right away, no.”

“Why’s that?”

“Well, it’s really cold out. I felt bad for her.”

“I see,” he says. “And you let her stay for…”

“Well, I only meant fifteen minutes, but it turned into forty-five.”

“Why so?” he asks. “Weren’t you supposed to kick her out?”

You shift in your seat uncomfortably. You glance over their shoulder. The video is still playing. She’s rising from her chair.

“I am supposed to kick them out when it’s clear that they aren’t getting anything. I suppose I got really locked into my puzzle. Like I said, I was planning to ask her to leave after fifteen minutes.”

“Why fifteen minutes?” he asks. “Any particular reason?”

“It’s just usually a feel sort of thing. I ask if I can help them find anything. Usually ponies know what they want to get and leave. It’s pretty routine.”

You glance over their shoulders.

She’s not in the video. You stare, trying to figure out if you’re just too far away to see her on screen.

“Anon, are you still with us?” the deputy asks. The feminine voice makes you jerk in your seat. You look up. The television is off.

“Yeah, sorry. Just trying to see what else I could remember.”

The officer clears his throat.

“Did you attempt to remove the pony from the library by force?” he asks.

“What?” you ask. “No.”

“Hmm,” he hums to himself. “Do you have access to any sharp objects in here?”

“What?” you ask in disbelief. “No. Of course not. I mean. Well. We probably have scissors.”

“Could you let me borrow them for a second?” he asks.

“Of course,” you say, rising from your seat. He stands as well, holding a hoof to you.

“No, you stay. I can get them. Where are they?” he asks.

“Uh, top drawer of my desk, on the right.”

He moves to your desk, and you look to the deputy who eyes you critically.

“Tell me, Anonymous-” she says.

“Anon is fine, ma’am,” you say, trying to lighten the air.

“Anonymous,” she says firmly. “Have you had any sort of feelings, or friendship with the mare who passed away today?”

“Of course not.”

“Really?” she pries.

“No. I don’t even know her name.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“One hundred percent.”

She nods, then takes some additional notes.

You look to the television, which remains off. You take a deep breath and try to steel yourself. This is weird. Really weird.

The stallion returns and nods to his partner.

“Well, I think we have all we need,” he says affirmatively.

“Were you able to find the-

“I think we’re going to need a little DNA, Anon,” he says, looking you straight in the eye.

“What? No. I’m not giving you my DNA.”

“Are you sure about that?” he asks. “If you refuse, well. We may have to come back with some paper and iron. If you get what I mean.”

The deputy steps behind the officer, as if shielding herself from you.

“Let’s get out of here, Cedar,” she says. “We’ll come back for this one.”

You open your mouth to say something and step forward, but the Officer steps back in response.

“I think we will be taking our leave, Anon. We’ll see you soon.”

“No, wait!” you say.

Fuck. What is happening? They’re acting like you killed this mare or something. Well, the least you can do is help them. You didn’t kill her. DNA will probably knock you out, at least. Then all of this is done.

“Sure. What do you want?”

He pulls a small tube from his belt.

“Spit in this, please,” he asks firmly.

You take the vial, spit in it, and recork the top. Quickly handing it back, you take a step back from them to try and make them feel more at ease.

“Is there anything else I can do for you?” you ask.

“Not at all. Thank you.”

The two ponies leave without saying a goodbye. You walk them to the front and you watch them exit. You place your hand on the knob, unsure if you should chase after them. However, you aren’t sure what you’d do even if you did. You lock the door and sigh to yourself.

“Great job, Anon,” you mutter. “Really set those two at ease there.”

You turn from the front, and you hear the gentle haze of static.

What the hell? Is it the TV again?

You walk toward the VHS viewing area, and sure enough, the television is on once more. You take a moment to examine the television critically. This is getting ridiculous. The easy answer is to say that the stupid thing is on the fritz. Par for the course for public government projects. You press the power button, but the button does nothing. It wouldn’t have been the first time that a button on these TV’s got stuck. You press the button a few more times. Then try the channel buttons, volume, menu. All nothing.

Then, the screen flickers to life.

You’re sitting at your desk, the mare sitting in her chair. The you in the video eyes the mare carefully then slowly rises from their seat. The front right drawer of your desk is open. You walk towards the mare and she remains seated. You cross the room slowly, carefully, and then stop right in front of her. You grab her by the mane. Her hooves grab at your arm, scrambling, slamming at your hand to let her go. You pull her head back, exposing her neck. Your free arm lashes back and thrusts forward, a spray of crimson flying across the carpet.

A boiling inferno builds in your stomach as you have to force yourself to look away from the screen. As you do, your eyes lock onto that chair, that spot where she laid. At what you see, the room seems to instantly freeze over. Blood stains seep into the carpet and grow slowly towards where you stand. You can taste the coppery-rust in the air. A pressure builds around your throat and constricts your windpipe. Tears build in your eyes as your lungs gasp for air. You blink, and all of it is gone.

Air fills your lungs, and with it, brings renewed life and coherent thought. That fucking tape. You look to the blank television and lunge down to the VHS player and attempt to eject the tape.

The player reads ‘No Tape Inserted.’

“Okay, what the shit?” you say, kneeling down. You open the VHS flap by pushing in with your finger, and sure enough, there’s no tape.

“You know what. This is stupid. I’m losing my mind. I’m going to go home and call in sick. I shouldn’t have to work after all of this shit.”

You walk away from the television and back to the front. You grab your paper, sign out on the timesheet, and open the front right drawer to grab your keys.

Instead of your keys, you find a tape. The tape.

You pull it out, and examine it carefully.

“How the shit did this get here?” you ask. You set it down on the desk, and shake your head. “Must have forgot it or something.” You grab your keys and move to close the drawer when you notice… the scissors are gone.

You push the contents of the drawer out of the way. Paperclips, markers, erasers, pencils. All of your supplies. But no scissors.

“Did that cop take my scissors?” you ask to nopony in particular.

You shake your head.

“That’s it. I’ve had enough for one day,” you mutter. You slam the drawer and move to the front door. You unlock the deadbolt and push.

But the door doesn’t budge. You pause, glaring at the door.

“Really? You’re going to get stuck? Right now?”

You push harder, but the exit refuses to relent. You position yourself to slam into the door with your shoulder, and once you collide, you feel a searing pain that glides across your wrist. An anger filled yelp escapes your lips as something tumbles to the floor with a soft thud. Quickly you look down to your wrist where a new, thin slice splits the flesh on your outer wrist. From there, you look to the ground where there is a pair of black scissors as well as a few drops of crimson blood.

You pick them up, and examine them carefully. The inner blade has a thin trail of blood. Your blood.

“Dammit,” you growl. Where did the scissors even come from? There’s no way you missed your scissors. Plus where did they even come from?

You walk back to your desk and pull out your first-aid kit. You set down the scissors, and begin to bandage up your hand.

“I just want to go home,” you groan. “Why does everything have to go wrong?”

You look up, and stand stock still. The room grows cold. You exhale, and a thin trail of vapor escapes your lips.

Standing in the center of the library, is that mare. But she cannot be that mare.

That mare is dead. You know she’s dead.

Her silvery mane has a much deeper crimson hue, and a large gash covers the base of her neck. She steps towards you, one hoof in front of another.

”Help me,” she says. ”I have nowhere to go.”

“This isn’t funny,” you stutter. “I don’t know what kind of prank this is, but this is sick and wrong. That mare died today.”

”Why would you do this to me?” she asks, pleadingly.

She approaches your desk, and stands in place, a trail of blood moving down her neck wound and trailing to the floor. She opens her mouth to speak, but only a watery gurgle escapes her lips. Her pupils dilate. She reaches out a hoof. She places a hoof on the videotape.

You step back, grabbing your scissors.

“Stay away from me!” you shout.

You blink and she’s gone.

The tape remains in place on your desk. You exchange your scissors for the tape, kneel down, and cram it into your trashcan. You examine it defiantly for a moment, sitting still in the wastebasket.

“There.”

Finally feeling like you've accomplished something you rise to your feet. To your dismay, the tape is sitting on your desk once more.

"What the shit."

You look down to the basket again, and it’s not there. Snatching the tape, you walk back towards the televisions once more.

“Okay, fine. I get it,” you shout at the library. “You want me to watch this? Fine. You want me to watch this. Fine. Fuck it. You win.”

You throw the tape into the player and press play.

The mare, sitting behind the desk, scribbles away in a large library. Except… This doesn’t quite seem right. The shelves are all… different. The floor is made of wood. There are no televisions.

A familiar purple unicorn enters the screen.

“Excuse me, is this the Ponyville Library? I was sent by P-” asks a voice you recognize, but can’t quite place.

The screen cuts away to a pair of scissors slicing into pony skin. Then, to a tree, it’s door and windows in flames, the sign out front too charred to read. Then to a dark alley, a mare sitting in the shadows. A gentle sobbing comes from the speakers.

“That’s enough,” you say, pressing the power button. The TV screen turns black.

Except, the sobbing doesn’t stop. Instead, it grows louder. You turn around, and she stands there once more before you. Covered in a her dark brown cloak. You examine it closer. The edges are stained and matted and have several large tears, revealing her body underneath. Her head remains down, obscuring her face.

“Was I not important enough?” she asks. “Did anypony even care?”

“Who are you?” you ask.

You step forward, attempting to approach the mare. The cloak begins to slide off, exposing scars up and down her hooves. A screaming static fills your ears, and you look behind you. The television is on once more, skin and fur slapping together, intermingled with blood and fluids fill the screen. Intermixed with the footage is the same picture of the alley from before.

You turn around, and the mare is gone.

When you turn, the sound stops.

You look back to the television. The alley is empty.

You feel yourself rooted in place. What the fuck is happening? None of this makes any sense.

Three loud bangs ring through the library.

“ANONYMOUS!” shouts a strong voice. “THIS IS OFFICER CEDAR. ARE YOU STILL HERE?”

You nearly sprint to the front.

The light outside has grown dark, the sky a blood red. This is wrong. You’ve only been here for an hour at most. You see the officer from before, standing outside, alone. You jog up to the door, and attempt to push once more.

“Yeah, I’m here.”

“We didn’t find you at your home. Why are you still here?” he asks in disbelief.

“The door is stuck. I can’t get it open.”

“Well let’s get that fixed,” he says. “Listen. The good news is that we got the coroner report back. We’re not really sure how she died, but it’s not what we’ve usually seen for murder. You aren’t a suspect. We’re still testing the kit for DNA, but we don’t have any evidence to believe she was raped. We’re closing the case.”

You feel a wave of shock overcome you.

“What? You thought she was raped?!”

“Yeah, there were some signs of trauma, but it's old,” he continues. “Anyway, I wanted to apologize for earlier. We gave you some serious third-degree. It’s just… not often that Ponyville gets a suspected murder. You understand, right?”

You hear the whimper of a mare deep within the library.

“That mare,” you ask him through the door. “Who was she?”

“Beats me,” he says. “Nopony has claimed her.”

The officer pulls on the door, and you see him eyeing it through the glass pane.

“You’ve really got that wedged, don’t ya? You sure it isn’t locked?”

“I’m positive. It’s definitely unlocked.”

You glance down, and the deadbolt is shut tight. In disbelief, you reach out your hand to turn it, but it seems wedged stuck.

“Well, that’s not great. Think there’s a window you can crawl out of?” he asks.

“Not for my size,” you answer. “Think you could get some help?”

“Yeah, sure. Let me see what I can do. You hold tight.”

He trots off and you turn around to examine the library. Your library. You lean against the door. All you want to do is go home. But this place is… destroying you. You aren’t sure if your mind’s playing tricks on you… or something terrible is happening. But you just want to be anywhere but here.

This place is so oppressive. It feels like it hates you. That the world hates you. The air is stale and dry.

Then, that whimper once again.

You take a step forward, then second guess yourself. What are you doing? You shouldn’t follow the source. That’s the last thing you want to do.

But. The whimper persists. It rises in intensity, the mare’s distress filling the whole library. You force your feet forward, following the noise once more. You walk towards the television.

”Well do I have to shove you down or are you going to present like a good girl,” says a deep, hellish voice.

You continue forward to the noises. The whimpers growing more pained. More distraught.

”Are you almost done?” she asks, her voice cracking.

You move to the television screen, which is frozen mid-scene on that alley from before.

”Smile for the camera,” the voice growls.

The screen changes to a close up shot of the mare from before, her hair much less silver, and more of a deeper red. She smiles weakly, her eyes cold and distant. The image freezes at a point where the light leaves her eyes, and all that remains is a cold, lifeless shell.

”There… now can I have them?”

The hellish voice laughs.

”Not the full amount. Maybe next time. I don’t think you earned it.”

Three distinct clinks of coins on the stone ground.

”But… you promised,” she begs. "How am I supposed to live?

The rustling of fabric. The movement of hooves.

”You slut, get off of me!”

The video springs to life once more as the mare is knocked to the ground. A pair of black scissors clatters to the ground beside her. Her brown cloak is cast aside. She lies in a puddle of a strange mixture of blood and fluids.

”I’ll show you what you get for cutting my face,” the voice says.

A stallion walks into the picture, his body black, but his shape distorted, misshapen, ranging from obese to malnourished. He takes a hoof and grabs her by her mane. The other hoof taking the scissors. You look away.

And there she is standing beside you. Before you can open your mouth to yell, she grabs the sides of your face and forces you to continue watching.

The scissors cut across her throat, blood trailing down her body. She struggles against him, pushing, screaming.

“If you keep moving,” the voice continues, but it’s tone changing to something more natural. “I might accidentally kill you.”

That voice. You’ve heard that voice.

“There,” the voice says clearly. “If you're lucky, a skilled surgeon could save you. Run along!”

The screen cuts to static. You look back to where she was beside you. And nopony is there.

You sit down, trying to digest what you just saw. There are three loud knocks at the front door once more.

“ANONYMOUS! ARE YOU STILL THERE?”

That voice. The voice.

You reach to the VHS player and press eject. You rip it from the machine and examine it closely. The label on the side reads: “A Calm Summer Night: Take 3.”

You stuff the tape in the back of your pants and walk forward slowly. On the other side of the door is Officer Cedar and another tall stallion, carrying a large black bag.

“I brought a locksmith. Figured he could help.”

“Actually I think I’m good thanks!” you shout to him. “I called the mayor, and she has the spare key. She’ll come by in the morning.”

“Isn't that funny! Last I checked, the mayor’s at the police station,” he says with a smile, placing something into the door. “I’m pretty sure she didn’t get a call.”

You move to your desk. The tape feels red hot to you in your waistband. You breathe. As you exhale, the air escapes your mouth in a thick, white mist.

With a click, the front door opens.

“Bring in the camera,” he says to the stallion beside him. “And close the door.”

“What are you doing?” you ask weakly, your throat suddenly dry.

“You see, Anon. Everypony trusts a police officer. And I like to consider myself a bit of an artist. I never fail at closing a case, and I think I found my… guilt ridden suspect. The human who just couldn’t take it anymore and made himself pay for his crime. Isn’t it a nice, fitting ending?”

The other stallion sets the bag on the ground and begins to pull out a tripod.

“So, before we close this case, why don’t we make a movie?” he asks. “Consider it your lasting impact on this world.”

The blood rushes to your brain and the pounding in your head rings like sledgehammers on concrete. You scream at your arms and legs to move. To do something. Anything. Then, carefully, a plan forms in your head. Wordlessly, you move forward and try to palm the scissors so he can't see them. You take step after step closer, trying to close the distance between you and this monster.

“You know," he goes on. "I had to put a lot of thought into this to make it happen. I had to make sure you were isolated. I had to search for the perfect set where we wouldn’t be disturbed. And I had to make sure that I took your weapons from you. All weapons. Don’t worry. Your red scissors are safe back at the police station. I’m sure they’ll be great evidence for when we deem you the murderer."

“A bloodless murder?” you ask. “Won’t that be hard to explain?”

“You’d be surprised,” he says. “We spend so much time searching for monsters, that, well. There’s no point in wasting words on you.”

Your eyes move behind him. Behind the cameraman. There she stands. The door open. She looks to you, pleadingly. Sorrow filling her eyes.

”Please.”

The door slams. The glass shatters.

Cedar turns in surprise and the cameraman falls to the ground. Seeing your chance to survive, you leap forward and dig the scissors deep into the policeman's throat. A curdling scream fills the library. The cameraman turns to you and begins to scream, seeing his cohort's blood spill across the room. Your ears ring as you step back from the pony whose blood pours down his clothes and seeps into the carpet. The cameraman drops everything, ignoring you, and runs towards him and pulls out the scissors with a instinctive jerk. The flow only increases.

Your limbs shake and your breathing rubs your throat raw like sandpaper. You fearfully look down to your hands, coated in blood. Your vision blurs as you feel tears run down your cheeks. Your legs give way as your body refuses to accept what you've done.

The cameraman speaks loudly, but you can't hear him as he presses a hoof hard to the policeman's throat. You blink the tears from your eyes to try and plan your next move. If you're lucky, you can make a break for it. However, as you move to stand, the mare reappears behind them, her eyes focused on the cameraman.

She glides effortlessly toward the stallion, her features filled with every ounce of hatred you've seen in this world. You feel paralyzed once more as you helplessly watch the mare approach the two. She looks to you for only a moment, her eyes black, soulless.

Thank you.

She places her hooves on the cameraman's head, and twists.

You stumble into the police station, shivering, shaking. Behind the counter is the mare from before. Cedar’s deputy.

“Anonymous?” she asks in disbelief. "Is... Is that blood?"

You step forward, pulling the tape out of your waistband and hold it out to her.

“T-this was in the library,” you say. “I-I think you should send more police out there.”

“To the library?” she questions hesitantly. “Why what-”

“Please,” you beg. “Just do it. And… I think you should watch this.”