Applewood is a paradise with a dark underbelly. This is a given to anyone who has lived and worked in the film industry that behind the camera, everything isn’t as it seems. In a land of eternal summer of tropical palms and endless green, it has a long history that those outside of movie town don’t get to see. There are countless examples too numerous to list. From the abusive nature of foal actors; the cemeteries of stunt devils that were buried quickly and quietly; or the erratic directors that reign over their film crew – Applewood has a dark side.
My name is Vintage Cinema, I’m a writer by trade who often researches the unsolved, weird mysteries that surround Applewood. After my grandmother died six years ago, my attention has turned towards the strange surroundings of the golden age of Applewood. This is because of a unique quirk in my family history. My great-grandfather, Dazzle E. Cinema, was once a director during the silent film era. He’s not well known now, but from what I could gather, he had this… gimmick of never making the same genre of film twice. It is said that he had spent years perfecting something, to get it down just right before releasing it. And when he did, he would move on to the next project from scratch. Unfortunately, as of now, there are no surviving reels of his movies, but from what I’ve read from the critics at the time they said they were spectacular.
What got interesting was that around 928, about a year before sound movies became popular, he was working on a horror movie for Pony Artists’ Studios. Now there isn’t a lot from what I could find, but what I do know is that it led to the most significant, if forgotten mystery of the silent film era. After he had finished making the movie, the studio refused to release it. Then a week later, he, the heads of the studio, and even the test audience disappeared. It caused quite a scandal, and a slew of conspiracy theories sprang up. But what gets interesting, however, is that the original (and only) film that was shown, my grandmother had it.
She had all sorts of films in her attic, I remember when I was a colt that there were boxes of them, and I specifically remember one that was different from the rest – a red movie reel, and the casing it came in had the faded name of the studio. At the time I had no idea what it was until much later after my grandmother passed away that I realized the film had gone missing. Most likely it was sold along with the other home movies at the estate sale. I had spent years on my off time trying to track down the film to see if it was still around. Which led me to my last hope of finding it.
“Welcome to the Equestrian Society for Film Preservation.” I will be honest when I walked through the front door of a shabby building, I wasn’t expecting to find anything at all. Pushing through the door and into the lobby that looks like it has stubbornly stuck to its decor forty years ago, the secretary from behind the desk greeted me. “Can I help you, sir?”
Walking past the door I told her: “I’m not entirely sure. I was hoping that maybe you guys could help me out on something.”
“Oh certainly,” the mare pushed her glasses back from the tip of her nose. “What are we in for?”
“Well, first of all, I should introduce myself,” I raised my hoof for her to shake, “I’m Vintage Cinema, I’m doing research for a book I’m writing.”
“Projector Slider,” she shook my hoof. “I’m the head librarian of the society here. What are you looking for?”
“Something extremely rare. Long story short, I’m looking for a silent movie that was made by my great-grandfather, Dazzle Cinema-”
“No way!” Ms. Slider stood up from her desk. “Are you really his great-grandson? That’s unbelievable, we’ve been looking for Dazzle’s movies for years.”
“Well, here’s the thing,” I rubbed the back of my head, “About five or six years ago, my grandma passed away, I remember that I saw a film canister that had Pony Artists’ Studios on it. The problem is, I’m pretty sure that it was sold in the estate sale, and I have no idea where it went. I’ve been looking for it for years because-”
“Was the film casing red?” Ms. Slider interrupted, an odd look coming across her face.
I blinked, “I… yeah. How do you know?”
There was a pause, “Sir, I think we might have it.” She got up from her desk and told me to follow her.
Pushing past the double doors, I was led back to an archive that was much bigger than I thought it was. There was a space that had rows and rows of shelves, each had film casings on various sides. Thousands upon thousands were resting on the shelves, each marked with a number on one side. We also passed by offices where ponies looked at the movies or were doing something to help repair and save them by going through frame by frame.
Ms. Slider led me toward the shelves where the casings looked very old and rusted. She suddenly stopped and used her magic to pull out one of the casings that had a very familiar label, along with a sticker, #329128. “Is this the film you’re talking about?”
We went over to a nearby table where she popped open the lid. And there I saw the red film reel – something I was certain I would never see again. “That’s it! That’s the film my grandmother had.” I turned to her, “Has anypony seen it being played?”
“… About that.” Ms. Slider placed the lid back on gingerly. “Mr. Cinema, I’m not entirely sure if this is from your great-grandfather at all.”
“Why not?”
“Well… it’s kinda hard to explain because of what happened with one of my employees in connection to this.”
“How so?”
Ms. Slider looked down at the film casing and shook her head. “The pony that first viewed it, disappeared.”
This got my attention, “What happened?”
“I don’t know. All I remember is that after he saw this with one of our projectors, he became uncharacteristically paranoid. Saying that he was seeing things that weren’t there. And one day, he didn’t come to work. I got the police to go see what happened, and they said his apartment door was wide open, it looked like he was abducted.” She shook her head. “Reel Projection was his name. Nice guy too. I mean I felt awful that he just disappeared into thin air one day. Then I remembered that he was talking about this. So, when I looked at the film to preserve it under a magnifying glass… Well… Here, let me show you.”
She took me into a room where there was a special light table with two stands and a magnifying glass on a stand. I watched her as she put the film reel on one end, carefully strung it over to the other, and then lowered the film onto the table where she flipped the switch. “Take a look, what do you see?” She asked, putting the magnifying glass over the film.
Curious, I looked through and blinked. “I don’t see anything.”
“It’s blank.” Ms. Slider told me. “I looked through every single frame of this, and I couldn’t find a single picture of it anywhere. None. Of course, I ran it through some chemicals to preserve it, but I couldn’t find anything. I tried looking at it under different lights, and different lenses, but nothing seemed to come up. And yet, my employee who saw this said he saw a whole movie play out. An elaborate one too. But I can safely say… there’s just nothing.”
I raised an eyebrow, “So if it’s blank, why preserve it?”
“You’d be surprised how often studios come to us,” she shrugged, “sometimes for special effects and other times for stock footage – at least, those that are old enough for public domain, of course.”
Mindlessly I looked through the empty frames and asked, “So what did he see?”
“Sorry?”
“The employee you were talking about. Do you remember what he saw?”
“Not much, something about a mare being stalked in Manehattan – but I can’t remember the details of it. Funny enough, when the police came to his apartment, they found a letter for them that detailed everything about what he saw. Which to me never made any sense.”
“How come?”
She raised an eyebrow, “If you knew you were about to be foalnapped, why would you spend your time writing out the entire plot of a movie? That never made sense.”
I glanced down at the film strip, “You know, my great-grandfather before he disappeared had wanted to create a horror movie, the best he could make it. But those at the studio he worked for had refused to show it. I wonder that if this might be the very movie… what would have been on it?”
“Your guess is as good as mine.” She said rolling the film back up, “Will there be anything else?”
Just when the last film strip had been dragged across the light table, I spotted something. “Hey, what’s that?”
“What?”
I pointed at the very first frame of the strip. “Right there, do you see it?”
She saw the frame to look through the magnifying glass and frowned. “Yeah, I’ve seen this one. Just a fully black frame with scribbles on it. But like I said, the rest is empty.”
“Would it be possible for me to see it?”
Ms. Slider raised an eyebrow, “Excuse me?”
“Is there any way for me to look at the movie? I guess you guys might have a projector somewhere.”
“… You want to see this where there’s nothing on it?”
“Maybe, but I want to make sure of something.”
She shrugged, “Yes, we can rent a room out for you for you to watch it. But I don’t see why you would wanna.”
And so about fifteen minutes later, I rented a little room that had an armchair, a small table with an antique movie projector, and nothing else except three white walls and a curtain. Even before I flipped the old machine on, I had doubts about seeing it. After all, it was close to a hundred years old and I guess the pictures on it may have faded away. And for all I know, the thing could very well burst into flames. So, you may say that I had a hunch about this thing. That somehow, someway, this thing might not have shown everything.
Pulling the curtain, the little room was nearly dark, and I had to feel my way over to the chair and feel for the buttons on the projector. And pressing the button, the machine came to life with a rapid clicking sound, and I looked over to the wall.
Instead of seeing blank frames, I saw a title card.
Snatched Away
I rubbed my eyes. Was I seeing this right? The film didn’t have anything on it and yet, I see before me cards from the silent movie age being played out. That it showed it was from Pony Artists’ Studios. It had actors, producers, and… my great-grandfather as the director. I was about to run out to get Ms. Slider what I was seeing when I noticed the names of the actors credited which made me pause.
Reel Projection – As Himself
Abductor – by Cheval de Silhouette
Reel Projection… Ms. Slider mentioned the employee who went missing six years ago. Yet there it was on a filmstrip from the 920s… what was going on?
So I sat down to let it play out.
On the wall, much to my amazement, it showed… the outside of the building I was in. And it wasn’t in the twenties at all – right away from the view of the street, it was the modern day. It then showed a close-up of the sign from outside. From there, a series of title cards appeared, smash-cutting with the room I was in.
In a library of forgotten movies…
In a forgotten office…
A librarian saw something that should…
Had been forgotten…
It cut to a small room with a pony I’d never seen before. A stallion that was a little younger than I am with thin round glasses. An earth pony that sat on the edge of his seat with a projector going in a dark room. On the grainy film, I saw his expression, his eyes staring wide, traumatized. Giving a thousand-mile-long stare at what the camera projected. The reel on the projector had run out of film, leaving the strip spinning on the wheel.
Suddenly the young stallion turned his head, and lights turned on. There it cut to a wider shot of the room – it was Ms. Slider, asking with a title card.
“How was the movie?”
It seemed to snap him out of a trance. Blinking a few times, he looked up, replying with:
“It was… something…”
Ms. Slider talked on for a bit but there were no title cards to show what she was going on about. Reel handed her a clipboard and paused as he seemed to see something. For a split second, it showed through the crack of a door, a passing shadow. Cutting back, Reel just froze there when Slider waved a hoof in his face, as though asking if he’s alright. He nodded but pushed forward towards the door where it showed that there wasn’t anyone in the library.
What followed next was another scene at a library with Reel hunched over some dusty books and a list. The camera showed from behind, and it approached him, leaning overhead to get a closer look at the list. It was scribbled with names and many had question marks next to them.
A title card was shown.
Burning the midnight oil, Reel Projection searches for answers.
It then showed a close-up of the pony’s face, his face confused. Flipping through several pages.
“None of it makes any sense.”
He turned to another book.
“Why can’t I find anyone from that movie? Where is Star Struck? Where is Velvet Cloth? Ticket Sale? I know I saw those names, but I can’t find them anywhere!”
My jaw dropped at that. Because I knew those names.
Another title card:
“How can actors, writers, producers and such be in this movie but have no record of them anywhere?”
I knew why. Because those names that were mentioned were the heads of the studio. Those were the ponies that had vanished along with my ancestor.
The camera backed up a little it showed something I hadn’t noticed before. Behind him was a shadow. A tall one that loomed over. If anything, it was a silhouette of somepony in a trench coat and a wide-brim hat. I couldn’t make out his face. Just… darkness.
Reel looked over his shoulder, and it cut to behind him to find… no one there.
The next scene showed a diner, Reel sitting on a barstool deep in thought, his hooves propping up his head with a cup of steaming coffee in front of him. Across from him, a waitress entered the frame, asking if he wanted anything else. Reel shook his head, but the waitress pointed out that he seemed to have something on his mind. Through some title cards, he explained that he came across an old film that he couldn’t find anyone attached to and that he couldn’t figure out how that was possible. While he was explaining, he brought up my great-grandfather’s name, to which the waitress finally replied with:
“Like… the urban ledged?”
When Reel asked what she was talking about, she began to explain that my ancestor was a director during the golden age of Applewood. He was known for making movies where he would perfect whatever genre he tackled – in other words, stuff I already knew. But then, came the following title cards that caught my attention.
“The last film he apparently made was a horror film. Rumor has it, that he realized there were two problems with the genre.
“He realized that not everypony has the same fears. That where one pony would be scared stiff, another wouldn’t be so. The other was that when the movie was over, it only stayed in the theater.
“So, for this film, it is said that he used a forbidden, occultic ritual on a reel of film. Dark magic essentially. Not only would it show what somepony fears, but it would follow them home.
“It’s said that after showing it to a test audience and the heads of the studio, a week later, everypony who saw it was never seen again.”
When the waitress finished her story, I noticed from a reflection in a mirror that there was the same shadow from before. Reel noticed this too, but as soon as he turned around, the shadow disappeared. There was a montage of Reel in everyday life where somewhere in the background, that same figure was there. Stalking just out of sight, out of the corner of his eye. From various places on the streets, in restaurants, at his work, and even in his apartment. With every passing location, Reel was becoming more paranoid that maybe he wasn’t alone after all. That same shadow was always nearby. Seemingly getting closer every time. And as time passed, Reel increasingly became paranoid. Constantly looking over his shoulder but never seeing the stalker. I saw him begin to deteriorate before my eyes. Where he was losing sleep. Eating less. Leaving more messes. And ever alert for whoever, or whatever was nearby.
This came to a head when at the end of the montage when he was walking to his apartment, just when he was climbing up the stairs and into a hallway from the other end – he froze. The shadow was present. Standing there dead center with the light illuminating his back. And yet, he remained faceless. A close-up of Reel showed that his paranoia had given way to fear. That this thing was real. So much so that he rushed to his door, shut it behind him, and barricaded it with a dining room table.
Then, with a title card that said, “The Next Night,” I saw Reel finishing writing what looked like a long letter. I could only guess what that thing might have said as he put the thing into the envelope that had the words “Police” on it.
After setting the envelope aside, he said to himself.
“Alright, now for the reality test.”
He opened up his front door, standing back to sit on the couch. Staring into the empty hallway.
“If he doesn’t show up in five minutes, tomorrow I’ll get a therapist and I will know that I’ve completely snapped.”
Reel rubbed his face.
“Celestia… I don’t want to be right…”
What followed was… You know how you’re told not to look at yourself in the mirror for too long? That the longer you look at it the more you’d become convinced you’re seeing things? For about five minutes, it just showed the back of Reel’s head sitting on that couch, looking directly at the open door. That’s it. Maybe it was because it was a silent film and the only sound, I heard was coming from the clicking of the projector. Maybe I almost expected to see the shadow in a sort of jump-scare. Instead, for five, tense minutes, I looked at what Reel looked at. Waiting with our breaths held for something to come out of the darkness. And because of the age of the film, at times I wondered if I saw a distortion within that dark hallway. Dreading every passing minute to see what was going to happen next.
Then, after five minutes, Reel looked up at the clock and sighing, went over to the door.
“That settles it, I’m crazy.”
He went over to turn off a nearby lamp, and there I gasped. Because suddenly in the dim light of the room, that shadow was there. Taking Reel by the throat. In the silence, Reel was screaming. He struggled to get away from the stalker, even tripping over furniture in his apartment. But the shadow had his hooves around his neck, trying to choke him, trying to drag him to the middle of the room.
As this was going on, I noticed something for the first time. It was faint, but there was another shadow that loomed over the entire room. It took a while to see what it was, but it looked like a pony that stood over by a boxy camera on a tripod. Rolling the footage that I was seeing.
What I saw next left me stunned. The shadowy stalker dragged Reel to the middle of his apartment where he stood on his hind legs, lifting the guy by the throat. Reel kicked to no use. His forelegs trying to pry his aggressor, and I noticed he seemed to be saying something before… The only way I could describe it was that Reel had suddenly started to glow brightly, he was being distorted before my eyes until he was on fire. Like old celluloid that had spontaneously combusted, his body, his face, and his arms stretched, squished, and pulled before he was set ablaze.
After that, I couldn’t take it anymore. I stopped the film and pulled the curtain for light. Taking a moment to catch my breath that I didn’t realize I was holding. For a while, I tried to process what I just witnessed. Was that real? Was it a lost art student project that got thrown in here accidently? That thing should have been blank, but I know what I saw.
“Hey.”
I unintendedly let out a shocked scream.
“Woah, sorry.” It was Ms. Slider, stepping back from me. “We’re about to close up.”
“Huh?”
“It’s getting late.” She pointed out. “So, are you finished with that? Because I would need to put it back.”
I had no idea how long it had been, but when I stepped out, the sky had already started to get dark.
So, I decided to go clear my head by going to a nearby coffee shop. Needless to say, I was so rattled by the experience, that I hunched over a counter with a cup in my hooves to take it all in. In all my years of researching the strange, weird, and macabre of Applewood, never had I ever come across something like that. I thought that if it turned out to be some kind of hoax, it was a pretty convincing one. A supernatural film that’s blank but has a disturbing movie on it somehow… But I knew that deep down, it couldn’t have been faked. After all, I saw that same film from the light table to the projector without any hint it was switched out.
I wondered… could it be possible to cast a spell on a reel of film? I heard rumors that rare books are cast with dark magic to transport the reader into the fictional world. I thought of the possibility that I might have seen the very same reel that made my great-grandfather disappear all those years ago. A spell that backfired. And another thought too… if the pony in the film was Reel, the last pony to have seen this, was there one pony that stalked him… or two?
While I was having these thoughts, I took a sip of my coffee when I saw something move from the corner of my eye. Of course, I looked over but found no one there… You ever get the feeling that you’re being watched but you don’t know from where? Even though I looked around at ponies who weren’t even paying attention to me, I felt eyes on me. At one point I even went to the bathroom and that feeling didn’t go away, in the back of my mind I felt like I was being recorded somehow.
That feeling followed me, out the door, down the street, on the bus, and up the stairs into my apartment. No matter what I did, I couldn’t shake off that paranoia. I did whatever I could think of, I checked for hidden cameras, I put on movies I liked, and I told myself over and over that nopony was watching me. But even when I got ready for bed, I still had the sense I wasn’t going asleep alone.
This haunting feeling continued the next day. And the day after that. There was this looming sense of dread that I was never alone. At times I thought I saw something move from the corner of my eye. Even when I asked ponies if anyone was there, they didn’t know what I was talking about. There was a part of me that wondered if it might be paranoia that I couldn’t shake off.
But another part of me thinks if that film might have been cursed after all. Could it be possible that I might not have much time before I too disappear? Is it only a matter of time when that same shadowy figure comes after me as well? I couldn’t help but think about that film. If it is cursed, would it be possible to see it again but see something else?
Several days later, I returned to the Film Preservation building.
“You’re back already?” Ms. Slider asked from behind the desk.
“I know, but is it possible for me to see that movie again?”
She tilted her head. “Yes, but why?”
“Call it a hunch, but I think I might have missed something with it. Maybe it’s nothing but I can’t help but feel there might be something I overlooked.”
Shrugging, she got up from the desk, “If you say so. I’ll take you over to one of the viewing rooms, and I’ll go fetch that reel.” Pushing through the doors into the library, I thought I saw something move between the shelves. “You doing okay?”
“I… y-yeah, I’m okay.” I followed her in and asked, “So has anypony besides me come in today?”
“Yeah, but the last one was a couple of hours ago. That, and I’ll be working alone for a while too, we’re a bit understaffed at the moment. Why?”
Craning my neck around, I almost expected to see whoever it was, but I couldn’t find anything. “Just… noticed it was quiet.”
Within moments, I was shown the viewing room, and she went to get the old film reel to weave it through the projector. Slider told me to shout if I needed anything before she closed the curtain behind me.
Now I would be lying if I said that I wasn’t dreading this. For I knew, perhaps all of this might have been in my head after all and there’s nothing but empty frames on the thing. I didn’t know what would happen if I pressed the button to turn the projector on. But I knew that if I were to find out, I would have to see it again. Even if it might be the same film I saw, at least I would know. But that didn’t mean I pressed the button right away. I spent several minutes in the dimly lit room hesitating. Finally, I pressed the button, and the projector came to life. And as soon as the film started, my eyes went wide.
Burned to Light
Researcher – by Vintage Cinema
Abductor – by Cheval de Silhouette
And right away, the film began. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing, but there in black and white was me in a silent film! All the events from the past few days were playing out with the camera stalking me. It showed me walking in the streets. It showed me eating at restaurants alone. It showed me in my home! Not only that but there was one bit where it showed me asleep in bed.
As justifiably unsettling as this alone was, there was also something else. In the background in nearly every shot, that same shadow that haunted Reel Projection was also there. In places that I swear I didn’t see before. Sitting next to me at table-top counters, walking next to me in the street, silently judging me while I was brushing my teeth! It was like a ghost that followed me everywhere, but why?
What did it want?
During all this, a title card came up that read:
In search of answers, Vintage returns to where it all began.
It then showed me watching the movie. With a camera set right behind me, I saw the back of my head, the projector going, and the screen that showed an infinite view of me that echoed on the screen. When my ear flicked, the film copied it in real-time. When I raised a hoof to wave it about, it was like watching it in mirrors. It started to dawn on me that there was another sound that accompanied the ever-present clicking of the projector. The sound of a hoof-cranking wheel being turned made me realize that what was behind me was a camera.
For a moment, I didn’t know what to do next. Should I turn around, or keep looking forward until the reel runs out? Do I see what has been stalking me or ignore it? Do I run? Stay?
But before I could do anything, I felt someone wrapped a foreleg around my neck and yanked me out of my seat. It was so sudden that I couldn’t scream. My hooves flayed and kicked to where I knocked over the projector, yet the film continued to play sideways. I tried to fight back against my attacker, but I couldn’t get a grip anywhere. At one point I was tussled around to where I saw another shadow on the wall. One with an old movie camera on a tripod, hoof-cranking it to record my assault. A shadow of a unicorn stood next to it, filming it all.
My hoof slipped and I punched my attacker in the face. Giving me a moment for air for me to scream out, “Help! Slider hel-” but I was turned around by my attacker, placing hooves over my throat again to prevent me from screaming.
Celestia, I wanted to scream!
He had no face. The shadowy stallion from the film that had stalked me, under his hat was a dark, gaping hole where a face should be. Just pure shadow.
While I was trying to gasp for air, I heard a voice. It was like a whisper like every breath was someone’s final word. A dying, breathless, ghostly voice.
“Frankly Cheval I find this composition unworkable. Would you and Vintage return to your original mark please?” The shadow that was choking me looked at the pony with a camera. “If it’s not in frame, it doesn’t exist.”
I was dragged against my will towards the center of the room, while the projector lit up my hooves that were being lifted up the ground.
“And now Vintage you struggle. Yes. Fight for that gasp of air as Cheval choaks out of you. Death is getting closer, but those dark hooves refuse to let go. They will never let go. Getting ever so tighter. Yes. Yes! Now Cheval will you complete the spell and put this one in his rightful place? It is important for the final frame as a reminder of the inescapable march of time, that every story comes to an end. And his story is nearing completion. Yes! Further! More!”
The next thing I knew, I felt hot. Melting in the hooves as my fur became brighter like approaching the center of a star. I wanted to scream not just in fear but in pain. From my head to my hooves, everything became melted, elastic, thin – too thin, and then. Fire.
On the wall, the shadow rolled the camera as Vintage burned like celluloid. Until he was no more. After a few final turns, he stopped. Glancing out at his work, the shadowy director nodded.
“Thank you. I think we have it.”
