Disturbed

The mud squelched under Crimson’s hooves as she cantered on. The rain was torrential and the thunder booming; each time the sky opened up and roared, she’d shiver bitterly. The fact that she was sodden didn’t help either. Ahead of her the path to Canterlot spanned, cutting through Ponyville before twisting and turning up the giant mountain until it ended at the front gate of the royal city; a place fabled to be unscathed by the disease.

“I could go all the way,” Crimson murmured, craning her neck so that she could gaze up at Canterlot. The trip would be strenuous, and her energy was ebbing. “Or I could rest.” Rest, yes, that’s what she’d do. She’d already traveled for two days straight, not catching a wink of sleep over the last 48 hours; she needed to take a break before embarking on that steep climb.

Having come to a conclusion, Crimson scanned her surroundings for a suitable place. The buildings closest to her were damaged by fire and vandalism, and they provided little shelter from the outside elements. She recalled then passing by a larger building several minutes back that would probably do her good as a shelter. Turning tail, she began to tread back down the muddy trail, intent on getting to her destination as soon as possible.

Up close, the building seemed so much smaller. It was taller than all the others still-and in much better condition-but nothing like she had expected. The grimy, unkempt sign above the front entrance told Crimson that this was town hall, and the peeling red paint on the front door read ‘Safe house’. Casting her magic on the door, she opened it; a black void sprung up to meet her. Squinting, she tried to gaze into the darkness beyond the door, but failed miserably. Taking three steps in, she shook off what rain she could and ignited her horn. Surprised for a second time, she found that she was standing in a smaller room. To her left, another door sprayed red was securely shut; the mare supposed that led to the rest of the building.

From the dusty desk, and the overstuffed couches, the room’s purpose became clear; it was the reception hall. Crimson, however, hardly took note of that. She was far more focused on the fact that it was warm and dry. Sighing in great contempt, she removed her heavy saddlebag and fell heavily on the couch, pulling out two cans of refried beans and her gun with a bout of magic. Tucking the revolver safely between the cushion and the armrest, she pried open the cans and feasted. It was a boring meal, but it filled her up. Falling back onto the couch, and with her hunger sufficed, she pulled out a pillow and a tatty blanket and dozed off.

Crimson was awoken rather suddenly in the pitch darkness to the feel of something stroking her flank. It was an unnerving sensation, one that sent minute chills down her spine. Groaning, lids still laden with fatigue, she tried to brush whatever was rubbing against her off. For a second the presence left, only to return again wet, and a little closer to her sex. This new, slimier feeling made her bolt up and light her horn. When the room came into focus, all that met the spooked mare was the same paraphernalia from the day before. Smiling to herself at her frayed wits, she gave a final glance around before dousing the light and closing her eyes again.

Just as sleep was pulling her under, the sensation returned, that wet, sickly sensation; this time, it was by her cheek. Something was licking her, and she could hear feint, raspy breathing. Confronted by such strange happenings, Crimson froze and slowly brought a hoof up. As she was mere inches away from her face, the sensation stopped; touching the spot, she could feel wetness. Panic began to set in, and she tried to move. Quickly, she found that she was tied down with rough rope at her chest. Her heart stopped before returning to an unhealthy pace. She began to shiver, she felt sick, and sweat began to drip down her cheeks. The tongue came back again, and this time, caressed her lips, changing course mid-lap to go over her nose; it smelt rancid, like rot and something else.

“Beautiful mare.” A rough voice hissed close to her ear. More slippery licking; Crimson fought the impulse to throw up. Gulping, the mare called upon enough willpower to speak.

“Who… who are you?” her voice was volatile and choppy as she was on the verge of tears. “Who…” her words were interrupted as the tongue slipped into her mouth. Gagging at the sudden intrusion, the unicorn attempted to spit the slimy appendage out. It was then that she felt something from her assailant’s mouth wriggle free and fall into her own. At that sensation, Crimson began to scream, shaking her head back and forth in a desperate attempt to make it stop. Blissfully, the tongue was removed, and the licking halted. A bone chilling laugh reverberated around her, clearly feminine.

“What do you want?!” Crimson shrilled, casting her gaze all over in an attempt to spot her assailant; only darkness met her strained searching.

“You,” the voice replied; a cold hoof appeared on her chest, slowly tracing a line downwards. “You.”

At that the hoof was removed, and the sound of departing steps assaulted the silence that only absolute darkness could bring. Crimson was left alone again, bound to the couch, stinking of sweat and fear. Like the black plague, sleep eventually overtook her.

When Crimson awoke, a diffused light trickled in through a fogged up window; it was daytime now. Immediately, the recollection of what happened in the middle of the night came back to her, and with it, the fear. She went to tug at her bindings, only to find that there were none there. She froze. Slowly, she brought a hoof up to her cheek. The fur was unmated; her heart stilled.

“It was a dream!” she moaned incredulously, pushing her head down into the cushions and flushing in embarrassment. “It was a dream.”

Shaking her head, she got up and rounded up her few belongings. Once that was done, she made her way to the door and opened it- attempted to open it. It held firm. Screwing up her muzzle, Crimson attempted the door again, but this time, with her magic. Still it held firm. As quickly as it had left, the fear from the night before began to creep back in, seizing her slowly in a vice-like grip. Was she trapped?

An unearthly chuckle, followed by a strangled sighing broke her mindset, and she slowly turned to where the sounds were coming from; they came from behind the red stained door. Again the voices returned, louder, more crisp. It sounded as though somepony was choking on blood, and making a gurgling sound because of it. Eyes fixated on the red door, Crimson backed up until she was against the wall; its wooden surface felt solid and cool on her back. Another laugh, this one more insistent; it sounded as though it was right beside her. She turned suddenly to find something in the back corner of the reception room staring back at her from the shadows. It seemed to be a foal, and he was in the fetal position- rocking back and forth and whimpering. The fact that she had not noticed the pony before ebbed on her mind, but the reality present made her wonder if it was actually there. Slowly, Crimson got up and made her way over to the young’un. As she approached the foal curled up into a tighter ball and rolled his head to gaze at the wall; his back still faced her.

“Young’un, what are you doing here?” Crimson chided, pulling out a can of beans. “Are you hungry…?” her voice died as she saw the entirety of it all.

The foal was in the fetal position, yes, but he was rolling in a pool of his own blood; Crimson stopped and the beans dropped as her magic cut, hitting the ground and then rolling over to the foal. A convulsion and the foal got up, spilling a fresh pool at his little hooves. He turned, and Crimson was horrified to see a sickly line of entrails hanging out from a thick cut at his chest. In jerky movement, the foal walked over to the can and picked the beans up. The mare began to shiver, but try as she might, she couldn’t back away, only watch as the foal ventured nearer. As he was about four paces away, he stopped and fixed her in a foggy gaze.

“Ma’am?” he whimpered. “Ma’am, are you still there?” Crimson nodded slowly, her mouth agape.

Up close, the wound was in great detail. Not only were the foals entrails hanging out, dragging behind him to pick up the dust like a wedding dress, but a segment of his lungs were just visible as well, tucked still behind his ribcage. In one of them, a bite left it deflated; it fluttered like a popped balloon each time the foal took a breath in.

“I see you now Ma’am, have you seen my mother?”

“Your… your mother?” Crimson shuddered, suddenly finding that she could move again. She back away from the foal, deeper into the room.

“Yes, she left me when the darkness came.” The foal advanced on her, and Crimson backed up further.

In the background, the wall that she had only seconds ago rested against began to fester with blackish mold. Blinking rapidly, Crimson looked again… it was unscathed. Focusing back on the foal, who had now made it a mere pace away from her, she spoke.

“I haven’t seen your mother,” Crimson’s voice came out steadier than she thought she could conjure.

“No?” the foal question, and single tear dropped from his eye. “I didn’t think so. I’m so very hungry though. Can you open these beans for me?”

Unbelieving of her own actions, Crimson nodded, and the foal rolled the can back to her. It was sickly with his blood, so she used her magic to pop the lid. In a quick move, she levitated the thing back. With a smile that revealed crooked teeth, the foal enthusiastically opened the lid. When he did so however, his expression fell.

“Liar!” he shouted. Whipping the can away; it struck the wall beside Crimson and fell to floor. A quick glance at it told her that it was empty.

“I’m not!” Crimson interjected. “There was food in here, I swear to Celestia!”

“Then you are untruthful, I can still see some of it in the corner of your mouth! And you call on Celestia…” Suddenly the foalish voice had dropped to an intimidating growl; he began to shiver convulsively. “Celestia, Celestia, Celestia.” Crimson’s eyes widened as she saw the foal collapse in a seizure on the floor; his entrails started to tangle around him, and he began to scream, flailing from one side to the other. “The snakes!” he squealed, his young voice returning. “Get them off!” He began to tear at his intestine, ripping the coils out of the way, severing some parts in the process. Fresh blood began to leak out, and yet still, he struggled. “Help me ma’am, SOMEPONY HELP ME!” the foal’s voice had been absolutely lost to the most primitive of fear. “HELP ME!” But Crimson didn’t help; instead, she backed further away, jaw slack in fearful fascination. In a second, her back struck the red stained door. For a moment, she pondered the option of trying to escape through the front entrance again; another scream, however, told her that it might be wise to distance herself as far away from the disturbed foal as possible. Speaking of the foal, he had untangled himself, as was dragging his way towards the shivering unicorn in jerky movement. In his wake, the bits of entrails he had bitten apart laid in puddles of sickly looking fluid.

“Stay away.” Crimson murmured, charging up her horn in preparations to throw an offensive spell. “Not another step.” The foal stopped and then got up; his entrails hanging like stalagmites from the top of his ribcage.

“Have you seen my mother?” Crimson slit her eyes at the madness.

“But you…” her words were cut short as she again spotted something strange going on in the room. As before, the walls had begun to rot; blinking as she had done last time did little to stop the vision. Slowly, like some infection of the blood, the mold began to spread, first covering the back wall before slowly advancing on the two ponies. As the rot continued onwards, it met with the entrails left from the foal, eating at them; aging them until, eventually, they turned to sludge. Crimsons eyes flew open, and she gasped.

“What’s the matter, Ma’am?” the foal whimpered. “What’s behind…” he had begun to turn at this point in his speech, and what he saw made him cry out in fear: “Mother, why do you look so strange?” The foal turned fully around before slowly treading to meet the mold.

Aside from her most recent experience she’d just had, she knew the fate of the child and wanted to stop him before he too was eaten.

“Foal, don’t go!” The foal stopped, and as if ripping his gaze away from something else, turned to look at her.

“But why? I’ve found my mother.” He began to move again.

“No, no… that’s not your mother, it’s an illusion. Don’t go.” He stopped.

“She has food though, and I’m so very hungry.” Another few paces, and at this point, the mold was only a mere hoof away. “I remember you lied; I don’t believe you now.”

“But…”

“Liar, liar, hooves on fire…” The foal stepped into the mold and embraced something, smiling even as the rot began to eat away at him. “Hang. You. From. A. Clothing wire…” The rot began to travel up his legs, attacking his hanging entrails with a vicious hunger.

“Mother, what are you doing?” the rot continued upwards, leaving in its wake moldy fur dripping with pus and crawling with maggots. “Mother?” the foal questioned, suddenly panicky. The mold moved up, and from the way the grimy liquid began to drip from his body cavity, Crimson knew that he was being eaten from the inside out. A tear fell down her cheek, and then another, as she witnessed the slow death of the foal. “M-m-mother, stop! It-it hurts!” And still the black moved upwards. The foal’s tail went slimy, and then began to lose chunks. “STOP!” it had reached his neck and all that was left of his lower body was a gruesome composition of blood, sludge, bone, and fur. He tried to back away, only to find his legs crumble beneath him. He collapsed, and in the last moments, just as the mold reached his mouth, he turned to Crimson, hot tears running down his cheeks.

“Escape.” He said, before dropping his head and allowing the final bit of his body to get eaten away. With its task done, the mold began to move towards Crimson herself. Snapping her into action, she turned to the door and swung it open. Jumping through the entrance, she spun and shut it quickly behind her.