The Hollow Kingdom of Big Macintosh

Exhibit R

Big Macintosh is lost, plain and simple. The trail has gone cold, but Big Macintosh figures that there might have been no trail in the first place. He may have imagined seeing the silhouettes darting through the trees. He saw Coast earlier, so it stands to reason he might be vulnerable to his hallucinations right now.

He turns himself around, embarrassed that he let his mind get the best of him. He'd been doing so well since Hippocampy showed up, but now he had to run off and get himself lost. He would have to tell her about this, so they might sort it out. It was just part of sharing his secret, their secret. He would get through this and return to getting better.

"I sincerely doubt that."

The hooded pony stands before Big Macintosh in the shade of the forest. The old, ancient pony from his night wandering has appeared once more. His heartbeat picks up, but he instantly scolds himself. What he is seeing is not real. He tells himself this, but it doesn't do any good.

"You've got a real knack for getting lost."

"Eeyup, this time I really am lost," Big Macintosh says, but he isn't sure why he is talking to this phantom. Regardless, he continues. "I know my way home, so you can go on your way."

"You only think you know the way home," the hallucination says to him. "But you're wrong. If you turn back now, the path won't be easy."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm saying that if you want to go home, you must continue down this path," he replies, indicating with his worn hoof to the path Big Macintosh had failed to noticed he'd been treading; although, he could simply be imagining it. "You've chosen to live down this way. You should come and follow me."

"I'm not going anywhere with you," Big Macintosh tells him, promptly turn around and heading back to where he knew home would be, but violent wind suddenly whips up and blows into his face. He shields his eyes with a hoof, but when he puts it down he sees the old pony before him once again.

"Don't do this to yourself."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Big Macintosh says, walking forward to pass the old pony. The hallucination makes no move to stop him as he walks by, but he rasps out one last thing.

"Once you see the road you are about to take, you'll return here."

Macintosh can do nothing beyond walk forward. Nighttime is falling and Luna is raising the silver moon up into the dome of the sky. Tonight it is the only light he can travel by. He doesn't know how it got so late or how he managed to get so lost. He thought he knew all the wooded areas around Ponyville, but this place was strange. He had never come here before, of that he was certain.

He couldn't allow himself to be curious about these woods. He kept going, checking his direction every so often by looking up at the stars. He was uncertain, after a while, about which way he should be going. He though he had left east out of Ponyville, but perhaps his wanderings had taken him in a more southerly direction. Maybe he'd gone too far north at this point and needed to double back. What if he had actually gone west?

Big Macintosh was getting tired. The landscape itself began to look rather dogged too. The limbs of the trees drooped and sank. The leaves on the bushes shriveled in the growing heat. There was a scent like rotten eggs about the air. The dirt underneath his hooves cracked and crumbled, deprived of even one drop of water. Images wavered in the hot air and low hanging smoke. Everything shuddered. Everything shivered.

Black outlines peeked out from behind the trees at Big Macintosh. They seemed frightened at first, but the apparitions soon became bold. They wore fiery smiles across their faces as they ran across the path, leaving black, sooty clouds in their wake. Macintosh heard them murmuring and giggling, but he could not understand them. He strained his ears, but he couldn't decipher the sounds.

They stared, laughed, and then darted back into the shadows. Big Macintosh tried to pay them no mind, but they were persistent. He couldn't turn around or stop; it was much too hot now. The only way was forward. The only way out of this strange place was to keep heading forward.

Macintosh is a one pony parade. The shadows have gathered on the sides of the path to watch him pass. They whisper loudly, but he still cannot make out what they are saying. He is sure, however, that they are talking about him. They are whispering about him. They are laughing about him, but he doesn't see what's so funny.

He picks up the pace, but for every shadow he manages to leave in the dust two more appear on the path ahead of him. They circle him and whisper taunts to one another. They are whispering so loud, like white noise. There are no words, just a cold, stinging sensation in Big Macintosh's ears. His ears fill with laughter while his nose fills with sulphur.

Big Macintosh gallops. He goes as fast as his hooves can take him, but there isn't a path any longer. The shadows have swarmed about him. Their eyes, their smiles and their cackling inhabit the net of darkness cast around him. He runs over the shadows as they slink over him, suffocating him in smoke and stench. Their fingers reach into his ears and their whispers are written on his brain.

"There is something wrong here."

"There is something not quite right."

That is when they laugh. They know what is wrong and it is humorous to them. They've got a secret they're keeping from Big Macintosh, or perhaps they know the secret Big Macintosh is keeping from them. The secret he won't even tell himself. He knows why he is being haunted, but he steels his mind against it. He doesn't give in. He fights it. He closes his eyes, plunging himself into real darkness; he reminds himself that he is simply hallucinating.

When he opens his eyes, he is standing on the road to his home. Somehow, he found his way back. Somehow, he managed to escape the greatest attack on his mind yet. What was almost a major setback was instead the stage for Big Macintosh's greatest victory. He returned home with his sanity, his perspective, Hippocampy in his heart, and his happiness.

He crawls into bed and nothing can touch his satisfied slumber. The accomplishment and pride he feels makes the bed feel as soft as a royal featherbed. His sheets feel warmer and the moonlight is simply soothing. His hallucinations could not conquer him. He didn't give in at the very end. Big Macintosh can be happy at last. All that is left is to return to the forest and continue down the path.

"..."

No, that wasn't right.