There is Something Wrong in Ponyville

Chapters

Tape #1
Tape #2
Tape #3

Tape #1

click

“My name is Spike the Dragon.”

The introduction feels false and abrupt. It grates on Spike's nerves, makes him feel things he can't quite put into words. But he goes on. Rolls with it.

“I live in the town of Ponyville with my best friend Twilight Sparkle. Well, she's more of a sister than a friend. I love her. I love Ponyville.”

Spike hopes it's recording. He sees the wheels of the tape spinning inside the transparent casing. Spinning. The image burns itself into his eyes, repetitive and soothing.

“I'm making this tape because....because... I don't know. I don't know why I'm making this.”

He needs to say it. It's burning in Spike's chest. He's been holding off, letting the words shift around in his stomach. Spike moves restlessly, shuffling his feet and flexing his claws.

“So it's 4 PM and the moon is still in the sky. I'm looking at it right now. It's just there. I don't know what else I'm supposed to say.”

Spike takes a deep breath. This is his seventh take. His seventh try at making this recording. It doesn't get easier with time. It had taken so much willpower to carry Spike to this moment in his life, yet he apparently can't work a bucking tape recorder. The last cassette—a mess of twisted plastic and ribbon—lies in the corner, a non-recoverable record of his failings. Spike's claws clumsily working the buttons, faltering every few seconds. No. I'm not doing this. This is insane. This is a dream. I'm not...

But he hits the button anyway. Records his first line. Pauses. Keeps going.

“I asked Twilight about it. I don't know why. She always has answers. So I asked her.”

He swallows hard. Spike is repeating himself already. But what else can Spike say? He needs to talk. Talk to someone who will listen, even if that someone is a tape recorder.

“She didn't answer me. She just said something about how beautiful the moon looks. I asked again. Nothing. The same thing about the moon being pretty. I ask again. She asks if I can pop down to Sugarcube Corner and grab us a dozen cupcakes for the party tomorrow.”

Spike shuts his eyes. He's going to have to talk about that, isn't he? Sugarcube Corner? What happened while he was there? No, not yet. He can't.

“I give up. I decide to get the cupcakes. Maybe she'll talk if I do what she says? I don't know. I'm confused. I leave. I...get the cupcakes. I come back.”

Spike's breathing goes a little funny. No. No. Can't. CAN'T. Not yet. There are other things.

“She asks me what's wrong. I make something up. I don't remember what I said. I tried to ask about the moon again. She might have given me an actual answer that time. I don't know. I don't remember.”

He takes a deep, shaky breath. It's okay. It's okay. He's past it. He can keep going.

“I took a picture. I don't know why. There's nothing in it. Just the moon.”

Spike nervously plays with the buttons on the tape recorder. It's old. Older than the library itself. He found it and a box of blank tapes in the basement.

“I'm staring at it right now. It looks so normal. But it's 3 PM. I checked. But the moon's still up. And nopony seems to notice or care. Nopony is staring at it like I am. I feel like I'm the only one who can see it.”

He tears his eyes away from the window. Spike can hear Twilight moving around in the kitchen.

“It's funny. I'm in a library, but I feel like I don't know anything. I want to do research. I want to know what in Tartarus is going on. But where do I even start?”

Spike slides off his bed. He wants to close the curtains. But a part of him is afraid of invoking something even worse. Spike wants to look at the moon. It's so beautiful.

“Twilight rearranged the whole library after the renovation. I know where everything is, but...”

Spike pauses. He can't say it. Doesn't want to say it.

The renovation. About three months since Spike got his own bedroom. The top floor of the library, fully converted into a living space. Just walking around the surprisingly spacious area of his bedroom makes Spike feel disoriented.

But it had to be done. Spike was growing. They didn't think it would happen, but it did. He's a little taller, a bit wider, his scales and teeth slightly sharper. But Spike doesn't feel the aging. He feels the power of his growing body, the raw energy. He is starting to fear his firepower. Spike is starting to wonder how much longer Ponyville is going to tolerate him, how much longer until they start to really look at his claws and his teeth.

Spike flexes his claws.

“I don't want Twilight to know what I'm doing.”

He flexes his claws again. Spike doesn't feel powerful. The maturity always felt so false, so forced. The way it just falls away like this.

“I don't like the way she looked at me. When I asked about the moon, there was.... I don't know. Something in her eyes. It scared me.”

Scared. Just like.... Spike snaps the thought in half.

“I can't let her know what I'm looking for. I need to be subtle about this. But she has to have an idea, doesn't she? She's Twilight Sparkle.”

He lets the uncertainty creep into his voice. Spike doesn't even know where it came from. But it's there, twisted deep into his scales like a knife. Spike repeats the words, his voice shaking.

“She's Twilight Sparkle.”

click

“I don't know how many more tapes are in this box, so I've decided to keep this brief.”

Spike takes a deep breath.

“The moon is still up there. I thought it would be gone after I woke up, but it hasn't moved. The sun didn't come up this morning.”

Spike lets his last words sink in. No one is ever going to hear this tape. Spike knows this, yet he holds the tape recorder to his face. He speaks slowly, deliberately, as if it matters.

“I asked Twilight if she had any books about the moon. I couldn't see her face when I asked. She had her back to me. Putting up a banner for the party.”

Spike scratches his scales, a nervous habit he seems to have developed.

“The party. Geez. I keep forgetting about that stupid party. I don't even remember what it's for. I think Applejack won something?”

It all feels so normal. So fake. Spike remembers the banner: Congratulations Applejack! Bright orange letters. Courtesy of Pinkie Pie.

“But I asked Twilight about books. I didn't expect her to answer. We have an entire bookcase dedicated to things like that. Constellations and moon phases and even astrology.”

He doesn't know why he feels the need to clarify to himself. A part of Spike fears something. And it pulls these sentences from his mouth, these strange and unneeded bits of clarification. Or maybe Spike just needs to talk. To hear his own sane voice for a few minutes.

“I read them all. Or most of them. They didn't help. They didn't explain how this could be happening.”

The information—useless and over-explanatory—comes back to him. Stars. Planets. Asteroids. Moons. It all weighs on him, because Spike truly thought he was going to find something.

“I tried to send a message to Canterlot. But it didn't go through.”

Spike scratches his scales again. He remembers the horror. The panic. The tears. The breakdown. It all came over him in a rush, sending him into utter collapse. It rises in him again, but Spike manages to keep it at bay.

“I sent a letter. I'm not sure it's going to reach anypony there. I'm not sure it's going to reach the princesses.”

He barely remembers what he wrote. Spike only recalls shoving it into the hooves of a confused mail carrier, paying the bits for an express delivery, promising an extra large tip if he were to get it there within the next day or so. Spike watched him fly off.

“I would have delivered it myself, but I can't leave.”

Spike's eyes burn. He's going to cry again. But first he wants to finish this tape.

“I asked Twilight if we could go. If we could take a vacation. Visit the princesses in Canterlot.”

He's thinking of the moon again. How it hangs in the sky at 12 PM.

“But she said “Why would we do that, Spike? Ponyville is our home. Why would we ever want to leave?” I...I don't know what I said back. I haven't seen her since then. I've been in my bedroom.”

Spike can hear Twilight humming. She's somewhere in the house. Working. Getting ready for the party.

“I might leave. I might leave without her. Go to Canterlot. Talk to the princesses myself.”

Spike knows he won't do that. He can't just leave Twilight in this place. This place. Not their home. This place.

“I need to find more books. There has to be something.”

click

“The moon is still....well, you know. Up there.”

Spike sighs. He's tired. Its only been a day and a half and he's already tired.

“I went out again. Twilight wanted me to get some more confetti. I don't know why. I don't care.”

He remembers the trip. Parts of it anyway. There were stares. Spike's sure of it. But he tried not to look at anypony. Spike was home in a record ten minutes with a full bag of confetti. Tossed the bag on the kitchen table and scurried back to his room.

“I passed Sugarcube Corner. It looked...”

The thought trails off into nothing. Spike swallows hard.

“I finally counted the tapes. There's fifty in total. I think there's more in the basement. I don't know. I'll have to look.”

The reluctance in his voice is obvious. Spike doesn't want to go down there again. The place felt so desolate, despite all of Twilight's scientific equipment shoved into one corner.

“The party is tomorrow night.”

He's just speaking now. Trying to fill time. Spike can feel the emptiness on the tape, like a vast nothingness at the edge of a cliff. He wonders why these tapes were in the basement.

“There's a cake, some cupcakes, and I think everypony is bringing something. I'm supposed to be arranging the music.”

Spike glances at an unfinished list of songs.

“Twilight hasn't been out of the house in a while. Except today. She went out for a few minutes. I don't know what she was doing.”

He shuts his eyes, trying to bring back the image of Twilight leaving the house.

“She came back and said “What a lovely day!”. And she was smiling. I've...I've never seen her smile like that. I...”

Spike opens his eyes, dissipating the image. It's corrupted now. All of them are. He keeps seeing that smile.

“Maybe this is all in my imagination. Maybe I need to start reading up on mental illnesses.”

He lets the possibility sit in his chest. Spike loves how it sounds. So rational. Maybe this is an elaborate hallucination, a nightmare, some kind of psychosis. That would explain his need to make these tapes. This ridiculous urge to document what's happening as if Spike doesn't trust his memory.

“Or it could be some kind of dark magic. A spell.”

Spike drags a claw across the side of his neck. It stings, but he keeps going. Keeps talking.

“I'm not a unicorn. But Twilight... She has books about that kind of stuff. Maybe there...?”

For the first time in a while, Spike is acutely aware of his body. Those useless wings. No horn to cast spells. What does he actually have? Claws. Teeth. Fire. The physical make-up of a predator.

“Twilight keeps those books in her bedroom.”

Spike lifts his claw. There is a bit of blood on the edge of it. He's managed to scratch himself raw without even realizing.

“I'll...I'll have to go in there while she's busy. Maybe during the party?”

He looks at his claw.

“Maybe during the party.”

click

“I haven't been down into the basement. I told myself I was going to go, but... I don't know. I can't find the flashlight.”

Spike doesn't care about his flimsy excuse. He knows he didn't really look for the flashlight.

“No word from Canterlot. The mail carrier hasn't come back. I tried to contact Manehatten. Same thing. It looks like there's some kind of blackout.”

Spike doesn't say it, but it comes through in his voice. It's like Ponyville is the only town left.

“The party was today. Tonight.”

It's what Spike really wanted to talk about. He had ideas, vague and hopeful. Ideas about what would happen if all his friends gathered under one roof. One of them had to notice. He couldn't be the only one.

“Pinkie Pie was here first. I...I hadn't seen her in a while. She looked like her usual cheerful self. She asked me what I'd been up to.”

Spike lets out a weak chuckle.

“I forgot what I said. It wasn't the truth. I can't tell anyone the truth. Especially not after...”

He stops. Spike was just talking, half-remembering. Now he's doing both. He can see everything in his mind's eye, every vivid detail of the past two or so hours.

“Everypony else arrived afterward. Rainbow Dash brought some lemon squares. I think Fluttershy had a plate of scones. Rarity had something with honey in it. I didn't actually eat anything. I might have nibbled on a scone. Rarity asked me if I was alright and I lied to her.”

Spike remembers packing away all the leftover food. No one really touched anything except the cake and the lemon squares.

“Everyone sat down and talked for a long while. They laughed and ate. I didn't say much. I just watched everypony. I thought maybe they'd talk about the moon.”

The conversation is just white noise in Spike's head. He remembers nothing that was said. His friends' voices blend together in his head, a cacophony of meaningless sound.

“I think a part of me was waiting for them to notice. I didn't want to say anything. I didn't think I needed to. But then thirty minutes passed. An hour. I couldn't take it anymore.”

He takes a long pause. Spike wonders if the tape recorder picks up the sound of his breathing or the way his voice cracks. He's never been so scared of breaking down. That was always Twilight's thing.

“I asked where Applejack was. This is supposed to be her party, so it was strange she hadn't shown up yet. And nopony was talking about it.”

Spike swallows hard. It doesn't get easier. He thought it would. Thought he just needed a few hours.

“They all looked at me like I was crazy. It scared me. The way they just sort of...stopped. Stopped and stared at me. “Who's Applejack?” they said. I...I thought they were joking at first. But then I realized...”

Spike's voice breaks a little and he trails off. The tapes aren't helping. He wants to scratch his scales again. But Spike remembers the blood and the sting from the last time.

“I pointed at the banner. The one that says Congratulations Applejack. I asked who that was for. Her name was right there. Right there.”

He closes his eyes.

“Twilight was confused. She asked if I'd made the banner as a joke. I told her I hadn't and she didn't believe me. I asked about the Apples. She said she didn't know anything about an Apple family in Ponyville.”

Spike opens his eyes. The curtains are still closed. He can't see it. But he can feel the light, even through the thick curtains.

“I didn't say anything else. I think I zoned out for the rest of the party. They all kept talking. Laughing. Having fun. And at the end, they cleaned up and went home.”

He taps a claw against the side of the tape recorder. Freshly trimmed. The scales incident still makes Spike shudder. He needs to develop a new nervous habit, something relatively harmless.

“The mail pony I sent to Canterlot. He hasn't come back. I still can't get in contact with anypony outside of Ponyville. I'm afraid. I'm afraid of what will happen to me if I try to leave. I don't want to disappear.”

The guilt rises in Spike's throat like bile.

“I hope someone hears this. I hope they remember Applejack.”

click

Tape #2

click

“I've been keeping track.”

Spike lets the words settle. He holds the tape recorder closer to his mouth and speaks slower, his tone more deliberate.

“Of the ponies I mean. I've been keeping track of the ponies. Because if Applejack is gone...”

He swallows the rest of his sentence. It doesn't get any easier. Thinking about it, saying it out loud. Spike sees Applejack's smiling face in his mind and he almost breaks down. But he has to finish the tape.

“Its been two days. I'm sorry.”

Spike grips the tape recorder harder. He doesn't know who he's apologizing to.

“I was putting some things together. Counting.”

The tape recorder has become such a big part of his life. A friend. If Spike listens closely, he can almost hear its nonexistent heartbeat. It feels alive in his claws.

“I've been hearing things outside. Mostly when I'm in bed. Shouting. Ponies galloping around. Laughing. I look outside and can't see anything.”

He takes a very deep breath. Holds it for a little longer than he intended. Slowly lets it out. Loosens his grip on the tape recorder. Spike hasn't slept.

“I think I heard something hit one of the outside walls. It sounded like a body.”

He casts his mind back, trying to find the time frame. But time is meaningless. That's why Spike can't sleep. The afternoons, the mornings, the evenings. They all bleed into each other.

“I don't want to go outside. Twilight hasn't asked me to run any errands.”

Spike runs his claw down the side of the tape recorder.

“She hasn't asked me for much of anything. She wanders around the house and barely notices me.”

Spike moves on quickly. He can't stand Twilight's smile, her casual greetings, the normalcy of her actions. He's watched her. He's seen how she acts when she doesn't know Spike is there. Wandering around, going about her day like nothing is wrong.

"So I've been trying to figure out whose missing. I made a list of all the ponies I know. I think I'm going to go outside. I'm going to see if I can find them.”

Spike is testing the words. He notices how his stomach churns at the thought, how he unintentionally flexes his claws. Spike remembers the sounds. That awful thud of something solid hitting the wall right underneath his bedroom window.

“Tomorrow. I'll do it tomorrow. Or whenever. I don't know. I've stopped looking at the clocks.”

click

“Twilight talked to me today. Or to herself. I don't know which is which anymore. She just talks sometimes.”

She sounds normal. She looks normal. It hurts to look at her. Spike's voice cracks when he says her name.

“She's been researching something. I tried to listen. I really did. And I did catch some things, but...”

There are books stacked on his bedroom shelf. New books. Spike hasn't read them yet. He keeps staring at them.

“I went outside today. Finally. I told Twilight where I was going. I think she heard me. She had her muzzle in a book.”

Spike misses the sun on his face. Misses the heat. It's so cold now. Freezing almost. Spike can feel it indoors, like it's creeping through the cracks. There's a fireplace in his bedroom. No wood on the woodpile.

“The streets were nearly empty. The ponies walking around didn't look right.”

Their eyes. Blank. Hollow. Their movements deliberate. Spike passed Time Turner on the street. Time Turner had something in his mouth. Spike's not sure what it was. He tried not to look at it.

“I made a note of everypony I saw. All of them. I'm trying to keep track.”

The list is on his bed. Every single pony in Ponyville he remembers by name. Spike has consulted it three or four times.

“The marketplace was quiet. But I saw ponies there. Just milling around. Some of them were lying on their backs. Staring at the moon. A lot of the stalls had been destroyed.”

He remembers the carnage, if he could even call it that. The smashed remains of market stalls. Bits of fruit and glass scattered like entrails. And ponies wandering around, carefully avoiding the mess. Not speaking to one another. Just wandering through the mostly destroyed marketplace, pieces of fruit tangled into their manes and tails.

“One of the mares was bleeding. She had blood all over her forehead. I tried to get her attention, ask her if she needed help. She ignored me. I think it was Daisy?”

He lets himself fall into the topic. Daisy. One of the ponies who sold flowers. They'd talked once or twice. Spike tries to hold onto their mundane conversations, to create an intricate persona in his head. But it's not there. He only remembers her name, her smile, the scent of petunias. Daisy.

“She was just walking. Walking around in circles. And her head.... She must have hit it on something. She was bleeding so badly and I couldn't...she wouldn't let me help her and I didn't know what to do.”

Spike's voice cracks. It's not my fault. The words pound in his head. It's not my fault. It's not my fault. It's NOT... He tries again. Tries to remember those mundane conversations with Daisy. What they talked about, what she said, if she laughed, if she cried. But all he can see is that single image of Daisy. Walking in circles, blood pouring from her head wound and pooling at the tip of her muzzle.

“I could have dragged her to the hospital. I could have...something. Anything. But...”

He swallows hard. Spike passed the hospital on his way home. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the busted windows and overturned wheelchairs littering the outside. There might have been bloodstains on the outside walls. He didn't look.

“I'm sorry.”

click

“I heard screaming last... I heard screaming.”

Spike is learning. Learning how useless it is to differentiate between night and day. Sometimes he sleeps. Sometimes he's awake. It's all the same to him.

“It started up while I was in bed. I wanted to look out the window, but I didn't. I just stayed in bed and listened for a while. It stopped after about ten minutes.”

A knot of guilt tightens in Spike's chest. He's never heard screaming like that before. A warped noise that seemed to indicate some emotion Spike wasn't familiar with. A completely alien type of agony or grief that he isn't equipped to dissect.

“I found a book about the paranormal. Ghosts and anomalies and things like that.”

Old Flame's Guide to the Hidden World. An old book. Older than the library. Maybe older than Ponyville.

“I know Twilight doesn't believe in that stuff. But she doesn't know everything.”

The last part comes out more aggressive than Spike intended. His voice quivers with resentment he doesn't actually feel. Spike is frustrated. He's been that way for a while, but now it's starting to bubble inside of him.

“I'm on the first chapter. I don't know what I'm looking for.”

He picks up the book from his nightstand. Spike flips to where he left off, the ancient pages rustling loudly. He recites from the paragraph in front of him.

“A lone spirit may take any form. They can appear as grim specters, ghastly images of their own demise, or even creatures from our own nightmares. But the feeling of dread such spirits invoke is unmistakable.”

Spike closes the book.

“I have no idea if I'm going to find anything. Probably not.”

He's wasting time and he knows it. Spike doesn't want to go outside again. He doesn't want to search the basement for more tapes. Spike wants to avoid Twilight Sparkle altogether.

“I was thinking of visiting the Apple Family farm to see... I mean, the whole thing can't be gone, right? It has to still be there.”

He tries to sound confident, hopeful. But he remembers the blank looks on his friends' faces when he mentioned Applejack. No recognition. It was as if she'd never existed. As if Spike was misremembering the last several years of his life.

“It's weird.”

Spike stretches out his claws. He likes the feel of them. The sharpness. He needs to trim them soon, but a part of Spike wants to keep them like that.

“Twilight says I'm about the size of a young adult. But my mind is a little younger than that. I don't know how I should feel about that. What am I? I feel like a dragon on the outside, but the inside is kind of...different? I don't know.”

They've been over this. He's been over this. The uncertainty around his identity. But it's coming back to Spike, like a flame that never quite goes out. That one spark that sets the entire forest ablaze.

“Rarity doesn't look at me any differently. I think she still sees that tiny dragon. So do I.”

Spike stops. He doesn't want this on the tape. This isn't about him. He has nothing to gain from this inward focus, this pondering about his identity. Spike has been over this a dozen times before. But it doesn't get easier with every tired rehash.

“There's something going on in my head. Something with time. It started even before I stopped looking at the clocks. I'd forget the time. It would always be an hour or two off in my head, not that it mattered. It stopped after I started sleeping with my curtains closed.”

The moonlight peeks through the curtains. A minuscule sliver of silvery light. Spike contemplates sewing up the tiny gap.

“I wonder what's going on in Canterlot.”

Spike lets the thought sit in his head.

“I'm thinking of leaving. Leaving Ponyville. I need to know if....I need to see...”

An image flashes across his head. Mangled bodies. Blood. The remains of the city. A disaster the likes of which Equestria has never seen. And Spike sitting there on his bed, tape recorder in his claws. Oblivious. It seems like such a blessed way to live. Just sitting there, ignorant yet strangely content. But it's not the way Twilight Sparkle—the old one, the one who actually pays attention to him—would want him to live.

“I'll need some supplies. Food. Water. Books. I don't know how long I'll be gone.”

Spike talks as if he's making plans, but he's not. He tries to imagine himself leaving. It's not simply about Twilight anymore. It's about the noises. The dread. The things he saw in the marketplace. This list of potentially missing ponies yet to be finished. Spike doesn't like the finality of just packing up and fleeing. He wants the familiarity more than he wants answers.

“I have to think about it. Tomorrow. I'll probably know by then. I can't just... I'll have to ask Twilight if she'll come with me.”

He knows the answer, but he has to try.

“Even if she doesn't, I still have to go. For my own sake. I need to know what's happening out there. I need to know it's not as bad as I think.”

click

“I started packing.”

The lack of preamble makes Spike pause. It's his own voice, his own words. But he's still aggressively critical.

This is Spike's third time trying to start. He missed the Record button on his first try. Tried it again. Claw slipped. Got it on his third try. His claws were shaking too badly for him to get a good grip. The tape recorder almost slipped out of Spike's grasp. He almost wishes it had.

“I heard knocking. It was outside my window. I didn't open the curtains. I couldn't.”

He pictures his window. He imagines the glass shattering, exploding inward with the force of a single blow. It's just glass. Fragile. Useless.

“I'm on the second floor, so it must have been a pegasus. I tried to ignore it. The knocking. But it got louder and louder and I started to wonder....”

He pauses.

“I wondered if they were like me. If they realized something was happening and wanted to get inside. I felt sorry for them. Maybe they were an ally, somepony who could help.”

Spike has been in his room for a little too long. He's beginning to miss his friends and everything that made Ponyville so wonderful and lively. Still no word from the mailpony. Nothing about Applejack.

“Then I heard something else. The knocking stopped and there was this... I don't know. A little thudding noise? I didn't know what it was at first. It sounded wrong. Not like something being thrown against a wall.”

There is an old suitcase in one corner of the room. Spike hasn't had time to put much in it. It's mostly an umbrella and a few snacks from the kitchen. But he feels prepared.

“I think the pony outside was banging their head against the wall. I don't know how I got back to sleep. But I pulled the blankets over my head and dozed off. When I woke up, it had stopped.”

He hasn't looked outside. Not yet. That overwhelming feeling of safety, the belief that he is living in an impenetrable fortress of wood. But Spike remembers the knocking, the soft thuds of that pony beating their head against the outside wall. Spike is losing his naive belief in absolute safety.

“I might leave tomorrow. I need to sleep. I've been trying to, but I can't tell how long I'm actually out. I don't want to look at the clocks. The moon is always there. I never feel rested anymore.”

Spike's eyes glaze over for a brief second. He wants his bed. He wants sleep. He wants silence. But it's always so loud in Spike's head. Even when he's asleep, he can hear things.

He rubs the side of his head. Refocuses. Comes back. Clutches the tape recorder a little tighter.

“I can't tell what day it is. It could be the same day. It feels like one long day. Maybe the party was ten hours ago. I don't know anymore. It's so hard to sleep.”

He stops. Listens.

“Can you hear that?”

Spike moves closer to the window. He reaches forward, his claw gently brushing the closed curtains. Pearl-white and thin. They used to move in the wind, even when the window was shut tight. But there's no wind anymore.

“Ponies talking.”

He moves the tape recorder closer. It's faint. There are ponies talking right underneath his window. But Spike can't look. He can't hear what they're saying.

The first impact surprises him. Spike jumps back, reeling from the sheer force of it. The meaty thud of something hitting the outside wall. Something large. Pony-sized. Spike's heart sinks, his stomach heaving with terror.

Another impact. Even harder this time, like something—or somepony—being swung. The tape picks up all of it. Every thud, muffled and indistinct.

“I don't know what's going on.”

His claw prods the gap between the curtains.

“I want to know. I have to see...”

The curiosity burns in Spike's chest. It feels like someone driving a spike down his throat and through his heart. It sickens him. Almost makes him gag. Not the noises. The noises are something else, something almost removed from what Spike is feeling. This curiosity. This desire to know, stronger than any horror Spike has ever felt. And the guilt swirling in his stomach as he dares to consider indulging.

The thudding stops. The voices stop. The thoughts in Spike's head stop.

Spike withdraws his claw from the curtains. He doesn't know what he's feeling. The relief and regret almost feel false. They feel like placeholders for whatever battle is going on in Spike's head. But the choice has been taken away from him. He doesn't need to think about it anymore.

“I'm going to keep packing. Just in case.”

click

“You know by now. You know everything.”

The words strike a nerve, but Spike goes on. He's tired of sugarcoating, of holding back. Spike has been feeling bolder. He needs it to be archived, to be known.

“The mailpony. The moon. I'm tired of repeating myself.”

He means to sound abrasive, but he's actually tired and frustrated. Spike has been awake. Suspended in this false calmness, running on some kind of slow-acting adrenaline. Spike doesn't know what to call it, if it even has a name. Twilight would know.

“But I have books. I've been reading up on curses and dark magic.”

Useless fields of study for a dragon. Spike would laugh, but there's nothing funny about this.

“Nothing so far. Most of it is speculative. Theories and stuff.”

Spike is lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling. He used to trust his instincts, used to trust the sky above, used to trust Twilight. Who does he trust now? The tapes? No, not even the tapes. Tapes can break.

“Of course the real dark magic books wouldn't be at the library. They're in Canterlot, behind a dozen locked doors.”

The Canterlot Archives. Largest collection of books in Equestria. He's been there once, maybe twice. Thousands of shelves, maybe millions. Books from before the birth of Equestria. Old tomes filled with spells to destroy, to create, to entice.

“I could go there. It wouldn't be too hard.”

The Canterlot Archives aren't particularly well-guarded. It's the stigma and potential punishment that keeps ponies away.

“Its been quiet.”

Spike pauses. Thinks about how he's been able to sleep. He's more well-rested, a bit more alert. His dreams are less frightening. Spike's suitcase is almost fully packed. Enough for a short journey. He has a map. A brand new up-to-date one he bought a few months ago.

“I keep thinking someone is standing right beneath my window. But I never look. I don't think there's anypony there.”

Paranoia. Or maybe a manifestation of his reluctance. But it's not real. There are parts of this that Spike can confirm, parts he can touch and see. But this isn't one of them.

“I could go right now. I want to.”

He shoves Twilight to the back of his mind. His Twilight. Kindhearted, intelligent. She's become a husk lately, wandering around the house. Pulling books off the shelves. Not looking at Spike when he speaks to her.

“Twilight won't notice. I think she's forgotten I exist. I made dinner for her last night and she didn't even notice.”

He hasn't been outside in a while. Spike has been eating in moderation, holding back on his portions. He wants to leave the kitchen fully-stocked. Will Twilight eat while he's gone? There have been times—before all this—that she didn't. She needed to be reminded that she was merely a pony and not some kind of deity capable of going years without food.

“I'll sleep first.”

click

“It's still so quiet outside.”

Spike leans his head against the wall. His suitcase is fully packed. He's had to leave some things behind. He could grab another suitcase, perhaps one of those rucksacks. But as impractical as it is, Spike wants the suitcase. He can pretend he's just going on a trip.

“I feel safer when it's quiet. Maybe I shouldn't.”

He pauses, searching for what he wants to say.

“I want to get those tapes from the basement. I want to take them with me.”

Spike tries to present the concept flatly, like he's made peace with the inevitability of it. But there is uncertainty in his voice. Spike fears the darkness, the unexplored corners, the descending steps. This fear used to be outside, it used to be vast and uncontained. But now it lives inside the walls, inside the basement, inside Spike's chest.

“We put a lot of stuff down there after the renovation. I haven't really looked at any of it.”

He's seen the boxes. Some of his old toys and books, his name clumsily scrawled on each box. There is a gap in Spike's growth, an eternity between one stage and the next. He doesn't remember being small. He doesn't remember writing his name on those boxes. It feels like something he dreamed.

“Twilight helped me carry them down to the basement. I told her I didn't need them anymore. I'm surprised she believed me.”

He intends the last sentence to be light, almost teasing. But it comes off as unexpectedly bitter. Spike wishes he didn't have the increased firepower. He wants his small body back, he wants his tiny claws. Spike wants to cling to Twilight's back like he used to, without fear of hurting her with his claws.

“I miss not having to bend down to hug her. I can carry her now. Well, I can almost carry her. I tried it as a joke once. She thought it was funny.”

Spike looks at his claws. He still hasn't trimmed them. He thought he could handle them, that nothing would change. But there are marks on the walls from his clumsiness and he's shredded more than his fair share of bedsheets. Spike has learned to be careful, to read without putting Twilight's precious books in danger. He has adapted. It scares Spike. He doesn't like to think about how easily he adjusted to this new body. But it's not as if it happened suddenly, as if he didn't have years to prepare.

“I should do something about my claws before I go. They're too long.”

He doesn't remember where the claw trimmers are. The ones he got for his birthday last year. Spike remembers peeling back the packaging, the ripping sound as he tore away the wrapping paper. Tore it away with his claws, letting the ribbons of Rainbow Dash's effort fall to the floor in a useless pile. He saw her staring at him out of the corner of his eye. She was admiring his claws, her mouth slightly open as she watched him shred the wrapping paper with very little effort. It made Spike uncomfortable.

“I wrote a note for Twilight. “Visiting friends in Canterlot for a while. Don't forget to eat! Love, Spike. P.S. Take care of yourself”.”

He recites it flatly. His bedroom floor is littered with his previous efforts. Crumpled pieces of paper containing confusing or frantic sentiments. Most are unfinished, some Spike actually took to completion before discarding.

“I don't like how it turned out, but it's the best I could do.”

It's not the best he can do and he's well aware of it. But he doesn't want to try again. Spike can't bring himself to grab another piece of paper, to scrawl another inaccurate or stunted message. It's never going to be the truth. It's never going to make Spike feel better.

“I guess I could leave right now if I wanted to.”

Spike imagines sneaking away under the unrelenting cover of darkness. Escaping Ponyville with only a suitcase full of his most valuable possessions and a map. Spike could do it. He could do almost anything at this point. It's a strange contradiction in emotions: bravery vs. the horror of the unknown. He thinks of freedom and bravery wins, then he thinks of the sounds outside—the sounds that stopped so long again, but echo in his head—and fear reclaims the dominant role.

“I'm going to do it. I'm going to leave.”

He says it out loud as a confirmation. Spike wants to see how confident he sounds, how much he means those words. The words come out shaky, but there's some confidence in them.

“Tomorrow. I'll go down to the basement. I'll get those extra tapes. I'll even grab one of the rucksacks me and Twilight never use. I'll get out of here.”

It's not the leaving that hurts him. It's leaving alone, of being on his own. Its been so long since Spike was alone. There's always been someone. Twilight, his friends, even the princesses. But for the first time in his life, it's just Spike. Spike, who knows nothing, who is partially ruled by fear, who still isn't old enough for any of this.

He repeats it again. Gets himself used to how the words feel on his tongue, how they sound.

“I'll get out of here.”

click

“I shouldn't have done it.”

Spike is breathing rather heavily. His claws shake, his eyes darting back and forth. He sees nothing, but of course there's nothing to be seen. It's Spike's bedroom. Its always been his bedroom.

“I opened the curtains. Why did I do that? Why did I open the curtains? Oh sweet Celestia.”

He shuts his eyes. The curtains are closed now. He's safe now. Except Spike isn't safe. He remembers that flimsy glass, those doors with far too few locks. Locks aren't really needed in Ponyville. A laughable precaution, or so Spike and Twilight were told.

“I wanted to see if there was anyone there. I thought I heard the knocking again. Faint this time. I wanted to see their face. Wanted to see if they needed my help.”

Spike is scratching at his shoulder. He feels his claws dig in, pain spiking from the penetration point. But there's no blood. Not yet.

“I opened the curtains to look. I shouldn't have. Oh sweet Celestia, why did I think that was a good idea? What's wrong with me?”

Spike knows why he did it. That desire to see another face, to find a friend, to feel as if he wasn't alone. That was why he opened the curtains. But in hindsight, the whole thing feels foolish, like the naive act of a child.

“There was a pony hovering right outside my window. A pegasus. She was knocking on the wall next to it. At least I think she was. I wasn't paying much attention to her hoof. She was...”

His voice dies. He stares at the closed curtains, his eyes somewhat glassy. The image is right there. Imprinted in front of him, like a figure caught in a camera flash.

“Her eyes. She was staring straight ahead. Just staring. I'm not sure if she even saw me. She just stared. Stared and knocked.”

He wants it to end there. Spike wants that to be the final sentence of this bizarre story. But there's more. There's always going to be more, he realizes. Until this ends, there will always be more to the story. More empty space to fill on every tape.

“We looked at each other for about two minutes. I was wondering if I should open the window and say something to her. If I should try to snap her out of it and ask if she needed my help. But I never got the chance.”

Spike is scratching harder now. The spikes of pain have become more frequent as he buries his claws in his shoulder.

“Suddenly she looked right at me. Really looked at me. I could tell she realized I was there. She saw me. I was so happy. I was about to open the window. I thought maybe she had something to say to me.”

Spike clutches at his own shoulder. Dragons are incredibly tough. Or at least they're meant to be. But Spike is still so small—even by dragon standards—and so weak. He smells the blood from his injured shoulder. Dark stains where he scratched too hard.

“She looked right at me for a few seconds. Then she slammed her head into the window. Just...slammed her head into it. It was so sudden that I jumped back. She pulled her head back and I could tell she was bleeding. She hadn't broken the glass or anything. She stared at me and her eyes were unfocused again.”

Spike is breathing more heavily. He wants to take care of his shoulder. But first he has to finish this part of the tape. Spike has been worried lately. Worried about forgetting, of ending up like that glassy-eyed pegasus outside his window.

“I closed the curtains. I think she went away. I didn't hear her leave, but I also didn't hear anything else. Its been a while. I don't hear anything outside.”

He listens again. Nothing.

“I have to get out of here. I know I've been saying that, but... That pony's eyes. The way she looked at me.”

He checks the curtains again. Makes sure they're still closed, save for that minuscule sliver.

“It was like the way Twilight looks at me now, but even worse. Is that the second stage of this? Is Twilight going to...? Oh sweet Celestia.”

He feels like he's said “Sweet Celestia” too much, but Spike can't help himself. He worries, wondering if even Princess Celestia could save him from this. He doesn't think she can. He wants to hope, but he doesn't feel like the princesses even exist anymore. They feel more like a concept or an idea.

Spike imagines fending off Twilight, fending off the princesses. Fighting his friends. Fighting them with those claws. Those claws that were made to slash, maim, and kill. Spike knows he'd do it. If he had to, if there was no other choice. And that scares him more than what he's seen so far.

“The basement. I'm going to the basement.”

click

“I went down to the basement.”

The casual tone catches Spike off guard. He isn't used to sounding so calm. But it's really the only way he can get the words out. If he panics, he might shut off the tape entirely. Spike might smash the tape recorder to bits just to avoid having to talk about it.

“Twilight was in her bedroom. Sleeping. I think. I'm not sure she sleeps nowadays.”

He's feeling less rested himself, but that's alright. Spike just needs to be alert. Not even mostly alert. Somewhat alert. Aware of his surroundings.

“I grabbed a flashlight from the kitchen. I forgot there was one in there.”

Spike didn't actually forget. He's known about it for a long time. That spare flashlight stashed in one of the cabinets under the sink. Spike held his breath as he clutched it in his claw, praying it wouldn't work. But of course it flickered to life almost immediately, dashing his hopes and dreams.

“The steps didn't creak.”

He wished they had. Spike wanted to be caught. He never liked the basement. Likes it even less now.

“It was so dark down there. Even with the light, I kept bumping into things. There were boxes everywhere. My name was on a few of them.”

There were less than he remembered. Less boxes with his name on them. Spike wonders how many of his old toys found their way to the basement and how many were tossed out. He wonders if he'll ever see them again.

“I found the tapes immediately. A little box in the corner. I was scared. I thought maybe Twilight had taken them or something. But they were all there. I found the rucksack too. It was stuffed in one of Twilight's boxes.”

He's proud of himself. Proud of how he faced his fear. How he stuffed those tapes into the rucksack. It all feels more important than it really is.

“I found something else. It was in a corner.”

Spike isn't smiling anymore. Very suddenly, he's arrived at that part of his recollection. He thought he could hold it back. But it pours out of him like blood gushing from an ax wound.

“A dead bird. At least I think it was dead. I hope. I thought it was sleeping. I thought it would fly away when I shone my flashlight on it. But it stood there, so I got closer. And it was dead. Mutilated. It looked like it had been...”

He sucks in a shaky breath.

“Eaten. By something large. A pony? I think it was a pony. Somepony ate a bird, or at least they ate half of it. I don't know how it got in the basement.”

Spike speaks with conviction he doesn't feel. There is one obvious way that dead half-eaten bird could have ended up in the basement. But he leaves it unsaid. It doesn't need to be spoken aloud. It came through in Spike's voice.

“That's basically all I saw. Everything.”

Spike knows he's going to miss the basement. He's going to miss the library, miss Twilight, miss Ponyville. Of course he could always come back, but a part of Spike believes in the finality of his journey. He doesn't picture himself returning to this place. And even if he does, it won't be the town he once knew. It hasn't earned the right to be.

“I'm going to sleep. I need some rest before I go. I feel so prepared. I feel like I'm really doing this.”

He sounds more excited than he means to. Spike wants to be sad about leaving his home. But all he feels is an odd and contradictory sort of elation.

“I have everything I need. Nothing can stop me.”

click

“They were waiting.”

Spike inhales deeply, his breath shaking. He feels like he should start at the beginning. But there is no beginning. It's all moving too quickly for him to find a good starting point. His mind has settled down a little, but not enough.

Spike's bedroom feels hauntingly familiar, like an old friend. He hasn't been gone very long.

“I had everything. I checked and double-checked my stuff. I wasn't worried about Twilight catching me. She was doing something in her room. I didn't see her before I left.”

Hours ago, that would have hurt. Not being able to say goodbye to Twilight. It didn't stop him, but it definitely would have hurt. At least Spike left the note. A useless piece of paper, but at least it was something. A memory he could save.

“I left the library. Of course it was dark. I had a flashlight. A flashlight and two lanterns. I scoured the whole house before I left. Found everything useful.”

The rucksack felt so heavy. But not heavy enough. Spike feels like he should have had something more, that there should have been a little more strain on his shoulders.

“There was no one outside. I actually opened the curtains and checked before I left. Everything was silent and empty. I saw a few shapes, but they were just darting behind the cottages. No one knew I was there.”

It's an odd thought. The idea that nopony noticed Spike slinking out of his house, that nopony saw the dragon loaded down with a slightly less massive rucksack. He was invisible.

“I memorized the route. There are a few roads leading out of Ponyville. I took the long way because it has the least hoof traffic.”

It took him a whole two hours to fully memorize that route. It wasn't particularly difficult, but he needed to get it right. Spike knew he couldn't be pausing every few minutes to check the map.

“I wasn't followed. I checked a dozen times to make sure.”

The possibility only hit him a few minutes or so into his escape. The concept of somepony trailing his every move. Maybe the pegasus from before, the one who seemed so intent on getting into his bedroom. Or Twilight herself, curious about what Spike was doing.

“It was slow. I had to stop a few times. I got hungry, but I couldn't eat any of my food. I had to wait. I had to be safe.”

That was what this whole thing was about: being safe. Did he ever really think about what that word meant? Had it always sounded so hollow in his head, so distant?

“I saw two Earth ponies. They were fighting over something. I didn't see what it was. I kept my head down and kept walking. But I saw their eyes. They were wide. Wide and glazed. They looked sort of like the moon.”

The description makes Spike pause. He turns to look out the window. He's pulled back the curtains again. He's watching the moon's solitary vigil over Ponyville. Spike feels tears in his eyes for the second time that day.

“There was a pegasus lying on the ground. I was scared at first, but I noticed he wasn't moving. Not dead, just not moving. I was able to walk around him and he didn't stir. His eyes were all wide and glassy. He was lying on his back and staring at the moon.”

Spike wishes he had names. Better descriptions. Anything to give these ponies a voice. But all he has are those eyes, forever burned into his mind.

“I didn't see anymore ponies. I was lucky. I didn't really think about what I'd do if I saw more than one.”

It sounds more and more reckless as he talks about it. Spike never knew what he was doing. He was running on fear and panic, his brain looping the same urgent message: You need to get out.

“I finally made it to where I needed to be. I was close to the outskirts. I could see exactly where I needed to go. The road leading out of Ponyville.”

Spike's heartbeat quickens, like he's experiencing it all over again.

“I'm not sure how I didn't see them at first. I was too excited. All I could see was the path. But of course there was more. There always has to be.”

He can't quite put it into words. The feelings that rushed through his head, the way his body reacted. Spike hardly remembers any of it. He just remembers coming to a halt, the smile leaving his face before it was even fully formed.

“There were a dozen or so of them. At first I thought they were milling around and I could go past them. I thought they were like all the other ponies I'd seen. I thought they wouldn't see me.”

Spike swallows hard.

“Rainbow Dash was with them. I think I saw Mr. and Mrs. Cake too. They all had weapons. Makeshift clubs and things like that. They were standing right there. Guarding the only way out of Ponyville. Making sure no one could leave.”

He doesn't want to think about the other faces he saw in the crowd. The ponies he knew, ponies he'd cared about. Lined up like some mockery of the Royal Guard, wielding their makeshift weapons. Standing feet away from a collection of bodies—not many, but enough—littered across the ground.

“They didn't see me. I was able to hide before any of them caught sight of me. Not that it mattered.”

Spike flexes his claws. He knows exactly what he could have done. He could have gotten past them. Could have torn through them in a rush of claws. But Spike couldn't do that. Those were his friends, practically his family. And Spike was outnumbered. He'd seen the crazed looks in their eyes. He knew they wouldn't hold back.

“They're guarding the way out. I could try to fight, but I'd die. Or they'd die. I don't want either of those things.”

He flexes his claws again.

“There are other ways out of Ponyville, but they're probably guarded too. I don't really want to find out.”

Spike doesn't care if he sounds like a coward, if a voice at the back of his head is screaming for him to try again. He's sick of this. Sick of all this fear and ignorance. Sick of feeling helpless in his bedroom, helpless out there, helpless inside his own brain.

“There are other options. There have to be.”

Spike turns to stare directly at the moon. He no longer fears its light. Spike despises it. Despises the way it hangs there, refusing to take responsibility for what its done. What its done to all of them. Spike remembers the crazed expression on Rainbow Dash's face, that animalistic resentment.

“I'm going to do some more research. Find out absolutely everything I can. About Ponyville, about the moon, about whether or not anything like this has happened before. I'm not leaving this here. I can't.”

A part of Spike believes he can fix all this. That if he just works hard enough, everything will return to normal. But then he remembers those dead bodies and suddenly he isn't too sure.

“If you ever hear this Twilight, please don't worry about me. I hope I saved you. I hope I saved all of you.”

click

Tape #3

click

“I've been seeing smoke in the sky.”

Its been a whole week since his last tape. Spike's eyes are sad and his smile is forced. He knows no one can see it, but he tries to smile anyway. He tries to make himself feel more in control.

“I see fire in the distance. Buildings burning. I don't know which buildings.”

At least it's a break from the darkness of a perpetual night sky. Another color, something new and vibrant.

“There hasn't been screaming in a while. But the knocking is getting more frequent.”

A steady tapping. Spike has learned to ignore it. He can sleep through it. He even hears it right now, a steady background noise the recording can't quite pick up. Rhythmic. Spike knows what will happen if he opens the curtains again.

“I haven't been out of my room in a while. I went on a food run about a week ago. Grabbed everything I could from the fridge and cupboards. As much as I could carry.”

He pauses.

“There wasn't much. I'll need to go outside at some point.”

If there's even any food left at the market. Spike is doubtful. He might need to start looting. The idea sickens him, but what choice does Spike have?

“Twilight has locked herself in her bedroom again. I don't know what she's doing in there. I hear her walking around sometimes. She just walks in a circle for hours.”

The repetitive sound of hooves comforts Spike. At least he knows she's there, that she hasn't abandoned him. Spike keeps expecting her to be gone.

“I boarded up the doors.”

He feels like a liar, even though he hasn't told a single lie. But Spike knows it wasn't a simple precaution, a necessary security measure. It was as much to keep Twilight in as it was to keep those other ponies out.

“I grabbed every book I thought could help me.”

Spike takes a moment to admire the books stacked floor-to-ceiling in his small bedroom. He's only read half of them and he feels like he still understands very little.

“I've been trying to figure out if this has ever happened before.”

Spike nudges an open book near his foot.

“I've read about cases of mass hysteria, but nothing like this. Nothing that lasted this long. Nothing that turned regular ponies into...this. And I still have no idea what's going on in Canterlot.”

He's lost hope. That mailpony isn't coming back. Maybe that's for the best. Maybe Spike doesn't want news from the outside.

“Star-swirl the Bearded mentioned something called “Pale Eye Syndrome” in one of his books about dark magic. It's the closest I've found to an explanation. But the symptoms don't line up. Nothing lines up.”

He nudges the book again, flipping it over. The page is covered with illustrations Spike would rather not look at. The horrific consequences of prolonged dark magic use.

“Mass possession? I guess it could be that. But what am I supposed to do about that? I'm not a unicorn.”

There's a few rituals in the book. Forbidden magic. But it doesn't matter very much at this point. Spike no longer fears breaking the rules. He only fears what might happen if he just sits in his bedroom and does nothing.

“I guess I could try it. First I'd need some stuff.”

He is tempted to read out the whole list, but Spike stops himself. It doesn't matter. The things don't matter. It's the action that takes precedent, if he's even willing to try.

“I'd have to go outside.”

The thought never occurred to him before. Spike thought he could stay a little longer, maybe forever. But saying it out loud, he feels the urgency of it. He wants to go, to get it over with, to let the horrors in his head be replaced by brand new ones.

“I bet Zecora has everything I need.”

The name catches Spike off guard. He hadn't thought of her yet. Hadn't considered Ponyville's lone zebra. But she has to be alright. Living alone in the Everfree Forest. And she must have seen the moon, must know what was going on.

“I could visit her. I know the way. I just need to avoid being seen. I've done that before. I should be fine if I don't try to leave town.”

He can't know that, but he can pretend he does.

“I'll need to leave right away. My things are still packed.”

Spike no longer fears the Everfree Forest. Whatever is in there, whatever wishes to harm within those trees. It can't be worse than what's out there, can't be worse than the screams or the fire. Can't be worse than whatever is going on in Canterlot.

“Okay, I guess I don't need to leave right now. But soon.”

Spike glances at the open rucksack. He's been taking some thing out of it. But he's not letting it sink in. His failure to escape, the fact that he may never leave.

“I'll rest. An hour-long nap.”

He has so little strength these days. Even making these recordings is draining. It's the lack of sleep, Spike theorizes. Lack of sleep and that general feeling of hopelessness that permeates his brain. Spike feels both inside and outside of his body, struggling to lift a claw, fighting to control every part of himself. Afraid to sleep, but terrified of what might happen if he doesn't get a good rest every now and then.

“I broke all the clocks.”

Spike delivers this nonchalantly, like it means nothing to him. He doesn't mention the incessant ringing in his head, how his vision burned as he tried to follow the numbers. Then Spike was sweeping his claws across his nightstand, knocking the clock to the floor. He was watching it fall to the ground, reveling in its destruction. That was the first clock. The rest came soon after, falling victim to whatever blunt object Spike could get his claws on.

“It was so satisfying. I wanted to do it. What's happening to me? Why does it hurt?”

Spike's claws shake. He feels either too old or too young at any given time. It switches. He no longer remembers his age. All Spike knows is his body.

“I'm going to sleep now. I'll feel better when I wake up.”

click

“I took a nap. It was nice.”

Spike feels silly, giving these little updates. But it makes him feel better. He knows he's alive, that he's coping, that he might be able to do this.

“I'm not sure it was an hour. It doesn't matter. Time doesn't exist anymore.”

It's a ridiculous thing to say, but Spike lets the words hang there. He doesn't know how long its been. A week? Two weeks? A month? Spike feels as if he's been sleeping through most of it, tossing an turning and unable to get any peace in his dreams.

“I can't leave town.”

He lets himself take the full implication of the words, lets them settle inside of him.

“But there are places I can go. Places inside town.”

Spike thinks of those ponies guarding the way out of Ponyville. There are more. He hasn't seen them, but he knows. Spike knows he's trapped.

“The food is about to run out. I need to make a food run soon.”

It would be so much easier if it wasn't just him. If he had Twilight's magic, Twilight's ingenuity, Twilight's intellect. But Twilight has been in her bedroom for a long time. Maybe a week. Spike can still hear her in there, pacing and bumping into things.

“I think I'll do it today.”

He hasn't heard anything from outside since he woke up. Every time this happens, Spike lets himself hope. He hopes the town has finally fallen into silence. A part of Spike wants to be the last one alive. Sometimes he wants the quiet more than anything else, the safety that comes with silence.

“I'll try Sugarcube Corner. It's not far.”

And Pinkie Pie wouldn't mind, he adds to himself. Spike remembers the thing he saw there, the things he refuses to mention on the tape. Its been so long, but he still can't. The images come back and Spike feels like the floor is collapsing out from under him. He almost doesn't catch himself in time.

“I've been trying to keep quiet.”

He lowers his voice.

“I don't want to draw any attention to myself. I don't want them to remember I'm in here.”

Have they forgotten him? The thought almost sends Spike's brain into a spiral. He imagines himself as he is, erased from their memories, purged like some kind of traumatic event. Which version of Spike—if any—lives inside their heads? Is it the small dragon who likes baking? Or is it the larger dragon with the sharp claws, the dragon who still likes baking but doesn't do it as often?

“I should do a supply run too. I don't know what I need, but I'm sure there's something.”

The guilt is already settling in, even though Spike hasn't done anything. Looting. That's the word Twilight would use. It doesn't seem fair. His friends are alive, they could help him, they could get him through this. But they're not Spike's friends anymore. There's no love in their eyes anymore, no will to resist whatever is happening to them. They succumbed to it, but Spike is still here. He wants to know why he was left to suffer, why he has to be the only one.

“I need another nap.”

click

“I made my supply run.”

Spike expects every tape to be his last. He hasn't been listening back, but he always remember the final sentence. It can't always be interesting, it can't always be filled with finality. Sometimes it's a statement, other times a question. Spike imagines each one being his last words.

“They're not just on the outskirts anymore.”

He sits down on his bed, the springs creaking underneath him. Has he grown? Spike feels bigger somehow, more powerful. But his claws look exactly the same.

“I saw a few of them wandering around town. They weren't dazed like the others. They weren't wandering around aimlessly. Each one I saw had some kind of weapon.”

Spike shudders. They looked so much more alert, so much more aware. But still lost. Lost somewhere in their heads. He recognized some of them, but he tries not to think about who they were.

“I had to sneak past. It's so dark out there now, even with the moon in the sky. I stayed in the shadows and they didn't see me. I made it without being spotted.”

Spike frowns. It sounds so ridiculous out loud. Darting in and out of the shadows like a thief, terrified of being spotted by his neighbors. Why does Spike feel so guilty?

“Someone left the back door open.”

He hadn't been planning to go through the front of Sugarcube Corner, so he felt a rush of relief when he saw those open doors. A stroke of luck. So rare these days.

“It was dark inside. I think its been a while since anyone turned on the lights. I had a flashlight with me.”

He remembers how desolate the place felt, as if someone had robbed it of everything valuable. Sweeping his flashlight back and forth. Glimpsing broken jars and smashed containers in the beam of light. Shuddering at the destruction, trying to ignore the splatters of dried blood.

“I went into the kitchen first.”

He can hear himself now, the memory bouncing around in his head. His slow footsteps. Pausing every few seconds, wondering what he'd stepped in. Not wanting to know if it was blood or something else.

“The fridge was fully stocked. Cakes and cupcakes and all kinds of stuff. Baking stuff. I stuffed my bag with everything I could find.”

Spike smiles a little. He remembers trying to shove an entire box of cupcakes into his rucksack, only to give up and start stuffing his face. Those were delicious cupcakes.

“I couldn't fit most of it. I got a few containers of frosting, some baking stuff, some hay cakes, and basically anything else that was wrapped. I didn't expect there to be so much.”

He feels a little regretful, having missed out on those delicious cakes. He did eat a little of them, filling his stomach for the first time in a while. Spike felt no remorse, no shame as he stuffed his claws into a raspberry-vanilla cake and shoved a huge glob of it into his open mouth.

“I filled my entire rucksack. I didn't think I'd be able to.”

He stops. It's never the end. It's never the final sentence. There's always something bigger.

“I went to Pinkie Pie's bedroom. She still lives upstairs in that loft right above the shop.”

Spike is already making excuses inside his head. But he can't lie to himself. Not out loud.

“I wanted to see if she had a photograph of Applejack. Some proof she existed.”

She had to, Spike reasoned at the time. She was Pinkie Pie. But Spike isn't sure what he intended to do with the photo, what he hoped to accomplish. Maybe a part of him was starting to doubt that Applejack had been real, that she wasn't a hallucination or a fever dream.

“I knew she wasn't up there. I saw her wandering around outside on my way there.”

She wasn't smiling. That was what Spike noticed first. Pinkie Pie's indifferent expression, the way she moved without purpose through the streets. It almost broke Spike's heart. But he left her. He slipped past and kept going.

“The loft looked exactly the same.”

It was such a serene image, so perfect. The loft exactly as he remembered, untouched by the surreal horrors of the outside. He almost cried. Spike does cry as the memory comes flooding back, dragging an arm across his face to soak up the tears. His voice shakes as he continues.

“There weren't any photos. I don't know what she did with them.”

He remembers the photos. An earlier memory, from maybe a year or so ago. A group photo on the dresser, some scattered snapshots all over the bedroom.

“I looked everywhere. I pulled open all the drawers. I even checked the walls for secret compartments. Nothing.”

Spike knows he can't blame himself, that he is the most innocent in all of this. But the guilt blooms in his voice as he speaks. Spike feels that if he—and he alone—had noticed sooner, he could have saved his friends. Could have at least saved Applejack. If only he'd been more perceptive and less inside his own head.

“I decided to check the bed. I'm not sure why I thought of it. It was the last place. The only one I hadn't looked at.”

Maybe there was a reason. Some primal feeling of wrongness that kept him away. But Spike fought it. He shouldn't have. He really should have just left it alone.

“It smelled. There was this sickly-sweet smell coming from it. I was scared, but I went closer. I could tell there was something under the covers. Something big. I pulled back the covers and...”

Spike shuts his eyes, but only briefly. He sees it behind his eyelids. The smell comes back to him, stronger than before. But Spike knows it isn't there.

“It was an animal. Some kind of huge animal. I wish I knew what it was, but I really couldn't tell. It was completely torn apart. Fur and bones everywhere.”

He shudders. First the bird, now this. He's seen too many dead animals.

“I think someone had been eating it. There were some parts missing. I think I saw bite marks. I can't be sure.”

He swallows hard.

“That wasn't the only thing. I found something else. It was under Pinkie's pillow. I saw a corner of it sticking out and just grabbed it.”

Spike remembers how it felt in his claws. Soggy. Limp. Wet. At first he thought it was an over-sized sponge.

“It was a book. A notebook. I don't know who it belonged to. There was nothing on the cover. No name.”

He stretches his claws. Spike can't believe he touched it, that he held it in his claws. It looked like someone had retrieved it from a large body of water.

“I opened it. I thought maybe there would be answers. Somepony had to be taking notes, right? There had to be someone as sane as I was, someone who knew enough to document everything that was going on.”

It's what Twilight would have done. It's what Spike should have done. But he has his tapes. The tapes are better than a notebook, more reliable than pen and paper.

“There was only one thing written in it. Over and over again. In big letters. I didn't recognize the hoofwriting. It said “The moon looks beautiful tonight”.”

He flinches at the familiar phrase, as if it physically hurts him.

“That was it. I flipped through all the pages. The moon looks beautiful tonight. That was the entire notebook.”

Spike smiles bitterly. At the time, he wasn't focused enough to be disappointed. He just wanted to get out of there, to distance himself from the animal remains in Pinkie's bed. But now Spike has the full weight of it on his shoulders. The regret of having found the opposite of what he needed.

“I went into the bathroom. I thought I'd splash some water on my face. I thought I'd look at myself in the mirror and tell myself everything was going to be okay.”

Spike hadn't showered in a long time. He did when he got back to the library, for the first time in maybe weeks. But no matter how hard he scrubbed, Spike couldn't quite get the smell off of his scales. It still isn't entirely gone, despite hours of scrubbing and four bottles of soap.

“The bathtub was full of notebooks. Damp notebooks. I grabbed one and opened it. I must have read through at least four of them. They were all the same. The moon looks beautiful tonight. Over and over again. There must have been at least twenty notebooks in that bathtub.”

Spike sniffs his claws. They're the only part of him that doesn't vaguely stink of animal remains. Spike doesn't know how the aroma ended up clinging to him. It's just there, like an insidious reminder of everything he's done wrong. Or maybe it's all in his head.

“I left after that. I might have seen something on my way out. I have no idea. I just wanted to get back to the library and forget.”

Another bitter smile. He wanted to forget, yet he's making these tapes. It's the contradiction of Spike's new life. The deep desire to put everything behind, yet the need to document it.

“I'm going to take another shower.”

click

“More smoke in the sky.”

It's thick and dark, somehow visible even against the equally dark sky. It stretches upward towards the sky, funneling up from somewhere unknown. Spike doesn't want to speculate.

“Fires. I can't smell anything. It must be far away. Somewhere on the other side of Ponyville.”

Ponyville doesn't really have an “other side”. It's so small and intimate, but it gives the illusion of immensity. Spike used to find that jarring. Now he relishes it. He relishes the distance between him and whatever is happening out there.

“I heard my first scream in a while. It was so loud that it woke me up.”

He's huddled under the covers, safe in his makeshift bed fort. Spike doesn't want to look out the window anymore. He doesn't want to see the smoke or hear the screams. He wants to pretend everything is fine, even as he speaks into the tape recorder.

“It sounded like a stallion. I can't be sure. It might have come from right outside the library. I didn't check.”

Spike doesn't know why he's talking about this. He doesn't have much to say. But his own voice soothes him. He knows he's real, that he's still here, that he's still trying his best.

“Twilight has been eating more. I leave food outside her room and it's gone when I get back. But I can't bring myself to knock on her door.”

He's afraid of what—if anything—he might see in her face. Spike worries he might not recognize the mare who basically raised him.

“Before all of this, Twilight asked me what I wanted to do with my life. I told her I was okay staying with her for however long she needed me. But she pointed out that dragons live much longer than ponies, so what was I supposed to do after she was gone? Wasn't there something else I'd like to do? It wasn't like I could keep being her assistant forever.”

He shifts uncomfortably, but he keeps going.

“I don't think it was really about Twilight's mortality. It was about her wanting more for me. More than being her assistant. It's all I've ever wanted to do. But there's more to Equestria, isn't there?”

Spike really did think he'd be alright, just being Twilight's faithful assistant for the rest of her life. But he looks at his claws, the way his face and body have changed. He looks at himself in the mirror and sees someone else entirely. Spike no longer knows what he wants. But it doesn't seem to matter in this nightmarish new world.

“Maybe I could have gone to Canterlot. I could have become a baker. I like baking. I like making ponies happy. I'm sure Twilight would have approved.”

There are other things, other paths he could take. Joining the Royal Guard like Shining Armor, maybe taking care of animals like Fluttershy. But Spike didn't have time to think about any of those. By the time the thoughts entered his head, this nightmare had already started.

“I can still do those things. There's time.”

If he ever gets out of this, if somehow everything is okay, if he ever gets to Canterlot, if things ever go back to normal.

“I'm just not sure how much time I have left in this place.”

click

“Can you hear that?”

Spike is talking to the tape recorder like it's a friend. He feels more lonely, more affectionate. He's starting to become desperate for companionship.

“There's someone outside. Laughing. Or is it crying? I don't know. They've been there for a while.”

He listens closely. The sounds alternate, jumping between muffled sobs and high-pitched shrieks of laughter. The transition is seamless. It almost sounds planned. The pit in Spike's stomach grows with each passing moment.

“I'm not going to look.”

Spike makes the promise to himself, but he knows he won't keep it. The curtains are calling him. Its been four days. Four days since he opened them. Four days since he looked outside. Five days since he went outside.

“Twilight is pacing in the library.”

He can hear that as well. Faint and comforting. Twilight out of her bedroom for the first time in a long while. The sound of her hooves on the wooden floor woke him up.

“She's been pacing for hours. I haven't checked on her.”

Spike is afraid. Afraid of seeing that dead-eyed stare, that hollow look in her eyes as she paces back and forth.

“Everything is still boarded up. No one can get in.”

He says it to bring himself some much-needed comfort. But then he considers those flimsy wooden boards, easily broken by the persistent hooves of an Earth pony. Spike still hasn't found the safety he craves, only empty reassurances and placeholders.

“The laughter is getting louder now.”

He moves closer to the window. The sound has lost its meaning. It no longer sounds like laughter. It sounds like the hideous wailing of an animal in pain.

“It stopped.”

Spike listens. He can feel his heart pounding in his chest, his blood pumping. There is something unfamiliar and dire about the abrupt stop, the way the laughter just cut off. The pit in Spike's stomach swells, swallowing everything. A primal fear claws at Spike's insides.

“They went away. They....”

It explodes into Spike's ears, into the recording, into the silence. A scream. The loudest Spike has ever heard. It knocks him backwards like a punch to the gut, sending him scrambling away from the window. It's sudden and brief, yet it burns itself into Spike's eardrums. It lingers, a ringing in his ears as he stares at the closed curtains.

“Oh.”

It's a woefully inadequate response and Spike knows it, but it's all that comes out. Everything else gets trapped in his throat. He feels like he's going to vomit.

“Oh.”

click

“I can't find Twilight.”

Spike drums his claws against the tape recorder. The repetitive sound gives him comfort.

“I went downstairs for the first time in a while. I thought I'd make dinner for the two of us. Something normal. I wanted something normal.”

He saw it so clearly in his head: the two of them sitting down to a nice home-cooked meal. Laughing, joking. Normalcy. Spike saw it so vividly that he actually went downstairs, driven by his absurd fantasy.

“I've been sleeping longer and longer. I don't mean to. I say I'm going to sleep for ten minutes, but it feels more like hours.”

Spike is getting headaches, likely from over-sleeping. But there's not much else for him to do. The books aren't helping. Documenting isn't helping. Even the tape recorder isn't helping.

“So I decided to make dinner. Or breakfast. I'm not sure. I was going to make Twilight's favorite.”

Oat cakes with honey and fresh-squeezed orange juice. The first breakfast Spike ever made for Twilight.

“She'd stopped pacing a while ago, but I wasn't paying attention. I thought food would make everything better.”

It did feel nice, at least for a little while. Cooking. Being in front of the stove. Humming as he prepared the meal, forgetting all of their worries. Forgetting he was trapped in this cursed town.

“I went to Twilight's bedroom and knocked on the door. I wasn't really thinking about the fact that everything was so quiet.”

He doesn't remember when the pacing stopped, when the library went completely silent.

“She didn't answer, so I opened the door and went in.”

Spike hadn't started to panic yet. He recalls the uncharacteristic calmness in his heart, the stillness of his mind as he entered Twilight's bedroom for the first time in weeks. But it was only temporary. The peace of mind is always a placeholder.

“The bed hadn't been slept in. I don't think Twilight's been sleeping.”

It's the first time he's thought about that. The fact that Twilight had been pacing day and night, with only brief pauses in between. The fact that Spike heard her wandering around the house. Spike doesn't know—doesn't want to know—the last time Twilight actually went to bed.

“I've searched the entire library. I even went down to the basement.”

Spike pauses. This memory rushes over him suddenly, like he's standing at the top of the stairs again. He remembers calling Twilight's name, listening to it bounce off the walls. Descending the stairs quicker than he wanted to, his footsteps far too loud in the silent room.

“There were more dead birds in the basement. A lot more. A pile of them in the corner. The smell was unbearable.”

He wonders where those birds came from. Did they fear what was happening out there? Had they—driven by instinct alone—mistaken the library for a sanctuary? Maybe it's the result of hanging out with Fluttershy, but Spike feels a twinge of remorse in his stomach.

“I locked and re-boarded the front door after I came back last time. The boards are still there. None of the windows or other doors have been touched.”

Spike glances at his own window, like it might hold some answers for him. He still hasn't sewn up the curtains. He needs to find a needle and thread.

“But she could have teleported somewhere. She could be anywhere.”

Spike's claws are restless. He flexes them, gently runs them across his arm, scratches the side of his face. They move almost on their own, extending and retracting in quick movements. When Spike says Twilight's name again a moment later, he feels them curling towards his palm.

“Twilight couldn't have made it out of Ponyville. She has to still be in town.”

He could wait. Spike has no idea when she's going to come back. She might waltz right into his room at any moment. He might wake up and hear her pacing.

“I'm going to look for her. Outside.”

Outside. The word doesn't set off the same rush of panic, but a shiver skitters up Spike's back. He's never prepared for the outside. He waits hours, days. The memories dull over time and suddenly every trip outside—however brief—feels brand new, as if it's his first time stepping outside of the library.

“She couldn't have gone far.”

But she could have. She could have and probably did, but Spike doesn't say it. Not out loud.

“I'll take some supplies with me. Just in case. In case I run into trouble. Have to be ready.”

Ready to defend himself. Ready to hide from his fellow townspeople as if they're zombies. Spike is chilled at the thought, afraid of what might happen if he gets into a fight. No, Spike is fully aware of what will happen. Hooves vs. claws. Horn vs. claws. It doesn't matter. They'll be torn to shreds. He's never fought anyone before, not with just his claws. Spike has never lost control of himself, but he knows it can happen. He knows these instincts live inside him.

“I'll find her.”

click

“Why did I go outside?”

Spike is shaking. This is his second time trying to record this. The first time, the tape recorder slipped from his claws. He just stood there, staring at it like he expected it to move. Shaking and holding back tears. Feeling helpless. But somehow, Spike pulled himself together. Somehow he forgot that he's still so young, still far from being a fully grown adult dragon.

“I thought I'd find Twilight and everything would be fine. I'd find her and bring her home and snap her out of it. We'd figure this out together.”

Spike had an entire speech planned, a series of questions he wanted to ask. Words he hoped would bring Twilight to her senses. He can no longer remember those words, those questions. But Spike is sure they wouldn't have worked. This is deeper than words, more complicated than any question he could ask.

“I packed up some stuff I thought I needed. I took the tape recorder with me just in case. I was really worried about leaving the library. Worried about it being empty.”

He laughs, but without any humor.

“Of course I checked outside first.”

The tiny gap in his curtains remains. Spike told himself he'd sew it up as soon as he returned home.

“No one. Not a single pony standing around. So I decided to make a run for it. I had no idea where I was going, but Twilight was out there and I needed to get her back.”

He smiles bitterly. Spike is glossing over the parts where he was scared shitless, the parts where he legitimately believed he was going to die. He sometimes wonders if he did die. Maybe this is what the other side looks like for a dragon like him. A twisted copy of Spike's hometown, filled with danger and death.

“I couldn't be thorough. I had to alternate between running and being sneaky. I had to stay quiet most of the time. But I paid attention. I looked in windows, even though it was risky.”

He sucks in a deep breath.

“So many empty cottages.”

Spike closes his eyes and sees himself. A third person view of this large dragon—not massive, but large—creeping through the streets, rucksack slung over his shoulder. How did he even manage stealth? How did he manage to keep out of sight?

“The hospital was deserted. Totally deserted. I was scared, but I got closer and peeked inside. There was no one in there.”

He wonders if he's repeating himself, if he's said all this a dozen times. It definitely feels like it.

“I didn't see her. I didn't see Twilight anywhere. I have no idea where she is.”

Spike's stomach heaves. He feels physically ill at the thought of Twilight wandering around out there. Because he doesn't know how far gone she is. Is Twilight more aware than the other citizens of Ponyville? Or is she even more lost?

He takes a deep breath, deeper than the last. But that's not the worst of it. Maybe for Twilight, but not for him. He hesitates, as if not saying it out loud will make it go away. Spike's stomach heaves again as he attempts to focus on what he wants to say.

“When I got back to the library...”

Spike hangs his head. He knows it's not his fault. He couldn't have known. He was naive. But Spike has always been gullible. Without Twilight, he's practically helpless. He doesn't know what to do or how to find answers.

“There were a lot of them. Hanging around outside the library. I don't know if they were waiting for me. I didn't stop to check.”

He only got a brief glimpse of them before he fled. Spike didn't want to see their familiar faces, didn't want to think about his friends hunting him down like a wanted criminal.

“I'm hiding out in the hospital. First floor.”

He knows he should go back. Briefly. Just to check. The library was his only lifeline, his only connection to knowledge.

“I can't go back there. Not yet.”

Spike has boarded up the broken windows and locked all the doors. He doesn't feel safe. He's never going to feel safe in this massive empty hospital, surrounded by countless entrances and exits.

“I have supplies in my rucksack. I should be fine for a while.”

Spike stares at his claws, his eyes slightly unfocused. Of course he'll be fine. He has everything he needs, at least for the time being. But how long? How long until Spike needs to make another supply run, until he's forced to brave the horrors of the outside again? How long until his temporary sanctuary is breached?

“I feel like I should have made some progress by now. But everything is getting worse.”

Who are these tapes for? Spike asks himself this for the first time in a long while. For Twilight, lost somewhere in this nightmare? Too far gone to even remember Spike's face? For the princesses, wherever they are? For himself, to keep the memories alive long after this all comes to an end?

“I'll find something soon. I promise.”

His claws are shaking.

“And I'll find Twilight. And I'll save everyone. I promise.”

click