There is Nothing at the End of the Lane
There is Nothing at the End of the Lane
There is Nothing at the End of the Lane
There Is Nothing At The End Of The Lane
She’d known there was something not quite right about Dr Whooves since the day he first walked into town and everyone thought they already knew him. For the first month, Twist thought that she must’ve just not noticed him before. Then she’d found him in the background of an old photo of Applejack’s, a photo she’d seen over and over and the doctor had never been in before.
From then on, Twist had started to watch Whooves out of the corner of her eye. He never noticed. Applebloom had been dragooned into helping her, and the two began to track him every so often: Applebloom had noticed the photo too, once pointed out to her.
And they found the other thing weird about him when, back at Applebloom’s treehouse, Twist accused her of skiving off her job.
“Ah stood near his house watching for hours and he never came out,” protested Applebloom, “ah pinkie promise he never came out!”
“Then what wath he doing at the market? I thaw him.”
“He never came out! Ah wouldn’t lie!”
She was right, she wouldn’t lie. “We better put that in the diary.”
Twist took out their Doc Diary from its hiding place, hidden inside an old school geography book (the fillies knew nobody would look there) and carefully wrote “can appear where he shouldn’t” into it. She looked at the sentence a bit more and underlined it. Slightly unsettled, she put the diary in its hiding place, the back of her sock drawer where her parents wouldn’t find it.
She wished she had somebody to do this with. She wished Applebloom was still a friend.
* * *
She’d started to forget about Whooves until one day when she was out with her mother, and they’d both seen him staring at the Weeping Pegasi statue outside the pub. He’d looked rattled and he wouldn’t stop staring at it. He kept trying to walk while keeping an eye on it, as if he didn’t trust it.
Twist nudged her mother. “Mum, do you thee that too?”
“That is strange,” said her mother, puzzled. “Maybe he thinks someone’s following him. Doctor!”
The stallion jolted at that; he gave an embarrassed grin. “Ah! Miss Peppermint, yes, I can explain—“
Come on every pony
Smile smile smile…
A horde of singing mares came by, led by Pinkie Pie – another pony that was not quite right. Twist’s mum began to join in the song (it was really quite catchy) and Twist giggled. She then remembered Whooves and the statue and turned round. Whooves was gone, and –
The statue looked funny –
She turned back to ask her mother about it, but the song was reaching a crescendo so she decided to let it finish.
“It’s pretty good, isn’t it?” her dad said, a slightly pained look on his face.
“Yeah,” said Twist, trying to sound happier than she felt. It was the sort of song her mother would have liked. She didn’t really want to think too much about that now.
She looked away and tried to find a distraction in the blank front of the pub.
Come on and SMILE!
* * *
There had been a statue outside the school before. Twist was pretty sure she’d seen one before. Where was it?
There wasn’t really anyone she could ask though. None of the other ponies wanted to talk to “Twiffft”. She once liked to hope Truffle Shuffle would, but then Dinky Doo had slipped him a Hearts & Hooves card first and that, to Twist’s young mind, was that.
Maybe Applebloom would’ve talked to her; she always seemed like a nice pony. Scootaloo scared her a bit though, so Twist stayed clear.
There was a statue outside the school when Twist left and a few inches away from where it normally was and Twist fought the urge to scream. Before, she’d found it comforting: a pegasi, ‘Knowledge Takes Wing’. Now its smile seemed off. A little too wide, its eyes blank and mad.
She ran home and on the way, she saw Dr Whooves running too, panic on his face.
* * *
One night, Dr Whooves was in her back garden. The noise had woken her up – only her, Twist’s gran could sleep through anything. He looked agitated.
That was it. Twist was going to solve one damn mystery.
She slipped down the cold streets after the stallion, taking great care not to be spotted, and he led her down to her house: the junkyard at the end of Newlamb Lane. That had always been a weird place for a… a…
(what did he do?)
A weird place to live. One more mystery.
He closed the door and she crept closer. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a statue. (had that been there before?)
She went to knock on the house but the door swung in before her; the hallway was dark.
“Come in, Twist.”
The door swung gently behind her. There was a glow and an odd hum at the end of the corridor.
“Most ponies would panic after a door moved by itself and the local stranger knew they’d been followed all along.” He sounded amused; his voice was coming from the glowing room. “Why don’t you, Twist?”
“I want to know what’th going on,” she whispered.
“Good answer! Always a good answer! That’s the answer that’s driven your species onwards for centuries.”
Twist reached the end of the corridor and nudged the door open.
The room was too big for the house.
And then she saw what was in the room and she began to scream.
Twist dimly heard “Sometimes it doesn’t drive you to the right place,” and the voice changed as it went. Now it sounded like a voice from a mouth of tiny, sharp little teeth; a voice that no pony should have, oh sweet Celestia no pony indeed. “You’ve caused me a lot of trouble, Twist. You should have taken a telling long before now.”
She tried to run but the door was shut and she was trapped in the damnable space.
“I can’t and won’t be found.” It touched her shoulder. “One of us has to go.”
* * *
In Ponyville’s psychiatric ward, there’s a little filly called Twist who had a violent breakdown six months ago last night. Her parents died in circumstances nobody talks about and poor Twist turned on her classmates. They have to keep her restrained. Every now and then, she looks panicked and pleading and then it goes away.
The statues left one day and only one pony noticed. They appeared in other towns and then vanished, searching for something; always located in places where the vulnerable would be, wings spread out like shields. They search still.
Now and then, Dr Whooves smiles a smile he should not have. No one notices.
