Few ponies could remember weather quite like that which had suddenly drifted into Maretime Bay. The wind had brought with it a strange atmosphere, replete with an abundance of thin fog. In the distance, over the ocean, dark clouds snapped with distant lightning—but those deeper, angrier clouds never seemed to move much closer. The sea was choppy and strange, dredging up numerous odd things from the depths. Those that were alive would wash ashore and, as quickly as they came, turn around and depart as soon as they got the chance.

The air carried with it a strange silence, the sort that usually was only found in the darkness of deepest winter during thick snowfall. Even the sound of the ocean had grown distant, quieted by the moisture in the air. The wind had almost utterly vanished, leaving only still air with ponies walking through it. Going about their daily lives, finding the fog an interesting topic of conversation but little more than the most minor of inconveniences. They had lived on the coast their whole lives. Occasional fog was nothing special.

Hitch shivered and looked back toward the Brighthouse. The rainbow field it projected was as strong as ever, enhanced by the fog as a great vertical pillar of light illuminating the whole town—even as the thick atmosphere drifted around and through it, occasionally sparking with its powerful magic.

“Alright,” he said, steeling himself. He pointed at the ground in the town center. “We meet back here in one hour. If you find anything, call. And if you talk to any ponies...try to not to let them know exactly what we’re looking for, okay?”

“You mean ALIENS?” asked Izzy, loudly.

“Aliens?” a stallion walking by turned suddenly to face them.

“No. NOT aliens,” snapped Zipp.

The confused stallion shrugged, then smiled. “Oh. Okay. Good luck, then.”

He wandered off.

“And careful flying,” noted Zipp. “Visibility is low.”

“Yeah,” said Pipp. “I noticed.”

They regarded each other—and then separated, Hitch and Zipp heading north and Pipp and Izzy moving south.

“Dang it,” moaned Pipp, walking and staring at her phone. “I still can’t get a signal. And I know for a fact that it works here. I had the high-bandwidth tower installed myself.” She looked up. “What about you?”

Izzy tilted her head. “Oh, I left my phone at home.”

Pipp glared. “You would.”

“Yes. I would. Because I did.”

“Ugh. And this fog is going to make my mane all...”

“Frizzy?”

Pipp shuddered. “Yeah. That.”

“Mine too. I’m gonna be a frizzy Izzy.”

Pipp continued walking, but paused. “You know, I always wondered...is ‘Izzy’ short for something?”

“Isohedria. Thought that was pretty obvious.”

“Um...no?”

“It’s a three-dimensional shape with geometrically identical sides.” Izzy leaned closer. “But the question is...which one? Am I a tetragonal disphenoid? Or a pyritohedron? Maybe a deltoidal icositetrahedron? You’ll never know...because I don’t know. Not even slightly.”

“Um...okay?”

“What about you? Or did your mom actually name you Pipp? For the sake of, you know, rhyming?”

Pipp sighed. “I don’t make it very public, but...Piptadenia.”

“A tree in the bean family?”

Pipp stopped and stared at Izzy. “How...do you know that?”

“I know a lot of things. My brain is like a sponge. Wet, and filled with many tiny holes.”

“Is that normal?”

“Sure. Pony kuru runs in my family.”

Pipp had no idea what that meant but assumed that Izzy was probably just being silly. She appreciated it, as it helped to lighten the mood on a distinctly gloomy day. She maintained hope that it would not start to drizzle—which would leave both her mane and hooves utterly ruined.

Other than the terrible weather, though, the town seemed largely ordinary. Pipp had taken a liking to it. It was certainly not as big and modern and populated as Zephyr Heights, but had a certain nautical semi-rural charm.

She and Izzy walked down the street, peering into the fog and at the occasional window display—only to find nothing unusual.

“Huh,” said Pipp, stopping at a window to look through at a hat she suddenly realized she very much wanted. “What exactly are we even looking for?”

“Some sort of creeper I think,” said Izzy, stopping and looking at a piece of aggregate in the sidewalk that she especially liked. Or one that looked particularly suspicious. “Not the exploding kind, though. A tall, thin pony without a face.”

Pipp shivered. “Yeah, no. That sounds creepy, but I mean...”

“You’re not that mean,” reassured Izzy.

“I mean that he saw it through a peep-hole at night.”

“Is it just me or does ‘peep-hole’ sound weirdly dirty?”

“And he is Hitch...I mean, don’t get me wrong, he’s one of my best friends but he’s...nervous?”

“I get nervous too, sometimes. Around umbrellas. If you open them too fast I get very spooked. Also the unspeakable condiment...” Izzy shivered. “It’s made from pegasus eggs, you know.”

“Izzy, it’s not...” Pipp frowned. “I hope to pony we don’t lay eggs. But I do not want to text my mom to ask. So I’ll ignore that.”

“Fair enough.”

“What I was saying was that, maybe Hitch just saw a guy in a mask.” Pipp pointed to a display behind a storefront window. “Or in a hat. Or maybe he dreamed it, I don’t know.”

“Doesn’t change that there’s still a creep ahoof.”

“Or a pony out trying to find his lost cat or jogging at night because he’s self conscious.”

“But he seemed so freaked out...and he is a big, manly sheriff. He had to have seen something.”

Pipp sighed. “I know, I know. And I really want to find this out for him, but...I don’t even know what I’m really looking for.”

They started walking again.

“Too bad Sunny took the day off,” groaned Izzy. “I’m really craving a smoothie right now. One with one of those engineered fruits. Like one of those parsnissimons. Or a peacumber. Or an applejackfruit.”

Those suggestions largely made Pipp nauseous, but she suppressed it as they crossed the street to a local park. Although shrouded in fog, various ponies were participating in various events. A pair of stallions were playing with a Frisbee in one of the fields, and a mare was jogging around the track with a rather disturbing animal that Pipp had learned was called a "wingless dog". On the far end, somewhat near the back, a number of fillies and colts were playing on a set of playground equipment that—so she was told—had been a project by Sunny’s father, who the park was named after.

“They seem to be having so much fun!”

“Izzy, no! You can’t play on the equipment right now, we’re busy!”

“I know,” lied Izzy. “But I never got a chance to play in the fog when I was a filly. The unicorns consider it jinxxie.”

“Why?”

Izzy smiled. “Looks like somepony’s never encountered a carnivorous vapor. Good for you!”

Pipp shivered, hoping Izzy was just being Izzy. She looked around the park. The fog was not even that thick, and clearly not carnivorous. It was ordinary fog. She could probably even fly above it for a better look, even if it would just mean looking down at more fog.

As she watched, her eyes settled on the playground. The colts and fillies certainly did seem happy—but as Pipp watched, she frowned. There was something out of place, but she could not place exactly what.

Then its head turned—and the shape immediately resolved in her mind.

She tried to scream, but nothing came out except a tiny squeak. Izzy chuckled, but then saw the fear on Pipp’s face and turned—and out of the corner of her eye, in her peripheral vision, Pipp saw what must have been the exact progression of expressions she had just exhibited cross her friend’s face.

It had not been immediately apparent because its form was so unnatural as to have somehow betrayed the natural pattern-recognition circuitry built into every pony’s fundamental consciousness. It was fall too tall for them to have naturally identified it as a pony at all, although it had the rough shape of one—but far too linear, and far too vertical, to the point that it had been unapparent against the backdrop of the colorful playground equipment.

Drawn forward to the front of their minds, though, it was all-too-real—and Pipp realized that Hitch had been right. It had no face.

She and Izzy froze out of atavistic pony instinct. For a moment, in her more logical mind, Pipp hoped that since it had no eyes it had not actually seen them. Then it moved.

The motion was not a direct charge but hideously unnatural. It did not move like a pony. It kept its head pointed toward them as it suddenly moved sideways, its thin legs stretching with unnatural insect-like grace as it moved sideways. Like an enormous, silent crab on stilt-like white legs.

The children got out of its way—but Pipp could see that something was wrong with them too. They did not see it. They did not perceive it in any way. They went about their play, ducking and jumping and laughing—but moving around where it was standing, not out of conscious perception but some unnoticed instinct. The stallions playing with their plastic disk did not turn. The jogging mare stopped—but only because her wingless dog had stopped, whimpering in horror at the figure that was moving in an unnatural arch through the fog. The mare herself only seemed confused at what imaginary entity her silly little dog had decided to respond to.

Then it stopped. The tall pony did not move. Pipp and Izzy, in perfect unison, began to back up.

“What are we supposed to do?!” hissed Pipp, trying to whisper.

“I don’t—I don’t know, we’re not supposed to find the monster on the first day, in broad daylight!”

“What did Hitch say to do when we saw it? How are we supposed to—are we supposed to grab it or something?!”

“He didn’t say, he didn’t say!”

The creature’s head slowly tilted. The inlaid blue parts of it ignited with dim but perceptible light, a blue glow shimmering across its surface in various patterns, igniting the fog that swirled around its body. Then it stopped again, holding perfectly still. It stood, staring—and then the worst possible thing occurred.

It began to slowly walk toward them.

“Run. RUN!”

“I already am!” cried Izzy from several yards ahead of Pipp—who immediately took to the wing, following after her with vigor and speed that her short pegasus body could not ordinarily achieve.

Izzy, being both terrified and slightly less athletic, was immediately out of breath.

“Mother-tasting donkey-sniffing hole-blasting shaved-father son of a—”

“NOT helping, Izzy, NOT HELPING!”

“It’s gaining, it’s GAINING!”

“Don’t look back, just keep—” Pipp could not help herself. She looked over her shoulder.

It was indeed pursuing—at a very reasonable pace. A pace that, with its long limbs, was almost comically slow. Tuned to be exactly enough to gain the slightest amount of ground as it slowly overtook them.

All around the street, ponies were walking past. Ponies that regarded the two fleeing young mares with mild confusion but then immediately went back to their tasks, smiling and looking away. None of them responded to it. None of them saw it. Their eyes seemed strange and distant, reflecting a strange blue light as it passed. As if they were in a trance.

Pipp suddenly felt a profound sense of cold. There was fear, but also something else. As if the happiness was being drained form her. It was stripped away, to the point she could not even remember what it had even felt like. There was only sadness and anger—and as she looked down, to her great horror, she felt it directed at Izzy. Because had it not been for her, flying to safety would have been trivial.

The urge almost overcame her. To simply leave her friend behind. To let the out-of-shape unicorn's own weakness consume her, because she deserved it—but Pipp found a deep inner strength that forced her to persist. To remain. Even as the static in her head grew louder, she fought against its will.

A voice called to them. As if it were next to them. Too close. A whisper in their ears, spoken with a strangely accented version of Seashell’s squeaky filly timbre.

“It is cold,” said the voice. “Please…let me in. I am afraid out here.”

“Pipp there’s a voice in my head and NOT THE USUAL ONE!”

“Ignore it and run harder, Izzy!”

“I can’t, I’m...I’m too tired...”

“You are both...alive,” said the voice. It had changed. It still sounded like that of a child, but had become distorted as it was forced to summon new words. “Alive mares. This is...novel. To me. I shall rectify this. Stop running. Let. Me. Inside.”

Pipp felt the static in her head lessen—as its full attention was directed toward Izzy.

Izzy cried out, falling into a shivering heap. She was crying, her breath fogging in the sudden cold that surrounded them. The fog was precipitating into itself, crystallizing into atomized ice. Tiny needles of frozen water filled the air.

“Izzy!”

Izzy raised her head. Her eyes seemed even more sunken than usual. “Just...go, Pipp,” she said, weakly and through her tears. “Leave me...I know...I know they love you more than they love me...”

She attempted to crawl forward, her hooves clawing at the pavement but just slipping across its wet surface. All around them both, ponies were going about their day. Humming to themselves, having conversations, laughing—or waiting in line at a nearby ice-cream stand. All of them somehow seemed distant. Far away. Their voices halfway silenced and distorted, as if they were on the far side of a hill.

The creature stopped. It shifted visibly, is height decreasing as it leaned toward Izzy. She rolled over and threw out a hoof.

“Pocket glitter!” she cried weakly as the glitter struck the creature’s faceless head—and did nothing of consequence aside from making it sparkle slightly.

“Dang,” said Izzy, laying down, defeated and curling into the fetal position. She closed her eyes. “That usually works, too...”

“Izzy! Get up! GET UP!”

Pipp landed, pulling at Izzy. Her own breath was visible. The air felt so cold—and she felt so afraid and so angry. That she would endanger herself for another pony. She, who had so much importance—a princess, with so many followers—when all she needed to do was fly away.

She gripped Izzy harder. “Izzy! Come ON!”

“I’m...tired...”

Pipp slipped, falling back. Looking around, panicked, she reached for the only thing she felt any sort of comfort in. She grabbed her phone.

“A—anti-theft system, GO!”

And she promptly threw it at the creature’s head. The plastic and sapphire-glass struck with a rather sickening sound, as if she had just thrown it through a decaying cantelmato. The head was knocked back, the neck bending backward at an unnatural angle—and continuing to bend backward until it looped back, the creature now holding its face next to its own chest to continue to look at them.

The phone was embedded in the white skin where a face should have been—and as Pipp watched, thin tendrils of flesh extended, separating and morphing to penetrate her phone’s various ports. Then with a hiss, its surface began to dissolve, exposing circuitry—and it was wholly absorbed into the creature’s flesh.

“I—I have more where that came from! GAH, fight me, coward!” She raised her shaking hooves. “You can’t take my FRIEND!”

A thin voice crossed the fog—but it sounded so far away.

“Why are you...afraid?”

Then its neck cracked suddenly as the head turned toward the left—and it stared at the rainbow emission from the Brighthouse. It looked back to Pipp and Izzy—and suddenly scuttled away, silently retreating into the fog and vanishing.

A voice called from above. “Pipp!”

Zipp landed next to her sister with enough force to partially damage the pavement below. Hitch was running out of the fog not far behind them.

“Pipp! Izzy, hold on, we—”

Hitch froze as it looked out of the fog one more time—and then sunk low and vanished entirely.

“Oh my stars and slippery garters,” he swore. Despite the sudden fear, he bent down to help Izzy. “Izzy!”

“So many dark things,” she said. “So...alone...”

“You’re not alone,” said Zipp. “Pipp, Hitch, stay with her, I’m going after that thing—”

“No you’re not!” exclaimed Pipp. She was still shaken, but not as badly as Izzy. Whatever effect it had on them, it had worked profoundly more strongly on Izzy than herself. “Not on your own! You’re going to help Hitch and me get Izzy back to the police station.”

“Yeah,” said Hitch, shaking his head to clear himself of distractions and regain his dissolve. He picked up Izzy and put her across his back. “I’ve got you!”

“Sorry I’m...so fat...”

“I’ve lifted heavier. You two, cover me in case it comes back!”

Pipp and Zipp both nodded, one by far more enthusiastic than the other—but they took flight as Hitch trotted rapidly toward safety.

The creature, unseen in the fog, watched them depart. It had determined that the information gained was ultimately valuable—even if its first attempt had failed to achieve any substantial progress.

A different approach would be required.

Author's Note

I do not know if Izzy and Pipp have full names, but I enjoyed creating names based on the assumptions that "Izzy" and "Pipp" are nicknames. Ironically, most Piptadenias do not have discernible petals in its flowers; if this were Pipp's actual name, it would give the impression of an impossibility or paradox.