The Blank Pony

The kitchen was warm and cozy as always, with both the heat and sweet smells of the various food that Sunny generally prepared. The freezer was well-stocked with various baked goods of several previous batches, both prepared and uncooked, and Sunny immediately selected a pair of uncooked pies. She also brought over the cookie jar while her friends took their seats. Hitch opened the jar, giving a cookie to Sparky, who only halfway regarded it. His attention was instead directed toward the kitchen window, looking out at the gray and dismal day.

The wind picked up slightly, but the walls of the Brighthouse were strong and well-insulated. It remained warm and inviting and well lit as Sunny put the tea on.

“You all look like you saw a ghost,” she said.

“You could say that,” said Pipp, checking her phone.

“Except ghosts are much less solid,” added Izzy, shivering slightly. “Generally, at least. And I can punch ghosts. I can’t punch...whatever that was.”

“Isn’t spooky stuff usually your thing?” asked Zipp, pacing behind her sister.

“Under any other circumstances, yes?” replied Pipp, hesitantly. “I mean, this is a great mystery and all, but there’s a difference between...you know, spooky tales and jumpscares and things that can actually hurt my friends.” She looked slowly to the other room. She did not smile as the skull, only partly visible in the other room, seemed to stare back at her, the images on the screens connected to it still shifting. Pipp held up her replacement phone and snapped a picture. “At least the phone is working. For now.”

“At least the townsponies don’t seem to be in danger,” suggested Hitch.

“Yeah,” said Pipp. “It seemed to ignore them. And...I don’t think they can see it. For some reason.”

“But we can.”

Hitch turned slowly toward Sunny, who was getting out cups for the tea. “It might be Sunny’s alicorn magic,” he said. “We’re all connected to her. I mean, when I saw it it...I felt it. In my head.”

“So did I,” said Izzy. “It felt real bad.”

“So...we’re the only ones that can see it?” asked Pipp.

“I didn’t see it at all,” said Sunny. “So we don’t know if I can even see it. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help, it sounds terrible. Izzy, do you want to help with the tea?”

“Sure.” Izzy stood up and levitated down the bagged tea leaves.

Sunny approached the window. “I hope Misty’s okay out there. This is some terrible weather. Even if it’s good for the flowers.” She paused. “Huh. It sure looks like Sprout is enjoying the community garden, at least.”

At that moment, Pipp’s phone rang. All the ponies save for Sunny cried out in surprise, and Pipp nearly dropped her phone.

“Dang it!” she swore, getting a hold on it. “Why did that scare me?” She checked the caller ID, and frowned.

“What?” asked Hitch. “Who is it?”

“It’s...me,” she said, holding it up. “It’s my number.”

Zipp frowned. “Can phones even do that?”

“I dunno,” shrugged Pipp, sliding the answering bar.

“Wait!” cried Hitch.

Pipp had already answered. She tapped a second button. “Fan favorite Pipp Petals, how can I make your day pega-tastic?”

The phone initially responded with a gurgling hiss of distorted static that nearly sounded like a distant, digital scream. Pipp physically held the phone farther from her but did not let go of it—and the interference quickly resolved into a voice.

“Hey, Pipp.”

Pipp grimaced. “Sprout? How did you get my number?”

“Hitch. Is he there?”

“Um, excuse me, you managed to get my number, and you don’t even want to talk to me?!”

“Hitch. Is he there?”

The ponies paused, suddenly afraid at something that they could not consciously recognize—save for Hitch. He had heard it before. The way the tone and pitch was exactly the same, how both of the sentences were identical. As if they were from a recording.

“I’m here,” he said, quietly. Too quietly for the phone to pick it up. Barely a whisper.

“Hitch. Hey. You’re my best friend. It’s cold out here. And wet. Can I please come inside?”

Pipp’s eyes widened and she and Zipp slowly turned toward each other. Izzy was also staring, the cup she had been filling overflowing with hot water.

“Um, guys?” said Sunny, not breaking her gaze from the window. “I’m looking at Sprout right now, he’s out with the melons and...um...he’s not moving.” She looked back toward them. “Like, he doesn’t have a phone out. And his lips aren’t moving. So...”

“You are all alive right now,” said Sprout’s voice on the phone. “It’s cold out here. And wet. Can I come inside, please? You are all alive. Hello. I am Sprout. You are the only friends I have. Can I come inside, please?”

“How is it...”

“Because it took my phone!” cried Pipp, slamming the phone down and then fumbling to hang up. “Sunny, get away from the window!”

“But he’s just standing there and...smiling.” Sunny turned back to them, clearly not understanding. “He’s so cold and wet. Maybe we should let him in?”

“NO!” squeaked Izzy.

“Agreed,” said Hitch, standing up hurriedly. “Zipp, we need to check the locks on all the doors and windows—” He looked around “Zipp?”

“Right here!” she called, directly behind him, causing him to cry out and jump. She was holding her scanning visor. “Hold on, I’m going to check something!”

She approached the window. Sunny stepped out of the way.

Zipp picked up the visor and put it on, focusing the lenses. She looked at Sprout, finding that he did, indeed, look exactly like sprout—and she switched the visor’s mode to x-ray.

What she saw was not a pony skeleton. She could not initially make sense of it—until several malformed, skeletal heads of various size and shape suddenly turned sharply toward her, staring at her all at once through their Sprout-skin, their gaze linked to their own overlaid and halfway-fused skeletons deep within the fake-Sprout’s body.

“GAH!” she cried, tearing the helmet from her eyes—and seeing Sprout staring back at her, his distorted alien skeleton once again hidden beneath his stolen skin.

“What is it?” asked Sunny, beginning to sound nervous.

“You do not want to see that,” said Zipp, gently setting down the visor. She shuddered. “Needless to say, that’s not Sprout.” She turned to the others. “It’s here.”

“Sunny,” said Hitch. “The Brighthouse’s shield, the spell...it’s unbreakable, right?”

“Well...”

“We don’t know that,” admitted Zipp.

Hitch’s eyes widened. “What do you mean ‘we don’t know that’?”

“The spell is designed to protect the Unity Crystals,” said Sunny. “But none of us know enough about magic to know exactly how it works. I mean, ponies can walk in here whenever they need to. And so can all our animal friends.” She looked back out the window. “I think there’s a pretty good chance it’s really a very Opaline-specific force-field.”

Izzy began to softly sob. She had run out of hot water to pour, but was still holding the kettle.

“Don’t worry,” said Pipp, standing up suddenly and causing her chair to fall over with a clatter. “Sorry,” she said, picking it up. “I think it’s following vampire rules, though. It can’t actually come in unless we let it.”

Her phone crackled—and the air was filled with distant, distorted shrieking that suddenly collapsed into silence. Then a simple, cold sentence.

“That...is not correct.”

They stared at the phone. Pipp shivered.

“But I...I turned it off...” She looked up, and then screamed. The other ponies did as well, turning to see that Sprout’s smiling face was now inches away from the window. One eye moved independently, shifting to face the glass, moving between them in succession with a dilated, unchanging pupil. His mouth was still arranged in a perfect smile.

“It is cold,” said the phone, now not only in Sprout’s voice, but also echoed by Seashell’s, and another. A strangely accented female tone. “Dead? Yes. Soon. Hello.”

A dull hiss filled the air as the lights flickered—and then, with a distant thud, they went out.

The ponies within looked at each other. Each was frozen, unsure of what to do, of how to react—but likewise, each was aware of how critical it was to do just something. Each looked to the other expecting one to have an idea, to lead them in a course of action that would resolve their problem—but the problem was so far beyond any normal pony experience that none of them had any idea of what to do.

A knock came at the door.

“Hide!” hissed Sunny.

That, as it turned out, was more than enough impetus to act. They all departed in different directions, screaming and crying as quietly as possible, occasionally bumping into each other.

Sunny ran to the living room and immediately slid under the coffee table. She did not know where the others went, which she took as a good indication that they were hiding well.

It was her hope that the sudden lack of motion in the Brighthouse would convince whatever was out there to leave. To give up and stay away. To go back to town and walk around in the foggy streets, unseen and unnoticed—or perhaps in Sprout’s stolen form.

Which made her suddenly wander what had happened to the real Sprout.

The repetitive knock came again. Sunny, from her vantage, had a view of the door. A thin strip of light was visible under it, a result of the dim gray light of the overcast skies outside. Something was casting a very slight shadow. Then, as Sunny watched, the light from under the door was obscured, and she was plunged into darkness.

Something made a wet squelching sound. A hideous gasp of air and liquid, like something viscous flowing forward—a plop of sound and wrenching of something sticky, followed by a sudden cracking and snapping like a pony cracking their wrists. Then the wet sound of liquid resolved into hoofsteps.

Sunny, terrified, looked out at the shadows. There was almost no light to see it, save for what came through the second-story windows, and it was cast in shadows. It took the form of a pony, retaining Sprout’s rough size but having become thinner. Narrow, like a teenage filly—but it was an odd pallid color, adorned with a dark pattern of tissue that left it looking like it was wearing some kind of clothing. The face, though, was utterly blank. It had no face, eyes, or apparent mouth. Yet, somehow, Sunny felt it watching. As if eyes were moving beneath some or all of its skin.

It’s body shifted, extending projections too long to be hair. These ignited with blue lights at their tips and began to violently wave, releasing an almost imperceptibly low rumble. Then it stopped, retracting these organs, and proceeded forward slowly.

“I’m your friend,” it said, in Sprout’s voice, audio that was apparently spoken through apertures near its shoulders. “I’m your friend. Come out. You are all alive. Come out.” It paused, then, still in Sprout’s voice but sounding somewhat panicked, “please?”

Sunny stared at it, frozen in place—as her phone picked the most inopportune time to vibrate.

She let out a slight squeak—and its head turned toward her with a sharp crack, staring at the coffee table. Sunny covered her eyes as it began to march sideways, almost crab-like toward her direction, the head not departing from its eyeless gaze on her location.

She did not know what to do. As a pony, she was not an inherently violent being—she knew of no way to defend herself. To shove it over, maybe, and try to run—maybe she could get to the door. But it was still locked. She would have to unlock the deadbolt Hitch had applied when he came in. It would take time. The thing was fast—it would reach her. Or it would be right behind her, approaching as she fumbled to use a deadbolt with her hooves. It would get her. Or, worse, it would fail to follow her. And her friends would be left alone with it.

The air was filled with a sudden shriek—and Sunny nearly cried out before she realized that it was the sound of the oven timer. Her pie was done.

The creature tilted its head toward the sound. It then began to walk toward it.

Sunny did not have time to release a sign of relief. She instead reached toward her phone, intending to turn it off. She stopped, though, when she saw the snipped of text below the notification.

She read it mentally, not making a sound. “Don’t turn off your phone.”

Confused, Sunny opened the message. It was from a number she did not recognize, made of all 0s. The name attached to it was already in her contacts, though, although Sunny could not recall having added it. The text had come from somepony named Synchronia.

Another text came through.

“You need to reach the cranial framecase.” This was followed by another text. “The skull, as you think of it. It emits a dampening field. It will not be able to detect you.” Then another. “The range is limited. It can only enclose one pony.”

Sunny did not have time to consider any of the implications of this message—aside from one. She already knew that the creature somehow had ponyphone access.

“You need to trust me, Sunny,” said the next message. “I am a friend.”

Sunny nodded, then typed, her hooves making slight sounds on the glass of the phone. “OK”.

She looked out from under the table. Across the room, Hitch peered out from under a couch, Sparky beside him. Hitch saw Sunny and shook his head, mouthing “no”. Sunny mouthed back “trust me”, and made a break for the skull.

She nearly slipped with how fast she was trying to run, but caught herself and ran to it. She grabbed the skull and pulled it free of the connections she could not remember having connected to it. It felt cold but familiar in her hooves. She was immediately filled with a pleasant but dark emotion. A kind of strange and nihilistic faith.

She put the skull in her bag—and then looked to the kitchen.

“Sunny,” whispered Hitch. “Big NO!”

Sunny did not listen. She checked her phone.

“You are still visibly detectable at close range. Be careful.”

Sunny nodded, but slowly moved toward the kitchen. She crouched, peeking around the corner.

The kitchen, having a closely window, was filled with enough light for her to see that the creature clearly. It was approaching the oven, confused. It paused, looking at it, and then slowly cocked its faceless head. Sunny took out her phone, ready to send a group text for her friends to get out—but froze as she heard a wet snapping sound as place where the creature’s face ought to have been split open into a wide, sideways mouth filled with numerous saliva-covered teeth.

She watched as it disgorged a set of slithering, segmented tentacles. These shook and writhed as the mouth closed around them, sealing around them back into a smooth faceless head. The tentacles wrapped around themselves and compressed, finding themselves placed on the creature’s forehead. It had built itself a horn. A horn that promptly ignited with blue light, levitating an oven mitt.

It stepped back, opening the oven, and using the mitt removed the pie. It placed it on the stove-top, then closed the oven and turned off the heating element. The smell of fresh pie filled the air.

Sunny ducked back behind the corner as it turned sharply to face her. She was confused. She did not know why it had done that. She paused, listening to the darkness, trying to hear if it was coming. She closed her eyes, straining as she listened—but several seconds passed with no sound of hoofsteps.

“Psst!”

Sunny nearly jumped out of her bag as she turned suddenly to see Izzy, looking terrified, next to her.

“Izzy! You—”

Izzy seemed to be shaking. “Sunny, we need to go,” she said. “We need to go—”

She was interrupted as, behind her, Pipp seemed to appear out of nowhere—a cast-iron frying pain in her hooves.

Before Sunny could do anything, Pipp brought the pan down into the side of Izzy’s head. With a sickening crack, Izzy’s neck snapped, her head tilting hard to one side as her neck suddenly fell to an acute angle and flopped limply.

“PIPP!”

“THAT’S NOT IZZY!” cried Pipp.

Izzy’s eyes moved in her head, one focusing on Pipp and the other on Sunny. Then, in a matter of less than a second, a lesion apperaed on angle of her shattered neck—and it burst forth with a long, segmented, worm-like thread. A white line that extended upward vertically before bending down—with a tiny, faceless pony head supported on its end.

“Why did you do that, Pipp?” pleased Izzy’s head as the tiny faceless head stared at Sunny. “I thought we were friends?”

The copy of Izzy’s head then began to dissolve, fusing back to the violet body—a body that quickly lost its violet color as it became pallid white, growing taller as it expanded into a wiry, gaunt frame. The head and neck regained mass, and within seconds it was a towering, thin, faceless creature that towered over the room.

It spoke in both Izzy and Sprout’s voices at once. Both sounded panicked and afraid. “I thought...we were friends...”

There was a momentary pause before the screaming started.