In The Doghouse

It took three bucks before the boards covering the window broke with a surprisingly soft crack, sending clouds of dust into the air. Twilight winced and flattened herself against the side of the abandoned house, hidden in shadows cast by moonlight. Some time she waited, breathing as quietly as possible and swiveling her ears around, searching for signs that she had been discovered. When no angry or curious voices were heard she crept like a cat through the window, grabbing the sill with her hooves and hoisting herself up and over, landing with a thud on the floor and sending up another cloud of dust so thick it burned her nostrils. The mare shook her head and glared at the offending motes, charging up a wind spell and clearing the air around her.

Twilight had wandered the streets, hunting for any place she could use as a shelter, before stumbling upon what she assumed to be a bad part of town, filled with derelict buildings and trash. There were a few trashcans, though they were used as fire pits by homeless dogs, and Twilight felt a bit bad for them. Her parents had always warned her to never go into places like this because, according to them, she’d be mugged, raped, and sold drugs, in that order. It really made no sense. How could she be sold drugs if some mugger had taken her money? Still, the mare didn’t like being here, even if it offered safe refuge.

Inside the old house everything was dark, so Twilight cast an illumination spell, an orb of light floating from her horn to hover near the top of the ceiling, banishing the shadows and sending a few dozen cockroaches scurrying into nooks and crannies in the walls. She jumped back and stifled a squeal.

“Ugh, this place is filthy.”

Twilight meandered across the room and into the next, flinging illumination spells into the doorway before entering. She shuddered as roaches and mice fled under the magical light, seeking refuge in hidey holes. While the mare wasn’t as repulsed by dirt and filth as her friend Rarity she liked to have everything clean and neat, organized in such a manner that everything could be found quickly, a habit developed after years of studying and researching. One always needed to have reference books handy.

She explored the first floor and found nothing of interest, just more dust and creepy crawlies. There were five rooms total, one of which had been a kitchen at some point, judging from the cast-iron stove with a family of rats living in it. Another housed an ancient toilet, and Twilight wasn’t about to lift the lid and see if it was working. In the main room – for Twilight assumed that’s what it was – a staircase lead up and curved to the right. She didn’t know if it would be safe to go upstairs. This house was obviously old and the floor could be rotten, and it would be bad to add injuries on to her long list of problems. Still, she needed to explore the entirety of the house.

Slowly she placed a hoof on the first step and put weight on it before withdrawing the appendage at the harsh creaking sound that emanated from the old wood. It was reminiscent of a child screaming while being chased by a monster.

She slapped herself. “Bad Twilight,” she said. “No thinking about monsters eating ponies in dark places.”

Again she tried, skipping the first step entirely and trying the second one, relieved to find that it gave just a hint of a squeak. Gingerly she made her way up, poking her head around the twisted staircase and sending a magelight up to light her path. She crossed the last few stairs and arrived in a wide room, bare of everything except for a single moth eaten couch taking up residence in a corner. Here the windows were also boarded up, and Twilight admitted she was thankful for that. Surely someone would find it suspicious for there to be a mysterious purple light coming from an abandoned house. To her right were an open closet and a closed door, likely leading to a bedroom. Left of her were two doorways, lacking doors. Each contained small rooms, mirror images of the other. Raggedy and thin carpet covered the floor in each, having been a preposterous grey color at some point in time. One particular thing caught Twilight’s attention, however. In the furthermost room from the staircase there was a doll, alone and without an owner. Twilight picked it up with her magic and studied it. About a foot tall it was carved from wood covered with a type of golden fabric and had very intricate moveable joints. It wore a pretty red dress with frills on the bottom and sleeves.

What confused Twilight about the doll, though, was how well preserved it was. The faux-fur hadn’t fallen out or been worn away, and no stains marred the dress. In fact the doll looked like it had just been bought from a store that very same day and dropped here.

In a flash Twilight turned and scanned the dusty floor, looking for any hint that somebody had been here before her. Besides her own hoofprints the dust caking the floor was undisturbed. Still, Twilight called out a tentative ‘Hello,’ half expecting and half dreading an answer. All was silent except for Twilight’s low breathing.

She went back to inspecting the doll, turning it over and over with telekinesis. It was puzzling to consider how well-preserved the doll was. An idea came to the mare’s mind and she performed a spell made to look for enchantments. Watery blue lines of magic lit up over the doll’s body like spider webs, indicating some form of spell, most likely a strong preservation spell, the kind cast on old books or documents to stop corrosion by sun, air, and hooves. Obviously the spell had been added by the maker or the owner.

For a moment Twilight felt a twinge of sadness. Some poor little girl had probably dropped the doll when she was forced to leave this house for some reason, and here it had laid, all alone, with no companion or friend to hold her and brush her. Twilight wrapped it in her forelegs and hugged it, nuzzling the soft, red material of the dress. It was a bit nostalgic and reminded Twilight of Smarty Pants, her constant foalhood companion. They played together, read books and did homework, and whenever Twilight was nervous or sad a hug from Smarty would make everything better.

Twilight released the doll and smiled, one of the first genuine smiles since her arrival in this strange dimension. “What should I name you?” she asked.

A short pondering later and Twilight had dubbed the doll Rosemary. She placed her in a sitting position on her back, similar to how Spike would ride her.

“Come along, Rosemary. Let’s explore the final room and clean this place. Celestia knows it could use a good dusting.”

Twilight trotted from the tiny room and into the main room, humming a happy tune. She didn’t notice, however, how Rosemary’s eyes seemed to glow green for a brief second, and a smile curled on her lips.

***

The final room was probably a master bedroom once, but now it yielded nothing except empty space and filth. Since Twilight was already present she decided to start cleaning in this room. With a bit of telekinesis a film of shimmering purple magic crawled up each wall. Carefully she curved the top of the film and pressed it firmly to the wood. With a noise like a squeegee on a window the film was dragged down, taking dust along with it, leaving a pile running along the border of the room. It was a useful way to clean large areas at one time, though Twilight had rare need for it; nothing of hers ever became so filthy. She finished off by collecting the dirt and dust on the floor in the same manner and holding it above her head, briefly wondering how to dispose of it before inching open one of the boards shielding the windows and throwing it out.

From there Twilight systematically cleaned each room, taking down cobwebs and clearing out mice and rat nests. During her years as a librarian Twilight had learned a myriad of anti-pest spells, designed to keep insects and rodents from entering the library and damaging the books, and she spent a few minutes casting those on each corner of the house, grinning a bit as she heard the scritch-scratching of critters in the walls fleeing due to the influence of the spells.

“Let’s see here,” the mare spoke to herself. “I’ve found a base of operations and rid it of any unwanted occupants. What next?”

She closed her eyes and visualized an imaginary checklist, and what a checklist it was. Made from perfectly smooth and tan parchment with no fraying on the edges. On the left were numbers running the length of the parchment, spaced exactly one inch apart and lined up perfectly with square boxes to their right, a few of which already had checks in them. Her goals were written in curly, neat writing, detailing exactly what she should do next. Of course it paled in comparison to the real thing, but without any proper materials it would have to do.

“Place protection spells on every window and door,” she spoke aloud.

With that Twilight covered each window, door, and conceivable opening with a shield, similar to the one her brother made, though designed to be invisible until something came in contact with it. By this point the mare was feeling exhaustion creeping on. An entire day pretending to be an animal, combined with a lack of sleep and constant magic use had taken its toll. Bags had formed under her bloodshot eyes and she yawned nearly every minute or so. It was taking quite a bit of willpower to force herself to stay awake.

Once those spells were finished it was time for her next task. She would need to explore the city and gather supplies, like food, books, parchment and quills, that sort of thing, but it wasn’t wise to gallivant about an unknown city. What she needed would be a teleportation anchor.

A teleportation anchor was a spell cast on a specific space by a unicorn so that, if they ever teleported, they would end up in the same place, and one would serve Twilight well. If there was ever any trouble or she was forced to find safety, she would just need to start a teleport and the anchor would do the rest. It wasn’t risk free, though. An anchor was like a rubber band with one end attached to Twilight and the other attached to a location in space. If she was too far from the space and tried to teleport, the connection would harshly pull her back, potentially resulting in injury. The connection could also snap, leading to a number of unwanted consequences, such as the anchor detonating like a space-time bomb and incinerating everything within several hundred yards. That wasn’t good at all.

Still, it was imperative for Twilight to do so. A few steadying breaths later and she braced herself, concentrating on a spot in the middle of the main room upstairs. It started off like a normal teleport, bending space around her and the place she wished to be, but instead of simply flowing from one place to another she kept bending and twisting space, and the mare swore she heard the universe groan. Creating a teleportation anchor was basically raping space-time, and, like most ponies, the universe didn’t like to be raped and resisted. Twilight’s vision blurred and beads of perspiration dripped from her brow and formed a trail down to the tip of her nose. Her legs wobbled and she swore she smelled something similar to burning metal.

And within an instant it was over. Twilight crumpled to the floor with a thump and Rosemary followed, landing on her back with wooden limbs splayed out in an awkward fashion. The mare panted and tried to maintain consciousness. Her vision of the room blackened around the edges and a sharp, throbbing pain radiated at the very base of her horn. For what seemed like hours she laid there, any attempt at movement sending waves of agony through her head, like a tidal wave of swords crashing against the beach of her brain. She whimpered a pitiful, saddening whimper that one would expect from a foal that had lost a parent or a parent that had lost a foal. Finally darkness engulfed her, and she fell into the bliss of sleep.