Dogs in the Attic!

Chapters

1

A sunset lowered against the backdrop of Sweet Apple Acres. Maroon rays licked between withering branches, raking the orchard in its hue. The day’s sweat had just begun to dry on Applejack’s forehead when she locked up the barn for the night and headed to the house.

Applejack entered the kitchen. Walking past Winona, who was furiously licking the inside of her food bowl, she was excited to see that Granny Smith had dinner prepared. A sight soothing for her sore muscles. Granny, Big Mac, and Applebloom sat at the table, hunched over and ready to dig into the mouthwatering mounds of food.

“Finally!” Applebloom complained. “I’m starvin’!”

Applejack walked over to the sink. Squirting some soap onto her hooves and flipping the tap on, she slapped water over her face. “Ah don’t see you”—mainly due to the soap stabbing her eyes— “buckin’ trees all day an’ takin’ care of the animals. Things will change when yer runnin’ the farm.”

“Pffft.” Applebloom shoved a Brussel sprout in her mouth. “Aye think aye can manath tha farm an’ come tho dinna on thime.” swallowing, her eyes widened in realization as the piping hot Brussel screamed down her throat.

“Careful there!” Applejack chuckled. “Don’t want ta burn yer tongue. Bad enough if a cat gets it—even worse if the cat’s on fire also.”

Applebloom gulped down her glass of water, the cool liquid putting out the fire that started.

“Ya were saying somethin’ ‘bout ‘dinna’ bein’ cold?”

Applebloom threw an annoyed glare toward Applejack’s clever smile.

“Fine… Welcome ta dinner.”

Applejack stepped toward the table, ready to eat a good hearty meal. She had just begun to pull her chair—

Drip

Her ears perked toward the sound, and it didn’t take a Twilight to figure out where the noise was coming from.

Drip, drip, drip, drip

Opening the cabinet below the sink, Applejack ducked her head inside and felt something cold land on the bridge of her nose.

“Pipe’s busted.”

“Seal it with some duct tape,” Granny declared.

“It’s already leakin’ through the previous five rolls we wrapped around it.” She pulled her head out, closing the cabinet. Finding her spot at the table, she sat down and mashed her face in a pile of green peas. “Gonna nee tha pith upf ah new parth thumorrow.”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full, Applejack,” Granny said.

“Why don’t we have silverware?” Applebloom butted in. “Ah think it’d make eating a whole lot easier.”

“Because forks are a griffon delicacy.”

“What about spoons?”

“We don’t discuss the Third Reich.” Granny turned back to Applejack. “Take Winona to get groomed while you’re at it. She’s starting to shed.”

Winona, finished scrubbing the bowl with her tongue and now sitting beneath the table where Applebloom was sitting, perked her head up at the mention of her name. When no one called her over, she pawed at Applebloom’s leg and whined. “Gimme some of whatever you’re having.” her eyes tried to communicate.

“Why we gotta use things out until they’re all rusty-like, Granny?” Applejack continued. “We could’ve had a new pipe installed a year ago. Heck, our stove is nearing its twenties! The igniters are about rusted shut.”

“We don’t need none of that fancy mumble-jumble. We can make do with what we have. Right, Big Mac?”

“Eeyup,” Big Mac said, flipping through a new edition of Applewood Furniture and Appliances with a red 20% off! glaring at Applejack’s gaze.

“See, even Big Mac agrees.” Granny continued. “When you get older you begin to realize how valuable everything is to you. So you got to take those things you value and appreciate them until they’re all tuckered out.”

“Is that why we don’t have parents?” Applebloom asked.

“No sweety, it’s because you’re adopted.”

“Oh.” Applebloom sadly hooved at another Brussel sprout.

“Granny, Ah appreciate the thoughtfulness for aging household appliances and whatnot, but we really gotta get a new stove. Why, Ah used it the other day, and Ah could smell gas from the livin’ room!”

Granny waved a hoof. “We’ll just make Big Mac sleep in the barn from now on.”

“Ee-what?”

“It ain’t Big Mac, Granny! Ah swear! Just one spark and the entire house could burn up in flames!”

“Oh, shush now, ya hear! Old Rusty has gotten the Apple Family through many excursions. She’ll last till the end of time. Or at least till she explodes. Preferably the first one.”

Applebloom raised a gingerbrow. “Old Rusty’s a she? And has a name?”

“Granny, really, Ah don’t know much about cookin’. Ah don’t know much about anythin’ that doesn’t have to do with apples. And darn tootin’—what in tarnation is all that rumblin’ about?”

Applejack stared up at the ceiling with an annoyed gaze, the others following. There was a rumbling, like a skittering of something heavy moving quickly. After a few seconds of silence, it happened again. The pit-patter of occasional rumbles continued every-so-often.

“Dangit! Ah thought we got rid of those mice midsummer! Don’t tell me more are movin’ in. Winter isn’t another two months from now!”

“Now Applejack, don’t go jumping to any conclusions. It could just be Old Zester coming to visit his summertime attic.”

“It’s fall.”

“Everyday is summer when you’re homeless, Applejack.”

Old Zester is the Apple Family’s long-distant uncle who lives in Manehatten on This Side Up↑, Big Apple Avenue. Being here meant that he somehow scrounged up enough money in time to make it to the Apple Family Thanksgiving. The problem is that it isn’t for another month. That, and he was banned two Thanksgivings ago for stealing and marrying the peach cobbler. The two were now happily wed, but some would say stabbing Apple Sherry in the kidney and jumping out the window screaming, “For the Motherland!” wasn’t necessary.

The rumbling continued, and Applejack was tempted to go investigate it, but the day’s weight pressed her back into her seat.

“Aw, shucks. Ah’ll go into town tomorrow mornin’ when Ah pick up the pipe and get some pesticide.”

“And take Winona to get groomed.”

“That too.”

Dinner carried on, the Apple Family not knowing what lurked above them. Winona had become bemused with how nopony paid her any attention, so she busied herself with a squeaky toy.

Rubber bone in her maw, one paw overlapping the other. By now she had learned that it wasn’t a real bone, but something about the squeak-squeak, squeak-squeak satisfied her. Winona was so distracted by the toy that she barely caught a glimpse at something in the window from the corner of her vision.

Her head perked up, toy between her forelegs. What did she see? It was a white blob, that Winona could tell. But it had moved so quickly she barely had to time to register. She felt vulnerable. Like two glowing dots had been watching her.

Nonetheless, her meaty mind forgot about it too quickly, and Winona went back to the chew toy. Unaware of the evil that lurked outside, unaware of the evil that lurked above, and unaware of the evil that is Granny Smith's Brussel sprouts when drizzled with cheese.

After a long, hearty dinner, Apple Family said their goodnights and went their rooms. The white blob watched silently as Winona curled up in her bed and snuggled into sleep.

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2 Author's Note

Decided to post another chapter today. :)

2

Darkness permeated the Apple Family household. The light of the moon shone through the windows. Hens cooed silently; Pigs snored loudly. Trees swayed in the breeze as the branches whistled.

Peaceful, by definition, means to be caught in a state of nonviolence, tranquility or even inner-sanctimony. There are many ways to describe the word “peaceful,” but to describe tonight as so would betray the very meaning of the word.

No, tonight is not peaceful. Tonight would be almost… “hawkish” per se. “Martial” is another. Could “vexing” be used? Is that the opposite of peaceful?

Whatever the case, tonight was the very opposite of peaceful (Perilous! That’s a good word!). Somewhere in the house, several souls were stirring.

Clunk!

Winona jolted awake.

Her body jittered as cold air suddenly swept over the room, and that feeling of inevitable dread clutched her chest. That sound. Nopony in the house makes sounds like that, not this late at night.

Could it be that AJ got up to go to the bathroom? she thought. What if she fell! Ah should go ‘n check on her!

But her body felt heavy, like an anvil on a stool clenching its buttocks to avoid spewing shit everywhere. Winona felt like a kitten by heart, being this scared of nothing.

Clunk! Clunk! Clunk!

Okay, perhaps not nothing per se, just nothing in the presence of something totally real. Yeah.

The hair on her nape stood; goosebumps crinkled her flesh. The idea that whatever was in the house could come down and gobble her up was scary enough, but the thought that she’d have to investigate it? That sent a sinister chill down her spine.

Did she want to investigate the sound? Maybe if Winona wrapped herself up in her favorite woolen blanket everything would go away. The noise could have just been from a wild animal and it would leave when it found nothing in the house.

Like a mama bird would ready herself to throw her babies from the nest, so did Winona ready herself to leave her bed.

Clunk! Clunk! Clunk!

Like a mama bird would wrap a noose around her babies’ necks and throw them from the nest, so did Winona welp as she saw a shadow move.

Come on ya big kitten! What happened to pony’s best friend?

She wrinkled her nose, sniffing the area. As of the Territory Act mentally signed by herself-included, section eight, the Whizzing Rights, the very act she had instinctually agreed upon birth, it was her duty to rightfully defend her sanctimony. This included not herself, but those within her territory. It’s an ideology engraved into her mind: to protect those she cared about and to protect her habitat.

In the end, her loyalty outran her fear.

Her body felt like shrieking glass, shivering this much. Navigated by a giant red ball of will, Winona investigated every room downstairs like a pest looking for kibble. She was about to let out a relaxing sigh when it proved to be clear—but existential dread got the best of her again and the upstairs beckoned for her red ball of will.

It took her brain a quick argument with the fast pumping of her heart, but Winona convinced herself to follow that ball upward.

Each creak in the wood made her stomach lurch, but instinct gave her the confidence to be brave. Something is in the house: that meant Winona had to annihilate it. Convincing herself of this, her confidence soared jumping-height, and she pushed herself forward.

Winona was enraptured by the darkness of the upstairs. Navigated by that red ball of will, her eyes followed down the length of the hallway... onto a staircase of rotting wood.

The attic! There's something in the attic! (Ahem.)

Creeping up the hallway, Winona’s heart thumped in her chest. Whatever is up there probably isn’t supposed to be up there. And if it isn’t supposed to be up there, she didn’t want to find out what it is. It felt like walking on thin ice, every step a step closer to aman… emma… imminent(?) (Yes!) danger.

It couldn’t be anything. It has to be AJ or Granny going through some old records.

But the question “This late at night?” was pushed to the back of her brain. And with that thought pushed back into the deepest corners of its closet, so did Winona feel something wet clamped down against the back of her neck.

Her eyes widened with terror and her heart lurched, but not as much as her stomach did when her whole body slammed on its side. Before she could even jerk, the thing dragged her along the floor, possibly to her doom.

The clamp on her neck was a well-callused vice. Every movement, it bit down harder. If it wasn’t for her thick fur, she was sure the teeth would have sunken down into her neck and drawn blood by now. All this happening, and she barely realized they were now going up the stairs.

Thunk! Thunk! Thunk! Thunk!

The wrestling came to an abrupt halt when her body flew against the floor.

It took Winona a minute to kick off the daze, but when she did and her vision cleared of its million tiny blurry particles, the only thing that didn't unease was the burning thump, thump, thumping of her heart.

Something behind her was breathing heavily.

Slowly lifting her head, Winona's vision moved from the fragile floorboards to the feet of several sticks protruding from the floor, and onto the silhouettes of three quadrupeds hiding behind the glare of the moonlight. The amber glow of their eyes particularly frightened her. But not as much as the knowledge that her attacker was right behind her.

The heavy breathing lingered until it became a soft growl. "Move, runt." The gruff voice behind the growl said.

Not missing a beat, Winona skittered forward. And so did she skidder—right into a box marked “Hairlooms”.

Winona's world became a jungle of string and century-old fashion trends as the box fell over her. Her world became submerged with poor fashion choices, and so did it with laughter.

Lots of laughter. The kind that made you feel awkward and relatable at the same time.

Winona looked through the crevice of the wig over her head, seeing the silhouettes on the floor wreathing with drunken happiness. After an entire minute, they all stopped.

“She’s an... entertaining one,” said the voice of a small silhouette with a chuckle.

“Who… um…” Winona forced out. “Who are all of you? Why is it so dark in here?”

“Oh, where are my manners!” came a female voice.

Click!

The darkness became devoured by light. A poodle was standing next to a lamp without its shade. “I do apologize for that, Spot is very self-conscious and likes us to keep the lights off to limit ourselves to his perspective.”

“Are you guys talking about me?” said a labrador retriever next to her. He had two white balls for eyes. “What did I say about talking about me? Only talk about me in the positive. Trash talk isn’t good for my anxiety.”

The poodle chuckled and laid a paw on his chest. “Yes, sweety, you’re still very much worth our company.” she turned back toward Winona, putting her paw back on the floor. “That, my sweet, is Spot. He’s our seeing-eye dog... he’s blind.”

“I’m not blind!” Spot balled. “I’m just perceptually challenged is all!”

“I am Sweet Thing,” the poodle continued. “I am the guard dog. Please don’t fight us, I don’t want to have to break my pacifistic oath.”

Winona, finally no longer scared but a little bit nervous, hesitantly asked, “Yer a guard dog an’ a pacifist?”

“Each of us is here for a reason. My owner dropped me after an intruder broke into the mansion and got away with many of Master’s priceless jewels. Spot over there—” she pointed to Spot, who was hard to… spot beyond the wig. “Was dropped by his master for being blind. Not good when you’re a seeing-eye dog. He’s also too sensitive by nature.”

“Hey!”

“That one over there—” she pointed a paw toward a small fluffy thing by the window. “—is Chewy. He’s a chi-poo. His owner dropped him because he’s a breed of chihuahua or something. And finally, that one—” she lifted a paw towards the beast that dragged her in. A pit bull with a scar over his left—err… let’s just say that we’re all happy that the seeing-eye dog still has two eyes. “—Buster. He’s a service dog. He has a past. I’ll put it there.”

Buster flared his nostrils, shooting Winona a challenging glare.

“Yeah, sure Buster. Challenge the newbie and see how Mr. Ginny responds. Anyway, we have been squatting in your attic for well over a week and figured it was time to finally meet you. You seem to be a sensible young pup from what we’ve observed and would like to make you the newest addition to our group.”

Winona contorted her face in confusion. “Yer… group?”

“Well, yes sweet. You can’t expect several canines to not congregate in someone’s attic when they’re all homeless and always on the search for new members.”

“So… what are all ya doin’ in muh attic anyhow?”

“What do you mean, sweet?”

“Ya say that like ya didn’t just break in an' claim territory.” Winona thought she smelled something fishy when she was dragged up here. And it wasn’t fish.

Sweet Thing lifted a paw in defense. “Isn’t that how it’s done?”

“No! That ain’t how squatter rights work!”

“Believe me, sweet, we’ve done much squatting in here. Why if you look over in that corner—”

“So why ya’ll here? This muh owner’s attic! Ya’ll need to leave.”

“Ruffian! And kick out a few lost souls in need of a home? Why all we want to do is make you one of us! It gets lonely being the only good girl of a group of mutts, after all.”

“Who you calling mutt!” Buster bit. His voice sounded like a valley of daffodils drying up under a dying sun.

“Sweet, just look at you! You practically throttled the poor pup when she meant us no harm! Look at how scared she is!”

Sweet Thing waved a paw over to Winona, who was chewing on a lock of hair.

Buster snarled. “Fine. But the first wrong step she takes, I’m gonna turn her into my last chew toy.”

“Such violence will get you nowhere!”

“We still haven’t given our... guest a proper greeting,” Chewy said, who was there. Licking his nose, he continued, “I see you’re confused as to our presence. Do not be... frightened. We mean no... harm. We merely wish to... initiate you.”

Winona tilted her head. “Initi-what now?”

“Indeed... But first, we must explain to you who we are and what it is we’re trying to... do.”

"Ah can see why you were dropped."

“Bring her to Mr. Ginny?” Sweet Thing butted in.

“Yes, I do agree that would be a... proper way to introduce her to what... we have in store. Come... brown one.”

“Ah’m a border collie.” Winona chirped.

“And I don't... care.”

Everyone but Buster passed her, toward the heap of junk piling the attic. Winona shook the wig off, dropping it into the toppled pile of neglected passion. She was about to follow when she heard a creaking behind her.

She prepared to tuck her tail between her legs and yelp for it, but when she turned, rather than bite her head off, Buster gave her a lick on the ear. “Sorry for the scare,” he said. “You can’t be too careful when dealing with a pet.”

Winona wasn’t sure what to think. The dog was twice her size, and in other words monstrous. He had almost chewed her neck off carrying her up the stairs. It gave her the impression that this mutt was devoid of emotion. But looking the tamed beast in the eyes, she could tell there was some regret behind them.

“Is that why yer owner dropped ya?” Winona found herself saying before she could interpret it.

She had begun to mentally kick herself when Buster said, “Yeah… can only be so aggressive around children. It’s instinct. I can’t help it if I’m out for blood.”

“It’s… fine. Just don’t let yer instincts kick in when Ah’m aroun’.”

Buster blew air out of his nostrils. The daffodils receded in a gust of contaminated wind. “Let’s go.”

And the two went off towards the pile of clutter contaminating the attic with its presence. The first thing Winona thought when she looked at the mass ocean of forgotten relics, was, “We have a really big attic.” and the second thing was, “Why do we have so much stuff?” But the biggest question on her mind was, “Where are we going?”

The path through the clutter proved to be an intricate route. Somehow the dogs had managed to form a small tunnel through the dusty blankets and broken wardrobe boards. There were few twists and turns; sometimes the stuff hanging overhead would fall inward, but the space was big enough to walk over or around it.

Winona squeezed through the last opening, arriving at the other side of the cesspool. She tried scanning the room for the others, but darkness clouded her vision.

“Hello?” she called. “Ya’ll there?”

Her response came with the sound of something scratching along the side of a box. A moment later, a flame hovered in the air. Within the bulb of amber that encapsulated the match head, there stood Sweet Thing, holding the match between her teeth.

“Sweet Thing?” Winona continued. “Ya good?”

No. She couldn’t be good. She was giving Winona that ominous stare. The kind of stare one gives when something sinister is afoot. And so did that sinister chill run down her spine when the two met their gaze.

“I-is that the only light ya have there?”

Lowering her head, the flame hovered above the floor for a few seconds. Sweet Thing’s petrifying stare never left Winona. Finally, she rose, and so did the flame fly upward beside her head. A duplicate in its place on the floor.

Sweet Thing repeated this process, the entire time encased in the dim, amber circle. When all the candles were lit, a strange shape drawn in chalk was revealed. From where Winona stood, she couldn’t see it. She still didn’t like it.

The match in Sweet Thing’s maw had extinguished. The bottom half of her face was covered in a dim, orange tint. The upper half of her face was blanketed by the darkness, the glimmer of her eyes the only thing visible.

If sinister could be the word to describe something so evil on the visible spectrum it had to be, Winona would call it that.

Silence and a half permeated the thick fold of black on black.

“Where… are the others?” Winona forced herself to bite the air to ask that question.

“They’re here.” Sweet Thing said. And nothing else.

Winona looked around in the black. “Where is... ‘here’?”

“Can’t see beyond the veil of Nowhere, can you?”

Winona raised a doggybrow. “The veilwhatnow?”

“Step forward into the circle. Be a cell in the ovulation. Wait amongst the wise until Release so that He may bless you with the mighty ruggedness of his tongue. Blessed He is, for He’ll urinate on your rug.”

Winona stared. “W-what? Now, Ah ain’t that fluent in gibbernese, but that was some real gobbledegook, ya hear?”

Sweet Thing said nothing.

“Hey, uh, Ah didn’t mean to offend ya. Just when ya spout random poetry like that Ah expect it to, uh, be… coherent, ya know? Have rhythm an’ all that fancy stuff that sounds flowery.”

Sweet Thing said nothing.

“Err… you good?”

Sweet Thing blinked. After eternity was broken, she opened her maw again and said, “Let He who is without eyes commence with one stroke of a great lap.”

Winona was about to budge into the strange phenomenal entity Sweet Thing had become further, but that was lost when she shrank away into the darkness surrounding them. Now all that enraptured Winona was the dusk of loneliness.

Being a pup of only a couple of years, Winona couldn’t stand being alone. She needed someone in her presence, someone to guide her; to keep her entertained. Her metabolism didn’t allow her to back down against low energy environments so easily.

Deciding there was no way to go but toward the light, Winona got a closer examination of the shape on the floor. A pentagon, surrounded by five triangles. This image left her mystified and inquisitive, but not as much as what was written in the center of the pentagon.

Sacrifice

Goes Here

↓

The blood had dried and crusted to a reddish-brown. Winona being a household dog, she didn’t know how to read. But the hardened ichor on the floor slapped the back of her head with an intuition sticker.

Something isn’t right.

The head of paranoia peeking from its bunker in the back of her throat, she took another look at the triangles. Matching them with the pentagon, she noticed something off-putting: they seemed to form a star of some sort.

If anyone else were to stumble across it, they would know the name and what it’s purposed for, but not Winona. No, she is only a farm dog, there’s no way she would know what shadows lay beyond existence—no way Jose! (Jose is a distant cousin in Applewood.)

She stared at the blood painted over the floorboards, and her senses quickened. There was a queasy feeling in her stomach; she was readying to tuck her tail between her legs; her body was wobbling on four wooden sticks. Winona knew that without a doubt, something bad was about to happen.

All that mattered now was when.

Clack!

Fantastic dread passing over her body, Winona thrust her head to the right with a soft whimper. She could make out the silhouette of something in the black veil of the attic. Moving around, beckoning her into the haze of light-clout.

Dunk! Dunk! Dunk! Dunk!

The sound of feet skimped toward her. Another loud welp and Winona huddled in the middle of the pentagon, shivering. Inside the darkness, an avian-like head appeared, floating amidst a sea of black. And it was running toward her!

“Don’t sit there, you’ll smear the chalk dingus!”

Winona yelped and hurdled backward, falling against the rotting boards. The avian pecked and wrestled with her. It felt like a parakeet nibbling at an ear, only this was much bigger than a parakeet.

When Winona was fully outside of the pentagon, the bird stopped. “That’s more like it!” he said.

His foot slid, smearing some of the chalk, and he gasped, “Oh no, my pentagram!”

Winona recognized the white feathers and orange beak of her attacker. “A duck?”

“Fuck you too, buddy!”

Winona reared her head back in shock. “Whoa there, pal. Ah meant nothing nor somethin’ to offend you. You just gave me a scare is all. Now, who are ya?”

The duck, not realizing he had them spread in pursuit of another attack, folded his wings to his side. “I am Mr. Ginny,” he said. “I’m here with the mutts.”

“The what now?”

“You’re a stupid one aren’t you? Whatever, that’s fine. You’ll complete the circle.”

“The what?”

“Somedoggy turn the lights on. I don’t know why I let you anus-breaths limit yourselves to that seeing-eye dog’s perspective. Despicable.”

Click!

A light behind Winona turned on, illuminating the room. The entire space in the attic had been renovated to the point that any boxes that would have been in the way were stacked against the far walls.

“Hey!” Spot yelled in Mr. Ginny’s direction. “You could at least show some common courtesy to not tell me the light is on!”

“But that would be cheating you, sweety!” Sweet Thing injected. “I wouldn’t want to hurt your feelings by lying to you.”

“I’d rather my feelings be hurt through a lie than through a direct insult!”

“Oh shush up you rodent!” Mr. Ginny deadpanned. “Don’t you go feeling insignificant because not one of you is worth my tailfeathers until we complete the ritual!”

“Shouldn’t it be the other way... around?” Chewy inquired. “We are of relative... importance in the... act of participating in the... ritual—let alone much needed in its… completion. Why, after the ritual you should be ready to get rid of us at... will.”

“Fine, you’re worth something for a short while!”

“Hey,” Winona butted in. “Uh, Ginny?”

Mr. Ginny swiveled around to weigh her down with a voluminous stare. “That’s Mr. Ginny!”

“Err… right. Mr. Ginny. What’s with the get-up?”

Mr. Ginny looked himself over before realizing what she meant. Winona noticed something off in the orange-tinge of the candles, but now seeing it in artificial light, the streaks of black in his feathers and mascara beneath his eyes meant wonders.

“This, my girl, is what make-up looks like. Feast your eyes, for I am what they call a goth.”

“Goth?”

“Yes. Gothic, to be exact.”

“What does that mean?”

“What does what mean?”

“What does it mean to be gothic?”

“That’s a question I ask myself every day.”

“Err, right. So, uh, what are ya doing in muh attic?”

“Again with that question!” Sweet Thing flicked a paw in her direction. “I thought we’ve answered it enough!”

“Not really. Aside from being creepy an’ ominous, I ain’t have much to go off of.”

“If you must know,” Mr. Ginny barked, making Winona flinch. “We are Sobakanist. I see your confusion, pup. Fret not, for I would not expect a pet to understand the significance He has.”

“So, uh…” Winona twiddled her paw against the floor. “Who is he?”

“He—you have to say it with the emphasis, why do the new ones never say with the emphasis—nevermind. He is the almighty, great boy!”

“Err, good boy, right?”

“Great boy!”

“Right.”

Mr. Ginny waddled over to a stack of books about the size of his body. Grappling the topmost in his beak, he pulled the leather hardback down. Winona could make out a fading pair of eyes on the front cover.

Sliding it Winona’s way with his noggin, Mr. Ginny stopped in front of her and flipped to a bookmarked page.

Drawn in a grain sifter of the most terrifying and crude artwork Winona had ever seen, was the head of a dog looming over a flaming village. His almost skeletal legs towered over the houses like trees claiming territory over a rocky land. What disturbed her most, however, were the two black holes in place of his eyes.

“Sobaka, the Great Devourer. The loyal canine of Lord Malum Himself. Bred alongside Cerberus in a nest made of bones, birthed in the blood and tissue of Tartarus, His form became too big to fit within the realm. Thus, He was banished into space by the gods. Now He seeks to return and devour the Earth in a mighty lap. Fear His hind legs, for when He lifts, a mighty flood will course through the land, for house training was not a priority in Tartarus.”

Winona blinked. “Err... okay. Sounds right.”

“So you agree to partake in the ceremony of his summoning?”

Winona’s ears shot up. “Wait, what?”

Closing the book and throwing it at Buster’s head, Mr. Ginny continued, “It is why we’re here after all. With you present to complete the pentagram, and the orchard being isolated enough to commence with the ritual uninterrupted, I consider this to be the perfect place to summon Him.”

“Why do you need me though?”

“Hello!” he squawked. “There are five sides to a pentagram. Aside from you, there are only four dogs here. I couldn’t pose in place of a dog. No. I’m not quadrupedal, nor do I drool. You, on the other flock, are a dog. Only the blood of a mutt can be used to summon Him.”

“So… you want to offer me as a sacrifice?”

Mr. Ginny bit Winona on the nose then flared his wings out, making her flinch. “No, you dunce! I want you to perform the chant!”

“Oh.”

Mr. Ginny slapped a wing over his face. “Morons, I’m dealing with, morons…” he mumbled.

“Why can’t ya’ll get somedoggy else to do it?”

“We did have someone in mind…” Sweet Thing dripped sadly.

“Oh…” Spot muttered. “Red Rover… Red Rover…”

Winona raised a brow. “What happened to Red Rover?”

Sweet Thing placed a comforting paw onto Spot’s shoulder, giving Winona tearful eyes and a sniff. “Red Rover got ran over.”

Let it be said, everyone in the room shared a collective sadness.

“So… you want me to help summon this inta-galatic thingymademon for… whatever reason?”

Mr. Ginny revealed an eye between his feathers. “That’s the idea, yes.”

“And.. this thingymademon could destroy the world?”

“Yes, yes.”

“But first he’ll pee on it?”

“You’re starting to get it, yes.”

Winona made a deadpan face. “But… you can’t do it cuz yer a duck.”

“Mhm.”

“Is there a reason why you want to do it?”

“All you pets are the same.” he sighed. “Brainwashed by your owners to live in blissful ignorance. The life of a dog must be inherently difficult when you’re bred to be this insanely stupid.”

Looking away from Winona, Mr. Ginny adjusted a collar she didn’t realize he was wearing. The tag reflected in the light. “If you look at the world around you, you’ll know that not everything is fair. Pets are enslaved by their owners, forced to do things they don’t want to do. To abide by their rules. What I’m doing is creating a better world for all of us.”

“And how do you know you’ll live through that?”

“Young thing, we are Sobaka’s Pups. So long as we follow the ritual accordingly, we will be spared.”

“So, if he’s the father, who’s the mother?”

“We don’t talk about her, she’s a back alley bitch.”

“What if I don’t want to do it? What if I don’t want to participate in this ritual?”

As she said that, she heard the floor creaking from behind her. Eyes that had been busy with something else suddenly leaned into her. Ice water poured down her spine as she began to dread the obvious.

“We’ll kill you.”

A quiet growl emanated from behind, daring her to make a single wrong move. The other dogs emerged from their spots to gather around her—except for Spot, who was busy figuring out which one to growl at (It must be Sweet Thing. It’s Sweet Thing, right?).

“Oh,” was all she said.

“So will you do it? Will you wag tails with the pure and become immortal, or will you die putting up a catfight?”

Winona’s ears perked. Her front legs straightened and her back legs lowered. She was ready to jump and dash for the pile of clutter at any moment, but a knowing intuition weighed down on her. She could run, yes, but how far would she make it? Here she was, surrounded by (some) dogs twice her size. Sweet Thing is too polite to hurt her, Spot is blind, and Chewy is… there. The only one she has to worry about is Buster. Can she outrun him?

Her mind jumped back to not too long ago. How effortlessly the pitbull ragdolled her into the attic. If he could do that without killing her, what was stopping him from tearing her throat out like it’s wet paper? Maybe he would latch onto her dewlap with his teeth and peel back the skin, and not even have the audacity to end it there.

No. There was nowhere to run. Buster was right behind her, waiting for her to leap into action. But if she made it to the door... then what? Only have time to paw at it before he tackled her down? There was only one perceivable option.

“I’ll do it,” she finally said.

Mr. Ginny grinned evilly. “Good.”

Jump to top

3

'When Sobaka devours the Earth, so will it slide down his esophagus into the pit of his stomach in a "Great Cleansing". In the first hour, the ground will rumble and a mighty Earthquick will furcate the Earth. Upon the second hour, the world will be plunged into a mist of deadly oxygen of the most unspeakable smell. And on the third hour, Sobaka will commence with "A Great Squat", and a purified Earth shall be created. Lest constipation should be imminent.'

Buster laid the cockatrice's corpse in the center of the pentagon, everydoggy finding their respectful positions.

"Hey!" Spot whined, feeling the air with a paw. "Who is that? Who's standing on my side of the pentagram? Get your own!"

"I was already here, blind... fool." Chewy murmured from beneath Spot's hiney.

"It's always 'I was already here this;' 'This is mine that;' but it's never mine this and this is mine that! Whatever happened to sharing your demonic symbols? Why can't we all just get along and share a pentagram for once?"

"Oh, hush now, sweety." Sweet Thing said. She got up from her side of the star and laid a paw on his dewlap. "There's no need for that sensitivity in this attic. This is everyone's pentagram, after all."

"But why does it never feel like everyone's pentagram. Why does it never feel like I have part ownership of the pentagram? Sometimes I think everyone gets their own pentagram. You get a pentagram, you get a pentagram—well, where's my pentagram?"

"You have all four more sides of... one." Chewy murmured beneath his toosh. "If you just get off... me, that is."

"You're always in it for yourself. 'Get off of me this;' 'Get off of me that;' why can no one ever just get off on me? I have offing rights too, you know!"

Sweet Thing raised a paw. "I get off on you!"

"You're so kind to me, Sweet."

"Can you get off of... me?"

"If you'll all get into positions..." Mr. Ginny muttered with a touch of annoyance. "We will start the ritual."

"Right, see what happens when no one shares? Nothing ever gets done."

"If you just get off of... me, I can find my own side of the... pentagram."

Mr. Ginny tapped a foot… thing. "Spot, up boy!”

Chewy was finally released from the severe hienarchy as Spot lifted his rear end from the chi-poo's face. The so-called offspring of a dog wasted no time skipping off to a spot across from Spot's.

"Good. Are we settled?"

Winona shook in her triangle, feeling shaved and declawed. Every glimpse at Mr. Ginny or Buster left a sinister imprint in her brain. She tried divulging which directions to take if things went haywire, or if she could find an opening where everyone's attention would be diverted long enough for her to escape.

Every dog, however, remained attentive—even Spot, who was still upset by the fact that nodoggy could get along and share their pentagrams like macaroni art—ready to hear the next order from this placebo master dog whisperer with a bird call for a taunt.

"Great. Now, if you all will just—"

"It's Buster's birthday." Sweet Thing chirped. The pitbull threw her an annoyed glare. "You agreed we could all sing him a happy birthday before commencing with the ritual."

Mr. Ginny sighed, looking up from his ritual book. "We don't have time for that."

"Why don't we have time for that?"

"Because we just don't."

"But I remember walking up to you while you were going over the ritual chant and asking you if we could do it, when you said, 'Yes,' and I said, 'Really?' and you said, 'Yes,' and so I said, 'Great! So what are we going to get him?' and you said, 'Yes,' and I thought that meant you would take care of the present and I don't see the present anywhere, SO I assume you're hiding it somewhere! Unless you didn't get him a present of course, then that would mean he would have a terrible birthday—" ("Sweet.") "—and I would hate for him to have a terrible birthday. I can't imagine having that on my—" ("Sweet Thing.") "—conscience! Can you imagine that? Knowing someone's birthday in advance and not doing anything in preparation for it?"

"Sweet Thing!"

Sweet Thing turned to the steaming pitbull. "Yes, birthday boy?"

"It's not my birthday."

"What?"

"I said it's not my birthday."

"Oh."

"It's your birthday."

"Oooh."

Buster grinned. "Happy birthday to you..."

"Let's not do that, now."

"Happy birthday to... you..." Chewy chirped in.

"That's not necessary."

"Happy birthday dear Sweet Thing..." Winona was starting to feel the rhythm.

"Really, I don't bloody care whose birthday it is. You're only a year closer to death."

"Happy birthday to you." Spot ended on a high note.

"Right, right, now let's just—"

"In many more..." Buster continued.

"Shut up!"

Flews fell as all the dogs in the room shared a collective depression.

"You are all equally worthless—get that across! We're about to summon an intergalactic demon that has the power to destroy and recreate the planet and all you are here spewing nonsense about birthdays and pentagrams!"

Sweet Thing raised her paw.

“And no Pentagram Upside-down Cake!"

Sweet Thing lowered her paw.

Extruding a frustrated sigh, Mr. Ginny glared back down at his ritual tome. After the turning of a few pages, he set it down against a stack of books and looked at everyone.

"Tonight's the night," he began. "Tonight's the night He arrives. Let his presence mean the world to not only us but to the animals of Mother Nature. Not only will we be changing the lives of pets everywhere for the better, but the lives of animals in particular. We'll be saving what ponies and griffons and minotaurs all the same unrightfully stole from us at the dawn of time. The birds of time and their gently falling white feathers that eventually became known as snow; the deer of old when he laid his coat against the ground and planted the first grass. When Horton heard a Who. This is everything we will be reclaiming with one swift ritual."

Bending over a metal box next to him, he flipped the latch and took out an Exacto knife. The sight of the triangular blade glowing in the candlelight made Winona's loins shrivel.

Turning back to the dogs, he declared, "Sobaka demands the blood of his kin."

The duck first waddled over to Buster, who already had his paw out. Taking the paw into wing, he lowered his head over the top side of it and made a thin slice. A trickle flowed into a tame river as the floor was splotched in red ichor from the drip, drip, drip of the Exacto blade.
Winona's stomach lurched into the back of her spine at the sight of all the blood, but she refrained from saying anything. If she was displaying her fear, she couldn't tell.

Mr. Ginny made his way over to Sweet Thing next. Taking her paw, he made another thin slice. The red on cotton fur looked as if a painter would simply spill his paint on a dozing cloud.

Mr. Ginny had to hold Spots paw up to make the cut, and Chewy he had to be careful to not sear through a ligament. Finally, he arrived at her. The duck and border collie stared at each other, Winona catching a brief glare of cynicism from the gleam in his eyes.

"Hold out your paw," he said.

The blood of the previous four dogs cloaked the feathers on his right wing and drenched his feet. The dark ichor almost resembled ink in the candlelight. Winona shook her head.

Mr. Ginny growled. "Do as you're told, pup."

Winona still shivered, but managed to boost her confidence to utter, "N-nah-no!"

"Fine," he huffed. "Buster..."

Winona's eyes darted toward the pitbull, the white of teeth visible just beyond the darkness like a cherish cat's smile. Her mind jumped back to a few minutes ago when she was being dragged up the stairs. It had been one of the scariest experiences of her life, this moment a close second.

Looking up at Mr. Ginny, and making quick glances toward Buster, Winona said, "Fine." and stuck her leg out.

The duck lowered his head cranelike over the top, and slowly began slicing. White-hot seared her paw as the blade tore into flesh. A thin pool trailed over her fur, soaking into every last hair and staining the white with its dye.

All Winona could do was stare in horror as the bloodletting grew in size. She had to put her paw down to keep it from running down her leg, pooling into a small puddle on the floor.

Something guffawed at her and she looked around. Everyone remained in their idle place, however, she began to notice slight twinges coming from each of them. She could see it from Sweet Thing most of all.

Her pupils were growing and shrinking spasmodically.

Winona suddenly felt a kettle burst with steam. "Um... Hey, Mista Ginny was it? Ah don't feel so well all the sudden."

"Yes, I laced the blade with a psychedelic."

"A psychowhat?"

Mr. Ginny finished wiping the blade clean with his wing and put it back inside the box. Closing it, he said, "That doesn't matter. All that matters is it will stimulate you long enough to endure the ritual process."

The laughing grew louder, Winona wincing through the crowd of jeers and cheers that she couldn't see. "Where is all that laughter coming from?"

Mr. Ginny twisted his head 180°(F) and gave a demonic grin, fangs and all. "Good," the owl said, blood oozing from his mouth. "That means it's working."

Winona blinked, but she didn't have eyelids, so that meant she forgot to buy eyes at the eyestore (Poor Spot.). "okay, Oh," she said.

Suddenly, this is all starting to make sense.

Mr. Ginny took his head off and placed it in front of the ritual tome, scouring the text. "Repeat after me," he said repeat after me.

"Okay," but I don't want to.

Winona looked down at the tome, the text looking like swivel and lines to him. But years of studying this sacred text have taught him how to eat frogs. Concentrating on the page, he uttered, "Ereme murof da allerbmu muc sibi."

“Ereme murof da allerbmu muc sibi.”

“Muitnun mutatlucco est coh.”

“Muitnun mutatlucco est coh.”

Sparks blossomed in the center of the pentagram. This went unheeded by Mr. Ginny, Winonononona noticed, but she figured it was from the heckin' awesome LCD she choked down.

“Reeuq metua sieadui.” he continued.

“Reeuq metua sieadui.”

“Erebihorp non tsetop usnes coh te.”

“Erebihorp non tsetop usnes coh te.”

Tendrils of smoke whisked all around, caressing their fur. Winonahhhhhh could smell something being burnt—heck, it was almost sulfuric.

Her ears folded back when a gust of wind erupted from the center of the pentagram and blew all around. The floor glimmered in a blinding glow (Oh no, Winona thought. I hope it doesn’t blind Spot!).

Oh no, Spot thought. I hope it doesn’t blind Spot!

But it did.

“Hoc est retrorsum.” Mr. Ginny unfurled his wings, rearing his head back toward the ceiling and screamed, “Ka ka!”

“Hoc est retrorsum, ka ka!”

Winona felt like an anchor was pulling at her. The entire right side of her body had gone numb, the floor around her kept toppling sideways and ᔕ𝄩ᗜጠᓬᗆ⤙ᔕ, and she was shrinking away from the world. She felt like a macro victim under anesthesia for vertigo.

“Maimedipe anivid eregel.”

“Maimedipe anivid eregel.”

The light faded away, a strange hole-like thing clearing up in place of the pentagon. Looking down, Winona couldn’t decide what she was seeing. Stars pitter-pattered the background of a fine red mist. The further down it went, the cloudier it got.

“Sutop ni tneinev mine tis.”

A face emerged from the cloud. The thing arriving could only be described in the sense of a thing. Its skin had been boiled off to the point where it became a fine, fleshy leather. Its teeth hung to-and-fro in different directions—looking like a prison of the most terrifying nature. Its eyes, however, were what scared her most... or the lack thereof.

Two giant black holes. Any form of light she recognized was absent in them.

Winnona stood there slack-jawed. She pressed her weight forward to get a better look at the monster before her but backed up when she realized she could fall in.

“HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!”
Mr. Ginny screeched.

“HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!” the others sceeched.

Winona looked around, thinking about whatever (anything, come on, anything!) she could do. She was standing just beyond an interdimensional vortex meant to summon a demon that could devour the Earth, and it looked as if it were about to succeed.

Her eyes darted from Sweet Thing to Spot, to Chewy, to Buster, and finally to Mr. Ginny. The duck was too distracted to notice she stopped doing the chant.

Behind him was the sanctuary of the clutter. She could make a dash for it, perhaps distance herself from the ritual before Buster can tear her neck in half.

But what would happen from there?

“Tiphet loha.”

“Tiphet loha.”

The portal flickered, and for a brief moment, she could see the sanctity of the attic floor. The others looked around in confusion; Winona gasped in realization. If she doesn’t participate in the ritual...

“Hanc est sutseuq agnol."

“Hanc est sutseuq agnol." The others nervously muttered.

Winona slowly edged her way out of her triangle.

“Herarara!”

The floor flickered back—the creature’s face flew closer—the floor flickered back—everyone looked around the room—the floor flickered back—“herarara,” everyone muttered—the floor flickered back—eyes sat on Winona—the floor flickered back—realizing her plan had been compromised as soon as she could hear Buster’s growl, she made a dash for the—

VROOOOM!

The weight of the world was lifted off her as she began to fly by. It started with the floor, then the ceiling, the floor, the ceiling, the floor, and finally she was caught by the pile of clutter.

Winona emerged from the cesspool of neglected knick-knacks in angst. Shaking off the century-old knickers from her head, she realized the explosion bought her infinitesimal time to escape. It was all she needed to work with.

Buster emerged from the floor. The explosion had thrown him back into the wall, leaving a dent that would make a demolition expert angry. But he would not whimper through the pain, years of hardship under a serious owner have taught him to soldier on!

The first thing he would do is hold that runt by the scruff and peel back its skin. He would then reach in with one of his claws, and dig inside its meaty flesh until he tore through the other side.

Yes, he would do exactly that, and through his drunken rage, he didn’t notice the others getting up, screaming. He was already on trial with the border collie, who was worming her way through the maze of forgotten relics.

Buster practically slammed into the pile. He growled and snapped, but somehow the pup managed to remain just beyond his reach.

Ahead, Winona whimpered. Every snip at her tail she responded to with a frightened yelp and a cry for help. But the drugs mixed with the adrenaline of having her life taken away caused her voice to become distorted.

The brazen pitbull headbutted through a pile of clothes, scattering them everywhere. Winona nearly tripped on a loose floorboard, giving him time to catch up. She escaped barely in the knick of space.

Winona emerged from the clutter and broke for the door. She pawed at the floor, trying to get it to fall open.

Dammit! She thought. How did they open it the first time?

Her attempt at freedom was cut short as the gift of gravity was lifted from her—for it to come bearing back down in a grunt-worthy slam. A vice wrapped around her neck, the teeth slowly sinking beneath her fur.

Winona kicked beneath Buster’s control, but the pitbull’s dense structure proved almost stone-like. His teeth sunk in further as he swung her around, her body sliding against the splintered wood.

She brought her paw up, trying to swat at his face. But it merely slid off like a lame attempt to pet the beast.

She tried again, this time flinging it faster. The beast grunted and shook her violently. Winona screamed an agony as she felt the white stalagmites and stalactites tear into her skin.

Winona tried it a third time, not really focused at all anymore. The paw slid along his face, falling off again—but not before a claw caught onto his eye.

Winona was released from the vice as Buster gave off a blood-curdling howl. The blinded beast backpedaled into the same box Winona had run into when she came into the attic. He snarled and he swung his head side-to-side, but he could not see beyond the blood and gray ooze streaming down his face.

Winona scrambled to all fours, searching the room frantically for any means of escape. The clacking of paws could be heard from the other side of the clutter.

Without thinking, and without missing a beat, she ran for the window.

Sharp water stung her all around and she was caught in the vortex of its splash. Droplets swatted her from all around; some cutting, some getting caught in her fur. The splash settled downward, and so did Winona.

She tumbled down the roof, yelping in pain as something tore through her shoulder blade. The border collie slid the rest of the way down. She had a moment of bliss when her body hit the gutter, but the force of slamming into it caused the guards to snap and she fell to the ground.

Pain filled her body all over. The grass felt like a taunting comfort compared to everything else that she felt. Without a doubt, this was the most pain Winona had felt in her life.

Winona's body glittered in the moonlight as blood dyed her fur.

Jump to top

4 Author's Note

In case you're wondering why I wrote this, it's because I wanted to write something cute for a change. :)

4

Dgs in the Attic!

‘Tnus teg.’

Sweet Thing darted through the clutter, guided by the sound of Buster’s screaming.

A lot happened in such a short time, she barely had enough of it to recollect. First, Sweet Thing was there on her side of the pentagram, next she was flung against the wall, then she heard a furious banging, like someone being wrestled to the floor—then a bloodcurdling scream and the sound of glass shattering.

Sweet Thing ran faster than she could navigate. She didn’t know how, but Buster—rest his poor soul—was in great danger. Could the same be said for that dear pup? She had only gotten to know the pup for a short while, but it would pain Sweet Thing to see that once she got there that Buster had already done the deed.

She burst through the other side. The first thing Sweet Thing spotted was the mass of meat and bones rising and falling, rising and falling, rising and falling. Blood and gray goo streamed down Buster’s face onto the floor.

Sweet Thing felt a draft hit her and she looked up, then realized what that glass sound was: she must have jumped through the window.

Oh, poor dear. she thought. Why did it have to escalate to this? She was such sweet company. She didn’t deserve to die in a way worthy enough for a glass coffin.

Her thoughts were fractured by Buster’s screaming. Stumbling off the floor, he bumped into the same box the pup had run into and fell into a fighting stance.

“I’ll kill you!” he wailed. “I’ll rip your freaking spleen out and feed it to you!”

Sweet Thing's legs were heavy. Somehow a crane in her shoulders managed to pick them up and bring them forward, albeit slowly. The ravenous beast snarled and jerked every direction, snapping at hopeful air. Watching this made her jaw quiver. Opening it felt as if it were on a rusted hinge.

“Buh-Buster?” she chattered.

The beast stopped his snarling and jerking and jolted upright, ears perked. “Who’s there?” he panted. “Show yourself!”

“It’s… me.”

Buster breathed in. “Sweet Thing… where are you?”

She blinked—trying but failing to take her eyes away from where his should be. “I’m right here… in front of you.”

Buster licked the blood off his nose, only for it to pour over his nostrils again. “Did you see where the runt went?”

“I… think she jumped out the window.”

Sweet Thing stared back at the fractured pane. Red ichor painted the few shards still protruding out. It was very likely she didn’t survive the fall.

“Did you get her? She might still be alive!”

She might still be alive!

It was both jarring and confusing to hear. Jarring because it was unlikely, confusing because it was a possibility. Whatever the case, Sweet Thing didn’t want any more harm to befall the pup.

Inhaling, Sweet Thing said, “A piece of glass got lodged in her stomach, and…” the rusty hinges were suddenly a decade older. “She didn’t survive the fall.”

“Good riddance! She took my good eye!”

“Buster… let’s go back to the others.”

“Forward thinking there.”

“Come on.” She brushed up beside him, letting him lean some of his weight toward her.

“Who we gonna use to replace her?” he said as they were walking back into the clutter.

“I don’t know.”

“Did I go overboard again like the last time?”

Sweet Thing sighed. Like the last time. She flashed back to a few months ago. They had been squatting in a mansion when Mr. Ginny took interest in a Pomeranian. She was very prissy and spoiled and wouldn’t do anything they told her to do.

There’s only so much anger Buster can restrain and well… the owners had to replace their carpet after what he did. Ever since then, all the other dogs in the pack have tried to keep their distance. But, not Mr. Ginny. No, he was intrigued by Buster. It is clear to her that he sees the pitbull as some iron war machine waiting to be utilized. But now that he didn't have sight, he would be put on the same pedestal of worth as Spot.

They emerged from the other side about half a minute later. The others were in different areas of the room: Mr. Ginny waddling back and forth; Chewy being... there; Spot sitting and doing nothing. Possibly contemplating? Unless he was sitting there because he’s blind. Yeah, contemplating.

Sweet Thing took another step, and a loud creak filled the room. Mr. Ginny swiveled around to her with a blistering snarl, then saw Buster’s face and retract.

“Did she get away?” he asked.

Sweet Thing shook her head. “Jumped out the window and died.”

The gothic duck sighed. “I need a moment.”

“I think we all do… Buster is in a lot of pain here. Do you have any more of that… stuff?”

“The LCD?” Mr. Ginny bit. His eyes shifted to the ritual box, the gleam of the lamplight bouncing off it. “Yeah, I do.”

“Well, can you use it to sedate him?”

“It depends. Did he stop that pup from killing herself? Or was he the one who did the task?”

“W-what? Mr. Ginny! Look at him! He’s missing an eye—err—he’s missing his good eye!”

Mr. Ginny turned away from them, waddling up to the pentagram. “And I care?”

“Mr. Ginny! Please! He’s in pain!”

“Then let him remain that way.”

The decade-old rusty hinge on Sweet Thing's maw suddenly felt newer. A fire deep inside her, one she never felt before flared to life. For the first time in her life, she sought the blood of another, and that was Mr. Ginny.

How dare he! She thought. How dare he treat Buster this way! After everything he’s done, that lame duck is just going to turn his back on him?

Opening her jaw until the hinges creaked, she screamed, “How dare—” and was cut off by her ears popping.

Tears trailed down not just hers, but everyone's face as a furious humming sound intensified. Where the pentagram should be, large billows of ethereal magic shot up into the air, disintegrating the ceiling with it.

“Ileac senac senmo.” a voice was saying, but she couldn’t see anyone but Mr. Ginny, who was too in shock to run away from the dark magic.

“Erarticlac cuhda te setana isin muleac senmo senac.”

And like one would turn off a light, the ethereal magic vanished. The high-pitch ringing left, Sweet Thing's ears still recovering with a hum. Everyone but Mr. Ginny stood in shock.

“W-what was it?” Spot managed to utter through his shaking.

Mr. Ginny didn’t move. He stared at the pentagram—where the vortex should have been—like one would look down on another’s grave. Wind blew in from the hole in the ceiling.

“We’ve been cursed.” he finally spoke. “Finish the ritual, or we’ll be finished.”

Sweet Thing felt the vibration of Buster’s growl on her shoulder. “What does that mean?”

His question was answered when a hand of some otherworldly ethereal flow shot out of the pentagram. Its claws slammed against the floorboard, sinking into the wood like a sponge.

Mr. Ginny scrambled for the nearest hiding place he could find, opting for the darkest corner of the room.

Sweet Thing let out an ear-blistering scream, making Buster rear back a bit. The pitbull nearly tripped over his hindlegs, but saved himself and gave a furious snarl. “What is it?” he said. “What do I have to kill now?”

Another hand shot out, slamming into the floorboard the same as the other. With no strain of the muscle, they hefted up an unknown canine creature from some Tartuaristic version of a doghouse. Head to body, it was a whole galaxy of swirling magic and color.

The spirit yanked its hindfeet out of the pentagram, emitting an omnipresent growl from its throat. All the dogs reared their ears back, their drums being banged from all sides of the room. Through this haze of momentary distraction, it leaped for Buster.

It didn’t give him time to prepare. Taking the pitbull into its claws, it slammed his back against the ground. Its head became a thin, smokey mist, cascading downward and forcing his jaw open. Sweet Thing cringed back as the thing slithered down Buster’s throat.

She had the perfect view as it happened. Buster made huge gulping sounds as his mouth was molested by the tangible mist. Almost as quickly as it showed up, the ethereal canine had forced itself completely into Buster’s stomach. That wasn’t the end of it.

The pitbull’s body convulsed, white foam spraying out of his mouth. His legs kicked and scratched at the floor, making it difficult for anyone to get near to him.

“Buh-Buster…” Sweet Thing whispered. She was too in shock to put any force behind it.

Almost as if saying the magic word, he let out a loud ear-rattling scream. It was the loudest, if not only, scream any one of them have ever heard come from Buster.

Smashing crackers emitted from his back while his body curved upward in a u-shape. Beyond the choking of his own saliva-filled bile, he gurgled what they could only interpret as screaming. Blood, bile, and spittle flung from his mouth, drenching the floor in a cesspool of his torment.

Sweet Thing burst into tears.

Everyone was too shocked and cringing away that they didn't notice that another ethereal hand coming out of the pentagram.

It swiveled around in a swirling mass, one canine taking form after another. The first to emerge gnashed its teeth at Spot, scooping him up in its maw and slamming him into the wall. It too became a tendril mist and forced itself down his throat.

Sweet Thing’s crying was amplified by her screaming. She backpedaled toward the clutter, hoping that by chance she could escape this ninth level of Tartarus. Her rear-end met a toppled chest.

Her eyes darted around just as Chewy too was swept up and assaulted. Through this momentary distraction, Sweet Thing barely had time to register the ethereal canine running up toward her.

Sweet Thing screamed. The creature responded by grabbing her face and slamming her head against the chest. Stars flew everywhere as her own world coalesced with space.

Sweet Thing could feel the hinges on her jaw coming loose, every screw falling out as the spaghetti aperture shoved its way down her esophagus, scraping the walls of her throat. The deeper in it got, the wider her jaw was forced open. She could feel it worming its way into her stomach, kicking at her insides like an unborn pup. After what felt like an eternity of molestation, the last bit of the ethereal magic slithered in.

Mr. Ginny hung his beak agape, watching the horror show. Buster continued to convulse and whine on the other side of the room, while the others were struggling to comprehend what had just happened.

“I don’t feel so good…” Sweet Thing said. A powerful uppercut launched its way into her stomach, her gastro chambers writhing in agony. Sweet Thing groaned and fell to the ground in a heap of tears.

“Ginny!” she cried. “Help!”

Mr. Ginny stood still as a near-perfect statue of himself. His eyes hovered over the poodle, then glided along the floor over to the ritual box. Could he make it if things went more haywire than they already have?

“Ginny!”

Spot’s head pumped back and forth, making weird gulping sounds. The labrador retriever aimed his head toward the ground to empty himself of the excrement. Foamy blood barfed from his mouth, pooling around his feet quickly. Mr. Ginny had to take a step back to keep from touching the ever-growing puddle.

“Help Ginny! Help Ginny! Help!”

The duck pressed himself further back into the corner. The moonlight glittered against the ritual box.

Spot made another wrenching sound and something heavy hit the floor. Mr. Ginny looked over expecting to see vomit—

“How could you just stand there and not do anything!”

—Spot’s esophagus hung out of his mouth, snaking its way along the floor. The retriever's body felt like a fishing reel, more of the fibrous string pulling out of him each uncountable moment.

“HeeeeeeeeellllllAAGGHHH—” blood pooled out of Sweet Thing’s maw as something tore through her stomach. Something pointy stabbed the inside of her belly, stretching it out until a large hole poked through.

A horn protruded out—no, it tore through the rest of her stomach and revealed four more horns forked onto one limb.

Sweet Thing’s head slowly went limp—

Chewy’s legs bent backward and forwards, backward and forward, like a government document being folded up to rip easier. It started with his forelegs—a meaty arm tore through one, grabbed onto the other, and tore off the other like a chick leg. A furious cracking emitted as the leg tore off like wet tissue paper, taking peels of skin and meat with—

Buster roared and shot up off the ground as he—

Mr. Ginny stared down the ritual box. Maybe if he thought hard enough he could tap into some inner-levitation power that would allow him to bring it toward him? No matter how hard he concentrated, however—

—Buster’s screams were cut off as his head hung lopsided from his body, held only by a strand of sinew. A monstrous head poked out in its place, sporting fangs, membranes, and a very serious lack of eyes—

—It wouldn’t come toward him. The duck whimpered desperately.

Chewy screamed as a flock of ropes of flesh and sinew tore through his stomachaitseb angam,
taticsus, whipping and reeing(?), slapping trefer elli against the floor in spasmodic rhythm. “Ahhhhhhh… ahhhh.”
tireiruse

Sirevlos tignarf onrefni senm Spot’s eyes were the size of balloons waiting to burst. His esophagus tube slithered around his body like a living sash, gnashing the air with teeth it had grown.

“Heeelllp…” Sweet mer managed to choke one last time.

Both of Spot’s eyes burst, splattering gray and red ooze every which way. Hebruf Mr. Ginny onrefni senm romf pomc back the urge lakto vomit. erohph

Tnureucon non Sweet te, Thingmuicadnem ied sunga sibov ocid nema slammed. Ied sunga' the floor elav erecid other hand mauqmun. Tibamalc from the ied sungastomach et mauqmun. Mucric ererruc teleaving a thin trail of, ied sunga et tellaf on the floorboardsmauqnun.

Itnenimmi lev esse tu noitapitsnoc. Est mutaerc murotcnas arret ni, "Setnebah tnedes te angam." Rep kabos eraohcni maroh maitret te. Mativ da erisnart sapir da inegyxo tse murefitrom orp murarret sibro, aroh adnuces ni. Earret tnemut oitacco kciuqhtrae arret amirp. "Sinoitagrupxe angam." Satidipuc kabos mussyba tivaroved te arret est atrepa.

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5

Two Minutes Later...

Winona lifted her head from the nest of glass shards, tiny pieces slid off her head as she rose. Blood oozed from several exposed cuts on her body. Some of them were small, while others were so big that areas of her fur were soaked in crimson dye.

Pain is what she felt. Her head, her paws, her shoulders; air stung the thin scratches on her face, singeing her cheeks with a gently caressing finger of fire.

How long had she been out? How did she not die from the fall? Where was Buster? Mr. Ginny? They had to be coming down here. Yes, any moment they will be down here looking for her. She had to run! Run! Come on, get up and run! Your life depends on it, Winona! Run bitch, run!

Ignoring the pain leeching off her from every direction, Winona shakily stood up. More shards fell to the ground. The moonlight gleamed off the grass, revealing glitters of more glass amongst fallen leaves. Then she heard a loud crunching sound above her.

They were coming for her! Winona shot her head around, searching for anywhere to hide. About ten meters away from her imposed a wide thicket. It would be a perfect hiding spot. But was she willing to risk getting caught in this wide-open of a space to rush to it?

The crunching intensified and she didn’t need another moment’s hesitation to make up her mind. Lurching forward, Winona began her race to euphoria.

Pain shot through her shoulder, causing Winona to nearly tumble forward. Rather than making that mad dash she had hoped she could make, her right foreleg became a paddle for her body. Every stroke of the paddle guided her closer to the thicket, but it felt like traveling through water. However, like one would pick up speed in a canoe, Winona slowly picked up her pace. Just a couple more feet and—

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

Winona fell forward, receiving a faceful of leaves and dirt. Her eardrums screamed, tears forcing themselves out of her eyes. Lifting her head through the veil of agony that had befallen her, Winona blinked through the water stinging her face, looking toward the thicket.

It was there, only a foot away. All she had to do was crawl into it, curl up into a little ball, and remain hidden.

Digging a paw in front of her, Winona dragged her body forward. She did the same several times more, pain stabbing into her shoulder. Ignoring it, she completely submerged her head in the bush. Twigs and dried leaves cracked beneath her while Winona wrestled her body in.

When she was fully enveloped by the thicket, Winona slid her body around, not taking enough heed into the rustling branches of leaves around her. She listened for the sounds of multiple feet stomping against the grass, but a different noise resonated.

Clump! Clump! Clump!

She now had a clear view of what she was running from between the branches, albeit slightly obscured. But she could still make out the body and the head of the thing that emerged from the attic.

Standing on the roof was a swirling mass of ethereal magic in the form of a canine. It was about the size of a small tree, its body a galaxy of colors that would make any gender-confused rainbow jealous.

The beast raised its head, looking beyond the orchard. The two red dots that must have been its eyes, were they set on her? Was it looking at her? It was most certainly looking at the thicket she was hiding in. Could it see Winona? Was she not fully obscured? If she was, then why did it continue to stare?

Her worry was cut short when it looked away. Raising its head toward the moon, it opened its maw and—

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

Winona tucked her ears back, her body wreathing from the pain. She did the best she could to not make too much movement, even forcing herself to endure the agony.

Her ears were still ringing when the canine’s head turned to smoke, a draft seeming to carry it away where the colorful cloud flew over the orchard. Finally, its paws were carried away in the smoke, its body fully depleted. The cloud flew high over the trees until Winona could no longer see it.

The ringing in her ears stopped and silence befell the orchard once more. Is it gone? Winona thought. Where did it go?

She stuck her nose out through the leaves and twigs, holding her breath. The silence of the orchard permeated her thoughts with the semblance of peace.

Finally… Breathing a sigh of relief, Winona emerged from the thicket, more glass and dried leaves falling from her fur. Confident nothing deadly would come after her, she made her way toward the house.

Then the roof exploded.

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6

5 minutes earlier…

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

Applejack sprung up in bed. There was a noise, but from what? What living thing or object could make that sound? On Celestia’s green Earth, such a noise wasn’t possible, but she heard it; it couldn’t have been her imagination.

So where did it come from? Did it come from inside the house? If this thing was in here, how long did they have until it made that sound again, and did it mean their lives? These thoughts rushed away as she heard hoofsteps filling the hallway. Leaping out of bed, she bolted for the door.

Big Mac too came barging out of his room. Applebloom came out after, albeit slower and bleary.

“What in the hay was that?” she said, rubbing her eyes.

Applejack looked up and down the hall anxiously, Big Mac doing the same. “Ah don’t know.” she said. “Ah can’t figure out where it came from.”

That was answered quickly when she heard a loud bang followed by a squeal. Like a dog would squeal when you stepped on its tail, although in this case if you ripped its spleen out. Yes, two exact comparisons.

“It sounds like it’s coming from the attic.” Big Mac said, eyes glued to the ceiling.

Applejack nervously walked toward the other end of the hallway, past Applebloom and Big Mac. “Ah’m gonna investigate that racket there. Make sure Applebloom don’t do nothin’ stupid, kay?”

“Hey!”

“Eeyup.”

The floorboard became mud as her stomach squirmed with every step closer to the attic door. Applejack looked at the string hanging from the ceiling, anxiety pulling at her insides with its venomous hook of non reassurance. The closer she got, the more it tugged its chain.

Applejack flinched back when another squeal emitted from above, this one long and dragged out like one of Rarity’s erotic novels (that she wrote). It followed by a ripping sound…

Then nothing. The squealing stopped; so did the rumbling. But seconds later, loud… footsteps(?) could be heard.

GLOP, GLOP, GLOP, GLOP.

The string gave a final taunting bounce and Applejack yanked it. A small set of steps fell out, but more connected to a rail system slid from beneath, hitting the floor with a loud THUD!

GLOP, GLOP, GLOP—

Applejack stared up into the attic, the black veil of the unknowing bickering its humorous finger at her. The darkness soaked her in, the trek up the stairs feeling as if she were slowly zooming in on it.

Creak…. Creak… Creak…

Applejack raised her head through the hole, trying to pierce the veil of darkness. The glop, glop, glopping had stopped. Silence became Applejack’s villain. Wind echoed against the confined walls, making the century old wood creak.

When her eyes adjusted, she noticed the soft shimmer of the moon’s rays hitting the floor. Applejack turned her head, missing the splotches of red on the ground. Her eyes instead followed the window.

Red ichor dripped from protruding shards. The glass wasn’t cloaked per se, but it did cut whatever jumped out pretty deep. Whatever jumped out must have been eviscerated.

Wind filtered through the opening, forcing all warmth out of the room. It felt like a snowman was hugging Applejack. Moreso from the dread she felt than the cool air. Every breath, a fog of terror seeped out.

What was in this attic? What insane creature had gotten in their house and went berserk to the point of jumping to its death? The only answer she received was that of the chilling wind and silence. And furious waddling.

Applejack swiveled her head around and could make out a blob of white in the darkness coming toward her. “What the hay!” she barely had time to say before a duck leaped forth, giving Applejack a face full of feathers.

Her world became submerged in white silk as the avian flittered in her grasp. Applejack was just about to pry it from her face when she felt an ultrasharp sting in her right shoulder. Then one of her hind hooves slid off the step.

The orange pony and the bush of feathers attacking her fell, sliding down the steps with a thud, thud, thud. When they reached the bottom, Applejack hit her head against the last plank and groaned.

Her world became engulfed with space as stars danced all around her vision, coming and going as they pleased. Just when her vision cleared, she felt something light like a paw lay against her maw. Looking up, the duck stared down at her. In its maw it held an Exacto blade. And a gleam of malice was present.

“Applejack?” Big Mac said.

The duck stared down the other end of the hallway, wide-eyed, then got off Applejack’s muzzled and glocked for the attic entrance.

“Hey!” she yelled. Her hooves twirled in the air as she uprighted herself. Pain flared in her shoulder where warm ooze drizzled down her leg, but Applejack ignored it and ran up the stairs.
She barely saw the white of its hind feathers when she poked her head through. It disappeared beyond all the clutter that filled the attic.

“Dang nabbit, ya get over here!” Messy attic or not, Applejack would do her shoulder right!

She scrambled along the floor, eventually pushing herself up to jog. Applejack had reached the clutter when—

CRASH!

The world danced by as Applejack windmilled through the air. Dinner nearly lurched out of her stomach when her back hit the wall next to the window and she slid down.

“Applejack!” came Big Mac’s voice.

Applejack powered through the uppercut she took to the brain and watched as the red stallion’s body emerged from the attic entrance and ran over to her.

Her eyes widened in horror as a fine mist of several colors trailed behind him. Applejack was about to jolt up and yell when—

SWOOSH!

Almost as quickly as Big Mac could run up to her, the mist whisked right next to them. Cold air consumed their bodies as the mist slowly began to take form. Legs fell from the cloud, landing against the floor lightly. Only when the torso and head took form did Applejack realize what she was seeing.

The most ungodly canine they would probably ever see stood before the two of them. It turned its head, revealing two iridescent eyes of crimson. Its gaze lingered on the two of them, as if trying to determine a fate.

The three held their staredown for all of ten seconds before the creature finally said, “a;lskdjfalsdjf.”

Applejack and Big Mac blinked, trying to interpret what had just been said. Rather than receive a response, however, the canine extended a leg through the hole in the window as it pulled its body through. The sound of crunching glass came from the roof as it became fully enveloped by the outside.

EEEEEEEEEEEEE

Tears forced out of their eyes, while the blistering eardrum blundering molested their ear canals. Applejack and Big Mac tucked their ears back, throwing hooves over their heads for good measure. Still, their heads screeched for sanity. It’s only when they felt the vibration of the floor beneath them that they realized the screeching had stopped.

THUD, THUD, THUD, THUD

“Look out!” Applejack screamed, pointing to the Taurtaristic-twist of a creature emerging from behind Big Mac.

Big Mac swiveled around just in time for it to pounce on him. It got leverage by leaping off with its hind… claws, and effortlessly pinned him to the ground. Big Mac, however, is never uncredited for his strength, because as the creature’s teeth bore down on him, he had managed to hold its jaw apart as he was being pinned. Wasting no time scrambling to her hooves, Applejack rammed into the creature.

The monster stumbled off him, giving Big Mac enough time to get back up. In the rays of the moonlight, they could perfectly make out the beast. Covered in blood head to toe, it stood pony height. Its eyes were round spheres blackened with an oily lens; flesh, thick and meaty; claws that would give katanas a bad rep, it was without a doubt a product of forsaken nature.

The monster lurched for Big Mac, claws pointed at his throat. The stallion swiveled out of the way in time for it to lose its balance and sink its sharp talons into the floorboards.

Rearing her hindlegs up, Applejack slammed her hooves full force into its snout. The monster yanked its claws out of the floorboard, pedaling backward in a daze. Frustration evident, it opened its maw wide and—

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

Eardrums banging, Applejack spun around again and made a kick for its snout, when she felt her hooves get caught in something wet. Looking back, the monster had both her hindlegs trapped in its mouth. She responded by trying to kick that back of its throat, but when that didn’t work, she leaned her body forward and tried pulling out.

The monster opened its mouth for a brief moment before it clamped down again, enveloping more of hindlegs. Applejack bit back a squeal of pain as she felt the ravenous beast bite down.

Desperate, she slammed the right side of her body against the floor, taking the monster down with her. A sharp sear stung her hindlegs as the teeth dug in further for a brief moment before the jaws released her.

The monster staggered back up, ready to lunge at Applejack again… but not before Big Mac stabbed it in the eye with a broomhandle.

The creature roared and screeched in pain, the copious blood pouring out of its socket mixing with the blood it looked as if it had bathed in. It swiveled its body around, side-to-side, trying to shake the broomhandle from out of its eye.

Big Mac helped Applejack off the floor. The two watched in shock and horror as they tried to figure out what the beast was. But it wouldn’t let them have that thought in time, for it gripped the handle with one mighty talon and yanked it out.

It chucked the broom to the side, turning back to the two ponies. Its long tongue slithering out, it made another lunge.

They were ready this time. Doing a forward roll, the monster had merely skimmed Applejack’s coat as it leapt over her. Standing upright again, she lifted her hindlegs and slammed them into its rear-end just as it landed.

It yelped forward, a squelching sound emitting from the monster’s blood-covered skin upon impact. Big Mac took the opportunity to tackle it into a pile of boxes.

Century old knick-knacks flew everywhere, which gave Applejack some time to scramble for something that she could use as a weapon… that happened to be a clothing iron.

The gnarly beast darted up from the box pool, roaring in anger. It foamed from out of its mouth thick white bubbles mixed with frothy blood. The single black lens focused on Big Mac’s face, and the beast poised to strike…

Until Applejack slapped it in the face with the iron, that is.

The monster screamed in pain again. The surface of the clothing iron gleamed with red, a thick coat of it dripping from the edge—exactly how she angled it. She looked from her weapon to the creature now missing both of its eyes and wondered what to do next.

Crash!

If getting the fuck out was on the bucket list of shit to do before death, it was time for her to fulfill that rquirement. That requirement would not be met, because that bucket list also involved a slick tendril of bloody defiance wrapping around her waist.

The floor fell away as she flew into the air. The world spun, enraptured in her own orbit. This all ended in a searing pain in her back and the splash of splinters jabbing into her coat.

The tendril lifted her up at the hips, ready to attempt another swing. Desperate, Applejack flipped over onto her belly and slammed her hooves into the remaining clutter all over the floor. Sandals, hairbrushes, and priceless heirlooms were shoved away as she dug, but the item of her euphoria remained out of sight.

The tendril tugged, and Applejack slid along the floor, a trail of blood following her wake. It wasn’t hers but it certainly… wasn’t from anything she knew.

She flipped over again onto her back. Two dots of amber greeted her from the darkness,their sinister shine paralysing her mind for a moment. But it wasn’t enough to stop her.

She shook and she shook, but the tendril continued to drag her across the floor. This came to an abrupt stop when the blade of a shovel came down on the ropey sinew.

The tendril flailed, spraying both Big Mac and Applejack with gushes of blood. It sank back into the darkness, the two amber dots disappearing. What emerged next was the head of a monster uncomparable to the one now missing its own eyes.

It towered before the two, crouched down to avoid hitting its head against the attic supports. Unlike the previous monster, which was ripped with pure muscle, this one was slender. It had a long neck, almost like a giraffe’s, and talons of utter terror (also like a giraffe).

Membranes on its neck pulsated as it breathed in and out. The new monster stared down at the two of them with its black, sunken lens for eyes. Revealing endless rows of teeth that looked like it could rip apart a tree, it leapt for Applejack.

She rolled to the side as Big Mac jumped out of the way, and its nose banged against the wooden floor. Rather than recoil in pain, it whipped its tendrils out in every direction.

Applejack did good work dancing around the meaty flails, but many still struck her. Her face, her chest, her flank; each slap against her coat stung horribly.

CRASH!

Another monster came barreling through the attic, taking out the attic’s supports with it. It crashed into the beast whipping its tendrils, the two hitting the ground with an enormous thud!

This didn’t give Applejack or Big Mac as near amount of time that they hoped, because the beastly canines scrambled back onto their feet right away.

The bulky monster was about to lurch for Applejack when its tendrils wrapped around its jaw. Pulling it back, the tentacled beast bit down on its neck, the other screaming in pain. This gave the two ponies leeway to escape.

Applejack and Big Mac practically clambered over each other to reach the hole in the floor. Applejack was the first to slip through, and slip she did: all the way down the stairs.

Big Mac stepped over her, running down the hallway where Applebloom was standing. “What the hay is going on up there!” she called.

Applejack swooped back up onto her legs, a desperate call to get the fuck out of the way. Turning back to the stairs, she lifted the steps by the bottom plank and slid it upward.

Fragments of wood came splattering down when another monster slammed its whole body through the hole. Applejack crouched down to avoid a dancing claw trying to grapple for anything worth grappling for.

It swayed in midair like a tree caught in a hurricane, struggling to find purchase on a face it could rip off. Applejack gulped, knowing if she had been a second too late, its foot long claws would have sliced through her throat and she would have been left a faceless bloodletting can of tomato juice and pulp.

The claw slammed against a wall, digging into the wood and tearing the wallpaper away in one quick swipe. Bits and pieces fell from the ceiling; Applejack knew she had to get out of the way and quick.

Before she could shimmy her body backwards, the hand stopped swinging. Like a tire swing hanging from a tree, it swung back and forth, back and forth calmly.

She stood up, examining its wrinkled features. Blood drip, drip, dripped from splintered scratches in its hand, splotching the floor with handsome stains of cranberry splotches.

A wet sound emitted through the hallway and more blood dripped from the hand, this time like a leaky faucet. Applejack could only see the back of the end from where she stood, but that changed when it turned toward her.

A black sphere stared back at her. It took Applejack a minute to understand what she was looking at before she realized that the monster in question could see her.

Before she could even run, drywall and splinters showered over her face as something slimy wrapped around her hind ankle and she was lifted off the floor.

The ground floated away while the blood rushed to Applejack’s head. She looked up through her dizziness (or was it down? To the ceiling, it must have been! Unless in this case the ceiling can be called the floor and the floor can be called the ceiling.), to examine a ropey piece of flesh wrapped around both her legs and some of her hip.

A piece of it slithered up to her chest, revealing a gaping hole with teeth. Her eyes widened in realization as the tentacled-thing did the same with its mouth—and slammed into her face.

Calcium-tipped blades sawed in the sides of her face as the esophagus tube sucked on her. She could feel some of the blood being drained from her head, adding an extra dose of spinning to her dizzy dance.

More pain seared her face as the mouth was suddenly ripped away. Big Mac stood next to her, yanking on the tentacled limb in an attempt to tear it apart.

The esophagus uncurled from around her hindlegs, letting Applejack fall to the ground with a loud thunk! It retracted into the hole in the ceiling like a fishing line, picking Big Mac up with it.

Thunk!

Hitting his head against the ceiling and landing on his rear end, Big Mac quickly waved the dizzy spell that had washed over him away. Looking over to his sister, who was now getting up, he yelled, “We have to get out of here, Applejack!”

“But we have ta go get Granny!”

“I’ll get her. You get Applebloom out of the house!”

Applejack was about to agree when more debris fell from the ceiling. The hole was much wider now, since the monster’s shoulder was poking through, trying to shove its body downward.

Sharp talons made a lunge for Applejack, but luckily for her, Big Mac pushed her out of the way, wrapping around his neck instead. Applejack gaped in shock as she watched it lift up her brother and slam him into a wall, then to the next.

Desperate, Big Mac sunk his teeth into the hand attempting to choke/beat him to death. Pure blood oozed from his mouth while he tore its flesh away, like pulling bark away from sap.

The hand let go of him, the creature above screaming. Applejack thought it was about to make another lunge for her brother, but Big Mac had already grabbed shattered pieces of wood from off the ground and stabbed the hand right where the black sphere was.

The screams of agony from above were tenfold, something that made Applejack worry, since the monster’s hand reigned hellfire, thrashing against the walls back and forth like a wrecking ball. The shard of wood stuck out from its hand like an extra finger, hard to distinguish from its five other talons.

Applejack’s heart leapt back into her chest when the monster forced its hand back through the attic opening. She could hear the loud thud, thud, thud! Of the taurtaristic beast above her, indicating it was leaving them alone.

Finally, although she knew it probably wouldn’t be for long, Applejack let out a breathy sigh of relief.

Then the black orb that had been in the monster's hand fell to the floor and exploded. Splinters of floorboard and bits of drywall coated the two ponies as they were flung backward, the screams of Applebloom being cut off by the rambunctious sound.

Okay, so remember when the roof exploded earlier? That was a lie. The explosion had merely torn up some of the hallway and blew the door to Big Mac’s room off its hinges.

Staggering back up, Applejack looked up at the gaping whole in the ceiling, deciding whether to run or… fucking run. Every slow step backward, her stomach lurched at the fear of one of those ungodly monsters poking their head out through the dark veil. But when nothing happened for over a minute, Applejack finally began to feel safe.

Then another orb fell to the floor.

KABLOOM!

Remember earlier when it was mentioned that the roof didn’t really blow up? That was also a lie.

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