World's Best School Counselor

by CrackedInkWell

Rating: teen
Tags: My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Alternate Universe, Starlight Glimmer, Original Character, Horror, Death
Length: 4119

A colt name Cinnamon Stick has problems with the way his parents unfairly treat him. So he goes to the School of Friendship's counselor for help. She agrees to do so, but not in a way he expects.

Warning: The following story is currently unedited.

Based on the short story by CreepyCrabs, Cinnamon Stick, a student at the School of Friendship seeks help from the counselor. After telling her about the way his parents treat him, the counselor promises him that she will do what she can to fix their relationship. All he has to do was to come to her office again without telling anyone.

Author's Note: This story is the result of a vote I held in which is technically my spin on a creepypasta that already exists.

Published 2019-10-10 23:50:02 UTC
Last updated 2019-10-10 23:50:02 UTC

How Can I Help You Today?

Author's Note

Warning: The following story you are about to read is currently unedited.

How Can I Help You Today?

It took me three weeks at most to gain the courage to knock on the school counselor’s door. Like most, it is awkward to turn to a complete stranger for the sake of guidance to one’s own problems. Especially for someone who had the crushing assumption that everyone was against me. At the time, having to take a portion of Lunch Hour to seek out help was a low point in my life. Call it an act of desperation as I felt that I had no one else to turn to.

Even before I came to her office, I already knew the purpose of a school counselor. Basically, someone who acted as a psychiatrist who had to deal with student’s problems as well as acting as a sort of advocate on their behalf. Up until then, I didn’t see much need to visit any of them as I figured that my problems aren’t worth being heard. However, I felt that as it was made clear that no one was giving me much thought in how I thought of felt… I was left to turn towards the counselor as a last resort.

Now, for the sake of this story, I’m going to call the counselor Doctor. G for the sake of protecting her identity. Of course, before I turned to her, I have seen her now and then. Usually with a student or one of the teachers, seemingly busy with tackling with whatever problems that came in her way. In a way, I didn’t go to her at first simply because of how busy she always seemed to be. However, on the day I knocked on those double doors, it came with the hope that maybe… just maybe… she would have time to hear me out.

“The door’s open,” I heard her voice as she called out to me. Pushing them open, I found the office that I kinda expected that a typical School Counselor would have. Rows of books and scrolls. Pictures of happy looking places and ponies. Some kites hang from the ceiling. A desk that had some nick-knacks and right across it, a green couch. And there organizing some books, was Doctor. G herself.

“Am I interrupting anything?” I remember asking her.

“Not really,” she told me, “just trying to figure out where these new books are gonna go. Give me a sec…” Within a minute she was behind her desk, and waving a hoof towards the couch, encouraging me to take a seat.

“I don’t think we’ve met before,” she said as I sat down, “at least, I don’t think I’ve seen you in my office. I’m Doctor G. What’s your name?”

“Cinnamon Stick, ma’am.”

She waved a hoof, “Oh there’s no need to be so formal around me. I’m not one of the teachers. So, what brings you here?”

From there, I began to talk to her that I was miserable, how I was convinced that the entire world was out to get me, especially from my parents. Now, don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t much of a problem child that gets into constant trouble. My family, however, certainly treated me as such. I told her that growing up, I had to come straight home by five o’clock every day, which severely restricted my playtime. I wasn’t allowed to go over to any of my friend’s houses or over to mine. Apparently, my family cared more about being well-read than socializing. I told Dr. G that I had to finish my homework as soon as I got home from school, regardless of how long it took or what it was. My parents only bought me educational games and forced me to read books and immediately follow up with a book report to prove that I had indeed read them.

I explained to her that although those lists of rules were frustrating to grow up, that wasn’t what upset me the most. If anything, it was the ice-cold way my parents had treated me; they had a lack of compassion. Mom constantly made me feel guilty over accidents – regardless if I caused them or not. And dad… well, I hardly saw him express much emotion towards me except disinterest or frustration; especially when the few times he did spoke to me was to yell at me for not passing on a test or proceeded to beat me for misbehaving.

Even sending me to the School of Friendship was, in my eyes, the biggest display of their hypocrisy that they had spent years drilling that education was more important in my head that now they expected me to make friends when I couldn’t connect with anyone.

Obviously, I was getting more and more upset with everything that I brought up to the point that I choked up, unable to speak. As for Dr. G, I have expected her to say that nothing I said was true, that my parents really did love me, that it’s all in my head, bla, bla, bla, bla, bla… If she was going to say something the lines of that, I would be more than ready to shut her out. However, apart from the occasional question, Dr. G didn’t say anything. She listened carefully to what I had to say, jot down some notes on a clipboard.

Finally, when my rant was finished and I was on the verge of tears, Dr. G got up from her desk, sat down next to me, patted my back saying. “To be honest with you Cinnamon, this is serious. But you know what? It’s gonna be okay. You know why?” She smiled warmly. “Because lucky for you, I happened to be the best school counselor in the world. You have my word that I’ll dedicate myself to fix this.”

I rolled my eyes. “Well that sounds nice, but how? Are you going to talk to them? They won’t listen. They’re not going to listen.”

“Maybe. But I am pretty good at my job. So good, in fact, that I bet you that in about a month, I will turn things around for the better for you.”

“And how are you gonna do that?” I questioned.

“Oh, I have many ways of dealing with stuff like this.” She told me. “I for one don’t make promises that I know I can’t keep. But this, however, I know for a fact that I can. You have my word that give or take a month, I will improve your relationship with your family for the better. So, don’t worry, from here on out, I’m on your side.” After a pause, she added, “Although, if I’m gonna do that, then I need you to make me a promise. You would need to come back to my office after school tomorrow and swear to me that you won’t tell anyone about our conversation. Let this be our little secret, okay?”

At the time, I didn’t sense anything malicious with her. She was as if she was radiating with kindness and was probably the first adult I knew who was taking me seriously. Dr. G had come off as the kind of pony that you could trust anything with. So, I agreed.

The next day, once classes were concluded and I had gathered my things in my saddlebag, I went straight to her office in which she was expecting me. After I walked in, I watched as she locked the double doors and closed the blinds of her windows.

“There we go! Now we have all the privacy we need.” She trotted up to me, “So, to start with, what kind of stuff do you like?”

From there, we started talking about my likes and dislikes, what games I like to play, the teachers that I hated, subjects that I loved, what food I love and what I tend to push away, stuff like that. While we talked, I couldn’t help but notice that she was taking down notes. I caught a glimpse of what was on her clipboard. She was making a list that I didn’t know what for.

Sometime later, Dr. G offered me some soda from her minifridge in which I immediately accepted. At the time, I remarked how cool she was to let me have soda. She asked me why, “My parents wouldn’t allow me to have soda, ever. Not even junk food as they’re health nuts.”

“Let me guess,” she said as she trotted over to her minifridge, picking up a couple of paper cups, “you never had a choice in that either, huh?”

“I’m convinced that they don’t know what the word ‘choice’ is. But unlike you, at least you asked me if I wanted it.”

She didn’t reply as she fiddled around with the sodas. After she gave the cup over to me, I downed it right away. For the next few minutes, we continued our talk. But the longer it went, the harder it was to keep my eyes open, feeling ever so drowsy from whatever drugs she put into the drink before I passed out on the couch.

I think it took me a long time for my brain to come back into reality by the time I woke up. But slowly I began to realize that something wasn’t right. The first thing I realized was that I couldn’t move my forelegs as they were hoofcuffed to a bed. Then I realized I couldn’t move my mouth as it had a layer of tape on it. But as soon as I put together what was happening, I panicked. For a while, I was scared out of my mind as I trashed and kicked about, trying desperately to scream through the tape for help. But at the same time, I noticed the room I was in.

I remember that it was a small room, but it wasn’t by any means uncomfortable. At a glance, it looked like any other kid’s bedroom. Complete with posters of heroes, toys, games, books, a radio, and in the corner of the room was a video game conceals hooked up to a screen with a small library of cartages that any foal would have killed to get to play with. And what’s more, it was if everything in that room was tailored made for me from what kind of Wonderbolt I liked the most to be a poster on the wall to the rows of comic books I’ve taken an interest in. Even the room’s color was my favorite color. But none of it help much that I was tied to a bed like a hostage. Not only that, but there were no windows, only two doors, left and right of the bed I was cuffed to.

Then, the door on the left opened and Dr. G walked inside. At first, I was so scared that I was still thrashing about, hyperventilating.

“Hey! Hey! Easy there!” Dr. G rushed over. “Calm down, I know that this must be rather a shock, but it’s okay. You’re safe.” She sat down at the edge of the bed. “You’re gonna be okay, I promise. But listen, just remember that I’m here to help, alright? I would never hurt you, okay?” She told me as she gently took the tape out of my mouth and then free me from the cuffs.

My first response to realizing that I’ve been foalnapped was to cry. However, Dr. G hugged me, repeating that everything was going to be okay. Despite how scared I was, there was something about her kindness that made me feel safe somehow.

Even her smile, as much as I was shaking in wondering what was going to happen to me, was comforting. “Now listen, you’re going to be living here for a while. So, while you’re here, I’m gonna lay down some ground rules, okay?” I nodded. “First off, when I’m here, you are more than welcome to play with any of the toys or games in this room. And while I’m around, you’re free to move about between this room and go to the bathroom that’s other there.” She pointed to the other door. “But when I have to leave, then I’ll have to cuff one of your hooves to the bed. You can still play games or read, but you’ll need to be listening to the news on the radio.”

I was still too frightened to reply as I just dumbly nodded. “Great!” she patted my back, “Go ahead and have fun. I’ll be right back with some dinner.” With that, she walked out of the room and closed the door – but not without locking it.

The first thing I did was to open the bathroom to see if there were any means of escape. However, like the bedroom, this room didn’t have any windows either; and the vent above was way too small for me to somehow get up there and crawl out of.

Minutes past, and looking at the room, I realized that Dr. G was serious about this. So, I turned my attention towards some video games. Especially with a game of Mario Brothers. I don’t know how long I played to occupy my mind from the situation, but eventually, Dr. G returned with a couple of plates of lasagna and garlic bread.

It took me quite a long time to gather up enough courage to ask her how long she was going to keep me here. “Well… that depends,” she said, “I figured that you might be here for a month, give or take a week or so. There are just some things that I need to take care of first.”

“Dr. G,” I asked her, “a-am I going to go home?”

She sighed but smiled warmly. “Trust me, you will go home, but not yet. In the meantime, I’ll make sure you’re good and happy in here.”

The next morning, I awoke to her patting my head. “Morning kiddo, say, you don’t have to wake up yet, but I still need to put one of these on ya.” She said softly, putting on the cold metal on my hoof. Opening my eyes, I looked up to her. She was wearing a black trench coat, a long brim hat, and a suitcase nearby. If I remember right, Dr. G had this… uncomfortable expression on her face, as if she was going out to do something, she wasn’t looking forward to doing. “Don’t worry, I’m gonna sneak out in time for lunch. I left some doughnuts by the nightstand, but I do want you to turn on the radio for today, alright?”

Some hours later after breakfast, I turned on the radio to listen to the boring news. For a while, I was more focused on a comic book to pay attention until I heard something that made me stop to listen.

“In other news, Ponyville has now issued an amber alert as of this morning. A colt name Cinnamon Stick, age twelve, earth pony, has been reported missing. Parents have noticed Cinnamon’s disappearance when he hadn’t come home from the School of Friendship. Faculty state that he was last seen at around 4:30, yesterday, but have not seen where he had gone off to. A police investigation is looking into possible abductees, although there’s no evidence to support…”

I didn’t bother to listen to what else the newscaster had to say at that point. A sickening feeling overcame me when they described what I looked like. The radio’s live broadcast continued when my ears picked up two familiar voices. It was surreal to hear my parent’s voices coming out of the radio, but truthfully, I was more off guard with their crying. Weeping openly to the world as they pleaded for me.

First, my mother took the microphone, and although I don’t remember what exactly she said, I recall how much she stuttered and choked up as she spoke. Saying things like. “Please return my colt back to me,” and “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to drive you away,” and “Cinnamon, please come home.”

What I do remember, however, was when the microphone was passed on to dad. Given how wintery cold he was, I expected him to be serious, stoic like with no emotion. However, that wasn’t what I heard. On the radio, I heard him speak in a tone that I didn’t think he was capable of – desperation.

“I know I haven’t been the best father.” He said, his voice barely keeping together but it still sounded as if tears were making it near impossible to talk. “Celestia knows that chances are, I’m probably the worst out there. Cinnamon, if you’re out there, I’m sorry. I really screwed up as a parent. We just wanted what was best for you, to have you get the kind of life we couldn’t have growing up. But we’ve pushed it too far and we’re sorry. Just come home, son.”

Until that day, I never saw or heard my dad cry before. I didn’t know that for someone like him that it was even possible. But from what I could hear, this wasn’t an act. There wasn’t any sense of pretending. Their pleas for me to come home were genuine.

At that point, I turned off the radio. Partly because that how guilty I felt for making them miserable – but partly from the stunning realization that underneath that cold surface, my parents did love me. I knew then how much they did care about me.

Weeks went by, and Dr. G kept to her word that she would do her best to take care of me. She left me cuffed in the mornings and afternoons where I would listen to the news, but by noon and evening, she would bring in my favorite food, as well as play a couple of games with me. Slowly I lost my fear of her as we laughed at jokes, competed on video and board games, and she even told stories from her life. Strangely, I came to see her as a friend.

Then, one morning, about four weeks in my captivity, I was woken up by Dr. G, four hours earlier than usual. Although I was probably groggy, I noticed a stern look on her face. “Morning Cinnamon,” she told me, “Listen, I’ve good news. By the end of the day, you’re going to be going home.”

I sat up. “Really?”

She nodded, soberly. “Yeah… but before that happens, there is something important that I need to do today. The same goes for you too.” As she put the hoofcuff on me she added, “It’s very critical that you listen to the news today. No expectations this time. You need to have the radio on at all times and pay attention to it.”

“Okay but-”

She lifted a hoof before telling me bleakly. “So, with that said, I will be leaving you breakfast, lunch, and dinner. By the time I come back later this evening, you will know that you’re one step closer to going home. Okay?”

After that, she brought in a couple of sandwiches, water bottles, and some snacks before leaving. I went back to sleep for a while, and when I woke up, I did as I was told and turned the radio on. Unlike previous times where I was left with a book or something to do while I listen, I had none of that except for the snacks. So, I numbly listened to weather reports, politics I didn’t care about and such while munching on a few apples.

Then, at two in the afternoon, my ears perked up when I heard the following:

“Breaking news. We have just received a report that has brought a tragic conclusion to the missing foal’s case of Cinnamon Stick. A few hours ago, in a dumpster in a back alley, remains have been found of a foal brutally mutilated in a garbage bag. The body has shown signs of torture, mutilation, and being burnt to the point of being almost unrecognizable. Police have determined that the body was decomposing for a month and has recently been placed there. Because of how fragile and disfigured the body was, the only way police could have identified it at all, was from the damaged library card that was discovered with the body. The card shows the name and picture of Cinnamon Stick. His parents have been notified and refused to give any comments at this time.”

I realized several things at once that made me curl up in dread. For the first time, I remembered that I hadn’t seen my saddlebag since the day she foalnapped me. And the other was the frightening implication that this was Dr. G’s doing. While I was kept here for a month being looked after, she had done something horrific. This whole time, I was befriending a murder and not knowing it. I didn’t know what to think. She was so kind to me that I couldn’t imagine her taking another life. So, I turned the radio off.

Many hours later, by the time evening came around, Dr. G came in with a water bottle with something fizzy in it. “Hey kiddo, well… this is it. Today’s the day you go home.”

I didn’t move.

She walked over to me, concerned. “Cinnamon?”

“Dr. G… y-you didn’t… did you…?”

She didn’t respond at first but sat on the edge of the bed. “Hey, I made you a promise, didn’t I? That I would go out of my way to improve your relationship with your parents. In a way, I’m giving you exactly what you’ve always wanted, right?”

I nodded.

“But since I have gone out of my way for you, I need you to do something for me as well.” She leaned forward. “Cinnamon, I need you to make me a promise, okay? That when you go back, I need you to forget that you’ve ever met me. You must never tell anyone where you’ve been for the last month, or with who.”

I agreed.

“After all,” she added, “didn’t I tell you that I’m the best School Counselor in the world?”

Given what had happened, another fear overcame me that if I did break that promise, I might never go home again or… So, I took the fizzy bottle into my hooves and drank it all. Moments later, I passed out.

The next thing I knew, I woke up looking up to the sky. Up to the stairs that were twinkling down. Once I regained consciousness, I sat up to look around where I’m at. I remember that I was laying on the grass in the park, which wasn’t too far away from where I lived. And next to me was my saddlebag in which I felt around for my library card, almost hoping that everything that happened to me was just a dream.

Only… I couldn’t find it. That told me that what happened was indeed real. However, there were more pressing matters since I was free. I got up and went straight home.

I had no idea how late it was, but as I neared the house coming from the backyard, I found dad there. His face buried in his hooves underneath the porchlight. At first, I hesitated to approach that knowing dad that if I came home this late, he would have a conniption. However, as I drew closer, I could hear him sobbing; and tears ran underneath his hooves.

“D… Dad?” I called out. “Dad, I’m home.”

He looked up at me, eyes widen and full of tears, he called out my name as he galloped towards me to embrace me. Mom did the same shortly after when she came out of the house.

True to Dr. G’s word, things actually did change for the better. Since then, my parents and I got along pretty well. I’ve seen mom and dad smile more often and they showed me that they love me. Amazingly, I couldn’t ask for a better ending on my part.

Of course, when I returned to school, I did see Dr. G every now and then. But I kept my promise as I never spoke to her again. However, when we do see each other, she would give me a knowing look, and wink at me.

To this day, even after I long graduated from the School of Friendship, there is one question that I think will forever haunt me to the grave.

Who did Dr. G kill in my place?