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Private The Case of the Grimdark Devil


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May 6th, 1890

There was another murder yesterday. Between the hours of five and six that early, gray morning I was pulled from my slumber by none other than the most ghastly scream that echoed over the lake. I was lying awake in a cold sweat; my heart pounding, eyes so wide they began to get sore while my ears stayed alert to even the smallest hum of a fruit fly buzzing in my kitchen. I dared not move. I could not, even if I had wanted to for I was paralyzed.

When the screaming stopped not a single sound could be heard; the lark, the Harold of the morn let not a single sound. I rose from my bed in an attempt to calm my nerves (or perhaps it was because I was foolish enough to think a peek outside my window would do me justice). The feeling reminded me of being a little colt back home watching as my mother and father scoured my chamber for monsters. They played it off as a game, gently teasing and soothing me from my own imagination. This, however, was not my imagination which is possibly the reason my terror felt more real.

It is still hard for me to conjure the image that I saw. To paint a picture of what befell my sight would seem like an unkindness to whomever may rea-----

 

“Modus?” the sweet, lyrical voice of Sage interrupted the young stallion’s thoughts. His quill scratched on the paper as he flinched which left a long line of thick black ink across all he had written on his parchment. With a heavy sigh, he set it down with his magic and turned to rest his eyes on the green mare.

 

“To what do I owe the pleasure this afternoon, my dear Sage?”

 

“Oh, I was hoping you might be able to help me with something.”

 

“And what would that something be?” he tried not to sound too irritated but it bothered him to be bothered.

 

“A wheel on my wagon has broken. I thought, perhaps, your magic could assist me.”

 

“Why not ask the carpenter? What was his name…”

 

“Timber? No one has seen him, so I thought I would ask you.”

 

“Ah… I guess. I could use a drink anyway. Care to join me at the inn?”

 

“Which one?”

 

“Oh, any one, I don’t mind which. Whatever you prefer, my dear.”

 

As Sage let herself out, Modus stretched his legs and rolled up the parchment he had been writing on. The ink had dried well enough, he thought, so rolling it would cause not a single smear or smudge. He was simply writing down an idea, after all, for what he considered to be his greatest novel yet. But that was a story for another day.

 

He stepped out of his small cabin and followed Sage to her wagon. The sky is a beautiful blue. It is warm, but not hot with a gentle and cool breeze. It was a perfectly wonderful day, and it was all downhill from there. A small gathering of ponies were standing near the entrance of town under the ancient looking sign that read Welcome to Horseshoe Lake! They looked worried but Modus didn’t have the time to notice them much.

Edited by SkySong
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