It was there, I knew it was, but why I could not figure out. The shadow shuffled in the background peering over its shoulder every now and again to see what state I was in. I couldn’t fall asleep; I couldn’t lose consciousness, if I gave in now then I may never be myself again.
I can’t let this get the better of me. I am strong. I am strong. The cold metal bracelet rubs around my ankle, only persuading me to stay awake more. My head feels blurry...it’s so cold...it’s so empty. No! Must stay awake. If I sleep who knows what could happen.
He’s still there, I can feel it. Just waiting for the poison to take its full effect. Who is he? Why can’t I remember anything? My eyes grow so heavy; it’s hard to ignore their persistent call to the dream world. But I can’t give up now; I can’t be a victim. Must remember what happened. Must recall where I am and what I saw. What did I see? I know I saw something...Something important.
Eyelids fall to the increasing pressure of the strap on my forehead. The darkness overwhelms my head. A face peers down at me with a glistening toothy smile. My eyes shut, my thoughts go numb, and all I can think in this nightmare is...I know those teeth.
It was an average day for Screw Top as she got ready for her latest post as foalsitter. She had been doing this job on and off for a couple of years now and she found she quite enjoyed it; not as much as doing her DIY jobs from which she had gained her cutie mark of a screw, but it was a close second.
In actual truth it was not her job in the first place, this job tonight. Another foalsitter had been in line for the night but had had to cancel at short notice when she found that she was double booked and her other young lavender charge wouldn’t be happy spending time with another foal her age. Thus the phone call came and she was hired for the job. She was glad actually; she needed the money for her latest sculpture.
For weeks now she had been collecting materials and building her carving. It was to be her greatest masterpiece yet; a set of dogs made of every known material in art existence. She was especially proud of the way this one was turning out. She was an artist by trade and nature and was hoping that this would be the one; the one that would set her name in design history. She had long since dreamed of getting her art work into the Royal Canterlot Gallery and this could be her one chance to do it.
In two weeks Princess Celestia herself would be coming to judge the art competition; this year to be held in her own town Ponyville. She couldn’t wait. It was going to be the best time of her life. Sadly first she needed money in order to buy the last piece of material she needed but then, what wonderful art she would have created.
This foalsitting job was going to be easy. The parents had already said that the foal spent most of his time in his room and stayed quiet so she didn’t have to worry about any hassle from him. She would take her notebook and pencils and do some sketches. When she won the art competition she would need to get straight onto building more sculptures for the hordes of ponies that would want to see them. She gathered her belongings and trotted into her workshop to say goodbye to the statue.
There it stood. Her precious dog statue; as beautiful as it had been when she’d envisioned it. She sighed, content with all of the hard work she had put into it. That dog was her salvation; she could finally get a job she loved more than anything. Her dream job, and all because of her precious dog.
Screw Top stood for a while looking at her handiwork. The strokes, the pivots, the nails, the undulations- all working together to create a masterpiece. She grinned and stroked the velvet she had used for the head. It was all so perfect, and soon everypony would see it as well.
The clock on the wall squawked at her as the cuckoo flew around its wooden cage .Uh oh...if she didn’t hurry she would be late. She couldn’t risk that or she might be docked some of the pay that she needed. She ran out of the door and through the streets to the outskirts of town.
There it stood. The little house on the corner staring down upon her. She had always known that it was there but not many ponies paid a blind bit of notice when passing it. It was so average and mundane that she supposed it was natural that other ponies didn’t care much for its look; even she with her artist's eye found it quite boring to look at. Unlike her work this house was built to be used, not just stared at, which was a pity in her view. Even her workshop was built to look pretty as well as functional; clearly the ponies living here didn’t care much for the way things looked. It was what could only be described as ugly. Uglier than ugly, pure and utter rubbish that was so old even architects found it too uninteresting to excavate. Yet these ponies lived here quite happily.
Screw Top gulped and slowly began to trot up to the front door. One more job, that’s all she needed, just one more. She raised her hoof to the rotting oak door and knocked softly three times. The light on the porch flickered and sparked causing her to jump and check behind her. This did not feel entirely comfortable; she was so out of place here. Only one more and she would have finished her prize possession.
Her eyes scanned the front garden, checking for any signs of dangers but she soon realised she was most likely just being silly and should stop worrying so much. She let out a huge sigh of relief, wiping the sweat that had gathered on her brow as she did.
The old door creaked open behind her, rattling on its pivots; a face peered through at her through the slight crack. Yes, this was a pony it seemed; a mare no less. A perfect, wonderful, anatomically correct pony. She would do wonderfully.
Screw Top felt the strangest sensation of being watched from behind again but could not bear the thought of turning as quickly as she had done previously. A shiver ran up her back as cold air flooded her from behind; it was freezing cold, which is odd because it hadn’t been cold when she had been walking there. She tilted her head backwards slightly and looked at the slightly open doorway. It was open. It hadn’t been open before…had it? She was sure that when she had knocked it had been shut.
She turned, moving as slowly as she possible could in the situation and pushed open the rest of the door. She stared into the empty hallway with confusion. Well, it certainly looked like a normal house from the inside; that was good; even if it was a bit dark. The fireflies flickered inside of their lantern; a fairly modern way of gaining light in this ancient relic of a building. The curtain lay shut on the windows, letting none of the moons light inside to show her the way.
She could see no signs of any ponies ever having lived there. The coat stand stood webbed in the corner; there was no sign of any coat ever being there at all. The Umbrella stand sat empty of any contents, the wonky legged table shuddered under the weight of the dust bunnies and mites that appeared to be the only objects it held. Everything was just as a house would be if it had not been lived in for many decades; hardly a place for two ponies to raise a young foal.
A door shot open at her side and two smiles walked through into where she was standing. In the darkness they could have easily been mistaken as some kind of beast or monster that haunted the house, or worse…they could be a ponygeist? Screw Top had read all about these mythical creatures, she was terribly frightened of them. She cowered backwards, putting her hoof over her eyes in fear.
“Hello, you must be the foalsitter. Screw Top isn’t it?” That didn’t sound like something a paranormal entity would say. Would they be that friendly? Screw Top lifted her head and blushed. A stallion and mare looked back at her with a cheerful grin. The foals’ parents. She nodded to their question, embarrassed of how scared she had been. It really wasn’t worth it to be this worried about something that she could never had proved in the first place. She felt like such a foal.
“Well” the Mother said as she headed with her husband to the door “Burk’en Hare is upstairs in his room at the moment. You probably won’t hear from him for the rest of the night.” The Mother soon left the doorway and rushed out into the night; she seemed to be in a hurry, perhaps she had to go somewhere important thought Screw Top. The Father seemed to pause in thought for a minute, opening his mouth to say something but no words coming out. He tugged at a bandage around his leg and sweat seeped off his brow. Well, this was awkward. Neither pony seemed to know what to say to one another. A shrill voice called through the night time air.
“Come on. We need to go now!” The husband jumped and scurried off to his wife, obeying her implied orders. The door slammed shut behind them, leaving Screw Top alone in the dark empty house. Even the fireflies grew dim in the dreary building.
Screw Top sighed. Only one more time, she told herself, and then she could finish her masterpiece. She couldn’t wait. This wouldn’t always be her life; soon she would be free to swap the two sides of her life. Art would become the job and foalsitting would become the hobby: it would all be perfect.
The kitchen door beckoned to her and she wandered through it. The darkness even swamped over the area where the family most lived, a strange occurrence indeed. Usually ponies spent more time out of the kitchens and spent it in the Living room instead (hence the name ‘living’ room). It only took a small tour around the house to realise that the only room that appeared to be used was the kitchen; the only room with a lock on the door.
The candles and fireflies lighting the rooms flickered every few minutes, falling to the power of the darkness that shrouded the house walls and floors. It would have been worrying to Screw Top had she not been spending most of her time dreaming about her canine statue. For some reason just thinking about it was making her feel exhilarated and happy; nothing could spoil her mind even if her body was hurt. Her mind was her own.
She routed round the kitchen, lost in thought, trying to find any food that she could be expected to give to the foal. She searched the fridge, the cupboards, the freezer; but found nothing, each and every one of them was bare of any food and drink of any kind. She pushed the tap with her hoof and watched as one drop slipped down the faucet. That’s strange, there was no water either. No pans, no spoons, no forks, no knives; no anything. Every place was as empty as the other rooms in the building. There was nothing.
The candles fell dark. The flames flickered no longer and Screw Top felt a cold blast of air sneak over her; she shivered. The fireflies too fell dark; the light had gone off and showed no signs of coming back. Screw Top already knew that there were no matches in the kitchen, after her search, so she did not even attempt to look for them. She wandered out into the empty hallway, pulling the curtains open so that at least some light from the moon could come in. Well, at least now she could see her hoof vaguely.
A large bang came from upstairs and forced Screw Top’s heart to flip in her body. She tried to think of her joyous thoughts to be rid of the fear, but she knew that inside she was terrified of being alone in the darkness. It was silly, being afraid. It was most likely just the young foal having some innocent fun upstairs in his room...she hoped.
“Burk?” she called, gathering her courage and beginning to ascend the stairs. “Are you okay?” The steps creaked as she climbed. Hoofstep after hollow hoofstep sounded below her. She carried on climbing; the rattling from the room becoming louder as she did. Closer and closer she climbed, her breath and heart rate freezing in terror.
“Are you okay in there?” she asked taking hold of the door handle. The handle collapsed before her and melted under her hoof.
FLASH. Everything melted before her eyes. Her head throbbed and her hooves pounded. The dogs...she had to think of the dogs...they made her happy. She couldn’t sleep. She knew she couldn’t sleep. Think of the dogs; her dogs; her beautiful dogs. They were perfect, the talk of the town; they would be the best artwork in the Canterlot gallery. She would be the best artist with those dogs...canines...Woof...Bow...Wow...Ruff..Whimper...Black and White...Black and White....Black.
“Quickly. Pull over here.” A mare shouted pointing her husband driving the carriage to a point near the natural lake. The stallion hastily did what he was told and soon they had stopped by the side. The body in the back of the cart shuffled in the bag it had been placed in. The stallion wiped his brow and tried to say something to his wife; he found no words with which to say. He put his head over the side of the cart and spat out the blood clot that had gathered on the large cut where his tongue had used to be. He could never speak the way he had used to.
The cut on his leg pained him for the third time that day. His wife looked at him with worry; it was horrible that they had to do this, and she didn’t enjoy it, but it had to be done so that they didn’t get hurt again themselves. They had gone through so many unsuspecting foalsitters in a short amount of time and it seemed so unfair that they had to do this.
One by one they booked a pony to come for the night to the house, just so they could become the next victim to the savage beast that they had created together. Night after night they would come back to take the carcass far away from the house so that nopony would ever suspect that the missing ponies were related to their own house...If they were found with this monster then they would surely be locked up with it forever, and then there would be no way of giving it sustenance except for handing over their own soulless corpses.
The green mare rubbed at her mane, feeling the bump where her left ear used to be. She reached inside the deep cut, feeling the clots and ear wax filling up the gap. She shuddered, recalling the day she woke up with no hearing at all. It was chilling. She never wanted it to happen again...she would do whatever it took to make sure it didn’t.
Quickly she jumped down off the carriage and strode to the back of the cart with her trusted shovel that she used for such an occasion. Her husband followed, limping slightly on his deformed bandaged leg. They tugged at the bag together and heard the strange noise from the inside. This was not something they were used to.
“Brains. Why did it suddenly have to do the brain? It’s quicker when they just die; better than being left like this poor dear.” The barking inside became intolerable to her ears, it sounded so heart-breaking. Tears flooded her husband’s eyes and she shook him on the shoulder.
“We have to do this. You know we do.”
He nodded. Carefully, they tugged on the bag and wandered to the edge of the water. The mares head shifted from side to side, checking no other pony was here to see what she was doing. When she was sure that it was clear, she bowed and said a small prayer to herself. She had to do this; it had to be done. Bodies couldn’t stay; they couldn’t be found...Ever.
The trigger clicked. The corpse fell down and slid into the river in silence. A pool of blood flowing behind it and trickling down into the deep blue pool. The stallion watched as his dead wife sank low into the fronds of green water; the red color sinking along with her. It was a hard decision, but they couldn’t have carried on living like that anymore. It couldn’t happen anymore. No more. No more.
He held the barrel to his head and pulled the trigger once more. The soulless body of a stallion drifted across the still moonlight, following his wife to the hell they were sure to come by. The flames flickering against their body; Luther’s servants to the end. Soon both ponies existence were wiped forever...No more...No more.
The bag flew open; hooves slipped onto the floor and hoofsteps bounced against the hard ground. Bark..Bark...Bang...Bang...Woof...Woof...Growl. It ran and ran, running up the side of a mud pile to reach the tip. The blue mare howled into the wind, calling to her brothers in the forest nearby. It didn’t take much to persuade the Timberwolves to join in with her song. She scratched her mane with her hind leg, biting at her fur with her teeth. Blood seeped out of her skin and into her mouth but she didn’t care. She was with her dogs, her pretty pretty canines.
Pretty...Pretty...Barking...Mad.
A face peered through the window panes, looking at the carnage in the front garden. A smile fell to its lips. Soon. Soon it would have a new subject to work on; a new participant in its little ‘trial’. It was all perfect...Everything would be perfect indeed.
And soon, everypony would be as harmonious as the darkness. Everypony would be perfect.
The curtains closed shut!
