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.