Author's Note:

We make up horrors to help us cope with the real ones.

~ Stephen King

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What is light if not a symbol of suffering?

It is into the light that we all go each day rather than into the night. It is the light that reveals the awful truth that the darkness so kindly conceals from us so that we may sleep in peace, never knowing what horrors lie just beyond our fields of vision. Even when we die, there are tales of 'going into the light'.

To see that light is to experience death itself, but also to live. It is to understand even when it's painful. Sometimes, we see things in the light that aren't nearly as scary as the shadows would lead us to believe. Other times, however, there are things that are better left unseen by anypony at all.

There are some things that you don't ever, ever forget.

I am chained to my memories, even if I can't remember them. They hold me down, tether me to this nightmare that just never seems to end. I would break them, if I could. Knowing now what I didn't then, I would gladly have simply given up. It would have been so much easier than this slow decline into madness.

My name is Fluttershy, and this is the story of how I lived, how I died, and how I lived again.

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I don't know quite what it was that first woke me.

I clearly remember waking up drenched in a cold sweat, clinging to my sheets as the heavy sound of my own breathing bounced back at me. It took me a few moments of just lying there, staring wide eyed up at the ceiling in the dark and letting my heart slow down, the beating in my ears nearly drowning out the sound of my rapid breath.

Waking up in the middle of the night, scared and confused. It may not be my most amazing or memorable memory of all, but it certainly is influential. It's lodged itself in my brain; or what's left of it at this point. That pivotal moment in utter silence, clinging to the sheets and desperately trying to remember what I had been so afraid of.

And then the growing fear when I couldn't remember anything else.

Fear is definitely one of my biggest fears. I'm not proud to admit it, but quite a lot of things scare me really badly. Especially sharp, loud noises, but that's more startling than it is scary. But that in turns leads to me getting scared, and… well.

When I'm afraid, I break down. I can't help it. It's humiliating and embarrassing, and makes me a little queasy and shaky – even just thinking about it puts my nerves on edge. And when my first and only memory that I could recall was fear, I latched onto it knowing full well that I would regret it and being utterly powerless to stop myself from doing so.

I don't know how long I stayed in bed, shaking and whimpering like a little filly. Please don't laugh at me, it really was traumatic. I didn't know where I was or how I got there, how long I had been there or why; all I could do was hide under the blankets and squeeze my eyes, wracking my brain for anything at all.

I must have fallen back asleep at some point or another, because I awoke in the same muddle of blankets that I curled up in. The same wooden interior of the cottage, the same moonlight pouring in through the window and leaving a brilliant white square on my floor. It hadn't even moved, leading me to wonder just how long I had been asleep – if at all, that is.

It was staring at that little patch of light that it hit me, that it was my floor. It was all too familiar not to be, my little bedroom in my little cottage. My cottage. It was little clicks and pops in my memory, tiny fills into that terrifyingly large gap that urged me on, partially. Maybe it was curiosity that led me out, or maybe just fear of relapsing into that same shaking fit as before. I don't remember anymore.

Either way, something more than I could quite comprehend led me out of that cottage, and turned my entire existence into a veritable Tartarus, a living hell.

I searched the cottage first, even though it was dark. I couldn't seem to find any candles, even though I was sure that some should have been nearby. I went through room after room, my hooves barely making a whisper as I tread throughout the whole darkened area. I was almost positive that I was looking for something, or somepony. That growing feeling of desperation a filly gets in search of her mother when she can't be found, clawing at my belly and up into my throat until I thought that I was going to be sick.

The feeling of helplessness.

I was on my… fourth? Fifth? Maybe fifth search of the cottage, still frantically digging through belongings that I didn't recognize when I noticed the difference.

For one, the clouds must have been covering the moon, because a subtle darkness shifted over everything. I had to squint just to see my own hooves, though I thankfully didn't lose my sense of direction. I can only try to avoid imagining what might have happened if I did.

I stumbled around for a bit, feeling my way over the cold floor and toward the front door from the living room; bumped my knees on the coffee table, too. It hurt pretty badly, which pretty much eradicated the faint hope that I might have been dreaming. I don't know quite what it was, and I really don't want to know.

No sooner had I recovered from the bump on the coffee table that I heard a light, rapid skittering.

I almost could have attributed it to little foal's hooves, but it was too fast for that. Almost like a spider. Albeit, a very, very large spider.

It scratched its way across the floor just behind me, shuffling away beneath the sofa. Suddenly stricken with the urge to climb onto the coffee table to avoid the thing, I peered hard in the dark for what it might have been. Nothing was seen, although I think I spotted a small lump under the couch. It only made me wish for those candles even more.

"Angel?"

Those were the first words out of my mouth that I remember speaking, and my voice was scratchy and hoarse. Hard to believe that my own voice made my heart pound so loudly, but it did. Maybe it was in conjunction with that thing that I couldn't quite see, lying unmoving beneath the sofa.

I think it was just the word itself that brought back a single flash of memory – white, soft and fuzzy. Pleasant and warm, small and kind.

It wasn't anything like what was under there.

Upon my speaking, the… thing skittered even more loudly than before, right towards my face. I jerked back, very very quickly assured that I did not want whatever it was anywhere near me. I don't know if it chased me or not, but I yanked open the door to the cottage and hightailed it out while I could. It was one of those dreamlike moments where I was running from something in a nightmare, and my legs felt like jelly. I suppose that's just what fear does to anypony, though.

I wish I'd never left. I wish I'd never stayed, sometimes I wish I'd never woken up.

Don't look at it.

I ran right out into the dark, all precaution thrown to the wind. And believe it or not, the moon was right back out again, just as bright as it had been before. Oddly, the light didn't quite seem to touch the ground at any point, and there was a light mist that sprawled up around me the further I ran. Wings clamped tightly to my sides, breathing heavy and labored as I struggled onward over cold, sturdy ground. You can guess pretty easily how I managed to get lost in the fog, and how I learned my first lesson.

Don't ever, ever act on your fears.

I think it's just an unspoken rule of the universe, one that preys maliciously on the unwary like a wild beast. You can be afraid. You're supposed to be afraid, and you might fight against your fears or hide from them, but don't ever, ever let them catch you running away. You'll only go in circles, just like I did. Straight lines, all in circles. Circles within circles within circles.

When I'm afraid, I panic. I just can't help it, it's a part of my being and was ever since I can remember. And when I panicked and ran, the horrible images of slithering tendrils of fog wrapping around my throat as I ran, it only urged me on further. I must have ran until I stumbled and my legs gave out, I was sobbing and crying and scared and confused all at once, practically dragging myself at some point just to keep going away from whatever it was that I was running from and couldn't remember.

I wound up back at the cottage.

Mommy?

Please – please, come back!

I can't tell you just how mind bogglingly terrifying something logically impossible like that can be when you least expect it. If it had been in pretty much any other circumstance, I might have had a better reaction than to just stand there gaping at my own cottage in dim surprise and confusion. It might have been that slap to the face of reason that snapped me out of it, that random bit of chaos when everything else was fog that shook me out of my fear. A little bit, anyway. Don't think that I was brave all of a sudden, because I wasn't. Oh my goodness, no.

I certainly stood there, right in front of my cottage for a good long while. It didn't look any different than normal; what I thought was normal, anyway. Shutters drawn tightly, front door mat dusted neatly and the potted plants outside the windowsill dancing lightly in an unseen breeze. For something that seemed so normal, it shook me pretty deeply.

I definitely pulled myself together a little more after that, but not by much. I wiped my eyes and gave a few shakes to straighten my mane, steadying my breathing even though I was still trembling. It was pretty clear that it wouldn't do me any good to run back, because then I'd probably just wind up back at the cottage.

And that thought right there betrayed me, because even knowing that something that jarring was waiting for me threw me off from opening the front door. I stood on that mat for who knows how long, just hanging onto the handle. I might have even gone inside, if I hadn't heard the whispering.

I blinked in surprise, looking around me and seeing only the slowly dwindling fog and waving tall grass. Equally curious as I was fearful, I slipped a little closer to the door and pressed my ear upright against it, listening closely. It was definitely whispering, like it was just on the other side of the door. I couldn't quite make out what was being said, or even if it was a mare or stallion's voice. It was… familiar, though.

My head was still pressed tightly against the door, and I squeezed the handle tighter when I gradually realized that the whispering hadn't just gotten fainter and fainter… it had stopped completely.

BANG!

I screamed when the front door shook loudly, rattling heavily against the iron locks that had been installed out of fear of prowlers. I don't know how I knew it, but I did. Locks that were just on the other side, heavy ones that were being shaken and jarred with a viciousness that rattled the whole door, banging and clanging with frightful strength.

At that point, I didn't care if there was another identical cottage waiting for me anymore, I was point blank too terrified to even touch that door to do anything other than go. Not run or flee, nothing in particular on my mind but go. Just go.

I made my way in the same direction that I had come from, carefully picking out a small dirt path in the middle of the shoulder tall swaying grass. That noise – that horrible noise seemed to follow me the further I went, getting louder and louder as I progressed down the path. There must have been some point that it stopped though, but I didn't. I didn't stop, I didn't so much as slow down or look back.

I didn't want to ever see that cottage again.

It fell silent after a while, leaving me to just the sound of my own breathing once again. I was sure to clamp my muzzle shut, trotting slowly and surely down the tiny path. The fog started to pick up again, dancing nimbly over the grass like ballerinas made of smoke, pirouetting and twirling in tune to the composition of the breeze.

It was almost peaceful, in a way.

Can you see them, too?

If I could forget about the constant nagging urge to look over my shoulder, if I could just stop for a moment I almost felt as if I could hear pleasant singing somewhere in the distance. Like a lilting song being whispered along with many others who had long since forgotten the words.

Of course, right when I began to go a little more slowly and let my guard down, I regretted it.

I had just started to go up a small incline at the beginning of a hill, the little dirt path in the grass growing smaller and smaller as I progressed when my hoof thumped against something hard. At first, I thought it was just a bit of bark or small log, because it sounded hollow. It wasn't until I touched the second one that the moonlight shining off of it showed me that I had kicked a pony's skull.

My hooves flew up to my mouth in horror and disgust, which I instantly regretted as well. I'm not really afraid of germs, but the thought of putting the same hooves that had been touching a skull near my mouth made me feel ill. I shied away from it quickly, all captivation with the little clearing completely sucked away. Picking up my hooves and trotting faster, I made the cardinal mistake of throwing a single glance over my shoulder, certain that I was being followed.

The moment I turned my sight away from the path, something bit me in the flank. Hard.

I squealed in pain, slapping it away – nearly like a large hornet had stung me, but it hurt far too much for it to be a bug. Drawing a hoof away showed a glint of blood on my hoof, which only served to make me panic again and rear up in terror, galloping as hard as I could up the path.

Or what I thought was the path, anyway.

I don't know if I was just mistaken and lost my way in the bout of fear, or if it really had vanished the moment I took my eyes off of it. For all I know, it could have been either. Maybe both. Regardless, I wound up with a face full of grass as I ran, spitting out surprisingly bitter green stalks. They were also sharp, and slapped at my face the harder I ran, cutting me in several places. On my face was the worst, though I tried to keep my eyes shielded as I ran.

It wasn't as if I could stop running. Not with something nipping at my heels the whole way.

The same awful skittering came after me as I ran, breath catching in my throat as I pushed myself faster and faster, biting back screams as painful, sharp jabs snapped at my heels. One of them even managed to nick my wing, and I veered off stumbling and tripping in my fervor to escape.

The only thought going through my mind was to get away.

If only I could just get to the path again. If I could just find the path, if I could just get to that little patch of dirt, I would be okay. It was almost like a game colts and fillies might play, finding the safe place. The thought alone made me a little giddy, the insane urge to giggle while fighting back screams of pain mingling with my thoughts. I tripped again, one of the unseen assailants ripping at my leg. I screamed automatically, kicking hard as more of the things swarmed around, urging me on again.

I wished then that I could have simply flown away, that I weren't so pitifully afraid that my wings were clamped to my sides like glue.

But that's just what fear does to me.

I can't quite think properly when I'm afraid, I wasn't thinking right then. I cried and ran, terrified that I would soon be joining those awful piles of bones sitting around. Things that used to be ponies.

I don't think I've ever been so glad to see dirt in my whole life.

It was moonlight that threw a wonderfully bright blanket onto the road ahead of me, like salvation offered to the imprisoned.

I was weeping openly by the point I scrabbled weakly onto the wide dirt road, kicking and flailing pointlessly at empty air as I strained to keep going. Anything to keep going, anything to stay away, anything to keep running. My heart pounding irregularly as my muscles clenched and squeezed painfully, like I was still in danger.

And thinking back, I felt downright silly. Like the road would actually protect me, even though it was just a plain old road.

But nothing followed me from the tall grass, the same cool breeze wafted the same fog over everything. It was all silent and peaceful again, and all I could do was lie there and cry into my hooves, shaking and quivering like a frightened foal.

I probably would have stayed there longer if it weren't for the constant nagging fear of being followed by whatever had been in that grass, and it wasn't long before I was dragging myself onward again. What else could I do?

I hadn't gone far before the pain really started setting it, of the nicks and cuts, and worst of all, the bite marks.

Round, circular little things all up and down my hind legs, as if leeches with legs had gotten ahold of me. All I could really do was take inventory of the wounds, limp on and steady my pace so that my legs wouldn't give out beneath me.

The thought of collapsing helplessly for those… things definitely helped to keep me going.

It wasn't as if I had a lot of options; both ends of the road were exactly the same, cloaked in shadow and fog that the moonlight again didn't quite seem to touch. I even started going back the way I came, uncertainty making the back of my neck prickle that maybe I was going further into danger when I spotted it.

I could see her really clearly from where I stood, hanging just outside the fog. A little yellow pegasus filly with bright pink mane, a lot like my own. Hers, however, was ragged and filthier than even my own, I could tell that at a distance.

"Mommy?"

I started toward the filly, though I don't really know why. Something about her just seemed… off.

"H-hello?" I called out, cautiously drawing nearer to the scared filly. "Little filly, are you okay?"

The filly turned toward me then, eyes wide with concern and dread. I had almost gotten close enough to touch her that she bolted away, galloping away at top speed.

"No, wait!" I shouted after her, and even I thought that my own voice was scary. Maybe she wouldn't have run even faster if I hadn't shouted after her. But it wasn't as if I were thinking when I did it, I only called after her out of selfish fear of being left on my own again. I trailed after her, her bobbing pink tail slowly vanishing in the fog as I chased her.

"Wait, come back!" I pleaded, desperate not to lose sight of the filly. "Please – please, come back!"

I pounded the ground with all my might, more determined than anything else. I even managed to free up my wings a little bit, using them for momentum to push myself faster. I was completely out of breath before long, and she had still outrun me, even though I really felt as if I should have caught her. Maybe things would have ended differently if I had.

I broke out of the fog without warning, contrails of mist hanging off my body like the wrappings of a ghost. Head whipping about in panic, I searched long and hard for that filly; there was no sight of her amongst the outskirts of the town.

Only a few boarded up, broken windows and a little worn sign that was so scratched up that I almost couldn't read it. There was a little light just underneath it, though, illuminating it like it was being presented just for me.

Ponyville. Population – .

That last part was far too scratched and marred for me to read it, having been scarred beyond recognition. I don't quite know why it made me so uneasy.

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