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Pitch
Swaddled in bedcovers and trapped in Twilight’s uncomfortably warm embrace, Spike lay awake. He wriggled slightly, but all the slumbering mare did was pull him tighter. The view of Ponyville from the window was pitch-dark, and Spike knew that the moment was now.
Slowly and carefully, he would take a deep breath, puffing up as much as he could against Twilight’s vice-like grip, then gently release it while creeping his way deeper into the bed. A furtive claw pulled a pillow from the head of the bed. By the time his feet were touching the floor at the foot of the bed, he’d slithered the length of the bed and replaced Twilight’s affections with a pillow, all while nearly boiling himself alive under the sheets.
Sliding out from the bed, he noiselessly laid himself out on the cold crystal floor, panting lightly. Rolling over onto his belly, he started the slow and laborious process of silently sliding out of the room on his belly.
After setting up the decoy of a particularly violent comic book and a lit taper on the bedside table of his old room, Spike was ready. A lantern had been lit, and the key had been filched from Twilight’s third hiding place, the existence of which Spike had only discovered when the first two came up dry and he’d checked on top of the ice-box.
Now he stood in front of the basement stairwell, a locked door standing between himself and his innate curiosity.
It had only been a month or two ago when the door hadn’t even been a thought. Spike and Twilight had been cleaning out one of the various storage rooms, trying to at least reduce some of the prodigious clutter that the castle generated. Spike had been moving a dresser when Twilight screamed and a bolt of black lightning rang out and struck the ceiling. For a moment everything was still, then a few dragon-crushingly large chunks of the ceiling came tumbling down. In a whirlwind, Twilight had grabbed him and teleported them both out of harm’s way.
After that, going downstairs had been forbidden, and Spike hadn’t wanted to press the issue. Twilight had seemed sickly from the stress of what could’ve happened, her hue noticeably grayer. After a week she’d recovered, and set strict rules in place. The castle now had a single locked door, and it led to the basement.
But putting an actual lock on the door seemed strange. It gave the odd noises at night an extra layer of mysticism, heightening the regular whispers of the wind into the sounds of creatures scurrying about unseen.
Spike turned the key in the lock, and cringed when the bolt dropped with ear-splitting click. He swung the door open noiselessly to reveal the stairwell. Hoisting the lantern, Spike descended down into the darkness.
At the bottom of the stairs, he opened the first door. The room was still in disarray, but through the light of his lantern a path through the debris was visible. In the middle of the far wall, a jagged hole opened into gloom.
It beckoned.
Trudging through the clutter, he pulled himself onto the ledge and peered into the gloom. A tunnel opened up. He caught the scent of something earthy, carried on a light wind.
He walked forward. The shaft twisted and turned as he went deeper, but there seemed to be no end.
At the edge of the lantern-light, spiders moved, and with every passing moment more seemed to flow past.
Unerved, Spike turned to retrace his path out. His foot caught a protruding rock and he stumbled, the lantern dropping from his grasp. It fell to the floor and shattered, the flame guttering as oil dripped from the enclosure. The flame extinguished.
In the sudden darkness, Spike could only hear the noise of crawling.
Panicked, He started running only to slam into the wall a few steps later, falling down as the oily invisible arachnids swept past him. He whimpered, curled on the cave floor, holding his claws over his ears as countless spiders scrabbled over him.
Darkness took him.
Spike jerked awake. For a moment he was trapped in the cavern, then reality asserted itself. He felt the warmth of the sheets, the tightness of Twilight’s embrace. On the ceiling the barest hints of the dawn were starting. He turned and made to push Twilight off of him, but froze.
Twilight wore a key around her neck.
Slowly and carefully, he would take a deep breath, puffing up as much as he could against Twilight’s vice-like grip, then gently release it while creeping his way deeper into the bed. A furtive claw pulled a pillow from the head of the bed. By the time his feet were touching the floor at the foot of the bed, he’d slithered the length of the bed and replaced Twilight’s affections with a pillow, all while nearly boiling himself alive under the sheets.
Sliding out from the bed, he noiselessly laid himself out on the cold crystal floor, panting lightly. Rolling over onto his belly, he started the slow and laborious process of silently sliding out of the room on his belly.
After setting up the decoy of a particularly violent comic book and a lit taper on the bedside table of his old room, Spike was ready. A lantern had been lit, and the key had been filched from Twilight’s third hiding place, the existence of which Spike had only discovered when the first two came up dry and he’d checked on top of the ice-box.
Now he stood in front of the basement stairwell, a locked door standing between himself and his innate curiosity.
It had only been a month or two ago when the door hadn’t even been a thought. Spike and Twilight had been cleaning out one of the various storage rooms, trying to at least reduce some of the prodigious clutter that the castle generated. Spike had been moving a dresser when Twilight screamed and a bolt of black lightning rang out and struck the ceiling. For a moment everything was still, then a few dragon-crushingly large chunks of the ceiling came tumbling down. In a whirlwind, Twilight had grabbed him and teleported them both out of harm’s way.
After that, going downstairs had been forbidden, and Spike hadn’t wanted to press the issue. Twilight had seemed sickly from the stress of what could’ve happened, her hue noticeably grayer. After a week she’d recovered, and set strict rules in place. The castle now had a single locked door, and it led to the basement.
But putting an actual lock on the door seemed strange. It gave the odd noises at night an extra layer of mysticism, heightening the regular whispers of the wind into the sounds of creatures scurrying about unseen.
Spike turned the key in the lock, and cringed when the bolt dropped with ear-splitting click. He swung the door open noiselessly to reveal the stairwell. Hoisting the lantern, Spike descended down into the darkness.
At the bottom of the stairs, he opened the first door. The room was still in disarray, but through the light of his lantern a path through the debris was visible. In the middle of the far wall, a jagged hole opened into gloom.
It beckoned.
Trudging through the clutter, he pulled himself onto the ledge and peered into the gloom. A tunnel opened up. He caught the scent of something earthy, carried on a light wind.
He walked forward. The shaft twisted and turned as he went deeper, but there seemed to be no end.
At the edge of the lantern-light, spiders moved, and with every passing moment more seemed to flow past.
Unerved, Spike turned to retrace his path out. His foot caught a protruding rock and he stumbled, the lantern dropping from his grasp. It fell to the floor and shattered, the flame guttering as oil dripped from the enclosure. The flame extinguished.
In the sudden darkness, Spike could only hear the noise of crawling.
Panicked, He started running only to slam into the wall a few steps later, falling down as the oily invisible arachnids swept past him. He whimpered, curled on the cave floor, holding his claws over his ears as countless spiders scrabbled over him.
Darkness took him.
Spike jerked awake. For a moment he was trapped in the cavern, then reality asserted itself. He felt the warmth of the sheets, the tightness of Twilight’s embrace. On the ceiling the barest hints of the dawn were starting. He turned and made to push Twilight off of him, but froze.
Twilight wore a key around her neck.
Pics
Welp, this has no comments yet. Uh, wow.
To be honest, I wasn't really sure how to think of this in the opening paragraphs. It's just a little... weird. After that first linebreak, though, that's when this starts getting really good. You nailed that sense of mystery here and really got me invested into what's behind the door. And then... weird shit happens to Spike. Poor Spike.
Anyway, that ending. I really like it, it's a great mix that guides the reader in its ambiguity. However, I feel it could've been a little stronger, mayhaps by not mentioning the key specifically? Something more along the lines of 'metal brushing against Spike's skin?' Idk.
All in all, good job, author, good job.
To be honest, I wasn't really sure how to think of this in the opening paragraphs. It's just a little... weird. After that first linebreak, though, that's when this starts getting really good. You nailed that sense of mystery here and really got me invested into what's behind the door. And then... weird shit happens to Spike. Poor Spike.
Anyway, that ending. I really like it, it's a great mix that guides the reader in its ambiguity. However, I feel it could've been a little stronger, mayhaps by not mentioning the key specifically? Something more along the lines of 'metal brushing against Spike's skin?' Idk.
All in all, good job, author, good job.
As for me:
I didn't understand this one at all. First, saying "he would take a deep breath..." at the beginning of the second paragraph makes me think that Spike's just considering these actions but hasn't actually done them, so I was confused when, by the end of the paragraph, it turns out that he has actually done them. Second, the string of passive voice verbs after the first line break--"A lantern had been lit, and the key had been filched"--further served to distance me from the action. And when I got to the end, I hadn't been able to pull enough clues out of the text to figure out what had happened.
It didn't work for me, in other words. :)
Mike
I didn't understand this one at all. First, saying "he would take a deep breath..." at the beginning of the second paragraph makes me think that Spike's just considering these actions but hasn't actually done them, so I was confused when, by the end of the paragraph, it turns out that he has actually done them. Second, the string of passive voice verbs after the first line break--"A lantern had been lit, and the key had been filched"--further served to distance me from the action. And when I got to the end, I hadn't been able to pull enough clues out of the text to figure out what had happened.
It didn't work for me, in other words. :)
Mike
Rolling over onto his belly, he started the slow and laborious process of silently sliding out of the room on his belly.
Now that's an awkward sentence... Also, I find it kinda cliche – a "it was all a dream... or was it?" kinda story was done before a lot.
As Baal notes, author, watch those verb tenses and passive voice. I'm also not buying why Spike bothered to go to the trouble of setting up a decoy comic-book setup: if Twilight's sleeping with him and awakens to realize he's not there, isn't she just going to discover the ruse instantly when she tries to drag him back to bed? Otherwise, this drew me in with its quietly ominous atmosphere and got me invested in the mystery.
Which makes it all the more unfortunate that I don't understand the implications of the ending, or why it's supposed to be more terrifying than the alternative (say, just fading to black with Spike in the dark). Is Twilight spiders? If so, they returned him safely to his bed: where's the horror? If not, then she's clearly discovered his little ruse and is trying to keep him away from a dangerous situation: where's the horror? What's going on? Why?
Effective prose, author, but I'm sorry to say this doesn't seal the deal for me.
Tier: Almost There
Which makes it all the more unfortunate that I don't understand the implications of the ending, or why it's supposed to be more terrifying than the alternative (say, just fading to black with Spike in the dark). Is Twilight spiders? If so, they returned him safely to his bed: where's the horror? If not, then she's clearly discovered his little ruse and is trying to keep him away from a dangerous situation: where's the horror? What's going on? Why?
Effective prose, author, but I'm sorry to say this doesn't seal the deal for me.
Tier: Almost There
The ending of this entry, as a few above have noted, is more than a little bit confusing. Let's try to break down why that is, shall we?
This entry has more than its fair share of genuinely creepy, ominous horror, and it does a pretty fantastic job with that. The opening sequence ramps up the tension, with Spike's plan consistently portrayed as requiring every ounce of concentration he has serving to increase the stakes of the piece without immediately giving us a reason. This means you actually have less work to do, author, when you're introducing the horror elements themselves: showing us Twilight is scared and that there is, at least, some mundane danger involved is already enough to get us absolutely convinced that there's something seriously creepy going on downstairs. It's a neat use of the space, honestly, and I'm quite impressed by that.
So we get to the end of the piece, we've been sold on the genuine terror (despite the fact that, really, the only terror we've seen is a very large number of spiders. Don't get me wrong, that's horrifying, but it's hardly the existential-dread level of fear that the tone of the piece has managed to sell to us so far. Even that powerful, conclusive "Darkness took him" seems somewhat oversold, in hindsight), and then we get a hard scene break cutaway to a scene that bookends the piece with the image of Twilight cuddling Spike. As >>Samey90 notes, it's the classic "it was all a dream" twist... followed immediately by a single line of prose that calls that twist into doubt.
This is a staple horror trope. It is executed well. It leaves the reader uncertain of what is and isn't real, which is exactly the horror that it is trying to convey. So how could such a standard ending possibly cause so much confusion?
It's... not entirely easy to tell, I'll be honest; there's a lot of factors at play here. The mismatch between tone and content at the story's climax is probably partly to blame, because this trope depends on unsettling the characters'—and the readers'—sense of reality. What are the implications of this not being a dream? That the castle has a tunnel with rather a lot of spiders in it? Again, I will acknowledge that I would personally find a spider tunnel genuinely horrifying, but that's not the existential level of dread that the trope relies on. It's like trying to compare being a little freaked out by snakes (again, scary af) to a full-on eldritch god showing up and ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn. What I'm trying to say, author, is that there's a little bit of incongruity between the story you're telling and the tone you're telling it in. If you're going to try to sell us on something truly being Wrong, here, we need at least a little glimpse of that wrongness.
And continuing the trend of what I'm going to call tonal-narrative dissonance to make me sound like I know what I'm talking about, the reveal at the end of the story is that Twilight now has the key. And yes, this is a small detail that calls into question the fact that this was all a dream sequence, but is it the right detail? What, in all honesty, does Twilight having the key now mean? The simplest possible answer (I've said it before and I'll say it again—Occam's razor is as useful a tool in literary analysis as it is in science and problem-solving) is that Twilight rescued Spike, and that he is, in the moment, shocked to discover that it wasn't a dream. It's not as if there are any hints in the text to suggest anything else, right? If anything, this is supported by the fact that the story has actively gone out of its way to portray Twilight as near-over-protective (and effective in that protectiveness).
So why is everyone—myself included—confused? It all comes back to the question >>horizon asks:
The story you have told, if my interpretation of the ending was intended, is at odds with the structure in which you are telling it. That double-twist ending is a trope, and tropes inform expectations. We're expecting dread, horror... we get Twilight being a Good Mom™. And, naturally, we look for the horror. We look for a reason behind our feelings, and we end up grasping at straws. The tunnel was just a tunnel; the spiders were just spiders; Twilight's over-protectiveness is just over-protectiveness. Where, then, is the horror?
I know I've rambled quite a bit so far, but I hope I've at least given some insight into why quite a few people have bounced off this ending. In all honesty, I quite liked this. It's perhaps a little unpolished, but it's certainly effective, emotionally (that is, after all, what makes the ending fall apart). If this ever does get an overhaul for fimfic, do let me know; I'm honestly curious to see what you'll do with it.
This entry has more than its fair share of genuinely creepy, ominous horror, and it does a pretty fantastic job with that. The opening sequence ramps up the tension, with Spike's plan consistently portrayed as requiring every ounce of concentration he has serving to increase the stakes of the piece without immediately giving us a reason. This means you actually have less work to do, author, when you're introducing the horror elements themselves: showing us Twilight is scared and that there is, at least, some mundane danger involved is already enough to get us absolutely convinced that there's something seriously creepy going on downstairs. It's a neat use of the space, honestly, and I'm quite impressed by that.
So we get to the end of the piece, we've been sold on the genuine terror (despite the fact that, really, the only terror we've seen is a very large number of spiders. Don't get me wrong, that's horrifying, but it's hardly the existential-dread level of fear that the tone of the piece has managed to sell to us so far. Even that powerful, conclusive "Darkness took him" seems somewhat oversold, in hindsight), and then we get a hard scene break cutaway to a scene that bookends the piece with the image of Twilight cuddling Spike. As >>Samey90 notes, it's the classic "it was all a dream" twist... followed immediately by a single line of prose that calls that twist into doubt.
This is a staple horror trope. It is executed well. It leaves the reader uncertain of what is and isn't real, which is exactly the horror that it is trying to convey. So how could such a standard ending possibly cause so much confusion?
It's... not entirely easy to tell, I'll be honest; there's a lot of factors at play here. The mismatch between tone and content at the story's climax is probably partly to blame, because this trope depends on unsettling the characters'—and the readers'—sense of reality. What are the implications of this not being a dream? That the castle has a tunnel with rather a lot of spiders in it? Again, I will acknowledge that I would personally find a spider tunnel genuinely horrifying, but that's not the existential level of dread that the trope relies on. It's like trying to compare being a little freaked out by snakes (again, scary af) to a full-on eldritch god showing up and ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn. What I'm trying to say, author, is that there's a little bit of incongruity between the story you're telling and the tone you're telling it in. If you're going to try to sell us on something truly being Wrong, here, we need at least a little glimpse of that wrongness.
And continuing the trend of what I'm going to call tonal-narrative dissonance to make me sound like I know what I'm talking about, the reveal at the end of the story is that Twilight now has the key. And yes, this is a small detail that calls into question the fact that this was all a dream sequence, but is it the right detail? What, in all honesty, does Twilight having the key now mean? The simplest possible answer (I've said it before and I'll say it again—Occam's razor is as useful a tool in literary analysis as it is in science and problem-solving) is that Twilight rescued Spike, and that he is, in the moment, shocked to discover that it wasn't a dream. It's not as if there are any hints in the text to suggest anything else, right? If anything, this is supported by the fact that the story has actively gone out of its way to portray Twilight as near-over-protective (and effective in that protectiveness).
So why is everyone—myself included—confused? It all comes back to the question >>horizon asks:
where's the horror?
The story you have told, if my interpretation of the ending was intended, is at odds with the structure in which you are telling it. That double-twist ending is a trope, and tropes inform expectations. We're expecting dread, horror... we get Twilight being a Good Mom™. And, naturally, we look for the horror. We look for a reason behind our feelings, and we end up grasping at straws. The tunnel was just a tunnel; the spiders were just spiders; Twilight's over-protectiveness is just over-protectiveness. Where, then, is the horror?
I know I've rambled quite a bit so far, but I hope I've at least given some insight into why quite a few people have bounced off this ending. In all honesty, I quite liked this. It's perhaps a little unpolished, but it's certainly effective, emotionally (that is, after all, what makes the ending fall apart). If this ever does get an overhaul for fimfic, do let me know; I'm honestly curious to see what you'll do with it.