It’s been fifteen minutes since you got in your car, and Dexter is still bouncing up and down on his fluffy-safe car seat; After all, it’s not everyday you allow him to accompany you on one of your “Nightly business trips”. You try to calm it down, it will expend all its energy in the ride, and you’ll need it wide awake later.
“C’mon Dexter, calm down, if you get tired, you’ll miss the whole trip.”
You say, forcing a reassuring smile, trying to hide the guilt. Why are you so nervous? You’ve done worse things before. Is a biotoy really your breaking point?
“Otay daddeh, Dewtew ewited fow cawsie twip! Wub daddeh!”
The abomination’s innocent voice fills your ears. I’ve never understood what do you see on this… thing. It’s cloying tone, so needy, so clingy, so desperate for attention. Heh, maybe you two have more in common than I previously thought.
You adjust your glasses on your face, trying to distract yourself from all the regret you’re feeling, until you realize something: You’re Sweating. You’ve never sweat before, not even on your first time doing this, with that hitchhiker from Maine. You take your hankerchief and clean your forehead. The rat may be stupid, but if it feels that something’s wrong, it will panic, and we don’t want that, right?
6 minutes pass, as you drive away from your home city in Arkham, in complete silence; with the exception of the pest’s occasional song, completely oblivious of it’s fate. You take a right, out from the highway, and towards an old dirt road. You haven’t been here in fifteen years, yet you remember everything as if you cross through here everyday. I wonder why?
Even something as dim-witted as that technicolor abortion would be able to realize the difference between the smooth highway, and the rough surface of this forest road. Tread carefully, if it realizes what you’re doing, it will panic, and all this work would be for nothing; and you don’t want that, right?
“Daddeh, wewe we going? Nu wike meanine woadsie.”
“We’re, uh… going camping! Yeah.”
“Wa dat?”
“it’s, erm, when a daddy and his fluffy go to the forest to take some fresh air, and, uh… Watch the stars! and sleep on the forest. Yeah.”
“Dewtew nu wike fowest, munstahs wive in fowest. Scawwy!”
Careful now, you’re scaring it.
“D-don’t worry about it, I will protect you!”
“Ou pwomise?”
The creature looks at you, looking for any confort from it’s daddy. You look anywhere but to it, fearing that it’s credulous eyes will make you do something rash and stupid, like hitting the breaks and turning back to Arkham. Somehow, you managed to gather enough strength to answer it.
“I-i… promise, yeah”
You wince, hoping with all your body that it will not detect your obvious lie, fearing that it will freak-out and ruin the only thing that will save your soul, that you’ve work so hard to preserve. 2, 3 seconds pass, when you hear celebrations from the back of the car, cries of “Wub”, “Huggies”, “Bestest daddeh!” and, my personal favorite, “Daddeh stwop aww meanie munstahs!” HA, isn’t that ironic?
You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Honestly, you should really stop overestimating the intelligence of the monstrosity, it only gives you more stress, and wastes your time. The thing continuous to sing you praises, as you drive deeper and deeper on the old forest.
9 minutes pass, and you finally arrive on your final destination, the old well. It looks just like you left it fifteen years ago, or does it look just like the nightmares you’ve been having for the last month? Is there even a difference?
You hit the breaks, this is the point of no return. Well, that’s not true, you trample your last chance of returning fifteen years ago. It even was on this same place! Such a small world, isn’t it? You get out of the car, and open the backdoor, where the shit-rat is waiting for you.
You get it out of it’s little seat, the gremlin immediately hugs you on your neck. Your paralyzed, your mind racing back to five years ago, when your sister (Or was it a coworker?) gave you the little shit, to try and help you with your “Anti-social behaviors”. You wanted to throw the chirpy foal into Miskatonic river and get done with that, but you were too weak to do what was need to be done. Coward.
You snap back to reality, you have a job to do after all. The stars are just right, and the full moon on this night in Massachussets is perfect. You’re not getting this great of a chance in a Very long time, and, by then, it’s going be too late for you.
You carry the lamb towards the well, petting it’s red mane as you walk. It coos on your arms, too stupid too realize what was truly going on, as you stop in front of the well. You frown, some idiot decided to cover the well with wooden planks, thankfully, you came prepared for this sort of inconvenience.
You delicately let the shit-rat down to the floor, and you start to search for something on your backpack.
“Hey, Dexter, do you want some spaghetti?”
“Skettti!!”
The thing screeches, as it waddles towars you. You open your backpack, revealing a plastic bowl, and a ziploc bag filled with homemade spaghetti, all cooked and season to perfection, even the meatballs. You pour it in the bowl, and you let the affront to nature eat to it’s hear content, as you retrieve a crowbar from the same backpack.
You start to remove the wood from the well, one by one, freeing the blackness from it’s improvised prison. For someone as skinny as you, it’s surprising to know that you have that much upper body strength, but, on your “Line of Work”, that sort of advantage comes in handy. finish with your task as your pet finishes to lick the last remnants of salsa from the bowl.
“Hey Dexter, you want to play a game?”
“Yus, fwuffwy wub gamesie!”
“Alright, all you have to do, is close your eyes, ok?”
“Weawy? wust clowsy eyesies?”
“Yeah, as long as you don’t open them until I tell you, you’ll get even more spaggetti!”
“Otay daddeh, Dewtew wub gamesie!”
It closes it’s eyes, and you go to take the last thing you brought on your backpack: A black, leathery book without a title, just an unsettling aura of forbidden knowledge. You open it on a specific page, one you’ve open many times before. You start to speak one of it’s many passages, it feels wrong now, for the first time since you started, you’re not doing it to another human being, but to something that you actually care about.
The sacrifice is unbothered, a little weirded out by the inhumane voices coming from it’s daddy, but it ignores it, daddy wouldn’t do anything to hurt the little fluffy, right? It’s so distracted by your words, that it doesn’t realize all the miasma coming out of the well. It’s colors, some that don’t even exist on this planet, are jus the prelude.
Tentacles, grey and slimy start to get close to the sacrifice, silently so it doesn’t alert it until it’s too late. The pony is completely grabbed by them, it’s weak muscles incapable of scaping the grasps of the tentacles.
“Daddeh!!! Pwease help fwuffy, nu wike munstah, nuuuuuu!” It screams for you, still hoping you’ll be able to help it. What a fool
“Pwease nice munstah, nu huwt fwuffy, am gud fwuffy, NUUUUUU”
It’s still fighting, with all it’s pathetic might useless against that superior being. You just look at it, knowing your friend will be gone soon. Slowly, an shiny green orb gets in front of the eyes of the fluffy, forcing to be watched. The creature is unable to look away, forever trapped on the many unnatural fractals that made that orb. You can see, from afar, as some sort of electricity leaves the eyes of the fluffy to the orb, any moments or fight leaving it as well.
Soon, the fluffy is completely immobile, and the tentacles retreated back to the old well, despairing from this plane of existence, leaving you only a shell of your former friend. You grab it. Like always, it’s still breathing, it’s little heart still pumping, but it doesn’t move, all the light from it’s eyes has been exterminated. You know what happened, your master demands a sacrife of an untainted soul, and, as always, you have delivered. You don’t don’t want to even think what sort of horrors await for the soul of your only friend; forever robbed from the promise of the heavenly afterlife a good heart like him deserves.
It’s weird, why are you cheeks wet all of a sudden?
Hello everybody, I’m obsidian, and these is my first attempt at a story with Lovecraftian themes. I’ve been a fan of fluffies for more than two years, and I wanted to contribute to this community on my own way. My writing is going to be a bit experimental, or covering topics I think there aren’t enough. Sorry for any spelling mistakes, English isn’t my first language.
About this story? Well, I notice a disturbing lack of true Lovecraftian horror, and fates worse than death for the ponies, and if you want something done, you have to do it yourself.