Disturbed

by Syn3rgy

Rating: mature
Tags: Gore, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Sad, Other, Adventure, Main 6
Length: 10157

Disturbed yet?

[Read at your own risk, contains disturbing themes and concepts]

Crimson, a young mare traveling to Canterlot to flee from a blood-chilling disease, makes a stop in Ponyville she'll come to severely regret.

Finding herself trapped in a blurred reality, all she can do is move forwards; deeper and deeper into the very heart of insanity.

The question stands: Will she make it out of this living nightmare with her own wits still intact?

****

This story was greatly inspired by the cover art, done by the wonderful aisu-isme on DA as part of her positively disturbing 'Creepy Pony Project'.

Special thanks to:
-My editor, Soto K
-All the pre-readers
-Tiered Gentleman for his dramatic reading (coming soon)
-Aisu-isme for her chilling pictures
-And of course, my audience!

Published 2012-10-25 20:50:01 UTC
Last updated 2012-10-30 02:32:49 UTC

Prologue

Prologue

The rain fell in sheets, pounding the dirt road until it oozed with mud. Ponyville was deserted- or almost so. Each time a flash of vibrant lighting sliced the sky, a lone mare would appear; her white coat reflecting back the vibrancy, and her red mane flickering like a dying flame.

It was deathly quiet.

Occasionally, the pony would stop and stare; cast furtive glances from left to right as if insuring she wasn't being followed. Her horn would ignite, and she’d walk over to a propped open door; yet, each time she searched for life, it evaded her. The town was deserted, absolutely; she’d been foolish to think Ponyville had remained unscathed.

The disease was to blame.

Oh, it had been swift and ruthless, starting somewhere, and then spreading outwards until it covered Equestria; a sickness not so unlike rabies- one that favored the mind. For those who were inflicted with it suffered little physical ailment, they would stay under the radar till it was too late and then just snap. From then on, it would be a downhill fall; a vicious spiral that dragged those helpless victims deeper and deeper into insanity… that drove them mad. The ones who were lucky ended themselves before it got bad. A mare comes home to see her filly hung from the rafters, or in the bathtub, wet, but not at all with water. Those who resisted-stilled the blade or postponed the noose-caused far more harm. As their minds broke down, as madness gripped them, they stooped into psychological volatility. A mare comes home to see her filly painting with her own blood, or giving spiders a new home under her skin. And yet, still, there was more. A side effect of the virus led to something close to immortality; it allowed its hosts to remain functioning in the most extreme conditions. A mare comes home to see her filly playing anatomy on her body, or gorging herself on her pesky appendix.

Indeed this disease was the very heart of horror.

Decent

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.

Apples

Crimson wished that she could stay where she lay forever, but the gravity of her situation prevented that notion; she’d only have solace once she escapes, if she escapes. She had no clue how much further she had to go, and for the matter, if she could even make the journey. It seemed as though the further in she got, the crazier things were. She’d seen the devastation of the disease in her travels; however, this house seemed to be a whole new level of darkness. What’s more, she had her sanity to keep in check; she would have pulled out some old photos if she hadn't forgotten her saddlebag in the first room. All her food was in that bag as well. The last thing she'd eaten was some beans, and that had been at least a night ago, so her stomach wasn't taking kindly to it.

Forcing down her nagging hunger, Crimson got up so that she could confront the next door. Unlike the others, this one had a greenish tint to it, and from the small crack at the bottom, some source of light filtered through as well. The desperate mare allowed a glimmer of hope to flitter through her body. Walking with a slight bounce in her step, Crimson trotted over to the door and swung it open. It was bright, and Crimson had to cover her eyes with a hoof till they adjusted.

When the glare receded and the area came into focus, Crimson’s eyes widened. In the center of the mossy room, a large tree, swathed in ivy and dangling with rich, red apples was planted. A hole in the ceiling acted like a portal to the oddly blue sky, and from it, a halo of light covered the ground beneath, igniting the room in the vibrancy of day. Crimson, confronted by such succulent fruit, felt her stomach growl. She hadn't had a real apple in ages, and just the thought made her salivate. In all truth, what could go wrong?

As Crimson approached the tree, eyes fixated on the apples, she hardly noticed the odd nature of the ivy. Pulling at one of the lower hanging fruits, she detached it from its stem and went to bite. It felt cool and smooth to the touch; very apple-like, for the lack of better terms. Things changed however as she bit in, prepared to savor the sweetness that the skin protected. What she actually tasted was something far, far more fowler. Not only was the inside mush, it dripped a brackish red fluid that was warm and greasy. Eyes widening in fear, she pulled the fruit away and looked at it. It wasn’t apple-flesh, but pony. The pink mush jiggled sickeningly, and Crimson spit her bite out, falling to her side and retching heavily.

Mere seconds later-before she could recover-a cool tendril, like a snake, or a tentacle, wrapped around one of her hind legs. Thrown off by the unexpected sensation, Crimson was painfully reminded of the first fitful night in Town Hall. Turning so that she could face whatever was dragging her, Crimson took note that it was one of the ivy vines, and that it was pulling her closer to a prior unnoticed hole between two thick roots. Crunching into a ball, she bit at the vine desperately, severing it before it could take her. As she prepared to get up and gallop, a tangle of vines fell from the tree, coiling around her four hooves; effectively immobilizing her.

Crimson, so lost to fear, began to bawl; screaming profanities at her luck and the building. If she were to go down, she’d go down in fire. Struggling bitterly, she prepared to charge up her horn only to realize that she lacked the concentration.

And the hole drew nearer, gaping like the mouth of some demonic beast.

Again she attempted to cast, and again she failed.

So close now, the draft from the black hole was disgusting; the tree seemed to be breathing, spewing foul breath into Crimsons face at every exhale; she knew she only had one last chance.

Finding calmness in the turmoil, Crimson focused, willing her energy to flow up her horn and congregate at the tip. She would do it… she wouldn’t do it. As she cast her spell, it fizzled and died; it seemed as though her last cast on the butterflies had drained her.

Finding that she had no chances left, Crimson stopped trying and allowed the fight to leave her. She hoped with all her heart that her death would be quick, that she wouldn’t have to suffer. This notion was wracked with doubt; she concluded that there were no happy endings now-a-days, only excruciatingly slow ones. In all probability, the remnants of the other unfortunate ponies at the edge of the hole would infect her, and she’d end up like the foal, or the pegasus; doomed to live what was left of her life mad and disturbed.

As her hooves were pulled into the hole, a chilling numbness overcame them; a numbness that spread as she was pushed further in. Just as her head went under, she opened her eyes to glance at the sky, still blue, still optimistic. If only she had another chance.

If only.

Darkness. Crushing darkness. Crushing darkness with no end; was this what death felt like? For seconds, or maybe hours, Crimson was dragged along, sucked like a ball in a tube; sucked deeper into the tree. Then she emerged.

When the feeling came back to Crimson, she immediately felt wetness; she was treading in a pool of… something. The rank smell that hung about thickly in the air made her suspect that it wasn’t water; or at least sanitary water, but something far more… organic. Looking around her, she took note that she was in a cylindrical tube whose texture felt rough to the touch. Looking up, Crimson spotted a leafy roof. It seemed as though she was in the tree itself; so what was the fluid then?

Digestive acid.

The revelation came to Crimson rather suddenly, and she immediately regretted her newfound knowledge. The nature of the grotesque apples started making far more sense. Here, in this chamber, the tree would digest its victims, and whatever remained would be deposited in the apples. Feeling lightheaded, she slipped underneath the surface, only to return again above the fluid; green in the face. Gagging bitterly, Crimson swam the circumference of the chamber, blindly fumbling with her hooves for any sort of hole, an escape. The very thought that she’d be turned to sludge chilled her bones.

On her second rotation, Crimson swore that she felt something squirm past her leg. Seizing up, she strained to see what was beneath the brackish surface of the acid pool, but failed. The feeling spurred her onwards though, and her searching became far more desperate. The feeling came again, this time a little higher up her leg; it was as if something stringy was swimming around her. Heart beating painfully fast, Crimson turned her gaze heavenwards in the hopes of finding her salvation.

For a second it seemed as though her searching was in vain; soon, however, she spotted an indent, just big enough to jam her rear hooves in and then propel her body to the leafy covering (which she only hoped was dispersed enough to let her through). Yet even the indent was out of her reach. Working with whatever determination she had left, Crimson again put her mind to the rough walls. As the same squirming sensation returned, this time at her back, Crimson turned and hoofed at the water in fear. The sensation returned again, and she responded suit. It was on the third time that the sensation stopped. Frozen with fear, Crimson scanned the water. Though she didn't see anything, she did notice that the scratch marks on the barks surface-the ones she had created as she groped for an exit-were hidden beneath the acid; the pool was rising— all she had to do was wait.

A sudden gurgling noise shattered any relief she felt, soon followed by the dispersant of water as something emerged from the depths to stare at her. In the gloomy light that punctured the leaf cover, few details were given on the new pony who now shared the small confines, but they were more than Crimson wanted to see. The grotesque sight had a particular effect on the sodden unicorn, who relieved herself embarrassingly as an all-encompassing wave of fear struck her. This new occupant of the chamber was an earth pony, that much was certain. She-the pony was decayed from the acid so Crimson guessed- had a slimy blond mane and a rather characteristic trio of white freckles beneath one of her eyes. Her face was in a state of decay, and Crimson could see the four layers-fur, skin, muscle and bone- reviled in some of the places where the acid had been less merciful.

Hyperventilating now, Crimson attempted to distance herself, only to find that the unyielding walls of the tree prevented a retreat. As if predicting her movement, the earth pony began to approach her, gurgling as if attempting to speak, to form words; Crimson would have none of it. As the disgusting earth pony came into bucking distance, Crimson kicked out, cringing as her hoof made contact with a flank as mushy as the apple had been. A moan from her pursuer, and one of her hind legs floated to the surface. Rot had degraded the once muscular limb to fleshy paste, and even as it floated on the surface, it began to break apart. Some bits, to Crimsons greatest horror, snagged in her wet mane, while others bobbed around her head; she was struggling to remain floating.

As the earth pony advanced again, Crimson cast a glance upwards. To her relief, all she had to do was wait a bit longer before her leap could be manageable. Bringing her gaze down, she noticed that the decaying pony had vanished. For a second Crimson remained motionless, praying to Celestia that losing a limb had been enough of a deterrent to her assailant. The feeling of dispersed liquid beneath her submerged hooves quickly denounced that. Yelping, Crimson attempted to vacate the spot before her assailant could get to her, this failed however, as a grasping hoof latched onto one of her retreating ones, followed by a body which jockeyed her from behind in a reverse hug. Throwing up again as the sensation of mushy flesh pressed against her back overrode all others; Crimson was dragged under the acid and into murky blackness.

Having lost her sight, smell and hearing, all that she could sense was feeling; the feeling of her assailant’s stringy mane brushing across her face, brushing all over her; of its tongue, which probed at Crimsons ear before falling off and getting tangled in her filthy mane. Shaking her head, Crimson felt the appendage deteriorate as the hoof had done. Twisting and squirming, Crimson managed to loosen the vice-like grip. Using her new wiggle space, she spun around and began to beat furiously at her assailant. Each buck punched a new hole in the unnatural earth pony, freeing up what organs and intestines that had survived the acid. And yet even as she gutted the abomination, its grasp remained true.

It came to the point that Crimson only had enough breath in her lungs to drown, or make a last ditch attempt at freedom. Fixing her opponent in a close-eyed gaze, she swung, putting every ounce of her sapped energy and weight into the buck. The strike struck home, ripping off one of the hooves that had been restricting her. Confronted now with only two remaining limbs, the abomination slipped, losing its grip on Crimson, and allowing her to resurface. Not waiting to see if her assailant had followed her up, Crimson fixed her gaze on the indent and jumped, reaching out with a shaky hoof and grabbing it promptly. With half of her plan a success, Crimson jumped again, grasping onto a leaf bearing limb and heaving herself up.

To her greatest relief, the branch which she clung to bitterly was firm, and it allowed her to pull herself up and straddle it. What was left was getting down. Glancing over the limb, Crimson felt a wave of nausea grip her. The floor was a ways down; with the dangerous ivy covering the bark beneath her hooves, scaling the tree was out of the option. She would have to jump. Ideally, she'd jump and use her magic to slow her fall; this was also out of the option. She'd have to jump and hope she didn't break a limb… a limb… maybe there was another way.

Looking down at the branch she had propped herself on, she took note that the end of the limb was far more flimsy than the part she was sitting on; an idea came to her then. It was a dangerous route, but it seemed to be the best plan of attack to minimize the damage on her weakened body. Shaking her head at the absurdity of her theory, the disheveled mare began to inch herself closer to the tip, which bent in degrees as her weight was placed further and further down the branch. As she was about half way across the limb, the tree beneath her came to life, and the ivy began to hiss like snakes.

Smiling defiantly, she scooted to the tip and allowed the limb to bend under her rump. As she was descending to the floor, a vine, having found that its victim had gotten into its range, launched at her. Eyes wide at the speed, Crimson had no choice but to fall the rest of the way. With a shout, the unicorn jumped from the limb just in time to avoid the tendril. Freefalling now, Crimson could only hope she landed without breaking anything. Mentally prompting herself to land on her hooves and roll, Crimson loosened her legs and prepared from impact. As she was a mere pony from the ground, a speedy vine interrupted her fall in an attempt to snag her hoof; this succeeded, and in the last second Crimson lost control and fell head-first into the floor. As she struck, a blinding white light, followed by a cracking noise and immense pain knocked her unconscious. Just as she was about to black out, the image of a mare appeared in her peripheral.

Diamonds

Crimson awoke to the oddest feeling. It was not like anything the house had offered so far; not equal to the licking the first night, the biting in the hall, or the tendrils on the apple tree. The tendrils. With a start, Crimson’s eyes flew open and she jumped, pushing off whatever was restraining her and rolling to the side.

“Dear, please, be calm!” A rather posh, feminine voice came to Crimson, she turned.
In front of her, a white mare with a gallant fur coat and diamond-ensnared mane stood, warm sponge still suspended, dripping, in a field of magic.

“What do you want?” Crimson shot, shivering bitterly.

“Well, aren’t your wits at end. I suppose I can’t blame you though, the Town Hall is a dreary place.”

“Who are you?” Crimson questioned, allowing her heart to calm.

“Rarity, dear; and you?”

“Crimson.”

“Now that’s a strange name, I don’t see how it relates to you.” An auspicious smile. “Now, how about you sit back down; I was just cleaning that wonderful coat of yours, the tree didn’t treat you very nicely, did it?”

Then it came to Crimson.

“So, you were that mare who I saw. How did you find me?” Crimson asked, cautiously cantering back over to the waiting unicorn and sitting down.

“I was just on a… walk. Yes, that’s what I was doing.”

“Ok—” The scrubbing resumed, this time a little lower down her neck. “Thank you for saving me.” Crimson replied wholeheartedly.

“It wasn’t a problem. I’d never let a gorgeous coat like yours be victim to that monster.” Rarity chided.

“Pardon?”

“Oh, drat.” Rarity replied, scrubbing harder on a spot.

“What is it?”

“Just some blood, dear. That wound on your head must have spilt a little more while I was stitching it back up.”

“You stitched me? Wow, thank you.”

“Oh, it’s not a problem, pretty one. No use having you dead.” The scrubbing there intensified, making Crimson cringe.

“You know, Rarity, you don’t have to clean me completely. At the rate I’m go—”

“Of course I have to clean you completely! Do you think I’m sloppy in my work?” Rarity scolded.

“No, but, well, you’re hurting me and—”

“Just. A. Little. More!” As Crimson, smarting in pain, was about to pull away Rarity stopped and sighed in relief.

“Done.” Crimson could feel the mare behind her shivering. “Onto your back now… Luna damned!”

“What?” Crimson panicked, attempting to look at what Rarity had cursed at.

“The bites! They’ve tattered your fabulous coat in some places; I didn’t notice those when I brought you here.”

“Yes, I got them from the butterflies. Have you run into any yet?” Crimson asked.

“Occasionally,” Rarity admitted. “But I carry around a body net for protection.” She stopped for a moment. “However, I don’t usually search in those areas. Half the time anypony I find there has been sullied by those disgusting creatures.” Continuing now, Rarity started brushing Crimsons tail. “I feel optimistic today, though. At least I have a good amount of fur unscathed. You’ve taken care of yourself, dear.”

Crimson only heard half of what Rarity had mentioned. Something about the room had suddenly caught her interest. From the looks of it, it seemed to be a large clothing wardrobe. Surrounding the two of them in the well-lit area were racks upon racks of clothing. In some places, a mirror or two would be covered with a dusty brown sheet. To the left, a makeshift bed where Rarity must sleep was neatly covered. To her right, a large industrial sink gurgled softly as whatever was in it drained into the network of tubes beneath.

“You’re set.” The proper voice broke Crimson from her reveries, and she turned to look at Rarity. “You should head off to bed now.”

“Really?” Crimson asked, yawning as she did so. She was EXHAUSTED. “Oh, that would be wonderful. Can I pile up some cloths, or would you prefer me—”

“That will be unnecessary, dear. You can sleep in my bed, pretty one.”

“You know my name’s Crimson, right?” Crimson joked, smiling genuinely for the first time in ages. When Rarity didn’t respond, she shrugged and made her way over to the mattress; this was too good to be true.

As she arrived, she fell down hard, curling up in a ball at the head of the soft covers and almost instantly falling asleep.

The reason Crimson awoke in the middle of her slumber evaded her, but the scene that met her bleary eyes quickly made her stop questioning. At a first glance, it seemed as though Rarity was simply staring down at her while she slept, eyes wide and cold. As Crimson continued to gaze, however, trying to remain still and not panic, the glimmering of both Rarities horn and something just out of her peripheral put the pieces together. The scene that unfolded was chilling; Crimson felt like a fool to have ever trusted the white coated unicorn in the first place.

“Awake?” Rarity whispered. “Dear, not to be rude, but why are you awake!?”

“Um…” Crimson, too shocked to feel fear yet, could only mumble.

“Why must you make things so much more complicated, pretty one? I feared you weren’t worth all the effort I put into cleaning you up.”

“But why…”

“Your coat, dear!” An exasperated sigh. “I want your coat. Now stop blathering like a commoner and stay still.” The blade rose higher, poised to strike.

“You’re going to kill me?” Crimson whimpered, finally finding her voice.

“No, not at all, I just want your coat! I’m not some lowly murderer I’ll have you know.”

“You’re going to skin me alive!?” Crimson shrilled, flinging up and bucking the demented unicorn. “You bucking—”

“Ah, ah, ah; those words are rather harsh,” Rarity scolded. “I just want to make clothing.” Rarity got back up and began to advance, playing with the blade as she went.

Eyes wide with fear, Crimson retreated until she hit a door; against her back, it felt rough and cool. Afraid of what she was going to face on the other side, but finding no other alternative, Crimson turned and prepared to swing it open.

“I wouldn’t go in there if I were you—” Rarity’s calm voice was cut short.

“Shut up!” Crimson shouted, swinging open the door and lunging in.

Her assailant’s amused smile was blocked out as the door shut, plunging Crimson into darkness. Hyperventilating now, Crimson cast her light. The scene that met her made her jump and bolt again for the doorway. Surrounding her on pig-hooks, the bodies of Rarity’s latest victims hung. At a first glance they appeared to be dead; looking for a second time though, as she weighed her path of action, she noticed that some remained alive. The one closest to her reached out a skinned limb towards Crimson, and she recoiled.

“I told you, dear!” the muffled voice came to Crimsons ears through the door. It had acquired a strung quality, one that made her cringe in horror. There was no way she was going to go back out there. Gulping, Crimson back up deeper in the room, pushing the carcasses aside as she went. As she reached the back wall, she fell against it, dousing her light and curling up in a ball. Through the rows of carcasses, Crimson heard the door swing open.

“Evening, dears!” Rarity’s wild voice went out to address her mutilated victims.

Fearful moaning mingled in the deathly silence. A pony or two who could still talk begged for mercy. If there was a hell, Crimson had a feeling she was in it. Closer the hoofsteps approached, and Crimson cast her gaze from left to right. Solid wall on both sides; her time was running out. Just as Rarity was a mere carcass or two away-she could see her polished hooves beneath the hanging victims-an idea came to mind. Enveloping one of the living meat hunks, she unhooked it and dropped it to the floor. Groaning in pain, the meat hunk began to lumber towards the approaching pony, growling intimidatingly as it went.

Crimson repeated this two more times, unhooking another two and setting them on their brutal master. As Rarity saw the approaching ponies, she squealed and began slicing at them, uttering lines like ‘oh, not my coat’ or ‘get your filthy hooves off of me!’; she seemed unafraid that she was being mobbed by a bunch of gruesome corpses. As her blade sung back and forth, the moaning increased; Crimson knew that she had to move. As one of the meat-hunks pinned Rarity, Crimson bolted, jumping over the downed pony and making it to the door. Swinging it open, she closed it promptly behind her; locking the corpses and their slaughterer inside.

With the time she had, Crimson cast tentative glances around the room, trying to spot an escape of some sort. All that met her were the covered mirrors. Feeling the same way she felt in the tree, Crimson began to circulate the room, looking up, down, left and right for an exit. There was a larger vent in the ceiling, but with nothing beneath, Crimson wouldn’t be able to get to it. Casting a glance around, she searched for something she could use as leverage; as her eyes locked onto a chest she sighed and galloped over.

Just as she had started moving it, a loud banging, followed by the splintering of wood, boomed in the room. Turning fearfully, Crimson saw a set of red hooves smashing through the door. Rarity was almost out, and by Celestia, she was seething.

“I’ll skin you SLOWLY, whore!” Rarity screamed. “I’ll make you BEG!

With that impending doom hanging over her, Crimson doubled her efforts, putting her weakened magic into the task. She made quick progress, and by the time Rarity bucked the splintering door again, she’d already dragged the chest underneath the vent.

SMASH!

Crimson knew the door would collapse at any given time. Using her fading magic to unscrew the vent, Crimson pulled off its cover… only to find that the entrance was barred. With a strangled yelp, Crimson fell, collapsing in a heap and cursing the sky. The door, after yet another hit was dealt to it, groaned and then snapped, blowing off its hinges and smashing into the wall. In the doorway, covered in gore, Rarity stood.

“Did you really think you could escape, dear?” the cold calmness that laced Rarity’s voice carried as much potency as when she’d been screaming; Crimson convulsed. “Now stay where you are and I’ll get it over with. Be a good pony, please; you’ve already caused enough problems.”

Crimson shook her head defiantly, and as Rarity advanced, she backed away, scooting on her behind. Eventually, finding she could retreat no more, Crimson stood up defiantly. If she was to die here, she’d go down bucking.

Fear was pushed down-she’d seen it all-she would survive.

“Why do you stand so defiantly? If I don’t get you now, the Stalker will in good time, and out of the two of us, I think the wiser choice would be me. Back. Down.”

“No.” Crimson said, her voice as steady as stone.

With a laugh, Rarity shook her head and approached. In the time the two had talked, Crimson had been cornered. Against her back, the surface of the brown mirror cover felt prickly. As Rarity lunged, Crimson ducked and the blade zinged by her. As the knife was pulled back to its wielder, it snagged on the cover, pulling it off and revealing the mirror beneath. The effect it had on Rarity was unexpected and startling. At first, and rightfully so, Crimson was lost. It was then that she noticed that Rarity had caught sight of her face in the mirror. In a swift move, the demented unicorn ceased her magic and dropped the blade before turning away from her reflection with a moan.

“Your reflection…” Crimson said to Rarity’s turned back.

“I’m ugly! Grotesque!” Pulling on her mane, she ripped a chunk out and threw it on the ground.

“Your reflection.” Unlike the former, Crimson simply spoke to herself, looking around the room.

Taking the time that Rarity was disarmed, Crimson began to circulate the room, pulling cover upon cover down. At each new mirror that revealed itself, Rarity would turn away, and continued to do so until there was only one blank spot left; the final mirror.

“Don’t!” Rarity begged, clawing at her face with her hooves. Already, fresh cuts were bleeding profusely across her fur. “I can’t bear to look at myself.”

For a second, Crimson questioned her intentions; by doing this, was she not simply stooping down to her assailant’s level? No. Crimson concluded that it would be impossible to stoop so low, and that she was probably doing a favor for the other sane ponies eking out a living in this hell-house.

“I’m sorry.” Crimson said, fixing Rarity in a piercing gaze. Never again would she be apprehended; even if that meant becoming a villain. Closing her eyes, Crimson levitated the moldy brown cover off the mirror.

As her disheveled mane and lacerated face met its reflection, Rarity screamed, turning away to only meet another glaring reflection. Again and again Rarity turned until she collapsed, tearing at her fur and mane and anything else she could reach with her wild hooves or blazing magic. Essentially, the psychotic mare was tearing herself apart.

And then she stilled, and Crimson became alert. A rattling noise from the chest underneath the vent, followed by a squeaking of hinges as its lid swung open. Expecting the worse, Crimson moved, ducking behind the industrial sink.

What rose from the chest was unexpected; jewels, crushed into splinters. It took Crimson a second to notice that it was the same shards that coated Rarity’s mane and tail. Observing from her shelter, Crimson’s curiosity turned to horror as the shards were flung towards the caster, Rarity, impaling themselves into her body in countless areas. She screamed, but as she continued her self-harming, those strangled noises fell to ecstasy. Getting up, she admired her new reflection in the mirror.

“Need’s more jewels!” Rarity replied, her voice strung and choppy. She was sweating and covered in her own blood.

Casting another bout of magic, she pulled a larger pile out. Crimson was tempted to stop her, but with little to no magic left, and a dwindling desire to move, she stayed put; eyes wide as if anticipating a jump-scene in a horror movie. And then it happened, and Rarity was no more.
With a grunt, she had launched the shards like projectiles at her face. The diamonds bit deep, impaling her across the muzzle and cheeks before striking her eyes and promptly macerating them. As if suddenly aware of what she had done, Rarity jumped and began squealing again; putting her hooves out in front of her and fumbling around. On her destructive path she knocked over one of the mirrors, revealing a small doorway behind it. Crimson noticed the new exit immediately as she had been keeping a close eye on the pain-driven unicorn.

Willing her frozen limbs to move, Crimson began to make her way towards the exit, trying to keep a distance between her and Rarity, who had fallen on the floor, shaking uncontrollably and attempting to rip the shards out with her magic. Finally where she wanted to be, Crimson turned and tried the door; it was unlocked, and it swung smoothly, revealing the hallway beyond. With a final look over her shoulder, Crimson left.

She refused to feel empathy.

Butterflies

As the door slammed shut, Crimson found herself in a long hall. The dim, diffused light did little to help her see clearly; she could only see ten paces around her.

“So, where am I to go next?” Crimson murmured; the sound of her voice calmed her heart a bit.
Hoofsteps interrupted her thoughts, and she spun to stare. Something was coming at her from a distance; rather fast, at that. Horrified at what the noise impeded, she spun on her heels and bolted the opposite direction. As she was mere seconds into her gallop, hoofsteps in front of her made her spin around and go into the opposite way.

For a second time, Crimson stopped and turned as she heard more hoofsteps coming from the new direction she had bolted in; whatever was approaching seemed to be coming from both directions. Whimpering in fear and sweating profusely, the unicorn fortified her position and charged up her horn; daring to face the rapidly approaching somethings from the darkness. Just as a shadowy outline appeared in her field of vision, she released her magic, launching a blazing red bolt at her assailant.

Surviving for so long in this new Equestria had done wonders for Crimson’s aim, and her attack struck home, imbedding itself with an electrifying boom in her target. A yelp and then the skidding of hooves on wooden floor as her victim fell, sliding several paces before ending at Crimsons hooves. Seeing that she had gotten one of them, Crimson backed up a few paces, and turned her attention up the hallway; silence met her searching ears. After another long moment of tense recon, she concluded that it must have been a misleading echo. Turning again to face her downed assailant, emptiness met her searching eyes; it was as if he had simply faded into thin air.

Her new round of convulsive shivering was cut short however as a new sound, this time definitely coming towards her, evaded her senses; a fluttering of countless wings. The beats were far to light to be pegasi; the new sound miffed Crimson. What exactly was she about to see? A single butterfly with a blue body and pink wings fluttered softly to land on Crimsons shoulder; she smiled. To see such beauty in new Equestria was rare, and to find it in a hell house like this one was practically a Celestial blessing. Willing her heart to calm, Crimson fixed her gaze on the butterfly.

“I can make it, I can do…” A sharp pain made her stop in surprise. Another, again at her shoulder, made her bat the frail bug off of her. Her smile collapsed into a grimace as she saw a trickle of blood run down two butterfly-sized bite marks.

“What the...” The butterfly bit her again, this time on her back, and she swatted at it angrily. To her greatest satisfaction, her strike made contact, and the butterfly was launched into the wall. As it collapsed to the ground, she reared up and crushed it under a hoof. Mere seconds after she was done, three butterflies came into her field of vision. One bit her on the flank, and the other two went for the front hooves.

“Get off!” Crimson shouted, shaking widely to disperse the carnivorous bugs; they left for only a second before settling on her again. Charging up her magic, she scorched each of them. Tearing up from the pain, Crimson looked around for more.

“RUN!” A voice shouted from the darkness. Crimson just had the time to look up before a wild mare bolted past her, shaking violently to detach the thirty or so butterflies that had attached themselves onto her tatty coat. A trail of blood fell behind her; she was being eaten alive.

What followed were the fluttering noises again, and it sounded as if the number of wings had been multiplied. As the first wave of flesh-eating butterflies came into her view, Crimson ran, hot on the tail of the receding mare that had just seconds ago ridded herself of her burden. Crimson was a fast runner, so she caught up to the mare and turned to her. In comparison to the foal, this pony was fine. Across her back, a sequence of deep bite-marks oozed blood.

“What’s going on in here?” Crimson shouted to the mare, who hardly turned in acknowledgment.

“Punishment.” The mare groaned, “We are unworthy.”

“Wha…”

“PUNISHMENT.” The mare had turned fully now to Crimson, and as she opened her mouth to scream the word, a butterfly flew out. It was then that the chilling conclusion came to the unicorn, the things… they were inside of her.

The mare coughed, spitting blood onto the floor.

“They’re eating me!” the mare whinnied, her eyes showing white. Another butterfly was spit out, looking rather bloated. “Their eggs are inside of me!” a pained moan. The mare tripped up as a butterfly burst out from her hind leg, closely followed by two more out of her sex. Crimson was too terrified to respond, and as the pain crazed mare slipped and fell, she continued onwards.

She was next, she’d have eggs implanted into her, and she’d end up like the mare. The very notion sent deep shivers around her body. She imagined them under her skin, eating her up like the colt, eating her away. And then, in the last moments of her life, she’d see them bursting out from inside her, wings laden with her own blood, gorged on whatever they had around them. She’d be turned to a pile of bones; she’d be nothing.

A sharp bite at her flank snapped her out of her grim reveries; the butterflies had caught up enough to begin to land on her. Shaking her head unbelievingly, Crimson picked up her pace, again, distancing herself from the carnivores. As the chase progressed, Crimson’s legs began to hurt. Time was against her, and yet still, she had not arrived at the end of the hall. Again the butterflies had caught up, and two of them landed on her back. As another five landed, Crimson found herself losing the will to continue. It seemed as though the outcome to the whole thing was dreary and linear; she was to die here.

And then she saw it, the door and the end of the hall. Seeing that there was still some hope left, Crimson put all of her remaining strength into a final ditch rush that both shook off the butterflies and got her to the door, which she swung open without hesitation. Inside now, she turned and bucked the door shut. The fluttering got louder and louder before residing again; somehow, she had made it. Thinking back on the mare she had been running with, she counted her blessings that death had been merciful enough to leave her be.

With a strangled whimper, Crimson collapsed, falling against the blissfully cool wall of this new room and sliding down till she was curled up. And then the gurgled whimper she had heard before the foal had perished came back to her, and she bolted upright, afraid to light her horn.

“Who’s there?” Crimson said; her heart, so tired of its pace, put her in pain as it revved back up. The gurgle returned, and she felt something brush up against her nose. The feeling, so minute, was amplified a million times by the fear she was wracked with.

As Crimson ignited her horn and the room came into view, she gasped before falling to the ground and muttering incoherently. She could feel madness falling over her, and she struggled bitterly to ward it off. As she regained her senses, she willed herself to stand. Above her, hanging like bats, cocoons, fat and brown, covered the ceiling. Every moment of so, one of them would hatch, and a new butterfly would come forth. Strangely enough, they seemed to have no interest in her, but another; a particular pegasus with a yellow coat and a pink mane. As the light ignited, the pegasus had lifted her gaze to stare in Crimsons direction. What was most startling, however, was the fact that the pegasi was pinned against the wall; an oversized metal needle was impaled in the center of the filly’s chest, and four more, two in each spread out wing. The scene reminded her of what bugs looked like when they were put up on display. The carnivorous butterflies covered her body, yet it seemed as though they had no intentions to bite. As Crimson approached the impaled pegasus, two or three sprung up and flew at her, warding her off.

“Stay away.” the pegasus whispered. “They won’t hurt you so long as you don’t come any nearer.” She turned to them with a smile “Isn’t that right, dears?” A ruffling of wings.

"You mean to say that those butterflies in the hall… you breed them?” Crimson asked incredulously; a slight nod from the yellow pegasus.

“Yes, aren’t they beautiful?” As she opened her mouth, two or three flew out, followed by a trickle of blood. “I protect them, and I pinned myself to the wall to show how much I love them.”

“But, but they eat ponies; they’re eating you!”

“It doesn’t hurt. Actually, they tickle! They protect me when the Stalker comes around, and keep me warm when I want to…” A butterfly detached itself from the wall and climbed into the pegasi’s ear. As it came out, bloated on whatever it just ate, the filly’s sentence stopped, only to return again on a new segue. “He told me they don’t like you, but don’t worry, I do…” again she stopped.

“But why don’t you like the nice mare? She’s the first one to talk to me in such a long time... ouch!” the pegasus screeched. “Why are you being so mean?” She then turned to Crimson. “You need to go back.”

“I-I can’t,” Crimson objected. “I’ll be killed.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want that…” another shout of pain. “I mean, I mean yes, you have to take your chances. They really… ouch… don’t want you here.” When Crimson refused to move the butterflies began to detach from the pinned up filly, forming a small cloud above her head. As they lifted, the full extent of the damage across her body became evident. Her fur was non-existent, replaced instead with bloody scabs. Down lower, a constant dribble of blood dripped from her sex and tail-hole.

“By Celestia…” Crimson’s eyes widened as she saw the squirming of countless larvae beneath her skin; there must have been thousands of them. “What have they done?”

“Saved me!” The pinned pegasus quickly answered, tears filling up in the corners of her eyes.
The butterflies began to land in ten and twenty; each group took their turn eating, before lifting up and allowing room for the next group. Crimson could see the immense amount of pain she was suffering from, and it made her sick to the stomach. Each waking hour it became more and more clear that the disease had no room for mercy.

“I’m so happy! They keep me company, don’t worry.” The pegasus assured, petting one of them. The butterfly she touched attached itself onto her hoof and bit a chunk out of it.

Unable to take the sight any longer, Crimson averted her gaze, only to settle on a door just off to the left of the deranged filly. She needed to come up up with a plan to have her path cleared. Slowly, she charged her horn.

“I don’t think you are.” Crimson said. “You’re crying.”

“Tears of, of happiness!” The lost pegasus answered, attempting another smile and failing. “Oh, I wish you could stay though… ahhh!” Her scream was laden with pain, and it was then that she broke down completely. “I made these monsters to keep me company, I-I need to suffer! I should be punished! Celestia strike me down.” And then she stopped and raised a hoof to her mouth as if she’d just said something bad. Her form fell limp, and an eerie calm fell across her body. All that could be heard between the filly’s last words and the time it took for Crimson’s spell to be completely charged was a sickly chewing.

Crimson would end the sorry existence in front of her, and take as many butterflies as she could with it. The pegasi’s rant had assured Crimson that what she was about to do was liberating. With a shout, Crimson let her spell go off, sending a flaming ball of magic at the pinned up writhing mass. As the spell stuck, all that’d been in its path was obliterated.

The smell of burning flesh was intoxicating, and it assaulted Crimsons nose relentlessly. Dizzy from the exertion her spell had demanded, Crimson stumbled past the smoldering ash-pile and tried the door. It opened into a small room. The close confines relaxed Crimson, and as she closed the door behind her, she fell against the wall, breathing heavy.

Unable to move, she let her body still.