A Red Miasma hangs over Main Street
A Red Miasma hangs over Main Street
A fair, cool breeze caressed the lush green fields of the countryside. It rolled along gently through the mellow air of late spring, rustling the grass and the leaves of the trees in the clear warmth of the day. It now passed through a notably unnatural landmark, a small town of wood and brick, funneling up the only street it had running up the center, along to the end where a modest castle of stone and brick stood.
The town is Rossaville, hanging just north of the high point rock of Cloud’s Crossroad, a name from some language either long dead or spoken by those of a far-away land that the local inhabitants could not translate. The humble fortress, Castle Reclusion, lying at the head of the village and commanded by the local regent, one Lord Battue, who built it as his governance to the state and for his own seclusion from the city.
Within the town small groups of children run to and fro in their excitement. Many of the ponies within the town begin to clean and close some of their various places of business along Main Street as the business day concludes. The start of noon ticks across the clock, the sun still in the sky but falling, the various townsfolk talking generally. The wind whips across the town again. This will be the last moment of normalcy, of peace, the town and its inhabitants would ever see.
“How are you feeling, Sharp Cut? Better than this morning?” a small mare asked the barber shop owner, resting outside his parlor.
“A little bit,” the older, stocky unicorn stallion answered, pausing to cover for a sneeze. “Allergies. It’s that time of year again.”
“Well if it doesn’t get better you let me know. I have plenty of medication for it,” Lilly offered him.
Many of the townsfolk gathered here at the end of Main Street, where the town ended and the short path to the Castle began. They gathered here for the Lord Battue’s return, as they always did when he returned from business in either the city or some far-off land, seeing whatever exotics he had with him, enjoying the small parade of colors, and listening to him address the lot on his experiences and that of the rest of the world. He was a good regent, not one that lambasted his subjects, nor one that devalued himself to grovel amongst them, and these subjects gathered like a congregation in anticipation for his return.
However, his homecoming was soon found to have a problem, one of which only the Battue and his closest company knew of. His return down the street was not an affable cavalcade of vibrancy, but one kept closely by many guards surrounding the Lord and several of his close friends, dragging with them various supplies in carts; foodstuffs, drinks, soap, clothing, weaponry, and much more. They did not speak as they passed through, with the guards only saying that the Lord would address them from the walls of Castle Reclusion within an hour or so. The group passed through town, up through the gates of the castle, which were lowered and the great wooden doors slammed shut. The only pony of the caravan not to follow inside was Leather Book, the young town accountant who he took with him on his trips.
“Book, is there something wrong?” Cut asked in confusion as the colt brought up the rear. “Did something happen?”
“Yeah, something bad did happen. You remember that disease I told you about last time? Well it’s gotten worse, a lot worse.”
The accountant handed him a four-day old paper from the city of Canterlot. The headline, with giant black letters as if to scream threats of death to the reader, warned of a disease. A plague, labeled the ‘Red Miasma’, was ravaging the land, killing many ponies in its wake.
“Thousands dead? Great Celestia, that’s horrible!” said one of the mares.
“He doesn’t think we’ve got it, does he?” the town blacksmith asked Book. “With a name like that- well we haven’t seen no big red clouds of mist floating through lately.”
“He doesn’t know Coals, he can’t be sure. The Lord is fearful,” Book answered. “But uncertainty isn’t much better than confirmation. He wants safety, one way or another.”
“But what does that mean!?” Lilly desperately pressed for answers.
“I don’t know, I only work his numbers.”
“Now calm down,” Cut ordered the group of worrying ponies. “This isn’t good, but like Coals said we haven’t seen any miasma here. We’re fine, now all we need are some details so it’s best we go ask Lord Battue.”
The group flocked to the edge of the Castle, looking up at the grand, tall walls before them. They waited there at length, occasionally calling out for answers, only to be reprimanded by the guards atop to be patient as the Lord prepared. Finally, he appeared on the battlements, looking down at the throng of ponies from his town, all staring at him with worried looks.
“My ponies, my neighbors and citizens, dear subjects! I… apologize for this, and for the… blunt nature of my speech, but I believe time is now a vital thing to you all,” spoke the grand blue Lord, lacking the usual confident tone. “You have likely heard of the disease now spreading through the land. I am afraid there is little that can be done to it. I have elected to seal myself and my company, and my local guards, within the castle until it has been determined the threat has passed. I am sorry I cannot offer you more.”
“You’re going to leave us out here?” Coals repeated aloud.
“But what are we supposed to do? We've never dealt with something like this, our parents, not even our grandparents lived through a plague. What do we do!?” Lilly cried.
“Do the same, prepare yourselves and lock away in your homes! Do not bicker, it may already be too late!”
“Why can’t we join you? We haven’t seen any infections here yet!” Cut asked him.
“That does not mean none of you are! I will not take any such risk, and neither should any of you!”
One of the town’s farmers, an older stallion with a butternut coat, stepped ahead to confront him.
“But we’ve always been good to you! We always liked you, supported you!” Golden Oat shouted in frustration. “You’re just going to abandon us in return!? We’re not sick! No red cloud, or miasma or whatever you call it! Nothing like that has passed through here! We’re healthy, there’s time to let us in!”
The Lord’s face twisted in frustration, but not that of one towards disobedience but disgust, and he scoffed as the farmer fell silent.
“Of course! This is what underlings do in such times, resort to ungrateful assault and begging rather than care for themselves! Insult those above them! Everypony thinking they can rule, lead, make decisions!” Battue shot back. “You did not even read of this did you? Did you!? Cloud, a red cloud? There is no cloud!”
The crowd fell silent; indeed in their rush none had bothered to read the details beyond the headlines.
“This disease is invisible! As they all are! There is not great scarlet cloud that carries it!” Battue revealed. “It is called the ‘Red Miasma’ because of what it does to you! It strikes your breath and your blood, and the victim begins to cough blood. Eventually he coughs it as a thick cloud. That is why it is called the Red Miasma, as the diseased coughs his own blood in a dark cloud before he dies. But there is no way to see the disease, and no way to tell if any of you are infected, and who among you are if so. And as such, I will leave you to your own devices!”
The Lord now stepped away from the battlements, heading down the steps, and back into the confines of his castle. The outside windows would be boarded, sealing a threatening point of entry from any desperate attacker, leaving the inside to be lit by great fires flickering from the braziers. Heat was known to ward off disease, and the inside of the castle blazed in the warmth. He now spoke to his gathering of friends and guards gathered in the great hall, who shouldered their own worries over the situation.
“How long can we stay here for?” one asked.
“Are we sure it is safe here? What if somepony tries to get in?” said another.
“Fret not over this, the gates of the castle are nailed and bolt shut, they cannot be opened. This has been done to ensure that nopony can enter or exit, should any of us here become… uncomfortable and succumb to the urges to leave, and in turn threaten the rest of us,” Battue explained. “Once this passes we will tear down the gate, and emerge with our lives.”
The announcement was only answered by a further cacophony from the gathering.
“But how long will this last?”
“Do we have the food to survive through it?”
“What does that matter!? We will all go insane before then from this isolation!”
“Quiet! And calm yourselves! I promise you that we will have enough to survive, and if we keep our heads and do not devolve into assaulting each-other, there will be no problem,” the Lord assured his company. “There is a fair amount of entertainment set to help us pass the time. Indulge yourselves in this rather than worry. Panic and rash action will only doom us. So please, try to enjoy yourselves in these trying times.”
The ponies fell quiet, and then began to murmur among themselves. Gradually, they fell into the stride of festivities, discussing more relaxing and mild topics among themselves. Musicians began to play, with their sounds echoing against the hard walls in the corridors and chambers. The ponies moved about to and fro within the castle among the halls and the varied, colorful rooms that had been prepared.
A guard came to him and asked him to return to the wall. The townsponies were still gathered outside the walls like moths clinging to light as a guide. They were asking to speak to him again, just once more. The Lord truly did feel sadness for them, and as such returned to the battlements. They were still there as he had left them, and one called out to him.
“Lord Battue, please, is there any way that you can help us?”
“I cannot, at least in no way that I can think of now,” he admitted solemnly. “If anything comes to mind I will attempt to help, but I can see no way of truly being able to assist you. I cannot let any of you inside, and we must keep all of the food and other essentials for ourselves to survive.”
“Is there any advice you can offer us?” Coals requested of him. “Anything, any kind of… information? Or something, anything? Anything you know we could do?”
“Nothing that you do not already know. None of us have lived through a pandemic like this, nor our parents, or before them. Something like this has not been seen for generations.”
“So that’s it? That’s all there is?”
“Unfortunately yes.”
For so long the ponies of Rossaville had looked to Lord Battue as their leader, turning to him for guidance. Now their long-time leader not only did not know what to do, but was abandoning them to their own devices, leaving them like children lost in the forest. Being cut off like this was something none had to deal with before, and its effects were already coming out clearly.
“Please, please let us in!” begged Lilly desperately. “We don’t know what else to do!”
“I have told you that I cannot! Any one of you could infect the rest of us!”
“So you’ll leave us out here!? What gives you the right to abandon and kill your own subjects!?” Coals shot back at him. “We’ve always respected you and served you! What right do you have to lock us out?”
“Right!? What right do I have!? What right do you have to come in!?” Battue howled at him. “You talk of your rights, your right to safety to be let in, regardless of who is sick. What right do you have to infect others? What gives you the right to infect ten, twenty other ponies? It doesn't matter where, if you are sick you have no right to go in and infect others! You think I am selfish? You only think of yourself, all of you!”
“We’re not sick! Look at us!” Oats claimed.
“None of us are sick, we promise!” Cuts backed him up.
“Your promise means nothing! You cannot know that!” the Lord reminded them. “None of you can know if you are ill or not, and you know it! Which one of you could be sick, hm? Which one of you has doomed the rest of you?”
“But we have-”
“I could not let you in if I wanted to! As I said before, the gates are shut, bolted and nailed, none can enter nor leave! Did you not listen to me before? It is out of our power now, partly for reasons like this.”
“But… Lord-”
“Enough of this, I will not continue a pointless argument. I cannot help you, and you cannot get in. This is the end of it, my ponies,” Battue declared, waving his hoof. “I have some advice now, stop your arguing and try to prepare yourselves. None of you know how much time you have.
The Lord once more left the walls, not looking back. The discussion had ultimately proved to be useless with nothing but a fight emerging from it. With this the crowd was left alone to determine their own action, and looked to act on the one piece of advice their leader had given them.
“Well Oats you heard him, we’ll need food. A lot of it,” Leather Book told him. “Same for you Sweeper, we’ll need a lot of stuff from the store.”
“Wait, just how much?” Golden Oats asked defensively. “I don’t have all the food in the world you know.”
“I’m... not sure. We don’t know how long this will last.”
“However much we need!” one pony shouted.
“However much we can carry!”
“You can’t just plunder my farm!”
“Sweeper, you need to open the store again!” Coals demanded.
“If you all do it in an orderly manner I might,” the storekeeper replied. “But you’ll all have to pay up front. I’m not taking any debts for later.”
“You still expect us to pay at a time like this!? How selfish are you!?” one of the mares in the crowd shouted. “We can’t pay for everything we need! What kind of neighbor are you?”
“And you think you can just rob me!? Steal from me!? You call me selfish but you all are the selfish ones! You don’t even care about the ponies around you! You just want to take as much as you can and lock yourselves away!”
“He’s right, we all need to calm down,” Sharp Cut told the gathering. “We can’t let panic take us over. If we do that a lot of us could get hurt or die. None of that has to happen.”
The crowd quieted down, save for one stallion who retorted him.
“How do you know what’s best Cut? A lot of us have families to take care of!” Coals shot back. “How do you know what we need?”
“I know we can’t do it like this, we should divide it up evenly!”
“Evenly!? Some houses need more than the others do! You might not care since you live alone, but we have families!”
“I know what that’s like Coals! I know… you know that. You know you all are like my family. Since my wife passed on this whole town has been my family. You know I don’t want to hurt anypony!”
Once again the ponies fell quiet, recounting on what they had done. It is a barbaric way to act, something they were unhappy with, but could not stop. Not knowing what would happen, not knowing how much supplies there was, not knowing how long this could last. The fear of the unknown was still driving them, even in this hushed state, building up again for another outburst, and without decisive action it would be too late to stop.
“Lilly, can I buy medicine from your store? Please?” a mare asked her friend.
“That’s a good idea too, we should stock up on medicine! That’ll be most important!” another stallion added.
“Hang on Juniper, we don’t know anything about this disease. I-I don’t know what cures it,” she replied defensively to the mare.
“Not for that for… um… for my son,” Juniper clarified. “He’s already ill, I don’t want to have everything shut down and run out of medicine.”
“Hey, your son has been sick, he’s been sick since I left,” Leather Book pointed out. “Just what kind of sickness is it?”
“Lord Battue was pretty afraid when he got here, he was even worried that somepony here already had it,” another of the ponies remembered, turning the crowd against the mother.
“That’s ridiculous, he doesn’t have this disease! Why it… it should only be a fever,” Juniper swore as the townsponies glared at her.
“How do you know!? How could you know!?” the crowd shouted. “He has been, he’s been sick for a week now!”
“And what are you going to do to us!? Lock us away, forget about us!?” she began to cry loudly. “What are you going to do!? What!?”
“We’ll do what we need to do!” one of them answered coldly. “You could be sick to! Get out! Get out of here before I make you! I’ll throw you into your house and board you up! I’ll lock you away!”
“Stop it! Enough out of all of you!” Sharp Cut shouted at the top of his lungs, shaking from the exhaustion of the fight. “You’ve all lost it, all of you! Look at what you’re doing! You’re all so scared to save yourselves you’re going after each-other, after foals! Taking and attacking from each other! Now if you go down this then none of us will make it! We’re all going to doom ourselves, worse than even animals could!”
The ponies again fell silent, again smoldering in their shame, some looking away, others at the ground. Finally the eyes, bit by bit, trained on Sharp Cut. In reality no one knew what to do, and until something was done this cycle would repeat until catastrophe. Something had to happen, somepony had to make something happen.
“Book… Book, the Lord said one of us could have it. Do you have any idea if he knew of anypony,” Cut asked, trying to remain calm and logical.
“I… no I don’t. He didn’t tell me anything.”
“Nothing, please Book we need to do something before-”
He was interrupted by a terrible noise, a haunting noise. A string of coughs coming from the accountant as he looked away to the ground. They were violent, long, damning in their own way. All of the ponies gazed on in fear, as if they had seen death itself, as if it were standing just ahead of them.
“Book do you… would you.”
“What? No! I’m not sick, I can’t have the disease! I-I don’t have it!” he claimed before falling into another coughing fit.
“You were the only one of us here to come back from the city. From out of town,” Coals noted. “Out of everypony here, you’re the most likely to be sick!”
“You were real quick to think Juniper’s kid had it. Are you hiding something?” Sweeper glared at him.
“No, no! I don’t!” he pleaded, looking to Cut and beginning to move towards him as if to reach safety. “Cut, please I swear.”
“Son stop! If you are you can’t get the rest of us sick! You need to back away!”
“I’m not! Please, you need to help me! They’ll come after me, you need to!”
“Back away! I said get back!”
The old unicorn, who had through this time had tried to hold on to rationality for the sake of the rest of the flock, now faced what he thought to be true death walking towards him. Everything seemed to slip away, his instinct and emotion taking over. He told Book to stop and he would not, death would not stop. He had to stop it, he had to.
With a short burst of magic he threw Leather Book back, only hoping to create some distance between him and the crowd. As he fell back, the accountant’s head struck the wooden pole at the corner and he fell into the dust on the ground below. There were some gasps and shrieks that went up before the wind was taken from the gathering again, and as they ran together to check they found a dark pool circling his head like a halo.
“Book… he’s… no,” Juniper stammered.
“Cut, Cut why? Why did you do that?” Lilly asked tearfully.
“I had to… I’m sorry I had to! I wanted to get him away from us, I didn’t mean for this to happen!” Cut replied, faced with the gravity of what he had done and on the defense himself now. “I didn’t mean for him to die! I didn’t, I’m sorry! You have to believe me!”
“He’s dead, you killed him!?” said Coals as he grabbed the barber. “You killed him! All the talking you did and you killed one of us!”
“I told you I didn’t mean to! He could have been sick!” Cut retorted, pushing him away.
“Sick!? Sharp Cut there’s a young stallion not half your age lying here! Dead! The disease didn’t kill him, you did!” Oats accused him.
“I’m sorry, I told you-” Cut said before coughing lightly.
“What, are you sick now too!?”
“No, it’s just allergies! You know the season does this! What are you talking about!”
“Coals stop it! He’s not sick, I was talking to him about this!” Lilly claimed.
“You should be there instead of Leather Book!” Sweeper railed.
“You want more death Sweeper!? You’ve always been selfish!” Oats shot back at him. “I’ve had it with this, I won’t let you ponies kill me too! I’m going and I’ll take what I need to live!”
“Selfish!? From the farmer who will let us starve!? I should take all of the food from your farm instead!”
Finally, with the breaking point of death, the crowd fell into the abyss. Panic assumed total control of every pony, buoyed now by anger and spite towards each-other and a natural drive for survival. They began to run, to scream, chasing to get whatever necessities they needed, or chasing after each-other.
“Get back here Cut! Get back here now you murderer!”
“You stay back! Don't make me do it again!”
“Stop it! Stop!”
“Get out of the way, I need food!”
“The medicine! We need it too!”
“No, you can’t! Stop this now!”
Chaos and disorder and anger and fear now ruled each individual pony, and as such the entire town. They ran to and fro, chasing after one thing or another, or after each-other. The scene became something of a dreadful riot, as if the most base instincts of a creature running each actor in a broken, grievous play of violence. From the walls of Castle Reclusion, the Lord stood, having been called back from his guards now witnessing this, and watched his subjects in disappointment and sadness.
“Is there anything that can be done Sir?” one of the guards asked.
“No, they will not listen to me. They will only listen to themselves now.”
“Do you know for sure if any were infected? I think they believed one of them was sick.”
“I do not know for sure. I cannot tell. But it does not matter. They will destroy themselves now, long before the Red Miasma. They have allowed their fear and anger to take hold, and it will move about them, one to the other, and destroy them.”
“To see Main Street like this-”
The Guard stopped as the regent let out a violent cough, looking down as he spasmed slightly. At the end of his fit, he tried to breathe, but let out another great cough. From it a red cloud came, like a thick dust, floating out and away. The two ponies looked on in horror, now having seen their own fate fall away before them in an instant.
“I… I am sorry… my Lord,” the Guard apologized to him, a clear fear within the tone.
“I was foolish. I am sorry to you too, I was… perhaps I ignored… it is too late to worry on this now.”
“What shall we do now?”
“There is nothing to do,” Battue resigned quietly. “I must address the crowd. Maybe… the gate- no it would spread much too quickly. Some are likely already sick. I am sorry friend, I must go now.”
Battue returned slowly into the castle and set himself at the edge of the great hall. He called the attention of the festive ponies, hoping to explain to them, hoping to find some solution so that some of them might live, but fate struck him another blow before that. As he began to speak, he launched into another fit of coughs, terrifying his audience. Their fears now were realized as he coughed out several clouds of red, quite visible as it floated into the air and hung in the enclosed castle. Their immediate reaction, knowing they were locked in, was one of pure terror and rage.
“He is sick! He lied to us! He is sick!”
“We are stuck in here! Oh dear Celestia no!”
“You doomed us! You doomed us all!”
“Don’t let him pass it to us!”
“Somepony stop him! Stop him from spreading it!”
“Please! I am sorry! Please allow me to speak!” the plagued Lord wept. “I beg of you do not-”
“Seize him! Throw him over the wall!”
“No do not touch him! We cannot touch him!”
“We must do something! Somepony do something! Stop him!”
Battue’s company, his colleagues, his friends and associates who he before held as so understanding and receptive to his benevolence towards them, deteriorated to the same base feelings as the commoners outside. His guards, long beholden to defend their Lord, froze in place in fear of his sickness. He at once fled as many of the other ponies followed after him in anger and desperation. He ran through the corridors, the apartments, the many colored rooms, trying to evade his pursuers through every door and crack as a mouse flees from a famished tomcat.
After a horrible chase through the hall, through the rooms, throughout the castle, when all other openings had been exhausted, the sick regent was cornered in a dark room with his rabid pursuers who were once his friends. He fought for survival, using his personal knife, and with a precise cut killed one of the ponies. Yet, in the end, the Lord Battue was struck down, and it was all for naught. None dared touch his body, but it did not matter.
Outside the castle the chaos reigned as well as the Guard watched on. There would be no salvation inside the fortification, and the outside world was destroying itself before the Red Miasma could even arrive. He only recounted the words Battue told him as the dusk settled into night.
“One to the other, one to the other,” he mumbled to the end.
This was the reality of the small town of Rossaville on a warm Spring evening, one that began as normal before turning into a nightmare. Some time later, when the disaster had passed as all do, and the world returned to normal, a group of ponies arrived in the town to investigate. There, they found nothing there but the scenes of great suffering and disaster.
A ghost town which was haunted by the specters of those lost, and the feelings of fear and anger that permeated. No pony was found to be living here, the whole place abandoned. Some of the buildings in disrepair, a few burned to the ground, some boarded up. They found a few bodies as well, most of them the victim of some violence rather than ailment.
At the end they found Castle Reclusion, lying silent, still, giving no answer, bolted shut. Inside were the remains of the ponies locked in there, some dead from the hand of each-other, many more from the plague they wished to escape, the food rotten, the bodies corroded, the braziers burned out and any instrument of noise silent. The Lord Battue no longer held domain over it, but instead darkness and decay and red death.
Now we see the clouded conclusion of the disaster as the inquisitive ponies browsed the ruins trying to decipher the tale, not knowing what happened or what caused it to transpire, and in their confusion they could not have guessed. The tools for such destruction do not always come from the outside, from a predictable place. The weapons lie within the minds and hearts, of terror and fury, to kill and destroy, the unleashing of which has a fallout all of its own. They would never know the story of what happened in Rossaville. Yet you now do, for those of the future, those yet to come, and those far beyond who will always suffer the same plagues of the body and mind, for the posterity of those who could save a life, and maybe a soul, for the sake of all.
Author's Note
Alright, so I've never written horror/thriller or suspense stuff before but I figured I would do something different to take part in my friend's contest over at the Barcast. I was kind of challenged to write something outside my usual comfort zone so I just took it up. Hope it's not too off/bad/weirdly-paced for a first time. If anyone's curious I fashioned this as a mix of Masque of the Red Death and The Monsters are Due on Maple Street.
At any rate, thanks for reading.
