Ten years.
Its been ten years since he left us. Ten years since he vanished without a trace. It was on a cool night like this one. Rain had been streaming down from the darkened sky, the black clouds having been gathered for a scheduled storm. Everypony had known it was coming yet I was able to catch glimpses of ponies rushing through the streets, trying to get home before they got soaking wet. I watched them through the large window in my studio, wondering why I had even bothered to open up today in the first place. I sat there and listened to the tap-tap-tapping of the rain as it hit the window, watching the ponies rush by as the rain fell.
Has it really been that long?
My grandfather had vanished ten years ago. He had lived on my family’s farm at the south of Ponyville. He didn't farm for commerce like the Apple Family of Sweet Apple Acres, but rather to sustain himself and his wife Serissa. His real income came from his inventions, machines of his own design that were used to make work easier on the workers. Clockwork was a great stallion, being able to imagine, plan out and build various machines, using both metalwork and woodwork. Many ponies from all work spheres came to see him, asking for a machine that could do this or that. He didn't charge much for his services, just the cost for the materials and a small fee for the time it took to make it. He had been so popular in the construction industry that he had signed several contracts with big business companies such as Manehatten Construction Co.
Apart from being a great business-stallion, Clockwork was also a great grandfather. He loved us with all his heart and used to invite us over to the farm, where we would run around and chase the chickens around the farmhouse. My sister, Gearheart, would always keep an eye on us while we played around, her being the oldest of the bunch. We’d then go inside and help my grandmother make supper. Seeing as I was the youngest, I got in the way of the cooking - I was also a bit of a klutz, so that didn't help - and got sent out of the kitchen by my big sister, Gearheart, who was supervising the whole thing.
I would sit with my grandfather in the living room as my older sisters cooked. He would tell me stories of places beyond Equestria, places where the zebras lived. One particular story was one of a mysterious land, one that he said lived at the very edge of the world. The land was covered in lush jungles full of exotic animals, some of them never even before seen by pony eyes. When I asked him how we knew they existed then, he told me that, when you ventured into the forest, you could hear the sounds they made as they moved through the canopy, hunting for their next meal.
This island had giant mountains of white stone that jutted up into the sky, some reaching above the clouds while others floated on islands above their neighboring peaks. He told me that, in the early hours of the day, the sun would shine its orange light on the peaks, making them look as if they were made of pure gold! The mountains themselves shown brightly throughout the day in the sun’s light and gave off a pale glow as it’s sister rose to take its place.
Giant spires rose out of these mountains, seeming to be carved out of the white stone itself. They reached high into the sky, some even going higher than the floating island-peaks that surrounded them. The spires looked like giant narwhal horns he told me, there surfaces looking like a band of rock turned onto itself. Windows could be seen on the stone spires, the glass stained in a rainbow of colors, some depicting people and places, while others just shown in a myriad of colors as the light passed through them.
But these spires were only the visible part of an even bigger structure, one that stretched deep into the bowels of the earth. It was a city, its halls and passageways cut into the stone of the mountain itself, leaving the hole place seamless. Torches of green fire lined its hallways, sending a pale, lime light shining off the white walls. Sculptures of platinum and silver encrusted with various jewels such as rubies and sapphires decorated this city’s halls, depicting the great heroes of this land.
This great city, with its soaring spires and luxurious halls, was home to its own people. These beings were about the height of two fully grown ponies, with slim but muscled bodies. Purple was the color of their skin, with dark blue, almost black, splotches all around their bodies. Their legs were long and supple, ending in palmed feet which allowed them to move around their domain. The people were physically fit, there muscles showing on there arms, legs and torsos. They have long arms, each ending with a clawed hand with a hole in the center of the palm. Their spine extended into a long, reptile like tail, ending with a patch of rainbow colored feathers. This semi-aquatic race had heads that were like those of cats, having a feline like muzzle, but with more fish like features, such as big black orbs for eyes and ears replaced with a pair of antennae. They had mouths that bore rows upon rows of small, razor sharp teeth and a long, bright red tongue.
I sat there in awe as he described all this to me. My grandfather was truly a great story teller. A question then popped into my mind, one that made him laugh when I asked it. I was wondering on how did they get to the floating islands if they didn’t have wings. He told me that great vines fell down from the islands and these people used them to climb up, the trips sometimes taking weeks before they reached firm ground again.
After listening to his stories for a while, my grandmother would come in and tell us the food was ready. We would sit down and eat quietly, everyone enjoying the food way too much to talk. My grandmother would tease my grandfather about his stories, asking about what wondrous mythical place had he talked about this time. He would laugh and then say that they were real places and she would giggle and play along with him.
For all his good qualities, I have to admit my grandfather was a bit senile. He truly believed the placed he talked about existed, to the point where he would even map them out. He wrote a series of books with that very same island I talked about earlier as its setting, starring a young adventurer named Tim Hooftons. His books weren't very popular, most ponies preferring the Daring Doo series to his own, but I read and loved every one of his books, to his great enjoyment.
And then my grandmother died.
I remember that day. She had left that morning, heading to Ponyville to get some new cookware. She had hopped onto her cart and left, waving at us gleefully as she left. Who would’ve known that she was not going to make it back? She had been about half-way to ponyville, crossing a bridge. The wind had been blowing hard, making the cart rock back and forth slightly. Then a strong gust of wind blew right into the cart, knocking it off balance and sending it falling to the side...right off the bridge.
We had found out a couple of hours later when the Ponyville Police Department arrived at the farm. It was a small, gray coated and red maned mare who gave us the tragic news. I had been in my room when she arrived and overheard her conversation with my grandfather. I had layed in my bed, shocked, unable to accept what had happened. After a couple minutes, sobs could be heard coming from my room.
I can only imagine what my grandfathers reaction was. Shock? Anger? Sadness? It’s anyones guess. The minute the police officer left, he went into the living room and sat down, looking blankly at a painting of my grandmother. It was a painting I had made for them when I was little, depicting her and my grandfather when they were little, her white mane done up with a blue headband. Clockwork had his the same way he always had, messy and unkempt, the red hairs spiking backwards. She wore a light blue dress of her own confection. She wore a golden glory braided into her hair, showing off her blood red eyes. He wore a black vest and white, checkered suit under it, buttoned to the top. They were standing in front of the newly built barn, embracing each other with a kiss to celebrate the construction of their new home.
After a couple weeks of mourning, my grandfather began acting...strange. He began spending more and more time in his study, only leaving for meals and the occasional errand. He stopped telling us stories and left us to our own devices, letting us do what we wanted around the farm. Seeing he wasn't taking care of it anymore, Gearheart moved onto the farm and began tending the fields and taking care of the animals. Scarlet, my other sister, helped out as much as she could but her job in the Canterlot Guards kept her away most of the time.
And then came that dreadful night of ten years ago...
The rain had been falling down hard on the farm. Clockwork was still in his study and Gearheart was tending to the fire in the fireplace. Lightning cracked outside, sending loud thunder into the quiet night. The storm had started hours ago and did not seem like it was about to give up, so Gearheart prepared some candles and some lamps in case the power went out. That’s when my she heard it.
My sister couldn't quite place what it was, but it was an eerie, almost dreadful sound. It made her skin crawl with fright and the shadows seemed to lengthen as she watched them. She began lighting the candles with a shivering hoof, almost dropping the matches as she lit the first couple. She then walked around the house, trying to find where the sound came from. As she neared the steps leading up to the study, the sound started becoming more intense, sending shivers up her spine.
Gearheart called for Clockwork, wondering if he was the source of it. No answer. She did so two more times, without any luck, the only thing answering her was the eerie sound that moistened her forehead as she looked up to the study nervously. She sighed after a few moments and, gathering all her courage, began walking up the steps, candle in hoof. She took it one step at a time, the sound becoming more and more intense as she neared the top.
My sister jumped slightly as she reached halfway up the stairs, a cold gust of wind extinguishing her candle. Not about to turn back now, she continued up the stairs and made it to the hallway. A pale lime light shown from his study as she began walking towards it, the sound growing stronger and stronger as she walked slowly down the hallway. She was soon able to distinguish a moan, a long, painful moan coming from the other room. It sounded like nothing she had ever heard before, yet sounded so familiar. The closer she got, the more she could distinguish it, her heart beating faster and faster as she approached the door.
Gearheart laid her hoof on the handle and was about to push it open when she froze, her eyes wide in terror as she fully recognized the sound. It was her grandmother’s voice, that was why it sounded so familiar. She was moaning in pain and agony from some unknown torture. Gearheart couldn't move, her body frozen in utter terror as the sound coursed through her mind, sending dark images flying across her field of vision.
My sister doesn't know how long she had stood there, frozen in fear in front of the door. It had felt like an eternity had passed since her hoof touched that wooden surface before the light finally died, the sound dying with it. Gearheart had slumped to the floor, sweat running profusely down her coat. She was panting as she realized she had been holding her breath, her throat and lungs aching from the lack of air. After a couple minutes, she managed to recover and, her hooves still shaking slightly from her recent fright, opened the door to the study.
The door swung open easily, its hinges not making a sound. The room looked undisturbed, as if no one had been in here. Nothing seemed out of place except... Where was Clockwork?! Her eyes widened and her heart began beating faster as she called his name, running around the room and looking into every nook and cranny to try to find him, but no luck. She then ran outside and looked all around the farm, searching each barn inside and out in her mad rush to find him, unable to accept the obvious: Clockwork had vanished.
I was in my studio painting a new piece for a Canterlot expo when, out of breath and tears running down her face, she ran into the room. Talking very, very fast, she began explaining to me what had just happened to her. I hushed her after a couple seconds, telling her to calm down since I was unable to keep up with her rushed speech. She took a deep breath and calmed herself down and then began explaining it all again, my eyes widening in both surprise and worry with every sentence.
Once she finished, I sat down and stared into a mirror, letting it sink in. Sobbing, staring at my own reflection in the polished metal, ears had started to fall down from my gold eyes, running down into my maroon coat. I tried wiping them away with my pink and red mane, but couldn't stop the flow as the sadness overtook me. Gearheart wept with me, the both us cuddling against each other, letting our tears run freely. I’m not sure how long we stayed like this. It felt like ages had passed since we began crying. My daughter, Blossom, had found us snuggled against each other and brought us into my bed, where we slept together, our minds troubled with the recent events.
“Excuse me miss Country?”
I looked over my shoulder, a little surprised someone had come into the shop. I eyed him for a moment, wondering who he was. This stallion looked as if he was in his mid forties, his black mane combed back and slick with gel. His beige coat was was perfectly groomed, without any bare patches or dirty hairs. Under his charcoal black trench coat, he wore a blue suit and white buttoned shirt with a light purple tie.
He smiled softly at me, holding out a sealed letter. “I am so very sorry for being a bother, but I have been asked by your sister Gearheart to give you this.” He waited patiently for me to take the letter.
I looked up into his eyes and then at the letter, wondering what it could be. I took it from him and began opening it, being careful not to damage the seal. “Any idea of what it is?” I said, finally opening the letter and taking out its contents: a white piece of paper folded in thirds with perfect writing on it, something that brought slight worry to me since Gearheart had a hard time writing properly, used to making scribbles of plans on sheets of loose paper. “And please, call me Sunshine”
“I do not know what are the contents of the letter miss Sunshine. Your sister only told me to deliver it when she hopped on the train to Canterlot.”
I gave him a nod and began reading the letter, whispering it out to myself.
I stared at it, completely taken aback from this. I couldn't believe Gearheart hadn't told me sooner, but I guess it was to be expected. If she had told me sooner, I probably would've went to Canterlot myself and go see my parents, starting an argument that we probably wouldn't have heard the end of. I slowly folded the letter and walked over to the counter, placing it there.
Walking over to my saddle bags, I rummaged through them and took out a couple of bits, handing them over to the stallion. “Thank you for bringing this to me, here’s something for your trouble.”
He smiled and shook his head, refusing the bits. “Gearheart is a close friend of mine. It was my pleasure to be able to help her out, so it was no trouble at all.” And with that, he turned around and made his way to the door, shutting it behind him as he left.
