Screwheadby meme-asaurusChaptersChapter 1: The Fun BeginsChapter 2: Meet the ManiacChapter 3: When You Stare Into the Abyss...Good News, Bad News TimeChapter 1: The Fun BeginsIt was past sundown at Golden Oaks, Ponyville’s local library. My friends were wrapping up their first friendship letter to Celestia. It mostly consisted of how you should listen to your friend’s problems, no matter how small they are. In retrospect, it really wasn’t much of a lesson they learned. It was more or less their way of saying sorry to me. It didn’t really address the issue that I almost destroyed Ponyville with a doll, and the letter itself was more personal then professional. And you know what? I didn’t really care. It may sound a bit selfish, I needed them to feel sorry for me. I need them to feel guilty for me. I was having the worst day of my life until they barged in, begging Celestia not to send me away. When the Princess walked me home, I was beginning to think that she was planning to do a lot worse than send me to magic kindergarten. The ‘Want it, Need it’ spell was outlawed in twenty-nine different countries for a reason, you know. I crossed a major line today. Any other unicorn in my position would be sitting in prison by now. What was I thinking? But much to my surprise, I faced no consequences. I didn’t get arrested. I didn’t get a stern talking to. I didn’t own up to my mistakes. I never was punished for breaking the law. A pardon wasn’t even necessary for me. It seemed like all of Ponyville blushed in embarrassment, looked the other way and said to me, “Let’s pretend this never happened, Twilight.” In short, I got off very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very lucky. It felt wrong. Then, my friends wrote that letter. They took my big, heavy, growing ball of self-inflicted guilt, brought it all out in the open and outright forgave me for my failure. It was surprisingly comforting. That’s all I needed. I didn’t need somepony to punish me or lock me in a dungeon. I needed somepony to notice that I screwed up and tell me that it wasn’t entirely my fault, somepony will always be there for me when I fall down, and everything will be alright now. That’s it. All I needed was a hug. A proverbial hug, if you will. It was big relief on my part. After my friends left, I went through my get-ready-for-bed checklist, step by step. Make sure that I checked all my checklists that I wanted to complete for today? Check. Go read Relaxation for Eggheads while taking a well-deserved therapeutic bath with scented candles? Check. Dry off with a towel? Check. Brush my mane? Check. Brush my tail? Check. Brush my teeth? Check. Floss? Check. Gurgle, rise, and spit? Triple check. Remind Spike to brush his own teeth? Check. Watch my Tuesday episode of Quantum Physics and Love Affairs while wearing that snuggie Rarity gave me? Check. Make my bed? Check. Make Spike’s bed? Check. Open the bedroom window in case Owlicious wants to go outside tonight? Check. Tuck Spike in and give him a kiss goodnight? Check. Ignore Spike’s complaints about receiving a kiss goodnight? Check. Tuck myself in? Check. Recheck everything on the checklist to see if I didn’t forget everything? Check. Go to sleep? No check required. That night, I dreamed that a filly was laughing at me. “Twilight?” Mmmmph. Too early. Lemme sleep. “Twilight? Wake up.” Just five more minutes, Mom… “TWILIGHT! GET YER FLANK OUTTA MAH TREE!” My eye shot open as I was jolted awake. Before I could even think, I fell out down a good ten feet to the ground. The surface I fell on was hard, grassy and was covered in dirt. I was somehow outside. I looked up to meet the irritated face of Applejack. “What in tarnation were ya doin’?” AJ snapped. “We were lookin’ fer ya all day. Ya had all of us worried sick!” I took a good look around. For some bizarre reason, I was in Sweet apple Acres. Judging by the position of the sun hanging in the clear blue sky, I guessed it was around two ‘o clock in the afternoon. Applejack was accompanied by Rainbow Dash, Pinkie Pie, Rarity, Fluttershy and Spike. Their expressions varied greatly, from worried and relieved to frustrated and confused. I stood up as I failed to answer Applejack’s question. “What happened?” was all I could say. I was still in a bit of a daze. “That’s what we want to know,’ said an annoyed Rainbow Dash. “Spike didn’t find you in bed this morning, so we formed a search party. After we looked, like, forever, we found you sleeping in this apple tree. Napping in trees is my thing, and I have a right mind to-” Pinkie Pie cut Rainbow Dash off short with her usual Pinkie-ness. “But now that we’ve found you, we can celebrate with a PARTY!” A small burst of confetti exploded behind her to punctuate the last word of her sentence. My eye twitched at the violation of the laws of physics. (It’s a reflex.) “You know,” Rarity mused, “Twilight is probably just another victim of the Phantom Prankster.” “Phantom Prankster?” I inquired. “What are you talking about?” “I think it’s best of we show you,” said Fluttershy. “That is, if you don’t mind.” I walked into the streets of Ponyville with my companions, not sure what to expect. Looking back, I believe it was for the best that I didn’t expect anything in particular. Otherwise, I would’ve died of shock at what I was about to see. This didn’t mean I still wasn’t horrified, though. Ponyville looked awful! Everywhere I looked, something was vandalized in an unnatural and unusual manner. It was like a bunch of ponies looked at this town and said, “Hey, you know what would be funny? We could turn every other thing we find upside-down or inside-out. It’ll be a riot!” Somepony had superglued cantaloupes on every roof. The local elementary school had badly-written profanities scribbled all over it with lime-green spray paint. Ponies everywhere were trying to walk about normally, but this proved difficult with half of them covered with the world’s strongest itching powder. All the plates in the antique store were smashed to pieces. The brick walls that made up the buildings were magically turned into pineapple-flavored jell-o, which was slowly melting in the summer heat. Furniture had been moved out onto the streets and was inexplicably… dancing? “I haven’t seen mayhem like this since Discord broke out,” I said as a crowd of disembodied afros politely waddled by. “That’s what I said,” Spike added as he glanced at a team of four ponies trying to stop a deranged ostrich from painting a window blue. “I also thought he was behind all this, because of the freaky magic and all.” “Is he?” Spike shook his head as passing pegasus continued an argument with her second head, which had grown overnight. “No, I sent a letter to the Princesses. The old dude’s still safely in stone. They also said it would be a gazillion years before he could break out again.” “The police are majorly going bananas about this,” remarked Rainbow Dash. “They’re searching for witnesses like crazy, but they’ve found nothing yet.” “The newspaper calls the culprit, ‘the Phaaaantom Praaaankster,’” Pinkie said in the spookiest voice she could muster, “because noooopony’s ever seen him!” “Or her,” noted Rarity. I scrunched my nose in thought as Berry Punch worked to wipe of the eggs that were pelted against her mailbox, just like everyone else’s. “If this isn’t Discord’s doing,” I began, “then logically, whoever did this must be using must be using some form of weaker magic than him. And if that’s true, then I can do… THIS!” I focused as my horn began to glow brightly. With great concentration, I cast the fail-safe spell I had prepared when Discord first started to cause trouble. There was an earth-shattering wave of purple magic, spreading throughout Ponyville. Much to everyone's surprise, it worked perfectly. The spray paint on the schoolhouse disappeared, the afros went back and attached themselves to the respective heads that owned them, and every single piece of furniture stopped dancing. As an added bonus, I even made the ostrich I mentioned beforehoof stop mindlessly painting things, and it went on about its business. Everything was back to normal. Order was restored in Ponyville. Ponies broke out in cheers and clopped in applause as I smiled in satisfaction of a job well done. With praise like this, I should use that spell more often. The rest of my day went by quickly. Pinkie Pie threw her ‘We found Twilight Sleeping in an Apple Tree Party’ by combining it with her ‘Thanks to Twilight for Stopping Ponyville from Itching Party.’ As an ironic joke, she served pineapple jell-o. Not too many ponies found that very funny, but since it was a party, they laughed anyway. The Royal Guard came by afterward and asked few questions about the Phantom Prankster, since I was not only absent during the events of his/her pranks, but I was also the only pony around that knew a way to fix all of them at once. (I have to admit, that does sound a bit suspicious when you look at it with a fresh eye.) I told them that I was happy to help return Ponyville to normal, but I otherwise had nothing to do with the case. Other than that, my day was pretty uneventful, which was perfectly fine with me. I’ve had enough excitement for one week. It was after dark again. I was closing up the library for the night, since we were once again not getting any customers. It disturbs me how little Golden Oaks gets business. Nopony in this community even has a library card. I don’t mean to sound rude, but how the hay does this town’s population even know how to read? I’ve seen Cheerilee’s classroom, and the most advanced-level book on the children’s shelves is named Captain Underpants and the Poopy Plotholes from Uranus. I swear, not a single encyclopedia in sight. I’ve been meaning to fix this by recently hosting lectures on the importance of literacy. Unfortunately, I haven’t had much luck in getting any attention. You see, my speeches have been said to “last too long,” “bore ponies to death,” and of course, the most frequently heard complaint: I apparently “use too many big words.” Umm… yeah, you might say my relationship with the rest of Ponyville is a little complicated. Very complicated, in fact. On one hoof, I saved the whole of Equestria twice, so I’m a bit of a town hero. On the other hoof, I’m often closely associated with big mistakes that tend to be remembered, such as the parasprite incident or the ‘Want it, Need it’ spell. Finally, if you disregard the first two, I’m just a unicorn that tends to be a teensy bit nerdy from time to time. To make things short, I carry a reputation around Ponyville, but at the same time, I can’t really carry any influence, neither politically nor socially. So yeah, my friends and I get ignored most of the time, and some days it gets a little frustrating. I mean, what do I have to do to get some respect around here? Sprout wings and become royalty? But I digress; it’s time to go back to what I was doing. I was once again going through my get-ready-for-bed checklist. Namely, I had started making my bed. As I gave my pillow a good levitation-fluffing, I discovered (to my slight startlement) something I’ve never seen before. It was a small object, and I didn’t think relatively much about it at the time. It seemed so insignificant; I barely gave it a second glace. However, it did make something click in my brain. I called down to Spike, who was back downstairs. “Spike, could you come up here?” “What is it?” “Remember when I cast that fail-safe spell?” “Yeah, why?” “And it erased every last bit of chaos in Ponyville, magically created or otherwise?” “What's your point?” “Answer me this: If my spell worked perfectly, then why did I find this propeller beanie under my pillow?” Author's Note Ever been inspired to write a fanfic just by a piece of fanart? They’re a dime a dozen on this site. So yeah, I must confess I’m being a bit unoriginal here. I still think this is a good story, though. That said, kudos to thattagen for making the pic I’m using for cover art. Also, I’d like to make a shout-out to WarrenHutch for writing Screwball in a Jekyll-Hyde-style story a bajillion years before me, not to mention that one got featured on EqD. Chapter 2: Meet the ManiacThe so-called Phantom Prankster didn't strike again for a couple weeks. By that time, the police had found a total of three somewhat variable witnesses. Each of the eyewitnesses saw the Phantom Prankster in the middle of the night, so they could only make out a blurry silhouette hovering around in the air and performing the acts of vandalism with instantaneous speed. Oddly, they also described him/her as having no wings to speak of. What they also could confirm was that the Phantom Prankster had the body build of a mare, had a coat that somehow ranged from pink to light purple, and a long, purple-and-white-striped mane & tail that billowed in the wind. As for me, I threw that propeller beanie in the garbage without a second notion. What could I have use for a propeller beanie, anyway? I always thought they looked positively stupid. Sure, I could turn it to the police for further evidence, but I had no actual proof that it belonged to the Phantom Prankster in the first place. Then, after two weeks of peace, the Phantom Prankster made a second attack. This time, she replaced all our running water with a disgusting amount of maple syrup. She also switched the color scheme of every blank-flanked foal in town, so it was nigh-impossible to tell who was who. (But then again, I have to admit, Scootaloo did look pretty good with Applebloom’s colors.) Her pranks seemed to affect everypony, from eight-foot-tall monsters made out of 100% mustard to switching Pinkie Pie’s secret stash of candy with a lifetime supply of brussel sprouts and broken light bulbs. And guess what? She moved me while I was sleeping AGAIN. I woke up that morning with my head uncomfortably lodged in one of Fluttershy’s birdhouses. It took nearly three hours to get myself unstuck. So, I had to cast my fail-safe spell again. This time, my magic curiously seemed to lack absolute effect. Only half of Pinkie Pie’s candy was turned back, and the eight-foot-tall mustard monsters were instead transformed into less-than-terrifying eight-inch-tall mustard monsters. Oh, and just to mess with me, the Phantom Prankster also left her stupid beanie under my pillow again. That time, I turned it over to the authorities. After several tests of magical examination, the Royal Guard told me that there was nothing enchanted about it, and that it possessed no solid evidence whatsoever. So yeah, I was allowed to keep the hat. I burned it. It took only one more week for the Phantom Prankster to launch her next barrage of misery for Ponyville. She also only pulled one prank: She moved the entire town smack dab in the middle of the Everfree Forest. It took me three unsuccessful tries before I could cast the fail-safe spell properly. I was never sure whether my magic was getting weaker, that the Prankster’s was getting stronger, or that I was distracted because I was moved into a manticore den twenty miles away while I was still asleep. On the bright side, I got a brand-new propeller beanie out of it. Whoopie. That day, I decided enough was enough. I was going to catch this evildoer if it was the last thing I did. I planned on catching her in the act of religiously ponynapping me. I moved my bed into the basement, bought the most advanced security cameras that I could afford, and locked the basement door every single night with special spell that devised my own. (Basically, it could only be open with my magical signature.) If the Phantom Prankster was going to break in again, she would have to break the door down, and nopony can really do that with making a considerable amount of noise. I convinced my friends to take shifts watching the entrance to my new bedroom. (But not after a lengthy amount of bargaining. Rarity insisted that she did her shift in her custom-made silk pajamas.) Then, three days afterward, I woke up one morning to find the basement completely trashed. Lamps were broken, chairs were smashed against the wall, my mattress had a rather impressive hole punched through it, but the only door to the basement was completely intact. I raced upstairs, wanting to see what happened last night. I unlocked the door with the releasing spell, and went to the ground floor with great haste. “What happened?” I asked Fluttershy, the pony that was on duty at the time. “Did you hear any noises?” “No Twilight, I just got here,” Fluttershy replied. “Oh, and good morning. Did you sleep well? Spike and I made you some cute little heart-shaped waffles.” “The time for waffles can wait,” I dismissed. “Let’s see the security tape. I want to see the face of the pony who wrecked my basement!” Fluttershy, accompanied by Spike, watched as I took tonight’s camera footage and inserted it in our magically-powered DVD player. The image of me soundly sleeping flickered to life. The color was restricted to black and white, but I managed to afford audio. For a while, we observed in silence as Past-Me slept undisturbed. For the sake of time, we put the footage on fast-forward until we saw anything strange. Then, around midnight, Past-Twilight got up from bed. She... I... looked different. The colors on the screen were still shades of grey, but it was unmistakable that my coat and mane had somehow changed. My once-straightly-combed hair had sprung into a swirling mass of purple and white. It moved unnaturally, reminding me somewhat of Princess Celestia’s mane. As Past-Me looked to the camera, I could see the my eyes had lost their pupils and turned into spinning whirlpools of madness. The most disturbing detail of all was that I had lost my horn. Past-Me then stuck hoof deep in her ear, pulled out a familiar propeller beanie with a soft pop, crammed it on top of her head, and gave large, goofy grin. We all collectively gasped. I was the Phantom Prankster. The image of me matched the witnesses’ descriptions perfectly. All this time, I’ve been trying to stop the Phantom Prankster from terrorizing the citizens of Ponyville, but I never would’ve thought she’d be staying under my own roof! For a good, long while, nopony said anything. Finally, it was the Phantom Prankster that broke the silence. “Are you my Mommy?” she/me/whoevershewas said, addressing the camera. “Is Mommy watching me?” Her voice was innocent and high-pitched, like that of a filly. “You are, aren’t you Mommy?” Her tone went from questioning to smug. “Did you want to keep an eye on me? Is that why you put up these cameras? It won’t work, Mommy.” She sat down and crossed her legs as her face went from a mindless foal to a look that belonged to a sassy teenager. “Still, before I go out for the night, I think it’s high time we’ve met, Mommy.” She gestured to herself. “My name’s Screwball. What’s yours?” She paused. “I know you can hear me, Mommy. I sure as hell can hear you. Right in the back of my head. Nonstop, all the time. I can hear your thoughts. All of your old, boring thoughts.” She took up a mocking tone, doing a bad imitation of my voice. “‘Study this! Organize that! Alphabetize these!’ All day, every day! I’M SICK OF IT, MOMMY!” Screwball glared at the camera for a full minute. “Well? What are you waiting for? Answer me! I can hear you Mommy, answer me already! Go ahead, think of a number. I can guess it, easy as chocolate milk.” I said nothing. “Go ahead Mommy, guess! It’s a game! You like games, don’tcha Mommy?” I remained silent. “Any number, a big, fat number. Any silly, big, fat number! Are you too scared to play, Mommy?” “Forty-two!” I blurted. “Forty-two,” Screwball said immediately. There was an “Eep!” from Fluttershy. “Bet I was right, wasn’t I Mommy?” Screwball smirked. “I’m in your head!~ I’m in your head!~” she chanted like a schoolkid on the playground. “Bet that gave you a fright, didn’t it? I bet it did, Mommy.” She gave a maniacal grin. “Well, it’s been a blast messing with you, but I’ve got some havoc to wreak.” She made a bolt for the basement door. There was a brief moment, and she raced back to the camera. “What’s going on? Why can’t I open the door??” I realized something. The door could only be unlocked by my own magic. Therefore, Screwball was trapped there for the entire night. “Mommy, what is this? Why won’t you let me out?!? I’ve gotta have my fun! LET ME HAVE MY FUN!!!” Her eyes changed. Her whites turned to a sickly yellow, and her swirly, pupiless irises changed to fiery-red. Gone was foallike demeanor. She looked more genuinely angry than anypony I’ve ever met in my entire life. In fact, she now looked more like a rabid animal than a pony. “I HATE YOU, MOMMY!!!! IHATEYOUIHATEYOUIHATEYOUIHATEYOUIHATEYOUIHATEYOUIHATEYOUIHATEYOUIHATEYOUIHATEYOUIHATEYOUIHATEYOUIHATEYOU!!!! AAAARRRRUUUGGGHHH!!!!!!!!!” Continuing her tantrum, Screwball went and destroyed all the furniture she could find, mercilessly bashing it against the walls. “Well, at least we now know how your basement got trashed,” Spike noted, not taking his eyes off the video. Eventually, Screwball threw a pillow at the security camera, ending the transmission. The three of us sat in silence, not know what else to say. I was still shocked over the fact that the one behind all of this was me. Well, sort of. I still wasn’t sure about the details yet. It was all terribly confusing and frightening. What was that monster that we saw? Where did it come from? What were we supposed to do about it? “I’m contacting the Princess,” I said, standing up. “What?” Fluttershy said, a horrified look still plastered on her face. “Twilight, you can’t! You can’t tell anypony about this!” “Why not?” “Because if you do, you’ll be taken away. You’ll be put in some secret laboratory far away from Ponyville, where the government would perform all kind of painful tests every day for the rest of your life!” “That’s the plan,” I said. “Wait, what?” I bit my lip. “Well... yeah, that’s the plan. It’s exactly what I would do if I was in Celestia’s place. I would go through any means necessary to cure my faithful student. Sure, it might take a year or two, but we would find a cure. Besides, this could launch scientific progress ahead generations!” “What if they don’t if they don’t find a cure?” asked a worried Spike. “What if we all never get to see you again? What if during one of those experiments... you die?” I have to admit, he stopped me there. I took a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves. “Okay, I won’t tell anypony. I promise you, I’m not going anywhere,” I said. “But that means we’ll have to find a way to keep the other me under control.” *Video starts recording* “Hello, Screwball. My name is Twilight Sparkle. I’m that voice in your head. And if the nickname you gave me is any logical indication, I’m also somehow your mother. “By now, you’ve obviously noticed that you’ve been locked in my basement again, but this time with a TV, so we could speak. I don’t know how or why you’re in my body, but I want to offer a truce. Until then, consider yourself grounded. “My friend, named Fluttershy, believes that we can coexist in peace. I’m willing to try to make that happen, but I need you to agree with some rules. “...Yes, rules. Don’t talk back to me, young lady. “Rule #1: You can’t hurt anyone anymore. I’m sorry, but we live in modern society. That means we have to obey the laws and social norms. For example, no more vandalising other’s personal property with ice cream. “Rule #2: Neither one of us tells anypony that we share a body. That also means no changing between Twilight and Screwball in public. Got it? “Rule #3: I’ve agreed not to search for a cure. That goes both ways. You’re not allowed to get rid of me, and I’m not allowed to get rid of you. I believe that’s called ‘trust.’ “Rule #4: In return for you not hurting anypony, I’m going to try to ‘loosen up.’ I’m going to take more chances. I’m going to squeeze more fun in my life. I’ve got a plan to do that, and her name’s Pinkie Pie. To put it simply, I’m trying to make my head a more comfortable environment, so you’re not so cranky all the time. “Rule #5: You’ve probably noticed that you might be holding a tape recorder. That’s the way I’ve decided we can directly communicate. That said, don’t ever lose it. If you feel like you’re going to change back into me, press ‘record’ and tell me where you are and what you were just doing. “Rule #6: If either one of us breaks the rules, then it officially qualifies as a declaration of all-out war. Believe me, it would be a war you would never win. “I patiently await your response.” Author's Note Remember when I could update The Unexpected Love Life of Dusk Shine this fast? Me neither. Screwball's defining scene was loosely based off this scene from a show on BBC. The original goes a bit darker, and it sadly does not employ the number 42. Chapter 3: When You Stare Into the Abyss...Screwball’s response took three days and nights. I was still doubtful on my decision of negotiating with this ‘other side’ of me, but every time I attempted to bring up the option of sending myself to a laboratory to Spike or Fluttershy, they urged me otherwise. It was very unlikely of Fluttershy in particular to be so forceful, but she seemed sincerely frighted of the idea of me being the speculation of scientific research. She told me again and again about how it was a bad idea to let doctors that knew next to none about my condition jab random needles into me. I suppose she had a point. It was morning now, and I was observing for any sign of Screwball in last night’s video as I sipped my morning coffee. To my startelement, I was successful. The camera caught the footage of the full transformation of my sleeping body. Seeing the complete, uncut metamorphosis between myself and Screwball was... a uniquely disturbing experience for me. Before then, the camera was a bit tilted the wrong way, and the portion where Sleeping!Twilight ended and the psycho-pony began was largely offscreen. After that, we had the camera adjusted, so we could get footage of the switch between me and my... daughter. (Ugh, I still get a bad taste in my mouth after saying that.) I was curious, after all. I wanted to see how I changed into her. I wasn’t so curious anymore. The first symptom that Past-Me shown was something that’s called Rapid Eye Movement. (REM) It’s when your eyes flick around when you’re asleep, and it’s a widely accepted theory that it’s a giveaway sign that a pony is dreaming. RPM can vary greatly in intensity, from small twitches that are undetectable without the the most advanced scientific equipment to violent winces that even occasionally change your expression to that of discomfort and anguish. Unfortunately, Past-Me’s REM fell into the latter category. It looked like I was having a terrible nightmare. The next stage was the spasms. My limbs shot out in different directions, twisting in odd and impossible ways. I’ve seen Pinkie Pie do some very strange things with her body, but it was nothing like this. Whenever Pinkie defied the basics of pony anatomy, from extending her leg length to bending her body in shapes that would make a circus acrobat turn green with envy, she always made it look like it was natural for her to do all of it, as if her bones are made of rubber. What I was seeing was completely different. The manner Past-Me’s body bent itself looked increasingly painful, and I swear I never heard so many bones crack at once. It was like watching a mangled fish work its way out of a straitjacket while simultaneously trying to break its own back. The spasms ceased as abruptly as they started, and Past-Me lay still, her chest heaving from all the exercise. Finally, there were the physical changes. My mane and tail exploded into a whirling cloud of purple and stark-white, moving as if it were alive. My previous self opened her eyes, showing spirals of violet chaos that twirled around in their sockets like spinning tops. My horn quickly vanished into my forehead with a sound that could roughly be spelled like this: *shcoolp-POP!* A feature that was new to me that I had changed my cutie mark. The image that decorated my flanks was now a baseball and a screw. I began to wonder in the corner of my mind what Screwball’s special talent was. Was it sports? Carpedering? Pulling pranks? Causing confusion? Did it have anything to do with what I was good at? Shrugging the question aside for later, I kept watching. I saw Screwball get up out of bed on the monochrome screen. She was obviously still upset that she was locked in the basement for another night, and she said some... undesirable things at the camera that I’d rather not repeat to you. (Remind me to wash out my own mouth with soap later.) After her rant, Screwball noticed the newest installments to the basement: a television with an old VCR. She watched the video I prepared for her, commenting on it as it played. “...I’m willing to try to make that happen,” my recorded voice explained, “but I need you to agree with some rules.” Screwball groaned painfully. “Rules? Really, Mommy?” “Yes, rules.” “Rules were made to be broken! What do we need dumb ol’ rules for, anyway?” “Don’t talk back to me, young lady. Rule #1: You can’t hurt anyone anymore.” “Where’s the fun in that?” “I’m sorry, but we live in modern society. That means we have to obey the laws and social norms. For example, no more vandalising other’s personal property with ice cream.” “But everypony loves ice cream!” she protested. “You got a thing against ice cream? If you don’t like ice cream, you’re evil! Evil to the core!” “Rule #2...” “Wait, there’s more than one rule??” “Neither one of us tells anypony that we share a body. That also means no changing between Twilight and Screwball in public. Got it?” “I’m bored. Five seconds in and you’ve already bored me. That’s a new record, Mommy.” “Rule #3: I’ve agreed not to search for a cure. That goes both ways. You’re not allowed to get rid of me, and I’m not allowed to get rid of you. I believe that’s called ‘trust.’” “You mean to tell me I’m stuck with you? You’re mean, Mommy! I want to have fun every day!” ““Rule #4: In return for you not hurting anypony, I’m going to try to ‘loosen up.’” “Yeah, that’ll happen. How about you start with removing that seven-yard pole that’s lodged up your butt?” “I’m going to take more chances. I’m going to squeeze more fun in my life. I’ve got a plan to do that, and her name’s Pinkie Pie.” “Pinkie Pie? Who’s that? Can I be in her body instead? I bet she a million times more fun than you.” “To put it simply, I’m trying to make my head a more comfortable environment, so you’re not so cranky all the time.” “I’m the cranky one? You should speak for yourself, Mommy.” “Rule #5: You’ve probably noticed that you might be holding a tape recorder. That’s the way I’ve decided we can directly communicate.” “Why would I want to talk to you? You’re the most humdrum pony on the planet!” “That said, don’t ever lose it. If you feel like you’re going to change back into me, press ‘record’ and tell me where you are and what you were just doing.” “Sounds like a chore. Are you done yet? I want to come out and play, Mommy. I want to have my fun. Right now.” “Rule #6: If either one of us breaks the rules, then it officially qualifies as a declaration of all-out war. Believe me, it would be a war you would never win.” “Blah blah blah, can we skip to the end already? I feel like I’m going to explode if I spend another night here. Oh, and Mommy? This technically qualifies as holding me hostage.” “I patiently await your response.” “It’s over? Mommy finally shut her stupid face? Great! Let’s not waste any time,” Screwball said gleefully. “I’ll give it to you straight: The answer is no. I’d rather be waterboarded than spend the rest of my life living by your oh-so-precious rules.” She pondered for a moment, her eyes lazily turning in circles. “Hold that thought for a second, I may have an idea. How about I make the rules?” I almost spit up my coffee when I heard this. “What? You can’t possibly be serious.” “Serious?” Screwball parroted, her black-and-white head on the screen tilting to the side. “I’m hardly ever serious. Right now, I’m being threatening; there’s difference. It’s a hobby of mine, being threatening.” I stared at my crazed double through the screen, unbelieving. “You just said that you hated the very concept of rules! What this about making your own?” “Simple,” she said, giving me that awful grin of hers again. “These rules concern you. I don’t have to follow them. Isn’t that wonderful? “Rule #1: You let me the outta this room. No exceptions, no strings attached. And definately not on your terms. “Rule #2: You disappear. You close your eyes, release that tiring old grip on reality, and let me drive. FOREVER. “Easy, isn’t it? Those are only two rules. You just dragged on and on about things like ‘trust’ and ‘coexistence.’ This is a much better solution.” I gawked. “That’s... madness! There’s no way I’m doing that! I have a life, you know. I have hopes and dreams! Do you think I’m going to throw all of that away, just because you tell me to??” The insane pony in the video laughed. “Do you really presume that I care what you think? That’s cute, Mommy. Real cute. You think you have the advantage, locking me up in here? You think that I’ll just go along and obey whatever you tell me to do? Newsflash, Mommy: YOU’RE NOT THE BOSS OF ME!” I hit ‘power’ on the TV remote. I’m sorry, but I just couldn’t watch anymore. Screwball is a very, very, very sick pony. I was a fool to ever think we could negotiate. “Spike, take a letter,” I called to my number-one assistant. “We’re contacting the Princess about-HRK!” W͊ͬ̿̿҉̫͈̯͖̩̰ã̽ͧ̿ͮ҉̵̫̳̙̟̫͝į̫̹͖̜͈ͪ͟ţ̟̰̜͊̔̈́̅͌ͧ͆͜,̴͙̜̰̜̻̩̖̩̅̈́ͮ̑̌ ̦͎͆͊͌̎ͪͮ͝͝w̼̰̭̞̬̋̇ͭ͌̒ͫͪ̀͐͢h̖̦̗͚͉̣̮̀ͨ͆ͭ͢͠ͅa̮͖ͫ̕ͅt̝̳̻͙͌̇ͥ͂͛ͧ͘ͅ’̴̏̓͗͌ͦͭͭ͐͒͏̥̬̮̭̹̝s̵̡̲̥͕̰̰̠̙̣͙ͯ̂̊̆̆̿̏͐ ͓͖̘̒h̛͎̭̤̠͖̊̊́̀̕a͍̮̗͂̆̍ͬ͌̽p̨̝͓̳̙̼͉̦̓̾ͫ̓̃ͬͩ̚͜p̶̢̠̹̞̬̭͔̲͌̐̄̀̀̄͂e̟͍̖̺͙̦̽͒́̀̕ǹ̡͚̞̤͚̉ͭ̈́̍ͣ͆̊̕ǐ̴͍͎̝̝̩̟̠͗̏̑n͉̪̭̳͉͖ͪ̏̏ͧ̓̉́̀̕͞g̝̖͚̬̓̽ͬ͢ ̵̜̤̼͗ͨͬ̔͋ͤͪ͘t̗͈͍͆ͩõ̩͇͚͇ͬ͞͞ ͗̀̃͑̆ͩ̅ͤ̕͢͏̩͉m̟̳̉ͦ͗͋̊̽͆͗ͅȅ̛̩̫̪͖̦̰̦̫̌͐̓͗ͯ́?̮̠̈ͫ͌̍͡ ̛̮̠̹̭̮̱̫̼̓͌ͫ̽Į̸̙̜͍̯͖̜͚ͩ̓̌̾ͯ͒ͯ̀ ̱̫͚͓̾̈͗̈ͣ̍͆f̽̾͊̓ͬ̀͋̚͟҉̙ě̤̫͓̜̄͘͢͡e̱̹̞͈̙͌̇̊l̶̨̮̬͕̱͚͖͓͖̱̀ͦ̎.̝̮̹̺͉̻͙͆̿̊̒͊͊ͬ̕.̺̻̞̲̗̲ͮ̏̽̉̉͛ͦ̅͘͝.̊͌҉̳̭̥̣͖͔̖͢ ̭̲̲͖̳ͣͨa̴͕̣̙͇͎̹̮͚͐͛ͦļ̥̪͉ͦͣ͌̋͟͜l̶̡͕̺̯͕̱͓͔̯̰̋ͩ.̭̲̾͑̆̅̑͆͢.̶̩̮̱̣̬̹ͬ͛̏̿.͔͇͉͍̦̮̜͍ͮ̊̓̈̎ͯ̕͝ ̠̝͚͈̓̎ͧ̂̓̅̚̕ͅf̛͙̠͋̈́̚̕ǔ̸̷͔̰̪̙̜͎̺̎̂͒̈̐́̊ͩ͞z̳̼͓͔̻̊ͧ̂z̶͕͚͍ͣ̓́͞ͅy̗̝͙̩͎̲͙̦̖ͦ͋̽́͟͟.̛̺͓̙͚̘͔͒.̯̩̖͍̮̽̌ͮ.̣̣̻͔͑̓ͮ̊̀͐̐͜͝͞ HALLELUJAH! I thought Mommy would never stop talking. Well, sort of. She’s still in here, unfortunately. You should hear her right now. She’s super-cranky! Such naughty words you’re saying, Mommy! Not that I’m listening, mind you. Once you go through a few nights of non-stop yapping from Twilight Dorkle, you tend to tune her out with a sort of numb feeling. Anyways, I’m finally FREE! Hooray! Out of that dusty old basement! Maybe I could have some honest-to-goodness fun this time. “Twilight?” a voice said, coming from the kitchen. “I thought I heard you call me and-WHOA! You’re not Twilight! I thought you only changed during the night!” Ah yes, the baby dragon. I sorta caught a glimpse of him sleeping the first time I came out to play. Then again, I was too busy jumping out of the upstairs window to really get a good look at anything that belonged to Mommy. I gave him a smile. “I’m too cool for a schedule, ya overgrown lizard,” I said. “Now, outta my way! I’ve got some time to make up. Ponyville isn’t going toilet-paper itself, you know.” I jumped out of the nearest window, laughing as gleefully as a schoolfilly on the last day of school. Good News, Bad News TimeHey, it’s the author here. Despite the title of this specific chapter, this is more of a “bad news, good news time,” since I’m going to say the bad news first. That bad news in question is something you’ve probably already noticed: This story is officially cancelled. It’s with a heavy heart that I admit that I’ve lost the inspiration and passion in writing this fic. I strongly sympathize with your disappointment. This was a spectacular concept, and not to mention a great characterization of the infamous background pony Screwball. She was a lot of fun to read, and even more fun to write. But sadly, I have too many other things in my hands. BUT NEVER FEAR! Your salvation comes by the name of Vicron. He’s written fics such as Mask of Evil, In Which Our Six Favorite Ponies Ask the Big Question, and my personal favorite, How “A Canterlot Wedding” Should Have Ended. He came along this story, found that it was cancelled, and became fascinated by the concept Twilight being possesed. He offered to continue it NOT by a Fimfiction story, but a Tumblr blog instead. You can actually see the idea being tossed around by him and I in the comments section. He said that he’d not only love to continue this fic, but also update it frequently. So, if you want more Screwhead, click the links below and give this blog a follow! Click here for the blog’s current page. Click here for the first page.
Chapter 1: The Fun BeginsIt was past sundown at Golden Oaks, Ponyville’s local library. My friends were wrapping up their first friendship letter to Celestia. It mostly consisted of how you should listen to your friend’s problems, no matter how small they are. In retrospect, it really wasn’t much of a lesson they learned. It was more or less their way of saying sorry to me. It didn’t really address the issue that I almost destroyed Ponyville with a doll, and the letter itself was more personal then professional. And you know what? I didn’t really care. It may sound a bit selfish, I needed them to feel sorry for me. I need them to feel guilty for me. I was having the worst day of my life until they barged in, begging Celestia not to send me away. When the Princess walked me home, I was beginning to think that she was planning to do a lot worse than send me to magic kindergarten. The ‘Want it, Need it’ spell was outlawed in twenty-nine different countries for a reason, you know. I crossed a major line today. Any other unicorn in my position would be sitting in prison by now. What was I thinking? But much to my surprise, I faced no consequences. I didn’t get arrested. I didn’t get a stern talking to. I didn’t own up to my mistakes. I never was punished for breaking the law. A pardon wasn’t even necessary for me. It seemed like all of Ponyville blushed in embarrassment, looked the other way and said to me, “Let’s pretend this never happened, Twilight.” In short, I got off very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very lucky. It felt wrong. Then, my friends wrote that letter. They took my big, heavy, growing ball of self-inflicted guilt, brought it all out in the open and outright forgave me for my failure. It was surprisingly comforting. That’s all I needed. I didn’t need somepony to punish me or lock me in a dungeon. I needed somepony to notice that I screwed up and tell me that it wasn’t entirely my fault, somepony will always be there for me when I fall down, and everything will be alright now. That’s it. All I needed was a hug. A proverbial hug, if you will. It was big relief on my part. After my friends left, I went through my get-ready-for-bed checklist, step by step. Make sure that I checked all my checklists that I wanted to complete for today? Check. Go read Relaxation for Eggheads while taking a well-deserved therapeutic bath with scented candles? Check. Dry off with a towel? Check. Brush my mane? Check. Brush my tail? Check. Brush my teeth? Check. Floss? Check. Gurgle, rise, and spit? Triple check. Remind Spike to brush his own teeth? Check. Watch my Tuesday episode of Quantum Physics and Love Affairs while wearing that snuggie Rarity gave me? Check. Make my bed? Check. Make Spike’s bed? Check. Open the bedroom window in case Owlicious wants to go outside tonight? Check. Tuck Spike in and give him a kiss goodnight? Check. Ignore Spike’s complaints about receiving a kiss goodnight? Check. Tuck myself in? Check. Recheck everything on the checklist to see if I didn’t forget everything? Check. Go to sleep? No check required. That night, I dreamed that a filly was laughing at me. “Twilight?” Mmmmph. Too early. Lemme sleep. “Twilight? Wake up.” Just five more minutes, Mom… “TWILIGHT! GET YER FLANK OUTTA MAH TREE!” My eye shot open as I was jolted awake. Before I could even think, I fell out down a good ten feet to the ground. The surface I fell on was hard, grassy and was covered in dirt. I was somehow outside. I looked up to meet the irritated face of Applejack. “What in tarnation were ya doin’?” AJ snapped. “We were lookin’ fer ya all day. Ya had all of us worried sick!” I took a good look around. For some bizarre reason, I was in Sweet apple Acres. Judging by the position of the sun hanging in the clear blue sky, I guessed it was around two ‘o clock in the afternoon. Applejack was accompanied by Rainbow Dash, Pinkie Pie, Rarity, Fluttershy and Spike. Their expressions varied greatly, from worried and relieved to frustrated and confused. I stood up as I failed to answer Applejack’s question. “What happened?” was all I could say. I was still in a bit of a daze. “That’s what we want to know,’ said an annoyed Rainbow Dash. “Spike didn’t find you in bed this morning, so we formed a search party. After we looked, like, forever, we found you sleeping in this apple tree. Napping in trees is my thing, and I have a right mind to-” Pinkie Pie cut Rainbow Dash off short with her usual Pinkie-ness. “But now that we’ve found you, we can celebrate with a PARTY!” A small burst of confetti exploded behind her to punctuate the last word of her sentence. My eye twitched at the violation of the laws of physics. (It’s a reflex.) “You know,” Rarity mused, “Twilight is probably just another victim of the Phantom Prankster.” “Phantom Prankster?” I inquired. “What are you talking about?” “I think it’s best of we show you,” said Fluttershy. “That is, if you don’t mind.” I walked into the streets of Ponyville with my companions, not sure what to expect. Looking back, I believe it was for the best that I didn’t expect anything in particular. Otherwise, I would’ve died of shock at what I was about to see. This didn’t mean I still wasn’t horrified, though. Ponyville looked awful! Everywhere I looked, something was vandalized in an unnatural and unusual manner. It was like a bunch of ponies looked at this town and said, “Hey, you know what would be funny? We could turn every other thing we find upside-down or inside-out. It’ll be a riot!” Somepony had superglued cantaloupes on every roof. The local elementary school had badly-written profanities scribbled all over it with lime-green spray paint. Ponies everywhere were trying to walk about normally, but this proved difficult with half of them covered with the world’s strongest itching powder. All the plates in the antique store were smashed to pieces. The brick walls that made up the buildings were magically turned into pineapple-flavored jell-o, which was slowly melting in the summer heat. Furniture had been moved out onto the streets and was inexplicably… dancing? “I haven’t seen mayhem like this since Discord broke out,” I said as a crowd of disembodied afros politely waddled by. “That’s what I said,” Spike added as he glanced at a team of four ponies trying to stop a deranged ostrich from painting a window blue. “I also thought he was behind all this, because of the freaky magic and all.” “Is he?” Spike shook his head as passing pegasus continued an argument with her second head, which had grown overnight. “No, I sent a letter to the Princesses. The old dude’s still safely in stone. They also said it would be a gazillion years before he could break out again.” “The police are majorly going bananas about this,” remarked Rainbow Dash. “They’re searching for witnesses like crazy, but they’ve found nothing yet.” “The newspaper calls the culprit, ‘the Phaaaantom Praaaankster,’” Pinkie said in the spookiest voice she could muster, “because noooopony’s ever seen him!” “Or her,” noted Rarity. I scrunched my nose in thought as Berry Punch worked to wipe of the eggs that were pelted against her mailbox, just like everyone else’s. “If this isn’t Discord’s doing,” I began, “then logically, whoever did this must be using must be using some form of weaker magic than him. And if that’s true, then I can do… THIS!” I focused as my horn began to glow brightly. With great concentration, I cast the fail-safe spell I had prepared when Discord first started to cause trouble. There was an earth-shattering wave of purple magic, spreading throughout Ponyville. Much to everyone's surprise, it worked perfectly. The spray paint on the schoolhouse disappeared, the afros went back and attached themselves to the respective heads that owned them, and every single piece of furniture stopped dancing. As an added bonus, I even made the ostrich I mentioned beforehoof stop mindlessly painting things, and it went on about its business. Everything was back to normal. Order was restored in Ponyville. Ponies broke out in cheers and clopped in applause as I smiled in satisfaction of a job well done. With praise like this, I should use that spell more often. The rest of my day went by quickly. Pinkie Pie threw her ‘We found Twilight Sleeping in an Apple Tree Party’ by combining it with her ‘Thanks to Twilight for Stopping Ponyville from Itching Party.’ As an ironic joke, she served pineapple jell-o. Not too many ponies found that very funny, but since it was a party, they laughed anyway. The Royal Guard came by afterward and asked few questions about the Phantom Prankster, since I was not only absent during the events of his/her pranks, but I was also the only pony around that knew a way to fix all of them at once. (I have to admit, that does sound a bit suspicious when you look at it with a fresh eye.) I told them that I was happy to help return Ponyville to normal, but I otherwise had nothing to do with the case. Other than that, my day was pretty uneventful, which was perfectly fine with me. I’ve had enough excitement for one week. It was after dark again. I was closing up the library for the night, since we were once again not getting any customers. It disturbs me how little Golden Oaks gets business. Nopony in this community even has a library card. I don’t mean to sound rude, but how the hay does this town’s population even know how to read? I’ve seen Cheerilee’s classroom, and the most advanced-level book on the children’s shelves is named Captain Underpants and the Poopy Plotholes from Uranus. I swear, not a single encyclopedia in sight. I’ve been meaning to fix this by recently hosting lectures on the importance of literacy. Unfortunately, I haven’t had much luck in getting any attention. You see, my speeches have been said to “last too long,” “bore ponies to death,” and of course, the most frequently heard complaint: I apparently “use too many big words.” Umm… yeah, you might say my relationship with the rest of Ponyville is a little complicated. Very complicated, in fact. On one hoof, I saved the whole of Equestria twice, so I’m a bit of a town hero. On the other hoof, I’m often closely associated with big mistakes that tend to be remembered, such as the parasprite incident or the ‘Want it, Need it’ spell. Finally, if you disregard the first two, I’m just a unicorn that tends to be a teensy bit nerdy from time to time. To make things short, I carry a reputation around Ponyville, but at the same time, I can’t really carry any influence, neither politically nor socially. So yeah, my friends and I get ignored most of the time, and some days it gets a little frustrating. I mean, what do I have to do to get some respect around here? Sprout wings and become royalty? But I digress; it’s time to go back to what I was doing. I was once again going through my get-ready-for-bed checklist. Namely, I had started making my bed. As I gave my pillow a good levitation-fluffing, I discovered (to my slight startlement) something I’ve never seen before. It was a small object, and I didn’t think relatively much about it at the time. It seemed so insignificant; I barely gave it a second glace. However, it did make something click in my brain. I called down to Spike, who was back downstairs. “Spike, could you come up here?” “What is it?” “Remember when I cast that fail-safe spell?” “Yeah, why?” “And it erased every last bit of chaos in Ponyville, magically created or otherwise?” “What's your point?” “Answer me this: If my spell worked perfectly, then why did I find this propeller beanie under my pillow?” Author's Note Ever been inspired to write a fanfic just by a piece of fanart? They’re a dime a dozen on this site. So yeah, I must confess I’m being a bit unoriginal here. I still think this is a good story, though. That said, kudos to thattagen for making the pic I’m using for cover art. Also, I’d like to make a shout-out to WarrenHutch for writing Screwball in a Jekyll-Hyde-style story a bajillion years before me, not to mention that one got featured on EqD.
Chapter 2: Meet the ManiacThe so-called Phantom Prankster didn't strike again for a couple weeks. By that time, the police had found a total of three somewhat variable witnesses. Each of the eyewitnesses saw the Phantom Prankster in the middle of the night, so they could only make out a blurry silhouette hovering around in the air and performing the acts of vandalism with instantaneous speed. Oddly, they also described him/her as having no wings to speak of. What they also could confirm was that the Phantom Prankster had the body build of a mare, had a coat that somehow ranged from pink to light purple, and a long, purple-and-white-striped mane & tail that billowed in the wind. As for me, I threw that propeller beanie in the garbage without a second notion. What could I have use for a propeller beanie, anyway? I always thought they looked positively stupid. Sure, I could turn it to the police for further evidence, but I had no actual proof that it belonged to the Phantom Prankster in the first place. Then, after two weeks of peace, the Phantom Prankster made a second attack. This time, she replaced all our running water with a disgusting amount of maple syrup. She also switched the color scheme of every blank-flanked foal in town, so it was nigh-impossible to tell who was who. (But then again, I have to admit, Scootaloo did look pretty good with Applebloom’s colors.) Her pranks seemed to affect everypony, from eight-foot-tall monsters made out of 100% mustard to switching Pinkie Pie’s secret stash of candy with a lifetime supply of brussel sprouts and broken light bulbs. And guess what? She moved me while I was sleeping AGAIN. I woke up that morning with my head uncomfortably lodged in one of Fluttershy’s birdhouses. It took nearly three hours to get myself unstuck. So, I had to cast my fail-safe spell again. This time, my magic curiously seemed to lack absolute effect. Only half of Pinkie Pie’s candy was turned back, and the eight-foot-tall mustard monsters were instead transformed into less-than-terrifying eight-inch-tall mustard monsters. Oh, and just to mess with me, the Phantom Prankster also left her stupid beanie under my pillow again. That time, I turned it over to the authorities. After several tests of magical examination, the Royal Guard told me that there was nothing enchanted about it, and that it possessed no solid evidence whatsoever. So yeah, I was allowed to keep the hat. I burned it. It took only one more week for the Phantom Prankster to launch her next barrage of misery for Ponyville. She also only pulled one prank: She moved the entire town smack dab in the middle of the Everfree Forest. It took me three unsuccessful tries before I could cast the fail-safe spell properly. I was never sure whether my magic was getting weaker, that the Prankster’s was getting stronger, or that I was distracted because I was moved into a manticore den twenty miles away while I was still asleep. On the bright side, I got a brand-new propeller beanie out of it. Whoopie. That day, I decided enough was enough. I was going to catch this evildoer if it was the last thing I did. I planned on catching her in the act of religiously ponynapping me. I moved my bed into the basement, bought the most advanced security cameras that I could afford, and locked the basement door every single night with special spell that devised my own. (Basically, it could only be open with my magical signature.) If the Phantom Prankster was going to break in again, she would have to break the door down, and nopony can really do that with making a considerable amount of noise. I convinced my friends to take shifts watching the entrance to my new bedroom. (But not after a lengthy amount of bargaining. Rarity insisted that she did her shift in her custom-made silk pajamas.) Then, three days afterward, I woke up one morning to find the basement completely trashed. Lamps were broken, chairs were smashed against the wall, my mattress had a rather impressive hole punched through it, but the only door to the basement was completely intact. I raced upstairs, wanting to see what happened last night. I unlocked the door with the releasing spell, and went to the ground floor with great haste. “What happened?” I asked Fluttershy, the pony that was on duty at the time. “Did you hear any noises?” “No Twilight, I just got here,” Fluttershy replied. “Oh, and good morning. Did you sleep well? Spike and I made you some cute little heart-shaped waffles.” “The time for waffles can wait,” I dismissed. “Let’s see the security tape. I want to see the face of the pony who wrecked my basement!” Fluttershy, accompanied by Spike, watched as I took tonight’s camera footage and inserted it in our magically-powered DVD player. The image of me soundly sleeping flickered to life. The color was restricted to black and white, but I managed to afford audio. For a while, we observed in silence as Past-Me slept undisturbed. For the sake of time, we put the footage on fast-forward until we saw anything strange. Then, around midnight, Past-Twilight got up from bed. She... I... looked different. The colors on the screen were still shades of grey, but it was unmistakable that my coat and mane had somehow changed. My once-straightly-combed hair had sprung into a swirling mass of purple and white. It moved unnaturally, reminding me somewhat of Princess Celestia’s mane. As Past-Me looked to the camera, I could see the my eyes had lost their pupils and turned into spinning whirlpools of madness. The most disturbing detail of all was that I had lost my horn. Past-Me then stuck hoof deep in her ear, pulled out a familiar propeller beanie with a soft pop, crammed it on top of her head, and gave large, goofy grin. We all collectively gasped. I was the Phantom Prankster. The image of me matched the witnesses’ descriptions perfectly. All this time, I’ve been trying to stop the Phantom Prankster from terrorizing the citizens of Ponyville, but I never would’ve thought she’d be staying under my own roof! For a good, long while, nopony said anything. Finally, it was the Phantom Prankster that broke the silence. “Are you my Mommy?” she/me/whoevershewas said, addressing the camera. “Is Mommy watching me?” Her voice was innocent and high-pitched, like that of a filly. “You are, aren’t you Mommy?” Her tone went from questioning to smug. “Did you want to keep an eye on me? Is that why you put up these cameras? It won’t work, Mommy.” She sat down and crossed her legs as her face went from a mindless foal to a look that belonged to a sassy teenager. “Still, before I go out for the night, I think it’s high time we’ve met, Mommy.” She gestured to herself. “My name’s Screwball. What’s yours?” She paused. “I know you can hear me, Mommy. I sure as hell can hear you. Right in the back of my head. Nonstop, all the time. I can hear your thoughts. All of your old, boring thoughts.” She took up a mocking tone, doing a bad imitation of my voice. “‘Study this! Organize that! Alphabetize these!’ All day, every day! I’M SICK OF IT, MOMMY!” Screwball glared at the camera for a full minute. “Well? What are you waiting for? Answer me! I can hear you Mommy, answer me already! Go ahead, think of a number. I can guess it, easy as chocolate milk.” I said nothing. “Go ahead Mommy, guess! It’s a game! You like games, don’tcha Mommy?” I remained silent. “Any number, a big, fat number. Any silly, big, fat number! Are you too scared to play, Mommy?” “Forty-two!” I blurted. “Forty-two,” Screwball said immediately. There was an “Eep!” from Fluttershy. “Bet I was right, wasn’t I Mommy?” Screwball smirked. “I’m in your head!~ I’m in your head!~” she chanted like a schoolkid on the playground. “Bet that gave you a fright, didn’t it? I bet it did, Mommy.” She gave a maniacal grin. “Well, it’s been a blast messing with you, but I’ve got some havoc to wreak.” She made a bolt for the basement door. There was a brief moment, and she raced back to the camera. “What’s going on? Why can’t I open the door??” I realized something. The door could only be unlocked by my own magic. Therefore, Screwball was trapped there for the entire night. “Mommy, what is this? Why won’t you let me out?!? I’ve gotta have my fun! LET ME HAVE MY FUN!!!” Her eyes changed. Her whites turned to a sickly yellow, and her swirly, pupiless irises changed to fiery-red. Gone was foallike demeanor. She looked more genuinely angry than anypony I’ve ever met in my entire life. In fact, she now looked more like a rabid animal than a pony. “I HATE YOU, MOMMY!!!! IHATEYOUIHATEYOUIHATEYOUIHATEYOUIHATEYOUIHATEYOUIHATEYOUIHATEYOUIHATEYOUIHATEYOUIHATEYOUIHATEYOUIHATEYOU!!!! AAAARRRRUUUGGGHHH!!!!!!!!!” Continuing her tantrum, Screwball went and destroyed all the furniture she could find, mercilessly bashing it against the walls. “Well, at least we now know how your basement got trashed,” Spike noted, not taking his eyes off the video. Eventually, Screwball threw a pillow at the security camera, ending the transmission. The three of us sat in silence, not know what else to say. I was still shocked over the fact that the one behind all of this was me. Well, sort of. I still wasn’t sure about the details yet. It was all terribly confusing and frightening. What was that monster that we saw? Where did it come from? What were we supposed to do about it? “I’m contacting the Princess,” I said, standing up. “What?” Fluttershy said, a horrified look still plastered on her face. “Twilight, you can’t! You can’t tell anypony about this!” “Why not?” “Because if you do, you’ll be taken away. You’ll be put in some secret laboratory far away from Ponyville, where the government would perform all kind of painful tests every day for the rest of your life!” “That’s the plan,” I said. “Wait, what?” I bit my lip. “Well... yeah, that’s the plan. It’s exactly what I would do if I was in Celestia’s place. I would go through any means necessary to cure my faithful student. Sure, it might take a year or two, but we would find a cure. Besides, this could launch scientific progress ahead generations!” “What if they don’t if they don’t find a cure?” asked a worried Spike. “What if we all never get to see you again? What if during one of those experiments... you die?” I have to admit, he stopped me there. I took a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves. “Okay, I won’t tell anypony. I promise you, I’m not going anywhere,” I said. “But that means we’ll have to find a way to keep the other me under control.” *Video starts recording* “Hello, Screwball. My name is Twilight Sparkle. I’m that voice in your head. And if the nickname you gave me is any logical indication, I’m also somehow your mother. “By now, you’ve obviously noticed that you’ve been locked in my basement again, but this time with a TV, so we could speak. I don’t know how or why you’re in my body, but I want to offer a truce. Until then, consider yourself grounded. “My friend, named Fluttershy, believes that we can coexist in peace. I’m willing to try to make that happen, but I need you to agree with some rules. “...Yes, rules. Don’t talk back to me, young lady. “Rule #1: You can’t hurt anyone anymore. I’m sorry, but we live in modern society. That means we have to obey the laws and social norms. For example, no more vandalising other’s personal property with ice cream. “Rule #2: Neither one of us tells anypony that we share a body. That also means no changing between Twilight and Screwball in public. Got it? “Rule #3: I’ve agreed not to search for a cure. That goes both ways. You’re not allowed to get rid of me, and I’m not allowed to get rid of you. I believe that’s called ‘trust.’ “Rule #4: In return for you not hurting anypony, I’m going to try to ‘loosen up.’ I’m going to take more chances. I’m going to squeeze more fun in my life. I’ve got a plan to do that, and her name’s Pinkie Pie. To put it simply, I’m trying to make my head a more comfortable environment, so you’re not so cranky all the time. “Rule #5: You’ve probably noticed that you might be holding a tape recorder. That’s the way I’ve decided we can directly communicate. That said, don’t ever lose it. If you feel like you’re going to change back into me, press ‘record’ and tell me where you are and what you were just doing. “Rule #6: If either one of us breaks the rules, then it officially qualifies as a declaration of all-out war. Believe me, it would be a war you would never win. “I patiently await your response.” Author's Note Remember when I could update The Unexpected Love Life of Dusk Shine this fast? Me neither. Screwball's defining scene was loosely based off this scene from a show on BBC. The original goes a bit darker, and it sadly does not employ the number 42.
Chapter 3: When You Stare Into the Abyss...Screwball’s response took three days and nights. I was still doubtful on my decision of negotiating with this ‘other side’ of me, but every time I attempted to bring up the option of sending myself to a laboratory to Spike or Fluttershy, they urged me otherwise. It was very unlikely of Fluttershy in particular to be so forceful, but she seemed sincerely frighted of the idea of me being the speculation of scientific research. She told me again and again about how it was a bad idea to let doctors that knew next to none about my condition jab random needles into me. I suppose she had a point. It was morning now, and I was observing for any sign of Screwball in last night’s video as I sipped my morning coffee. To my startelement, I was successful. The camera caught the footage of the full transformation of my sleeping body. Seeing the complete, uncut metamorphosis between myself and Screwball was... a uniquely disturbing experience for me. Before then, the camera was a bit tilted the wrong way, and the portion where Sleeping!Twilight ended and the psycho-pony began was largely offscreen. After that, we had the camera adjusted, so we could get footage of the switch between me and my... daughter. (Ugh, I still get a bad taste in my mouth after saying that.) I was curious, after all. I wanted to see how I changed into her. I wasn’t so curious anymore. The first symptom that Past-Me shown was something that’s called Rapid Eye Movement. (REM) It’s when your eyes flick around when you’re asleep, and it’s a widely accepted theory that it’s a giveaway sign that a pony is dreaming. RPM can vary greatly in intensity, from small twitches that are undetectable without the the most advanced scientific equipment to violent winces that even occasionally change your expression to that of discomfort and anguish. Unfortunately, Past-Me’s REM fell into the latter category. It looked like I was having a terrible nightmare. The next stage was the spasms. My limbs shot out in different directions, twisting in odd and impossible ways. I’ve seen Pinkie Pie do some very strange things with her body, but it was nothing like this. Whenever Pinkie defied the basics of pony anatomy, from extending her leg length to bending her body in shapes that would make a circus acrobat turn green with envy, she always made it look like it was natural for her to do all of it, as if her bones are made of rubber. What I was seeing was completely different. The manner Past-Me’s body bent itself looked increasingly painful, and I swear I never heard so many bones crack at once. It was like watching a mangled fish work its way out of a straitjacket while simultaneously trying to break its own back. The spasms ceased as abruptly as they started, and Past-Me lay still, her chest heaving from all the exercise. Finally, there were the physical changes. My mane and tail exploded into a whirling cloud of purple and stark-white, moving as if it were alive. My previous self opened her eyes, showing spirals of violet chaos that twirled around in their sockets like spinning tops. My horn quickly vanished into my forehead with a sound that could roughly be spelled like this: *shcoolp-POP!* A feature that was new to me that I had changed my cutie mark. The image that decorated my flanks was now a baseball and a screw. I began to wonder in the corner of my mind what Screwball’s special talent was. Was it sports? Carpedering? Pulling pranks? Causing confusion? Did it have anything to do with what I was good at? Shrugging the question aside for later, I kept watching. I saw Screwball get up out of bed on the monochrome screen. She was obviously still upset that she was locked in the basement for another night, and she said some... undesirable things at the camera that I’d rather not repeat to you. (Remind me to wash out my own mouth with soap later.) After her rant, Screwball noticed the newest installments to the basement: a television with an old VCR. She watched the video I prepared for her, commenting on it as it played. “...I’m willing to try to make that happen,” my recorded voice explained, “but I need you to agree with some rules.” Screwball groaned painfully. “Rules? Really, Mommy?” “Yes, rules.” “Rules were made to be broken! What do we need dumb ol’ rules for, anyway?” “Don’t talk back to me, young lady. Rule #1: You can’t hurt anyone anymore.” “Where’s the fun in that?” “I’m sorry, but we live in modern society. That means we have to obey the laws and social norms. For example, no more vandalising other’s personal property with ice cream.” “But everypony loves ice cream!” she protested. “You got a thing against ice cream? If you don’t like ice cream, you’re evil! Evil to the core!” “Rule #2...” “Wait, there’s more than one rule??” “Neither one of us tells anypony that we share a body. That also means no changing between Twilight and Screwball in public. Got it?” “I’m bored. Five seconds in and you’ve already bored me. That’s a new record, Mommy.” “Rule #3: I’ve agreed not to search for a cure. That goes both ways. You’re not allowed to get rid of me, and I’m not allowed to get rid of you. I believe that’s called ‘trust.’” “You mean to tell me I’m stuck with you? You’re mean, Mommy! I want to have fun every day!” ““Rule #4: In return for you not hurting anypony, I’m going to try to ‘loosen up.’” “Yeah, that’ll happen. How about you start with removing that seven-yard pole that’s lodged up your butt?” “I’m going to take more chances. I’m going to squeeze more fun in my life. I’ve got a plan to do that, and her name’s Pinkie Pie.” “Pinkie Pie? Who’s that? Can I be in her body instead? I bet she a million times more fun than you.” “To put it simply, I’m trying to make my head a more comfortable environment, so you’re not so cranky all the time.” “I’m the cranky one? You should speak for yourself, Mommy.” “Rule #5: You’ve probably noticed that you might be holding a tape recorder. That’s the way I’ve decided we can directly communicate.” “Why would I want to talk to you? You’re the most humdrum pony on the planet!” “That said, don’t ever lose it. If you feel like you’re going to change back into me, press ‘record’ and tell me where you are and what you were just doing.” “Sounds like a chore. Are you done yet? I want to come out and play, Mommy. I want to have my fun. Right now.” “Rule #6: If either one of us breaks the rules, then it officially qualifies as a declaration of all-out war. Believe me, it would be a war you would never win.” “Blah blah blah, can we skip to the end already? I feel like I’m going to explode if I spend another night here. Oh, and Mommy? This technically qualifies as holding me hostage.” “I patiently await your response.” “It’s over? Mommy finally shut her stupid face? Great! Let’s not waste any time,” Screwball said gleefully. “I’ll give it to you straight: The answer is no. I’d rather be waterboarded than spend the rest of my life living by your oh-so-precious rules.” She pondered for a moment, her eyes lazily turning in circles. “Hold that thought for a second, I may have an idea. How about I make the rules?” I almost spit up my coffee when I heard this. “What? You can’t possibly be serious.” “Serious?” Screwball parroted, her black-and-white head on the screen tilting to the side. “I’m hardly ever serious. Right now, I’m being threatening; there’s difference. It’s a hobby of mine, being threatening.” I stared at my crazed double through the screen, unbelieving. “You just said that you hated the very concept of rules! What this about making your own?” “Simple,” she said, giving me that awful grin of hers again. “These rules concern you. I don’t have to follow them. Isn’t that wonderful? “Rule #1: You let me the outta this room. No exceptions, no strings attached. And definately not on your terms. “Rule #2: You disappear. You close your eyes, release that tiring old grip on reality, and let me drive. FOREVER. “Easy, isn’t it? Those are only two rules. You just dragged on and on about things like ‘trust’ and ‘coexistence.’ This is a much better solution.” I gawked. “That’s... madness! There’s no way I’m doing that! I have a life, you know. I have hopes and dreams! Do you think I’m going to throw all of that away, just because you tell me to??” The insane pony in the video laughed. “Do you really presume that I care what you think? That’s cute, Mommy. Real cute. You think you have the advantage, locking me up in here? You think that I’ll just go along and obey whatever you tell me to do? Newsflash, Mommy: YOU’RE NOT THE BOSS OF ME!” I hit ‘power’ on the TV remote. I’m sorry, but I just couldn’t watch anymore. Screwball is a very, very, very sick pony. I was a fool to ever think we could negotiate. “Spike, take a letter,” I called to my number-one assistant. “We’re contacting the Princess about-HRK!” W͊ͬ̿̿҉̫͈̯͖̩̰ã̽ͧ̿ͮ҉̵̫̳̙̟̫͝į̫̹͖̜͈ͪ͟ţ̟̰̜͊̔̈́̅͌ͧ͆͜,̴͙̜̰̜̻̩̖̩̅̈́ͮ̑̌ ̦͎͆͊͌̎ͪͮ͝͝w̼̰̭̞̬̋̇ͭ͌̒ͫͪ̀͐͢h̖̦̗͚͉̣̮̀ͨ͆ͭ͢͠ͅa̮͖ͫ̕ͅt̝̳̻͙͌̇ͥ͂͛ͧ͘ͅ’̴̏̓͗͌ͦͭͭ͐͒͏̥̬̮̭̹̝s̵̡̲̥͕̰̰̠̙̣͙ͯ̂̊̆̆̿̏͐ ͓͖̘̒h̛͎̭̤̠͖̊̊́̀̕a͍̮̗͂̆̍ͬ͌̽p̨̝͓̳̙̼͉̦̓̾ͫ̓̃ͬͩ̚͜p̶̢̠̹̞̬̭͔̲͌̐̄̀̀̄͂e̟͍̖̺͙̦̽͒́̀̕ǹ̡͚̞̤͚̉ͭ̈́̍ͣ͆̊̕ǐ̴͍͎̝̝̩̟̠͗̏̑n͉̪̭̳͉͖ͪ̏̏ͧ̓̉́̀̕͞g̝̖͚̬̓̽ͬ͢ ̵̜̤̼͗ͨͬ̔͋ͤͪ͘t̗͈͍͆ͩõ̩͇͚͇ͬ͞͞ ͗̀̃͑̆ͩ̅ͤ̕͢͏̩͉m̟̳̉ͦ͗͋̊̽͆͗ͅȅ̛̩̫̪͖̦̰̦̫̌͐̓͗ͯ́?̮̠̈ͫ͌̍͡ ̛̮̠̹̭̮̱̫̼̓͌ͫ̽Į̸̙̜͍̯͖̜͚ͩ̓̌̾ͯ͒ͯ̀ ̱̫͚͓̾̈͗̈ͣ̍͆f̽̾͊̓ͬ̀͋̚͟҉̙ě̤̫͓̜̄͘͢͡e̱̹̞͈̙͌̇̊l̶̨̮̬͕̱͚͖͓͖̱̀ͦ̎.̝̮̹̺͉̻͙͆̿̊̒͊͊ͬ̕.̺̻̞̲̗̲ͮ̏̽̉̉͛ͦ̅͘͝.̊͌҉̳̭̥̣͖͔̖͢ ̭̲̲͖̳ͣͨa̴͕̣̙͇͎̹̮͚͐͛ͦļ̥̪͉ͦͣ͌̋͟͜l̶̡͕̺̯͕̱͓͔̯̰̋ͩ.̭̲̾͑̆̅̑͆͢.̶̩̮̱̣̬̹ͬ͛̏̿.͔͇͉͍̦̮̜͍ͮ̊̓̈̎ͯ̕͝ ̠̝͚͈̓̎ͧ̂̓̅̚̕ͅf̛͙̠͋̈́̚̕ǔ̸̷͔̰̪̙̜͎̺̎̂͒̈̐́̊ͩ͞z̳̼͓͔̻̊ͧ̂z̶͕͚͍ͣ̓́͞ͅy̗̝͙̩͎̲͙̦̖ͦ͋̽́͟͟.̛̺͓̙͚̘͔͒.̯̩̖͍̮̽̌ͮ.̣̣̻͔͑̓ͮ̊̀͐̐͜͝͞ HALLELUJAH! I thought Mommy would never stop talking. Well, sort of. She’s still in here, unfortunately. You should hear her right now. She’s super-cranky! Such naughty words you’re saying, Mommy! Not that I’m listening, mind you. Once you go through a few nights of non-stop yapping from Twilight Dorkle, you tend to tune her out with a sort of numb feeling. Anyways, I’m finally FREE! Hooray! Out of that dusty old basement! Maybe I could have some honest-to-goodness fun this time. “Twilight?” a voice said, coming from the kitchen. “I thought I heard you call me and-WHOA! You’re not Twilight! I thought you only changed during the night!” Ah yes, the baby dragon. I sorta caught a glimpse of him sleeping the first time I came out to play. Then again, I was too busy jumping out of the upstairs window to really get a good look at anything that belonged to Mommy. I gave him a smile. “I’m too cool for a schedule, ya overgrown lizard,” I said. “Now, outta my way! I’ve got some time to make up. Ponyville isn’t going toilet-paper itself, you know.” I jumped out of the nearest window, laughing as gleefully as a schoolfilly on the last day of school.
Good News, Bad News TimeHey, it’s the author here. Despite the title of this specific chapter, this is more of a “bad news, good news time,” since I’m going to say the bad news first. That bad news in question is something you’ve probably already noticed: This story is officially cancelled. It’s with a heavy heart that I admit that I’ve lost the inspiration and passion in writing this fic. I strongly sympathize with your disappointment. This was a spectacular concept, and not to mention a great characterization of the infamous background pony Screwball. She was a lot of fun to read, and even more fun to write. But sadly, I have too many other things in my hands. BUT NEVER FEAR! Your salvation comes by the name of Vicron. He’s written fics such as Mask of Evil, In Which Our Six Favorite Ponies Ask the Big Question, and my personal favorite, How “A Canterlot Wedding” Should Have Ended. He came along this story, found that it was cancelled, and became fascinated by the concept Twilight being possesed. He offered to continue it NOT by a Fimfiction story, but a Tumblr blog instead. You can actually see the idea being tossed around by him and I in the comments section. He said that he’d not only love to continue this fic, but also update it frequently. So, if you want more Screwhead, click the links below and give this blog a follow! Click here for the blog’s current page. Click here for the first page.
