Twilight Sparkle

Spooky Story Time

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Hey, everypony. Time to share out spooky stories to get in the mood for NightMare Night. It can be the olden pony, the pony of shadows or even just something you put together yourself. Make sure to have fun and get in the spirit. Dont forget to give out all that candy to appease NightMare Moon oh and make sure to scare your friends with the spooky award. 

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  • Brohoof 3

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Here’s a ghost story I posted in Twilight’s fan club, a couple years ago. Hope you enjoy! :) 



  • Brohoof 2

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Gather round young fillies and colts, while I tell you a story. A true story, or at least it is true that it is a story...

My maternal grandfather was a turbine engineer by profession. In England during World War II, he had worked in a factory training and supervising women to assemble detonators for bombs and the like. This is where he met my grandmother, who had taken a liking to him and pelted him with springs from said detonators until he asked her out, and eventually married her. Knowing my grandmother she was still throwing springs at him right up until the ceremony. And possibly years later.

After the war ended, he, his wife, and their young daughter (my mother) immigrated to Canada where he worked on the giant generators on Niagara Falls, as well as other projects of that ilk.

One day a friend of his, a British merchant marine he had met during the war, came to him with a problem. The ship he was serving on as a mechanic was without power, stuck in one of the Welland Canal Locks near St. Catharines. Something had gone wrong with the engines, and they would not turn.

My grandfather came to the rescue, and solved the problem. The massive ship was moving once more, and the grateful captain gave my grandfather the ship's wheel as a trophy for his deeds. Not entirely sure what to do with it, my grandfather mounted it on the wall in the family room behind his chair and effectively forgot about it.

Until one day he noticed the wheel had turned slightly. The king spoke of the wheel had a brass cap on it, so a helmsman could tell at which point in the wheel's rotation the rudder was straight, and my grandfather had mounted the wheel with the king spoke straight up. But now, it was turned one spoke to the right. It was still fastened tightly to the wall, and took fair bit of strength to turn, but turn it had and on it's own. Several days later he found out that his friend, the mechanic, had passed away.

Years past, and he would occasionally discover the wheel turned yet another notch. And each time, a few days later, he would be notified of another funeral for a friend he had known during the war.

My grandfather himself passed away forty years ago, and my grandmother moved from that house some twenty years ago. When she did, she sent the wheel to me for reasons I cannot explain. She never told me the full story, only that the wheel had been a gift from a grateful captain, but it did puzzle me as I lived on the other side of the continent at that point, in Victoria, British Columbia, and the shipping cost must have been exorbitant. 

It was my mother who filled me in, after she saw it mounted on the wall of my own living room some years later. I thought it was a funny story, as my grandmother was an odd duck who was full of many weird tales. But it was just a story. I moved again, and remounted the wheel with the king spoke straight up as it had slipped at some point and was pointing off to one side. This time I tightened down the hub nut until I couldn't turn the wheel without putting my entire weight behind it. That would be the end of that.

My grandmother passed away last year, and I found the wheel had turned a notch. My wife and I didn't find it quite so funny of a story anymore, and we've been watching it ever since. 


Three days ago the wheel turned.


[EDIT, and some explanation for those who are curious: Yes, this story is true, up to a point. I do indeed have this wooden ship's wheel, which had been given to my grandfather as he had done *something* to fix the engines of a vessel stuck in the Welland Canal. Dunno exactly what, as he passed away before I was old enough to be curious about it. There's no plaque or anything written on it to indicate what ship or the year, which I find unfortunate, but I have no reason to doubt that part of the story. The deviation is that the last time I moved, I didn't put the wheel up. It's in a store room with a pile of other things I just haven't quite figured out what to do with. But the story about the wheel turning when someone died? That's something my Nanna (my grandmother) did tell people. She was fun that way.)

  • Brohoof 1

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i guess this fits perfectly here. so i'll post it once more

To Celebrate the Nightmare Night's arival

Let us remember what this world has faced
And how the elements helped it's survival
And with another princess we were graced

But enough with this pre-story hold
Let us allow this great tale to unfold.
From the days of old it was foretold
That stars in a night dark and cold

Would aid the moon in her escape
The ponies all in terror stare agape
As night eternal started taking shape
Forever changing the landscape

But don't despair, for not all hope is lost
A mare was there prepared to pay the cost
So she can be the element's new host
And melt from nightmare's heart the frost

But to achieve this she will need the spark
It won't be just like walking in the park
Some lessons better learned when times are tragic
She realised just then that Frindship can be Magic

And thus the tale of Nightmare ends
As Twilight Sparkle and her friends
Broke the Spell that Luna's soul tormented
who now for the grief she caused lamented

  • Brohoof 3

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Here's a chilling story that I wrote when I was thirteen:




The Willesden Tower was an old apartment building with one old elevator. The elevator stopped at every floor but could only hold four people. There never was an express elevator, which had been the source of multiple complaints. But then again, the alternative to the elevator was 42 flights of steep, wooden stairs.

Bertram had felt uncomfortable in the elevator ever since he had moved into the Willesden Tower eight years ago. Perhaps it was because the elevator was so old. Perhaps it was because the elevator was so small. But there was something else about this elevator. Something that didn't seem right. But Bertram could never figure it out.

Bertram had moved into Apartment 41A with his parents when he was fifteen. After his first ride in the old, slow elevator, he always tried to take the stairs. But his parents were very old and very strict, and forced him to ride in the elevator with them. They thought Bertram a wimp for being scared of the elevator, and for being skinny and bad at sports.

When Bertram’s parents died, they left their apartment to Bertram, who, at twenty years old, was on his own with no family or college education. Since Apartment 41A was right next to the elevator, Bertram never got much sleep. He worked at night, so he slept during the day. And during the day the elevator would creak and groan as it moved up and down. Bertram worried that at some point the elevator’s ropes would snap.

Without having gone to college, the best job 23-year-old Bertram could get was as a part-time bartender at McGregor’s, a bar across the street from the Willesden Tower. Like the Willesden Tower, McGregor's was very old and rundown. Dust had gathered in all corners of the bar. The floors creaked loudly whenever you walked. And Mr. Crunk, a bitter old man in his late seventies, was an absolutely horrible boss. Although Mr. Crunk had always been mean to all his employees, he had always singled out the night bartender, who at this point happened to be Bertram.

Tonight was the same as usual. Since he was going down, Bertram took the stairs instead of the elevator. Once he had gotten down to the lobby, Bertram walked out onto the street, which was illuminated by the city's tall lampposts. He then crossed the street, pushed open the creaky wooden door of McGregor’s and walked up to the bar. He glanced up at the old clock on the wall and groaned. It was 6:01, which meant that he was one minute late to work and would get chewed out by Mr. Crunk. Again.

After Mr. Crunk had directed some cuss words at him, Bertram went back out to the bar to begin the night shift. At around a quarter to nine, the first bar fight started. A man with a beard drank five whole bottles of whiskey and began punching the bald man next to him. The bald man then threw his attacker to the ground, knocking over both of their stools. He then raised a broken whiskey bottle and prepared to bring it down on the bearded man.

“Hey, hey, break it up!” Bertram stepped out from behind the bar. The bald man brought down the broken bottle, which smashed on Bertram's right shoulder. Bertram winced as the glass cut into his flesh. He grabbed a napkin and held it on his injured shoulder, then pulled the two drunk men apart.

After sending both of them out of the bar, Bertram walked over to Mr. Crunk and asked if he had finally gotten around to buying another box of bandages. As usual, the answer was no. But Mr. Crunk probably wouldn’t have given Bertram a bandage even if he had bought a box. “Quit being a wimp and get back to that god-damn bar!” he growled. “There are people out there who need a drink!”

Bertram angrily stomped out of Mr. Crunk’s office. On multiple occasions, he had wanted to punch Mr. Crunk in the face. And this was one of those occasions. Holding the napkin to his shoulder, he handed out drinks using his one good arm. Having to use his left arm was difficult, but Bertram forced himself to manage.

At 2 AM the night shift ended. Bertram took the napkin off his shoulder and found that the cut had bled out. He left the bar, which had closed and would reopen at 7 AM. That was when the day bartender, Jimmy, would start his shift. Bertram and Jimmy had been friends in high school, and Bertram wished Jimmy worked the night shift with him, just so he would have someone to talk to.

Bertram hurried over to the Willesden Tower, glad to be out of the bar. It was completely dark now. No cars were in the street, and even the doorman had retired for the night. Now Bertram would ride the elevator up. He didn’t like the elevator, but he’d take it over 41 flights of stairs.

Bertram pushed the button for the elevator and waited. But the elevator didn’t come. Bertram looked up at the floor dial and saw that the elevator was stuck at the 34th floor. Bertram would have to take the stairs.

With that, Bertram began to trudge up the steep, wooden stairs. Going down wasn’t so bad, but going up was incredibly tiresome and on the eighth floor Bertram had to stop and catch his breath before beginning to climb again.

At the 34th floor Bertram was almost completely out of breath. But since he was there, Bertram decided to take a look and see why the elevator had stuck.

The stairs were at the back of the Willesden Tower, while the elevator was at the front. Bertram walked down the hall to the elevator doors.

Bertram heard screaming and groaning coming from inside the elevator. Someone was trapped inside! Bertram pulled out his cell phone and called the fire department. A fire truck arrived in no time, and three firemen raced up the 34th floor. They wrenched open the elevator doors, only to find that, much to their shock as well as Bertram’s, the elevator was empty. No one was inside.

“There was someone screaming in there!” Bertram insisted. “I swear I heard them!”

“A likely story.” growled one of the firemen. “We’ll let you go this time, but if you prank us again we’ll report you to the cops. Understand?”

Bertram nodded reluctantly.

“Stupid prankster.” the fireman muttered, and walked back down the stairs.


The next day Bertram couldn’t sleep. He kept wondering if maybe he had just been hearing things, or if there really had been someone trapped in the elevator. But if someone was in the elevator, where had they gone when the fire department got there? It was a mystery.

At a quarter to six Bertram groggily dragged himself down the stairs. He had hardly gotten any sleep, and now he had to go back to the bar. The stairs creaked as he dragged himself down each flight. At the 12th floor landing Bertram checked his watch. It was 5:59. He realized that he had one minute to get down twelve flights of stairs and across the street. He grabbed the railing and slid down it the rest of the way. He then bolted through the lobby, across the street and into the bar. Once he was in McGregor’s, Bertram checked his watch again. It was six sharp. He breathed a huge sigh of relief. He had made it.

As it turns out, Bertram shouldn’t have worried about being late to work, because Mr. Crunk wasn’t at McGregor’s that night. Bertram figured his boss was sick, and for once actually enjoyed himself at work. Nobody got too badly drunk, and nobody started any bar fights. Bertram had a relaxing night of just passing out drinks.

At 2 AM Bertram walked out of the bar and carefully made his way to the other side of the street. He walked through the empty lobby and pushed the button for the elevator.

The floor counter showed that the elevator was on 42, the top floor, one floor above Bertram’s. Bertram watched the numbers count down: 41, 40, 39, 38, 37, 36, 35…

At 34 the floor counter stopped. Bertram looked at it suspiciously. That’s the second time the elevator has stuck at 34, he thought. There must be something going on up there.

The elevator soon restarted its descent. 33, 32, 31, 30, 29…

Since no one else was awake at this hour, it wasn’t long before the elevator reached the lobby. The doors opened, and Bertram stepped in.

The elevator slowly made its way up through the floors, creaking loudly as it went. This constant creaking was one of the reasons why Bertram disliked the old elevator. It worried him that one day, the ropes would snap, and he would fall to his death.

Bertram immediately pushed the thought from his mind. The elevator was now on 15.

At least it’s not 34, he thought. He stood against the wall as the elevator continued to rattle and creak. Bertram watched the floor counter: 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21…

…30, 31, 32, 33…

Bertram realized that the elevator was about to reach the 34th floor. Although he wanted to know what was causing the elevator to get stuck there, he was also scared at the same time.

The floor counter flashed the number 34, and the elevator shuddered to a stop. Bertram pressed himself to the wall.

Oh, what am I so scared of! he thought, releasing his grip on the wooden wall. It’s just an old elevator! He stepped out into the middle of the elevator. At that moment, he heard a loud groan and then the crash of someone falling to the floor.

Shocked, Bertram turned around. There was no one else in the elevator.

How is that possible? he thought. There’s no one else here but me! Unless… No! It couldn’t be! Bertram jumped back and grabbed the wall again. He breathed a sigh of relief as the elevator restarted. He watched the floor counter again: 35, 36, 37…

“Thank God it’s not 34.” he breathed hoarsely. “Jesus.”

The elevator soon reached the 41st floor. When the doors opened, Bertram shot right over to Apartment 41A, jabbed his key in, and bolted into his apartment. He shut the door tightly, ran into his bedroom and pulled himself under the covers. He lay there for the next few hours, wondering who else could have been in the elevator with him. He wanted to know, but was afraid to find out.


At a quarter to six, Bertram had turned on the TV and was watching The Simpsons when he checked his watch and realized that it was time to go to work. He walked out of his apartment and down the hall to the stairs. As he made his way down to the lobby, he couldn’t stop thinking about the terrifying incident the previous night. Once he was in the lobby, he crossed the street and pushed open the door of McGregor’s. He walked up to the counter to find that his friend Jimmy was there.

“Jimmy, my man!” Bertram gave his friend a hard high five. “I guess you got switched to the night shift?”

“You got that right.” Jimmy replied. “I guess old man Crunk wanted two night bartenders, given that most people come at night. Say, where is old man Crunk? He wasn’t here yesterday, either.”

“Guess he’s sick. I’m glad he isn’t here to yell at me for every little thing. Seriously, that’s all he ever does. Two nights ago he yelled at me for being one minute late. One minute. What a moron.”

Just as Jimmy was about to reply, Mr. Crunk arrived, six minutes late. “Y’all are in trouble for being six minutes early!” he growled. “Just ‘cause I wasn’t here yesterday don’t mean you guys can slack off!”

“But you didn’t see us last night!” Bertram burst out. “And besides, I-”

“Silence!” Mr. Crunk snapped. “Believe me, Bertram, I know when you’ve not been doin’ a good job. I know.”

“That old fogey!” Bertram muttered, once Mr. Crunk had gone back to his office. “Who’s he to think he can talk to me like that! What an arrogant, condescending jerk!”

“He just wants to piss you off.” Jimmy replied, also frustrated at Mr. Crunk. “He’s always been a jerk to his night bartenders. I would quit, but where else could I find a job?”

Bertram nodded in agreement. “Same here. Maybe we should have gone to college after all.”

After a few minutes, Bertram decided to tell Jimmy about the strange incidents in the Willesden Tower’s elevator. He recapped the whole story: the mysterious groans he had heard from outside the elevator two nights ago, the same thing happening again last night, this time when he was inside the elevator, and how these incidents had both happened on the 34th floor.

Jimmy gasped at the chilling story. “Did you see who it was?” he asked.

“Nope.” Bertram replied. “That’s what’s so weird about this. I swear I definitely heard someone groaning, but who could it have possibly been?”

“Who knows? It’s certainly an interesting mystery.”

“Yes. Interesting, but scary.”

Jimmy nodded at his friend. He and Bertram spent the rest of the night talking about The Simpsons, and breaking up the occasional bar fights. Fortunately, neither Bertram nor Jimmy got hit with a broken glass by any of them. Bertram was glad that Jimmy now worked the night shift. He now had a friend to talk to at work, and a helping hand at the bar.

Before long, it was 2 AM, and the end of the night shift. “See you tomorrow night, Jimmy!” called Bertram as he left McGregor’s. He looked both ways, then crossed the street and walked into the lobby.

Bertram was in the middle of the lobby when he stopped. He looked nervously back and forth between the old rickety elevator and the steep wooden stairs. He had to choose between a chilling ride on the elevator or a steep, exhausting climb up 41 flights of stairs.

Bertram thought for a moment, then walked over to the elevator. He realized that he could just get off on the 33rd floor and take the stairs the rest of the way. He pushed the button for the elevator and immediately got on. The elevator, as it turns out, had already been waiting at the first floor. He then pushed 33 and heard the elevator creak as it got up to speed.

But when the elevator reached the 33rd floor, where it was supposed to stop, it kept going. Bertram, realizing what was going to happen, crouched in the corner as the elevator reached the dreaded 34th floor and once again shuddered to a stop.

Bertram closed his eyes and prepared to hear that sickening groan. But the elevator was silent. Bertram was about to get up and call for help when two cold, bony hands clamped down on his shoulders. He turned around and screamed.

There was the phantom of the 34th floor. Bertram immediately recognized who it was and frantically struggled to get free, but the phantom’s grip was too strong. “Why are you here!” Bertram screamed. “What are you trying to do!”

“Sixty years ago, I was riding this elevator when I had a heart attack on this very floor.” the phantom whispered solemnly. “I was the first person to die in this elevator.”

Bertram was now more scared than he had ever been in his whole life. He screamed again and broke away from his captor, only to be pulled back again by those cold, bony hands.

“I do not wish for you to join me.” the phantom whispered. “But now that you know the truth about me, I am afraid I have no choice.”

And with that, the phantom clambered up through the elevator’s ceiling, and cut the rope.


  • Brohoof 1

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You...yes you reading this...whatever you do, no matter how many candies you have, no matter how many times you pass this message on, no matter if you even try to report this cannot escape your fate....








I mean someday obviously, couldn't tell you when just stating the facts :orly:


  • Brohoof 1

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I have one.

It was a Night just like this and ponies were telling stories just like this. And the skeletons were out and about nopony was safe so them ponies decided to hide from all the skeletons when all of a sudden the last pony heard skeleton noises so they used an X ray machine to see if any skeletons were hiding in the room but it was to late....They already had a skeleton inside of them......

  • Brohoof 3

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I wrote these poems based the  living dead doll on FNAF




 “Clank, Clank, Clank,”

 The only sound he can make.

Once he traps you, there is no escape.

 All he wanted was to save them,

Trapped forever in a automatic suit,

He will make his amend to get revenge.

His sins will carry on and making sure you

won't forget his name.




 Ahoy, ye maggots, he travel through the seven seas,

An pirate without a heart, you’// have no time to fee.

His fangs will the last thing you will see.

A child who yearns for adventure,

Fallen into a dismay, his life was marked.

Now without a thought, he only yearn to keelhaul

those who enter, for he is now  known as Foxy!



Pluck and cluck, it’s time to eat!

And she won't take no for an answer,

Hiding will not save you for she will hear your heartbeat.

And you will breathe your last breath.  

Innocent as the rest, the child ate her last piece of cake.

Dream to be free, but now couldn't control herself from

indulging the suffering of others. Cluck cluck here's Chica!


Freddy Fazbear:

Music is playing and show is about to start.

While your reality has begins to fall apart.

Cam1 and cam2 you won't find him,

Because your visions has become dim.

Laughter faded, as the child’s world ends.

Forced to hunts the night till he gets what he wants,

This Freddy Fazbear is forever cursed.



He’s not here to rock out, those days are over.

Crawling through the vet, pounding against the door,

Once he sees you, you are done for.

A child whose dream to be a rock star.

Didn’t realize that his final day isn’t far.

Playing the sad tune which only he can hear,

All is heard is Bonnie’s screaming,

as he shed his tears.






Edited by TBD
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Now I'm wondering... if I read a fic of mine relating to our blue princess tonight, would anyone be interested?

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This is more short and silly than scary but I hope you enjoy it. 




Once upon a time, Twilight Sparkle went to the library to return some books.


When Twilight got to the library she realized there was a hole in her satchel & all of her books were missing! 


"Oh, no!" Twilight exclaimed "This has never happened before!" :wacko:


Twilight retraced her steps until she reached the Castle of Friendship & saw Spike had been eating the pages out of all of her books!


"Spike!" Twilight cried "What on Dirtville are you doing?!" :mlp_blink:


"Oh! Hey, Twilight!" Spike said guiltily with a mouthful of Keats "I was just tryin't write a poem for Rarity & well...I got a little hungry." :lie:


 "So you decided to eat my poetry book!?"  Twilight shouted with fire in her eyes. :angry:


"Hehe, yeah." Spike grimaced staring sadly at the floor "I'm *real* sorry, Twilightwill ya ever forgive me?" :sunny:


Twilight took a minute to calm down, realizing that books could be replaced but her friendship with Spike was irreplaceable.


"Yes, Spike." Twilight said lovingly giving him a hug "I forgive you." :adorkable:


"Thanks, Twilight." "Hey, d'ya have anymore've that Breakfast Club?" Spike said rubbing his stomach "It was pretty good." :squee:


"You ate my movie, too!?" Twilight said in horror.  :wau:...:okiedokieloki:


Thinking quickly Spike proceeded to craft a brilliant escape plan.


"Uhh...Oh, hey, Shining Armor!" :love:


As Twilight looked away for a spilt second, Spike flew away avoiding punishment...For now. 



Edited by Sparklefan1234
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