Exorcism, Inc.

by PegasYs

Rating: teen
Tags: Comedy, Adventure, Gore, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Other, Original Character
Length: 6411

Perceptive poltergeist-pursuing ponies

It's not very often you find yourself in a life situation where you have nowhere to turn. It can be devastating if you're not sure who can help. Well, when the death of a loved one puts you out of house and home—literally—there is only one duo of perceptive poltergeist hunter ponies that you can trust. They'd appreciate it a lot, they don't get much business...

Published 2013-03-17 21:10:03 UTC
Last updated 2013-03-17 21:10:03 UTC

Intro: Rude Awakening

“Hello?”

Ermm…

“Hey, Reel! Wakey wakey, sleepy head!”

Ugh, what is that unbearable sound invading my ears…

I quirked my ears and shut my eyes tighter. The obtrusive intrusion seems to have stopped. Ah, silence…

Whomp!

I jerked my head from the wooden paneling that my head had been resting on for Celestia knows how long. My blurry vision was filled with stacks and stacks of scrolls and parchment, all thrown about in disarray on my desk. I groaned, my head swimming and beyond groggy from my short snooze. I rubbed my eyes and looked once more at the workload before me, but instead found a white face staring up at me with a huge obnoxious grin. My feminine friend was lying on top of my desk, her hue-less horn nearly skewering my jaw.

“Y’know, you’ve been getting worse and worse about this sort of thing; you used to get on my case all the time about my sleeping habits, and then I catch you passed out on your desk?" She clucked her tongue and shook her head. "And look at the problems you’ve caused yourself!” She retreated from her position on top of my work station and made a big display of pointing out the huge mess, waving her hooves around in front of her in a 'why did you let it get this bad' sort of fashion. It was then that I gathered that the piles of paperwork were the source of my very rude awakening.

“And look who’s talking, little miss Never-Gets-Anything-Done-Ever. I might as well call you an intern, but I don’t even think you deserve that title. You won’t even grab me coffee when I ask you to,” I said with a slight smirk. She just sighed and rolled her eyes. I piled the mess into a neater stack on the edge of the desk surface. She took a seat on the cushion in front of me—the one that was usually reserved for clients—and began looking around my admittedly blank office with a characteristic, but slightly misplaced, fervor.

“You really need to open a window in here and let some light in. We spend too much time indoors, and I’m starting to think the lack of sun you are getting is a little unhealthy,” she said matter-of-factly before pulling back one of the blinds of my window with her magic. The light filled my vision, causing my sleepy head to spin slightly with the change. I groaned aloud and thumped my head against the desk once more.

“Wicker, I know you’re looking out for me and all, but I was having a really great dream until you showed up,” I said into the wooden surface. “And as for the work, I can get this done whenever, it’s not like we get many jobs anyways.” I paused. “I suppose that’s a good thing, but still... you know what I mean.”

“Well, you may want to get that stuff done soon.” I perked up my ears once more. “We received a letter a couple of hours ago from a family in Baltimare.” I looked up to see a completely new mare standing in front of me. Wicker’s face had gone from her usual expression of jocularity to that of almost austere character. She closed the shades on the window shut, staring at me with a very hard gaze that I knew not to mess with.

“I’m listening.”

She paused for a good moment, staring at the floor off to the side. “I went ahead and scheduled a meeting with them tomorrow. Their train should be arriving in Canterlot around noon. They explained the whole situation in the letter, and it’s not a pretty one.”

I rose up a hoof to silence her. “I’ll wait for them to show up to hear the details. You know it’s easier for me to discern the situation from those directly involved.” Wicker nodded and gave a reassuring smile.

“I will tell you one thing: it was a foal this time. She wasn’t too young, but she was still considerably younger than you and I. We should plan accordingly.”

I applied pressure to my temples with the news and sighed. Wicker sat down and gazed at my still trashed writing table. She opened the window once more and smiled.

“I would say get some rest, but I don’t think that’s gonna be a problem,” she said with a small chuckle and a shuffle of her hooves. I remained silent and closed my eyes; I appreciated her effort, but this was the sort of news that I didn’t take very well. I unrolled the nearest scroll and began reading.

“Thanks, Wick. I’ll be ready for the meeting tomorrow. You should take the rest of the day off, get some rest. Celestia knows you need it...” I said it with no sort of tone or any hint of jest. She turned to leave, shrouding my room in darkness once more with her horn. In an instant, all the candles in the room were lit by the same stark white envelope that closed my shades.

“I’ll be in my office if you need me.” She trotted out, closing the heavy wooden door shut behind her.

Episode One: Giggle at the Ghostly

I walked into our small office space on the edge of Canterlot the next morning, expecting for the place to be completely deserted when I arrived. When I approached the front door of our suite; the sign above was emblazoned with my and Wicker's initials in bright red letters. I pulled out the keys to open the door, only to find that it was already unlocked. Huh. For once I think Wicker actually decided to take my advice.

I pushed my way inside to find that Wicker had already lit all the candles in our small waiting room. Nothing in the usually dusty wooden room seemed out of place—that is, until I looked in the middle of the waiting area. Strewn about on the dark green rug was an assortment of various toys and cards. There was a bowl of candies on the coffee table by the sofa that I swear wasn’t there before.

I walked further into the hallway where my and Wicker’s office stood on opposite sides of each other. The white mare’s gaudy white door was open just a crack, allowing a small ray of light to illuminate the wooden paneling just outside its opening. Puzzled, I walked over to her office and rapped the door twice with my hoof.

“Hey, Wick?” I heard a loud crash from inside. I rushed in, swinging the door open in haste. The scene in front of me forced a hoof up to my muzzle. Papers were fluttering down, caught in midair at the moment of my arrival. Behind the small mahogany desk in the rightmost corner of the room were four white legs, hanging in the air by their paralyzed owner. I stifled a chuckle, trying my hardest not to break out into outright laughter.

“I suppose I shoulda’ seen you coming,” Wicker said, bringing herself up to a seated position with the aid of her desk. She looked up to the chandelier just above her, still swaying lightly back and forth. She looked back at my smiling face, and I quirked a brow at her. A sigh escaped her lips before she folded her forelegs in front of her, adorning a rather heartbreaking scowl on her face. “Go ahead and laugh. Shoot a mare while she’s down.”

I smirked and walked over to her desk. “This is looking to be the start of a fine day, isn’t it?” I sat down on her guest cushion, feeling a strange sensation of role reversal.

“I suppose it’s my fault for trying to actually do something at seven in the morning.” She picked up the candle from her desk, trying to levitate it up to the empty candlestick in her now still chandelier. It made it about halfway before falling to the floor, causing a groan of frustration from Wicker. I watched the scene with interest.

Seeing the obviously defeated expression take hold of her tired eyes, I decided to change the subject. “So, did the hypocritical Wicker actually get any sleep last night?” I said haughtily.

She gave me a blank stare and clasped her hooves together. “I may have gotten… some,” she replied indignantly.

“Uh-huh. And when did you leave the office last night?”

“Oh, y’know.” Wicker chuckled nervously. “Maybe about two am.” She swirled her hooves against each other and broke eye contact.

I sighed. “I just hope you’ll be ready when we have to go to Baltimare.” My original question resurfaced in my mind. “What’s with the toys in the waiting area?”

“I went to the market this morning and picked them up. The family is bringing their youngest with them.” She waved a hoof dismissively. “Something about her needing to stay with her parents after the incident.”

I groaned aloud. I wasn’t the sort of pony to take working with foals well. They tended to find me boring and sometimes outright scary. I just hoped the toys that Wicker got would be enough to occupy her while I talked with her parents.

She picked up on my worried expression. “Don’t worry, Reel. You do your thing, I’ll make sure she doesn’t get in the way.”

I nodded curtly. I took the opportunity to gaze at the clock on her mantelpiece behind her desk. The family should be arriving at any moment now. A little more curious than usual and my manner teetering on anxiety for the coming appointment, I decided to ask her a few questions to pass the time.

“What is the family’s primary race?”

“Earth.”

“Race of the Departed?”

“Earth as well.”

I paused. That’s good. Earth ponies are easier to work with. They all seemed to have this sort of notion of kinship with their own kind.

“Proposed cause of death?”

She pursed her lips. Just before she was about to speak, the bell on the front desk rang. I nodded at Wicker who quickly stood up from her cushion. We filed out of her office quickly to meet the two ponies standing in the middle of the waiting area. They looked upon our entrance with grave faces, their manes and eyes the perfect image of grief and travel.

“Welcome to our office, Mr. and Mrs. Pie,” Wicker said warmly.

The stallion, a slender auburn with bright orange hair and a travel-worn face smiled back weakly. “Thank you so much for seeing us.”

The mare at his side rested a hoof on her spouse’s shoulder and gazed on him with concern. “We didn’t know where to turn, that is, until we saw your ad for this place in a newspaper. If it wasn’t for the incident, I would have thought it was all a bunch of nonsense.” She let out a dry laugh. “We didn’t even think anypony knew what to do, let alone actually help us with this problem.”

I walked around the table in front of the hallway we had entered from and reached out a hoof to greet Mr. Pie. “My name is Reel. My partner Wicker and I are specialists on the subject of spectral inhabitants in the world of the living.” Wicker gave a toothy grin and waved a hoof in greeting.

The stallion took my hoof reluctantly, the look on his face growing more confused throughout the course of my introduction. His relative stature made me feel slightly subconscious, as it reminded me of my age and put my size into a painful perspective.

“Nice to meet you, Reel,” he said cautiously.

“M-mommy?” a small voice squeaked. I looked down. There was a young foal at the mare’s hooves. Her long cream colored mane was braided into a short ponytail that was draped over the side of her light orange face. She was tugging at her mother’s mane lightly. The slicked streaks in the fur on her young face could have made a grown stallion’s heart break. “Can we go home now? I don’t like it here.”

Wicker sprang from behind the desk and cantered over to where the four of us were standing. She crouched down next to the foal and beamed at her. “Hi there! What’s your named little filly?”

The foal smiled sheepishly and sniffled a little. “I-I’m Honey.”

“Wow, such a pretty name for such a pretty pony! My name’s Wicker.” She stuck out a hoof in greeting and Honey hoofbumped it softly.

Wicker sprang up from her position on the ground. “Hey! You wanna play some games with me? I’ve got jacks over here, but Reel’s too cranky to play with me.” She stuck out her tongue out at me, which prompted a loud laugh from Honey. The foal turned to me and made a likewise gesture. I smiled and scuffled my hooves.

“So, whaddya say?” she said in a sweet tone and a wink of her eye. That mare never ceases to amaze me.

“O-okay,” she said weakly, her eyes brightening a little bit. Wicker scooped up the filly onto her back and cantered over to the waiting area. Her parents watched her go reluctantly, but did nothing to object.

I returned my attention back to the couple. “Now, if you would like, I can direct you into my office where we can talk. It’s down the hall to the right. Make yourselves comfortable. I’ll meet you shortly and I’ll help clear up some of the confusion you two must be feeling.” They nodded their heads and headed down the hallway.

I motioned Wicker over with my hoof. She, who had been balancing on top of her head until this moment, flipped over. She hastily handed Honey a unicorn doll, and trotted over to me.

“I want you to try to get Honey talking about what happened,” I whispered.

Wicker gasped, her brow furrowing into a hard look of anger. “Are you serious?”

“If it is her sister that is in trouble, she may be the one that knows the most about what kind of situation she was in when she passed.”

“Reel, I can’t do that. I think she only just stopped crying. She’s very confused and far from home, and she doesn’t deserve anymore heartbreak right now.” She slammed her hoof on the carpet with each point for emphasis. She was giving me some lame excuse for dodging her responsibility.

I pulled her closer to me and shot a quick glance in the filly’s direction. “Do you want to be prepared for this?” I whispered. I didn’t want to see her cry, but Honey’s knowledge could be the difference between success and certain demise.

“Do you really want to make her relive this? It happened two days ago, Reel,” she hissed.

I eyed her for a moment, choosing my next words carefully. “Somepony who is close to her is in danger, Wicker. I can discern most of what we need from her parents, but if there is even one bit of information that Honey can share with us that may be important in exorcising her, then we can’t risk the chance of not knowing.”

She looked away and groaned in frustration. “I’ll try, but no promises,” she said through her teeth.

“Good.” I turned to walk down the hallway.

“Hey, Honey! Bet you can’t beat me at Go Fish!”

“So, tell me a little bit about your daughter. The one that passed.” I was sitting behind my desk, taking notes on a roll of parchment.

Both hollow expressions were replaced with utter shock. The father clasped his companions hooves in his and closed his eyes shut. After a short moment of silence, the light lavender mare cleared her throat. “Well, Sugar seemed fine for the most part, in fact, she seemed in even better health than Honey. I can’t really think of a reason why she would have...” She choked on the last word, taking a deep breath before continuing. “She seemed perfectly okay. Is that really what happened? Is our daughter… gone?”

I raised a brow. “What do you mean Honey was in worse health?”

“Well, when she and her sister came home from playing outside about a week before the incident, Honey complained about a terrible stomach ache. She was bedridden for days, practically paralyzed. The doctor said she had eaten a berry while playing that had a powerful toxin in it. If she had eaten any more, she may have been in serious trouble.” She scowled. “Why should this matter?”

I jotted down what she had just told me, and then placed the pencil down. “I just want to make sure I have the details from the last few weeks. Now, how well did Sugar interact with other ponies?”

Mr. Pie spoke up this time. “She and Honey would play almost every day when they got home from school. She never really talked about anypony in her classes. Sugar had been going to a more advanced school than Honey, and Honey had only started education about a year ago. I can’t really recall any time that she brought home a friend.”

“Did she ever talk about being bullied or trouble talking to other ponies?” I asked as my pencil flew across the parchment.

“No, but some of her teachers have brought it up... said she was shy and tended to keep to herself during recess, and some of the other ponies in her class weren’t always so kind to her. She just seemed so happy playing with her sister that we never really worried about her. You don’t think it was... she didn’t do it herself, did she?” Mrs. Pie said, eyeing me closely.

Looking at what they had said, that seems likely. I brushed off the question. “What exactly happened when you noticed something was wrong?”

“Well, she came home from school a few days ago and went straight up to her room. It wasn’t like her to just leave without saying a word like that, but we just figured she had had a bad day, so we left her alone. After an hour or so we went up to check on her to see if she was alright. Her door was locked... or rather, we weren’t able to open it, since she didn’t have a lock on her door. There was an... odd green light coming from under the door and it suddenly got very cold.”

“And then I’m guessing you were told to leave by a voice that didn’t sound like your daughter.” They looked at each other, then back to me and nodded in unison.

The stallion spoke up. “We panicked. We thought somepony had gotten into the house, so we grabbed Honey and rushed her outside. When I tried to get back in after making sure they were safe, the front door had sealed shut. No m-matter how hard I tried, I just couldn’t open it!” He slammed a hoof on my desk and began sobbing, wrapping his forelegs around his wife.

“Please, what’s happened to my baby?” Mrs. Pie said with a mixture of panic and anger as grief spread over her face.

I sighed and stared at the quill quiver on the edge of my desk. This is always the hardest part.

“Mr. and Mrs. Pie, your daughter has become what we like to call a ‘Departed.’” This prompted a gasp from both of them, a gesture that I received quite often with that exposition of that line. “To put it into the simplest terms I can: your daughter is trapped between this world and the next. It happens for a lot of reasons, but that’s what we’re here for.” I took a deep breath. “Your daughter is in pain right now. She is not gone from this world, but she can’t return to the living. My condolences go out to you both.”

The mother wept for some time. The father simply stared at me with a grave expression, holding his wife close. I allowed them some moments to grieve, trying my best to keep my composure. When she sufficiently settled down, I began to speak once more, in a much calmer and cautious tone.

“Wicker and I, it’s our job to find out why a pony doesn’t cross over like the rest of us when they die. Your daughter is in pain, but we need to find out why she died so we can help her rest. Now—"

“Aw, that wasn’t fair! You got a head start!” Honey Pie came rushing into the room with Wicker close behind. She was shaking her head at me and mouthing something that I couldn’t quite catch.

“Mommy Mommy!” The foal sprinted up to her mother and sat down in front of her, wide eyed. The father scooped up Honey and cradled her in his arms, kissing her lightly on the forehead. “Me and Wicker were having so much fun playing jacks and cards and house and dolls and…”

I smiled warmly at the family and took the opportunity to slide over to my cohort, who was standing, flustered, in the doorway.

“I take it you didn’t do what I asked,” I hissed at her, not unkindly, but expressing my disappointment nonetheless.

Her eyes darted to the carpet. “Of course I did! What gave you that idea?”

“Well, we seem to be minus one bawling filly.” I brought a hoof up to my forehead. “I know what you’re trying to do, Wick, I really do, but you know as well as I do that sometimes you can learn more from the Departed’s siblings than anypony else!”

“How could you think I could just rip her precious heart apart like that?” She glared at me, then sighed, folding her ears against her head. “I couldn’t do it, alright? I just…”

The mother and father were staring at the two of us with looks of concern on their already worn faces. I turned back to Wicker. “We’ll talk about this later.”

“So, you can help us, can’t you?” the mother said.

I smirked and wrapped a hoof around Wicker. “Relapse and Wicker at your service, ma’am. We’ll be heading out on the soonest train straight to Baltimare.”

Reel is really starting to get on my nerves lately.

Just look at him. Sitting over there looking over maps and schematics and stuff. What difference does it really make anyways? When the interior of a building is bent to the will of a dead soul, we could find anything once we step through the front door. And yet, he still thought it necessary to study every nook and cranny of the haunted house at hoof.

I sighed and plopped down on the hotel bed. I glared at the light-beige stallion, bent over the desk with his chin resting in his hooves, his eyes darting over sheet after sheet in front of him. I loved him to death, but sometimes he didn’t really seem to get other ponies. I was still mad at him for trying to get me to make Honey feel uncomfortable. She was the sweetest little filly; I wouldn’t, I just couldn’t do it. I huffed. Reel was right, I should have done it.

I opened up the blinds and allowed the whitewashed lights of Baltimare-after-dark to flood the room. We were staying in this motel for the night, having arrived in town with the Pie family late that day. They were staying in the room down the hall.

“Don’t you find it strange for a pony to become a professional exorcist when he has a book for a cutie mark?”

Reel blinked and rubbed his eyes. He gazed down at his flank and shrugged, then returned to his studying. “Why do you say that?”

I rolled over on my belly. “Just wondering. With the amount of time you spend looking at house schematics, I would assume you would be an architect or something. Is all that really necessary?”

Reel chuckled. “Kind of. You think that everything is completely cattywompus when a Departed gets control of a confined space, but if you actually looked at the maps with me, you’d notice that they do tend to follow a similar pattern to the original design. Plus, it helps me clear my mind before we have to do our job.”

“Hmmm... nope.”

He paused again. “What? No clever retort tonight, Wick?”

“My wit gland is running on empty. Get this: I’m actually tired for once. Fancy that.”

Reel licked his hooves and pinched the candle wick at the corner of his small table, eliminating its bright white glow.

“Wow, this is exciting! I’ll have to report this cosmic anomaly to Celestia herself.”

I rolled my eyes. “Oh, can it, Reel. You should enjoy this while it lasts. Not very often you get to enjoy a full nights rest right before we have to do the good deed of the ponies.”

The black tweed coat that Reel always wore abroad was tossed to the floor as he clambered into the bed adjacent to mine. “Thank the Princess for that. It’s been one long day, that’s for sure, and tomorrow’s not going to be any easier.”

I shut the blinds and cast the room into darkness. “That poor angel doesn’t deserve any of this. Too young to understand death, too young to have lost somepony so close.”

Reel grunted in response. I pulled the covers over me and brought my forelegs around to rest under my head.

"Have you ever thought about having foals, Reel?"

“You owe me a joke tomorrow, Wicker. Goodnight.”

He is awful at hiding his bitterness. I sighed and rolled around to face the window, opening it just a crack to gaze over the still bustling street outside.

Reel and I walked through the main street of Baltimare. We passed by shop after shop, pony after pony, letting the warm summer day completely pass us by. Reel marched quickly in front with me in tow, gazing ahead, not checking to see if I was still behind. I noticed a papercolt standing on the street corner, waving down ponies and asking very politely for a bit or two in exchange for a hot-off-the-press newspaper. Too many were ignoring his efforts, but he continued to smile at each in passing, never so much as giving a frown when faced with rejection.

I looked around Reel’s flank to try and catch his eye. When I was certain he was good and distracted, I slipped out of file and trotted over to the dusty red pegasus. He gave a toothy grin and tipped his small bowler at me.

“Would you care for this fine day’s paper, ma’am? The presses are hot as the day is warm around these parts.”

“I would love one," I said. "You’re quite the gentlestallion, aren’t you?” He took a paper out of his saddlebag and offered it to me. I grinned and accepted it, levitating three bits out of my own bag and into his overturned hat.

“My job doesn’t require that I be nice, ma’am. I do it to see pretty things like yourself smile from time to time,” he said, speaking quickly but eloquently, with a dashing northern accent.

I smiled and waved one last time before quickly catching up to Reel, who had already made it down to the end of the next block. The colt tipped his hat before continuing his zealous sales pitching.

“The family said that the house was in the suburb at the end of the street. If we want to make it there and be able to exorcise Sugar before sundown, we can’t be lollygagging,” Reel said, turning to see that I had caught up to him.

“Well, I’ve never been to Baltimare before. I just wanted to take a little time and talk to the locals.” I cantered up next to him and bumped him with my side.

“If I didn’t want ponies to get the wrong idea, I would seriously consider keeping you on a leash,” he said, returning the bump to my side.

I smiled and unrolled the newspaper, levitating it in front of me as I walked. 'The Baltimare Sun,' it was called. Issued for today's date: the first of June, 936. I flipped through until I found an article that piqued my fancy:

Local Residence Sealed Shut.

Cops Don’t Know What To Make Of It.

On the 30th of May, the police force received a call to action by one Quentin Tart Pie, local carriage builder and owner and founder of Q.T. Mart, about a breaking and entering into his abode. The cops arrived at his house late that night to make a crime scene of the location, only to find that the house was completely deserted. Not only that, there was no way to get inside the building.
“We just don’t know what’s going on,” Baton, Chief of Police explained. “No matter what we’ve tried, we can’t seem to make it inside the building. The windows, the door, the wood paneling, it seems all but indestructible. We are certain magic is involved.”
The family of four had been living there for as long as anypony can remember. Mr. and Mrs. Pie escaped the building with their daughter, Honey. Their oldest daughter, Sugar, did not make it out with the rest of her family. The Chief fears a hostage situation, or worse.

“Hey look, Reel, we’re in the news!”

Reel took the newspaper and read over the article quickly. “Well, not really.” He rolled it back up and handed it back to me. “You know, this happens often enough that you’d think at least the law enforcement squads would know about it.”

I walked silently next to him. Shortly after, we came upon a house surrounded by strong looking stallions in very official-looking blue uniforms and posts with yellow tape blocking entrance to the lawn. We walked nonchalantly up to the front of the home. A huge stallion stood in our way. Reel ran straight into him. I couldn’t help but stifle a laugh as my friend collided with the much more formidable-looking earth pony.

“And what makes you two think you can just walk right up to a crime scene like that?”

Reel back-pedaled, his expression wide with surprise. He collected himself and adjusted his black collar. I quirked a brow.

“And what makes you think that this is a crime scene?” I asked genuinely.

The brute grunted. “Listen, lady. We have it on high authority that there is a unicorn in there, possibly with a hostage.”

“Well, we have it on high authority that you are dealing with a much more precarious problem than a murderous unicorn,” Reel said matter-of-factly.

The stallion bent low down over Reel. “Oh yeah, and who’s authority might that be, shrimp?”

“Mine. Now please get out of the way.”

“I’m not letting anyone through until that dirty Horn Head is taken care of.”

“Excellent, have you seen this ‘Horn Head?’” I said with a plucky tone, the kind that tends to really piss off ponies like him.

He reared back. “Well, I’m looking at a unicorn right now, and I don’t really like your attitude, Miss.”

Reel growled defensively. A pony of slightly smaller stature walked toward the three of us.

"Is there a problem here?" he asked in a high, yet demanding voice.

"I caught these two trying to waltz into our grounds like they own the place."

The smaller one, who was wearing a very official looking badge, turned to us and glared, displeased. "I'm going to have to ask the two of you to leave." He turned to the other cop. "We can't afford to waste time, Sting. We need to focus all our efforts on making it inside the house."

Reel scoffed, prompting a scowl from the chief.

"You cop ponies couldn't make it inside of a peanut butter jar."

Chief Baton growled. "Leave this crime scene now or I'll get rid of you myself." He trotted over to me and brought his snout close to mine. I cringed as he hissed into my face. "And you're not gonna like where I send you."

I smiled and giggled. Before he had time to react, I sent a deflection wave out of my horn, tossing him backwards to land on the grass several feet away.

"Wicker!? The hell did you do that for?"

"His breath smelled absolutely awful."

Reel stared at me, shocked. I heard a click sound and felt the feeling of cold metal around me ankle. I turned to my foreleg. The other guard had hoofcuffed me to his own leg. I looked back to Reel and saw several other cops holding him down, strapping a metal cuff to his own leg.

“Let me go!” Reel yelled.

"Try not to fight, sweetheart. It'll be easier if you don't," the sleazy stallion whispered into my ear. I shivered and prepared to buck his teeth out.

Every. Damn. Time.

I looked around frantically from the struggling Reel to the guards by the door of the house. There’s an idea!

I focused all of my magical energy into the door. I’ve never tried this from so far away. My captor was too busy watching the scene folding out before us to notice my horn begin to glow bright white. An insignia of the same colored light began to draw itself on the wooden surface of the entrance. The minimalistic image of a key vanished in a blaze of white, and the door swung open.

The guards, who had all been busy detaining my tan-colored cohort, swung their gaze to the now open entrance. Chief Baton walked cautiously over to the entrance. The others followed. He came within feet of the entrance, glaring into the pitch black of the home. He tried to take a step inside. The instant his hoof was beyond the threshold, I slammed it shut.

Shocked, Baton tried to push the door open with his hooves. I allowed the door to open again. Just as the shout of triumph escaped his mouth, I closed it once more.

Oh, this is just too rich! I couldn’t contain my laughter as I fell to the floor, clutching my stomach. Baton scowled at me and marched over. He towered over me as I writhed in the grass, my laughter getting the better of me. I was jerked to a standing position by my escort.

“What are you trying to pull, you filthy unicorn!?” he barked.

I giggled in his face. “It’s seriously really hilarious that you thought a squad of earth ponies could make it inside a haunted house with muscle.”

Baton raised a brow. “Just who are you anyways?” he seethed.

Reel, who had been muscled and restrained to the ground, rolled over, wheezing and coughing as if he had been sedated. He probably was. I wasn’t watching.

“We are the r-reckoning of evil spirits everywhere, we are the saviors in the night—"

“Can it, Reel,” I said. He mumbled and slumped back down to the ground, silent. “We are experts in dealing with spirits stuck between the world of the living and the dead. This house has become a host space for a very poor filly who has, unfortunately, succumed to this dead space of existential existence.” I rolled this little spiel off my tongue as if I had rehearsed it a thousand times before, because, in fact, I had. And Reel says I don’t use my time effectively.

“I want you to open that door immediately, or so help me...” The chief’s eyes were turning bloodshot.

“The only way I’m opening that door again is if you let my cohort and I through so we can do what we were sent by Mr. Pie to do.” I beamed in his face.

“The only place you’re going to be let in is solitary confinement!”

“That won’t be necessary, chief,” a quiet voice spoke from behind me.

Baton’s eyes grew wide. He backed up a little bit. “Mr. Pie? Why would you side with these ponies? They’re trying to break into your house.”

“I can see that, sir. Now, if you will please let them do that, it would be very much appreciated.” The pony took a step forward to stand just on the boundary of my peripheral vision.

Chief Baton stood, flustered. “B-but,” he stammered, “delicate matters like this should be handled by trained professionals!”

“Right, which is why you should stand aside and let the trained professionals do their work!” I scoffed.

“I hired them, Baton. They are working for me, and I trust them to help my daughter.”

The chief cringed. “Very well, sir,” he said through his teeth. He uncuffed me and walked away, mumbling.

Reel had been uncuffed as well, but had fallen unconscious. I laughed out loud and walked over to him.

I placed my horn on his forehead and focused, trying to clear all the sedative from his blood. A warm tingling sensation filled my body as I could sense it leaving his body.

“Wakey wakey, Reel.”

He groaned and rose up. “You know,” he began, rubbing his temples, “I absolutely loathe waking up to your voice.”

I chuckled and helped him to a standing position, and he laughed, too.

“Well, let’s get going, We’ve already lost too much time to waste it twiddling our hooves.”

I nodded and hoofbumped him as a look of determination spread across his face.

I walked over to the door and opened it once more. The guards on either side eyed us carefully but let us proceed.

“After you,” I said to Reel, giving a small curtsy. He rolled his eyes and took the lead walking steadily inside the pitch black room.

“Be ready with your wards, Wi—”

He didn't get to finish his sentence. He passed through the floor, his shout of surprise echoing back up to where I stood.

“Reel!” I yelled, my heart pounding against my chest as I stared, shocked, at where my friend had been standing moments before..

In front of the doorway was a place mat that read: “Please watch your step.”

Groaning and shaking my head at the irony, I took a few deep breaths and, gathering my wits, jumped in after him, closing the door behind me.