1: The Grassy Knoll

“Just because you're paranoid doesn't mean they aren't after you.”
― Joseph Heller, Catch-22

My head was pounding. There was a smell of wild grass and flowers. Dew was soaking into my jumpsuit. I opened my eyes and squinted into bright sunlight.

Sunlight?

The last thing I could remember was the house I was fumigating. I had been tracking blatella germanica, the German cockroach, one of the most cunning creatures known to man. For hours our game of cat and roach had gone on, until finally I had the bastard cornered in the cellar. We faced off. I remember he'd waved his antennae in defiance, mocking me to the last. I admired his courage. I pulled the trigger of my spray wand and let him have it. Poison spewed forth, a thick miasma of toxic death, slowly filling up the basement. I could remember my head swimming, it had been getting harder to think straight. I'd turned to the side... I remembered seeing my reflection in a mirror...

My head throbbed again. The poison. That had to be it. I must have passed out from the fumes. It's happened before. Damn crafty roaches, always hiding in unventillated basements.

How did I get outside, though?

I sat up groggily. I was alone on a grassy knoll. Gentle hills rolling off in all directions, covered in wild grasses and flowers. There was no sign of the house, or of civilization of any kind. The sky was a deep blue, without the usual haze of pollution. This didn't look like any part of Arlen I'd ever seen.

I must be miles out in the country. Where am I? How did I get here?

I felt a chill run down my spine. What if it hadn't been an accident? What if that basement had been left unventilated on purpose? Whoever did this must have waited until I'd passed out, and then dragged me out to this meadow and left me for dead.

"The question is who," I said aloud. "And why?"

Was the roach behind it? No, that couldn't be. Blatella germanica was crafty to be sure, but not crafty enough to pull off something like this. Plus, there was the size difference. I knew that an ant could carry many times its own weight, but could a roach? Whoever did this had to be large enough and strong enough to carry a full-grown man. I doubted a roach could have done it on his own. But what if he'd had an accomplice?

"Yes, it all makes sense..."

It had been the roach's job to create a diversion. He lured me down to the basement, where I would have no choice but to use poison. His partner would have sealed up the windows in advance. Then, when I'd passed out from the fumes―

I rose slowly to my feet, and had another look at my surroundings. The landscape was completely unfamiliar to me. As far as I could tell, I was in the middle of nowhere. I might have left Texas entirely. Somebody had wanted to get me out of the way, that much was certain, and they had gone to a lot of trouble to do it.

"So the real question is: who stands to gain from my disappearance?"

Again, the roach was the obvious answer. Maybe a little too obvious. And the roach couldn't have done it alone. The Federal government was probably also involved. They'd been wanting to get me out of the way for some time.

I reached into the pocket of my jumpsuit, and frowned.

That's odd. Where are my smokes?

I felt in the other pockets. Nothing. I'd bought a whole carton the other day, and I knew for certain I'd had at least half a pack on me when I entered the house.

I felt my stomach tighten. The situation was even more dire than I'd thought. The Federal government, in collaboration with a roach and possibly other unknown parties, had conspired to maroon me in an unknown location without smokes. I could feel the early onset of panic: sweat breaking out on my forehead... heart palpitations... tunnel vision...

Calm down Gribble, you're trained for this...

I began to perform an ancient Indian breathing technique I'd learned from my friend John Redcorn. Deep breaths, in and out, in and out. In and out. Over and over again. John Redcorn said he used that technique on my wife all the time, and it always calmed her down. In and out. In and out. Slowly, steadily, I brought myself back from the precipice.

I stared out at the landscape once again. It was a warm, quiet afternoon. A light breeze carried the scent of wildflowers and far-off pine trees. It was a nice place here, quiet and tranquil. And yet, somewhere out there lurked a malevolent entity, an entity that had brought me to this place for some foul purpose, and deprived me of my smokes...

"Show yourself, you coward!!" I shouted, shaking my fist at the air.

"Uh... are you talking to me?"

I wheeled around at the sound of a young female voice. I must still have been woozy from the poison, otherwise nobody could have gotten the drop on Dale Alvin Gribble. I looked around in confusion for the source of the voice, but could find no one.

"Uhhhh... hello?"

The voice came again. This time I looked down. There was a tiny white horse standing in the grass, looking up at me with a confused expression.

She was the strangest-looking sentient talking horse I'd ever laid eyes on. On all four legs she barely stood as high as my knee. Her coat was white, but her mane and tail were pink and purple, done up in flowing curls. For some reason, looking at her made me think of a marshmallow. A small white horn protruded from the center of her forehead, possibly of alien origin.

She stared up at me, her enormous green eyes curious but unafraid. I stared back. Several uncomfortable seconds passed.

"Uh, my name's Sweetie Belle," she said finally. "What's yours?"

So, this horse can speak English. Interesting...

I had no doubt that this creature was an extraterrestrial. Could she have been involved in my abduction? Looking at her, it seemed unlikely. But if there's one thing I've learned from my years as a professional exterminator/bounty hunter, it's that you should never turn your back on a talking horse. Suddenly, I realized that she'd just asked me a question.

"My name is―"

I cut myself off. If there were two things I'd learned from my years as an exterminator/bounty hunter, it was this: never turn your back on a talking horse, and never tell it your real name.

"My name is... Shackleford. Rusty. Rusty Shackleford."

The little horse raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"Shackleford? That's kind of a weird name."

She trotted a small circle around me, looking me up and down. Either she'd never seen an Earth man before, or she was looking for a place to implant a microchip. Until I knew which it was, I felt it was best to be on my guard.

"You don't look like a pony," she continued. "What are you exactly?"

So, she's a pony eh? Interesting...

"The pony is a subspecies of the equine," I mused out loud, scratching my chin pensively. "Known for its diminuitve stature."

"Uh... yeah."

This exchange was followed by a long bit of awkward silence. I continued to scratch my chin and muse. A pony. I was pretty certain that ponies couldn't talk. At least... not on Earth. Could the same type of creature have evolved simultaneously on an alien world, and learned to speak English somehow?

The rabbit hole just keeps getting deeper and deeper...

Instinctively, I reached into my jumpsuit pocket, only to remember that my smokes were gone. I felt that twinge of anxiety creeping up on me again. If I didn't get some nicotine soon, I was going to be in trouble.

I realized the pony was still watching me.

"Say, uh... Sweetie Belle, was it?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you know where I could buy some smokes around here?"

She wrinkled her nose in confusion.

"Smokes?"

"Yeah, you know, puff puff?" I held two fingers to my lips and pantomimed smoking a cigarette.

The horse stared blankly back at me.

"Cigarettes? Manitoba?"

I made the pantomime smoking gesture again. Sweetie Belle cocked her head to one side and raised an eyebrow.

"You're really weird," she said.

She glanced over her shoulder. For the first time, I noticed the outline of a few buildings in the distance. There must be some kind of town nearby.

"Somepony else might know what you're talking about," Sweetie Belle continued. "Do you live near Ponyville?"

Now it was my turn to raise an eyebrow.

"Ponyville?"

I couldn't say I'd ever heard of the place. I knew there was a petting zoo in McMaynerbury called Ponyland, but somehow I didn't think that's what she was talking about.

"Is that anywhere near Arlen?" I asked carefully.

"Arlen? Um, I'm not sure. I don't think I know where that is."

"Arlen, Texas?"

"Texas? Is that in Equestria?"

"Equestria?"

Slowly, it began to dawn on me that I might be even further from home than I'd first thought. Maybe even as far as Oklahoma.

"I think... I may be lost," I said, slowly and carefully.

Sweetie Belle's face brightened.

"Oh, well, that's okay! I didn't think you looked like you were from around here. I can show you the way to Ponyville, if you want."

I gave the little pony one last suspicious appraisal, and decided to trust her for the time being.

"Alright," I said.

"Come on," she continued. "We'll go back to my clubhouse first. My friends might know about... what was that thing you wanted again?"

"Smokes?" I asked hopefully.

"Yeah, that. Anyway, my friends might know where you could find some."

"Okey dokey."

The little pony turned and trotted off through the grass, and I fell into step behind her.