The Secret Book of Bemnal the Fallen
A collection of Lovecraftian horror shortfics told from first person POV. Each a dark a tale of impossibility, terror, and insanity; a tale... without a happy ending. Funny... Equestria seemed such a lovely and peaceful land to live in. But beyond the smiling sunny faces of the ponies therein, impossible horrors beockon the innocent to their doom. And they harkon to it.
***Disclaimer***
I do not own My Little Pony Friendship is Magic nor do I have any affiliations to it, its producers, or its benefactors and make no money off of this work of fiction. Please support the official release.
***Disclaimer***
**************************warning***************** ***********
Swearing.
Clop.
Gore.
Disturbing Imagery.
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Chapter I, Blood
-Temptress in the dead of night, stalking the weary and unsespecting. So little a stallion thinks before being careened off the precipice of the abyss into the deapths of depravity and suffering waiting unambiguously stoic, and palpable with its hunger for the flesh of yet another woe-stained soul hurtling into the cold disgusting arms of a rotting flesh covered horror, and it welcomes... oh it welcomes you with a smile of blistered lips and cracked teeth. And upon the mark of the dark grave, you think... you inaugurate an elected opinion that yes, death is prefferable to meeting the embrace of this nameless thing of the most abstract disturbia; for this, is a word so simple and commonly used by the young and innocent. Monster. You have been lured into a trap by a monster. You poor pitiable little rat. Beg for the metal of the trap to snap your neck, for the cat that leers from beyond the dirge of the veil will only bring the wish that it had.- excerpt from the Secret Book of Bemnal the Fallen
What is my name? Such a silly thing to ask one might say upon the cold eve of a dark and steam filled night, the mist of sewers within Manehattan filling the air with a stench of the cesspools contained intrinsically within the network of filth and putrid left overs of our indulgent and fat society.
Our world, so ravenous in its hunger, so filled with greed and lust, and pride, and want. So much want. So much hunger, never enough; even there within the flux of the delinium of our depravity ever declining, descending, plummeting 'ere further and further to greater deapths; findind ever more ways to increase our sloth and demean the honor of our ancestors.
This is our legacy. A society of shoping malls, fatening greesy food, faked wrestling matches and Wonderbolts. Arenas and TV, radio and flickering lights.
Our fight or flight society based soley upon the notion of never enough, of never slowing down; ever progressive, ever forward, a reflection therein, of our mighty solar goddess, Celestia showcases the perversion of us, here and now, within her blatant dispalys of avarice. Luxurious palaces and servants abound; the aristocracy survives, prepared for anything. While the majority of us die and wither, and sicken, and rob, and murder, and rape, and lie, and cheat, and steal, and fight, and swindle, and backstab.
We are poison. Our society is poison. We are irrationality. We are weak.
We deserve to be purged. I know this. I knew this the day I met her. The day I met... them...
The day I realized the truth of my species, the day I saw just how small and pathetic, and insignificant our planet is in the grand scheme, how tiny we are in the cosmos; and how hopeless our fight for survival is when the Sleepers allow us to exist merely by their indiference.
For if He Who Sleeps Beneath the Sea, stirrs in his slumber, our world ends. We linger on the edge of armegeddon every day; and yet, we move on from cycle to cycle, robotic and void of purpose. Void of knowledge, void of all but ignorance.
We act based upon the customs of our society, but them? The ones from before time, the ones from before the universe? The ones so old, so massive, so powerful that Celestia, and Luna, and Discord, and all the pathetic sky gods of our tiny infentisimal world are nothing but puny insects.
All my life I'd feared Celestia. I'd been devout as a young colt... but no more. I became afraid of her with my horrible choices in life, fearful that her wrath would rain down upon me. But no more.
Now, I laugh. I laugh at her pathetic claim to godhood, I laugh at her insignificant powers; her parlour tricks disguised as divine governence.
There are no gods. There is no paradise or Tartarus, there is nothing. We are born, we live, we age, and we die. And all in the blink of an eye. We are nothing. And the Sleepers know this. They know better than anypony. Than anything.
They have purpose. They have reason to exist. They simply act as what is their nature. They may be viewed as good or evil, but they are neither. They simply are. They live. They live for so long, they are so large... and their influence makes us look like trained monkeys. We are nothing to them. It was coincidence that some of them came to our planet. Some of them ignore us, others influence our society for entertainment. They would raise an entire world order from a bunch of primitave cave-ponies and tear it all down in an apacolypse out of boredome. Our entire world.
Our entire existence, families, lives, years upon years of history; and all of it was merely a game.
And then there are the smaller beings. The one like her... the one that I met... not an ancient and all-powerful being but... something old, and beyond me. Something that had been here for longer than ponykind. The Sleepers brought many... things... with them.
And they have lived on our planet for so long.
So long...
So long...
And we have no idea.
I was at a bar and the night I met her I think... I was eating... and drinking... I was... an loan shark... ya... if ponies didn't payback their loan; I'd rough them up; or kill them.
I'd done a lot worse then that though, I've murdered little whores on the street, prostitutes who were far too pretty for thier own good, I killed them. I fucked them and I killed them. And I enjoyed it.
I was a stallion who's life was drowning in blood. Ironic then; that she walked into my life on that day. And ended it. In blood.
Blood.
She came, a mint green mare with a two-tone mane, golden eyes and a cutie mark of a lyre; accompanied by a milky pale white mare with a cotton-candy mane and a bon bon cutie mark.
Lyra and Bon Bon.
They seemed so normal.
They sat at the bar with me. They talked to me. I was... happy. They were pretty... I didn't like that. Mare's have no right to be so pretty. They should be ugly. So I make them ugly, I cut them open and showere them in their own blood. Then they aren't pretty any more. I make them right. I'm doing them a favor.
But I was still happy. Even if I didn't like how pretty they were, I still like them. Looks aren't everything, they were nice. Bon Bon was funny, charming even; despite her constantly shifting voice. Lyra was quirky, kept discussing things about 'hands' but she knew oh so much of music. And I love music dearly I do.
We drank for hours. Hours. And Hours.
The bar closed and we had to leave. They invited me to their abode, I accepted. As much as I enjoyed their company, I just couldn't let their beauty go unpunished. I needed to beat them, to fuck them, to pound their pussies and cut them open and break their noses and shatter their jaws, I needed to make them ugly. I needed to violate them and cum in their asses, I needed to make them feel ugly.
I had to, if not me, then who else? I was going to help them I was. I was doing them a favor.
It didn't matter if they didn't pay me back. That's OK. I wan't in it for the reward, I just felt obligated to be a good samaratin. They showed me inside.
They giggled and made out for me; they touched each other and kissed, and licked, and probed. They made me hard, they made me excited. But that's what she wanted. That's what Lyra wanted. She wanted me hard, she wanted me excited, she wanted my heart racing. She sucked my cock while Bon Bon ate her out; her tongue was of expert training, but expert was she also in teasing; for she never let me finish. No, that wouldn't do, then my heartrate would go down. Can't have that.
My heart rate needs to be up... so that my blood is pumping. So that she can access it at its height.
And so, she stepped away and laughed. I asked her what was so funny. She smiled at me. Such a... disturbing smile... the same kind I gave to all those mares I... I...
...
...
The same kind I gave to all those mares that I... did... horrible things to.
I knew that smile. I'd worn that smile. I'd seen my collegues use that smile while they violated young colts and fillies in parties thrown by the rich and corrupt ponies who kept underage love slaves chained up in their mansions for private events with the criminal underworld.
How old was that filly that I'd... oh... I can't even recall all the things I did to her... she was... she was... seven... seven years old. So tiny, so cute... so... so... pretty... so fucking pretty... I hated her so much. I made her bleed, everywhere; from all holes, and from the bruises I left on her as she cried and begged for me to stop hurting her.
She pleaded... she pleaded, said she'd do anything, she'd do anything I wanted, fulfil any fantasy and make me cum as many times as I wanted if I'd only stop hurting her.
Eventually, she started to crawl away from me on broken legs. That made me even more mad; here I was trying to do her a service by crushing that disgusting beauty and she's trying to run from me?! I admid, I lost my cool. I killed her. I snapped her neck. That was wrong. I wasn't supposed to do that. I was supposed to beat her to death after cutting her up some more. Make her more ugly before I sent her on her way.
But I was just so... so angry! I didn't think for a moment... about how she felt... I didn't wonder what was going on in her mind...
And as Lyra smiled at me like I smiled at that filly, I wonder... does she know what's going on in my head? Does she care? Does she have even the most idle wondering... as to how I feel? To what I'm thinking?
I felt... scared... why? Why was I scared of these two mares? How many pretty bitches had I ripped open? How much blood is on my hooves? Why... why am I scared...
I couldn't move for a fear more primal than that of a foal's terror of the dark gripped my heart. I couldn't move. I... I just couldn't move. I was paralyzed with fear. That... that evil smile became my whole world; it consumed me. It raped me and devoured me whole.
I started sobbing, I fell to the ground; collapsing under my incompetent hooves and wept in terror and hoplessness. And as I cried, Lyra changed. Her limbs grew longer and longer, they became spinkly like spider legs with a tough green exoskelatin, for long and powerful legs. Her tail became a stream of five green tendrils that hang limp like a cat 'o nine tails.
Her neck stretched, cracking as the spine grew more bones and disks; it extended and widened until an entire thorax was added, sitting atop the front half of her body like some kind of half-human-half-horse centaur from the legends of Roam.
Her legs were chitenous, but her body and human-esqe torso were slimy and squishy; covered in a thin sheen of oil. Her maw elongated into something of a beak; also hardening like the keratin of a hoof; and her eyes... oh those unholy golden eyes... became like the cat-slit pupils of Nightmare Moon herself.
With a gutteral squak, to long gangly arms sprouted from either side of her human-torso sending bouts of puss splattering upon the ground. And upon the hands of those arms, were five long didgits each; long flexible tenticals; the suction cups flexing as the five 'fingers' wreathed around oneanother.
Her horn elongated and sharpened. Bat wings sprouted from her back spewing forth more putrid puss filling the air with a pungunt vomit inducing scent. I emptied my bowels. I looked around and noticed dozens of dead stallions; how had I not seen them before?
All of them... sliced open, beaten... drained of blood... destroyed... ugly... all of them... crushed and destroyed like the mares I'd desecrated...
Was this... was this demon like me? Did it see me the same way I saw those mares? In a moment of hysteria, I laughed, I laughed that there was another monster out there; albiet one that was surely going to end me, that I could identify with.
Bon Bon also changed. She opened her mouth and an eye popped out with the beginnings of five tendrils attatched to it. One tendril shot out and Bon Bon's left front hoof went limp. Another shot out and her right front hoof went limp. Another and another, her hind legs collapsed. The last tendril shot out and Bonbon's head went limp.
The tendrils became spider legs and the eyeball was lifted out of the the socked of the starfish-spider by a series of smaller tendrils; the eye looked at me with a series of clicks.
Where was I... what was... this isn't real...
Lyra picked me up with one hand crushing my throat, her long slimy cold tenticle fingers wrapped around my neck and began squeezing like a boa constrictor; I couldn't breath. I couldn't think. My hooves pawed uselessly at the centaur. It laughed in a crackly unnatural voice.
It's tenticles from the opposing hand latched onto my left front leg; the suction cups securd onto the flesh before she pulled away with such force that the suction cups tore chunks of my skin off.
I screamed and cried, blood sputtered out.
I whimpered. Another round of the scourge gouging out parts of my body; I screemed again.
It went like that for minutes... or maybe hours... I couldn't tell. I begged. I pleaded, I cried for help. I sounded just like all those mares I'd destroyed.
I was weak. I was scared. I was dying. But I was waking. Yes, waking to the truth! The truth of the Sleepers! For this is their glory! This is their mighty legacy! Such fantastical beings as Lyra who can take monsters like me who have claimed the lives of so many and tear me down to nothing! Yes... this is their glory... this is their uglines... this... is perfection.
I was being turned into the very art I sought so much. Oh praise the Sleepers. Prais them! I wish I could live to the day when they awaken. To see their glory as the world ends in fire and madness, and fear!
But for now, Lyra tears my foreleg off, I vomit from trauma and system shock as the muscles are torn from their appropriate ligaments. I cry, I sputter, I piss myself, I empty my bowels, my severed bone sticks out from my torso; mangled and destroyed.
It's... so ugly... so wonderful... thank you Lyra. Thank you.
I think... I think she was the first and only mare I've ever loved...
Bon Bon, or what ever had crawled out of her, scuttled under neath me and bathed in my blood before falling over and making a series of satisfied clicking sounds. I bearly registered Lyra tearing my body apart. Always inflicting major damage, but never outright allowing me to die.
Finally, she dropped me on the floor, scooped up my blood, and drizzled it upon her face.
She spoke and said, "Blood... yesssss... bloooooddd..." in a raspy two-tone voice. It made me shiver. Or that might have been my body going into shock. Either way, she approached me. She squeezed my severed limbs like oranges to harvest the juices within.
I found the strength to say one word... one word only... I needed to ask it. I needed to validate my wonderings; was she like me? did she kill for the reasons I kill? I looked up into that monster's eyes... and I spoke one word, "why?"
She looked at me... with an almost... curious expression... and then, she said, "it's... good..."
My face twisted in confusion as well as pain. She clarified, "Blood... it's... good..." in this state, her words were wild, non pre-meditated, and sloppy, almost like a child was speaking. Perhaps she was a child... perhaps she was just a little filly monster. And I? Just a toy for her to play with and pull apart on a whim.
"Blood... it's... goood... it... feels... goood..."
that still left me confuzed. I pleaded with my eyes for her to elaborate for I had not the strength to speak again.
She did break it down further, "Chemicals... pony... blood... has... chemicals... they... make... me... feel... gooooood..." She scooped up another puddle of my blood and bathed in it, slathering her slimy skin in the crimson viscous liquid.
So that was it... she was getting high... on pony blood. She was not a philosophical serial killer like myself, she was not a monster compelled to kill by a higher power, she was not a demon that devoured the flesh and souls of poor naíve stallions like myself. She was just... a junky...
And that's it. My reign of terror on the mares and fillies of Manehattan ends... because a monster wanted to shoot up... on my blood.
I died.
My head fell to the floor and my vision faded.
I don't know how much time passed. Eventually, I awoke again. I looked up and saw a strange being.
He looked... well... he had the shape of a human from the myths. Bipedal, two legs, two arms, hands and fingers. But hooves were in place of feet, and from his forhead there was a long sharp black horn. Two large black pegasus wings folded behind his back.
HIs hooves and legs were covered in black plate mail, each sharp jagged plate tinted with a dark blood red around the edges. His torso covered by a black hooded trench coat secured closed with a black and red belt, the black coat trimmed with red edges. Long sleaves ended to meet hands and fingers that were covered in the same black and red plate mail as his legs and hooves.
Even the fingers were armored, right down to the finger tips being sharpened like claws, the red tips giving them the appearance of the black metal stained with blood.
And perhaps oddest of all, was his hood; covering a face that simply wasn't there. There were two large bulbous red eyes like those of a pony, large, angled, shapely and sharp at the corners. Void of any eyelashes, any eyelids, any pupils, any iris, andy white of the eye, just two... large... glowing... crimson... eyes...
His mouth consisted of a long line of seraded shark-like teeth; at first, I thought he was grining with his lips bearing his teeth. But when he spoke, the teeth moved like a pony's lips would move, they flexed, contracted, and twisted like muscles and I realized then that the teeth ARE his lips.
He had no face aside from those red eyes and seraded teeth. No nose or maw or cheeks or skin. The entirety of his 'face' was not hidden by the darkness underneath his hood. It just... wasn't there... there was no face. Just... blackness...
He approached me, and spoke with a voice that was not of this world; filled with three voices speaking nearly simultaneously with only a slight lag from the third voice, each a different tone and pitch; but all distorted and scratchy, all deep and resonating. When he spoke, I soiled myself and wanted to rip my ears off with my bear hooves if only to spare myself from hearing such an unholy and unnatural sound. That voice... did not belong in this world... did not belong in this universe. It did not belong in this reality. It was... unnatural... it... it wasn't right... but still... it spoke, "I... am Bemnal..."
I weapt and vomited. I found that I had my hooves back and scuttled around for something, anything, I found a knife in the kitchen, I ran for it; I grabbed it, and I cut my ears off; I could still hear the ringing of that evil voice in my head, even after my self inflicted mutilation.
But he continued to speak. And still, I could hear, with no ears and blood pouring from my head, I could still hear him speak in that blasphemous voice. I bore witness to a crime against nature as this... thing... talked to me.
"You are alive..." he stated rather simply, almost... bored... like stating that the sky was blue.
I looked down at myself to see that I was indeed very much alive. And yes, I was very much whole.
I looked up, and he was in front of me. He'd traveled the space of some fifteen hooves in but a second; with no steps, no, he didn't move. He just ceased to exist at one point in space, and existed anew in another point.
Lyra... I was afraid of Lyra... but this thing... this Bemnal... I hated him... His presence felt... wrong. Like an insult to everything I knew, like an insult to all of creation.
I couldn't control myself, I screamed at him, just a long ear piercing scream of fury; I stood there for a minute, refilling my lungs whenever they emptied, just... screaming at him.
He stood there. Patiently, stood. Taking the full force of my insanity. For I had gone mad at this point. Being torn apart by a centaur and used as a drug tends to do that to you.
Eventually, my throat got too sore. I panted...
Silence passed... I walked over to Lyra's bed and sat upon it.
Bemnal remained where he stood; facing where I'd previously been. And then, he was gone. And he was next to me; also sitting on the bed, with his head turned to me.
It was... disturbing how he just... sat there... no movement, no breathing, no... nothing... not even the smallest microscopic movement. Frozen like a statue.
Except for his mouth... those lips of daggers were the one thing that allowed me to cling so desperately who the tattered remains of my sanity.
And in that short moment of clarity... I asked him. I asked him the same thing I asked Lyra, "why?"
What was I asking 'why' about? I don't think I knew. But he still answered regardless.
"Because... I... was bored." he answered. I shivered. Not from the voice; I'd vented my hatred at his abomination of an existence, and all that remained was a stubborn disdain; like the annoyance at an insect buzzing around, always too quick for you to swat it porperly.
No, I shivered because of his answer. He was bored? What kind of an answer was that?... what question was he answering?
"I awoke... because... I am bored... I was... bored... of... sleeping... like... the others... but... I... am... awake..."
I chewed on my lip uncomfortably. I suppose in any other circumstance I would scoff at such incoherant babble. But... this... thing... this Bemnal was... too... too... powerful... too... not right with the universe, to disregard; his words, spoken in that sinful voice held weight.
Of course, I knew not what he was reffering to at the time. Had I known, I would have kissed his hooves. Had I known back then about the Sleepers...
And Lyra... oh Lyra... I wish I could see her again... I wish I could watch her tear me apart...
Bemnal continued to stare stoiclally in his frozen enigma of a statue body for several more minutes before speaking again, "you are... alive... Because I was bored... I wanted you... alive... So you live... I want... to see... your mind... it's... broken and... i like... to hear... the stories... of broken minds... to hear... their words... To hear you words... to know your story... Tell me... a bedtime... story madfpony... give me a tale... to put me to... sleep."
And then, he was gone. I knew not what he was speaking of at the time; but... well... I was alive. I was confuzed... and scared... I left the building.
...
...
I went mad.
...
...
I searched. I searched fiction and tabloids, I interviewed ponies with old wive's tales; I searched and searched and searched for as much information as I could.
I've pieced quite a bit together. I don't know it all; I know so little in fact... but I know enough. Stories about them... about the Sleepers... stories... legends... bedtime... stories... I found them... the stories... the legends, the tales, the prophecies; from all different parts of the word; I found bits and pieces... I know... I know enough . I know enough to love the Sleepers.
Oh I love them. I praise them. I worship them. I no longer waste beautiful mares on myself, I sacrifice them to the Sleepers. I don't know if that's what they want or not; but it's the only thing I can give them. Blood. That's all I can offer... just... blood. I spill it upon ancient runes that I drew from forbidden spell books.
I don't... know... if the Sleepers like blood.. or if its only.. the... things... like Lyra... or if its only Lyra herself... I just
... I just don't know.
But I hope.
I pray.
I pray that the blood reaches the Sleepers. That they get high from its chemicals. I pray that they like my gift. I love them so much. Praise the Sleepers.
PRAISE THE SLEEPERS! PRAISE THE SLEEPERS! PRAISE THE SLEEPERS! PRAISE THE SLEEPERS! PRAISE THE SLEEPERS! PRAISE THE SLEEPERS! PRAISE THE SLEEPERS! PRAISE THE SLEEPERS! PRAISE THE SLEEPERS! PRAISE THE SLEEPERS! PRAISE THE SLEEPERS! PRAISE THE SLEEPERS! PRAISE THE SLEEPERS! PRAISE THE SLEEPERS! PRAISE THE SLEEPERS! PRAISE THE SLEEPERS! PRAISE THE SLEEPERS! PRAISE THE SLEEPERS! PRAISE THE SLEEPERS! PRAISE THE SLEEPERS! PRAISE THE SLEEPERS! PRAISE THE SLEEPERS! PRAISE THE SLEEPERS! PRAISE THE SLEEPERS! PRAISE THE SLEEPERS! PRAISE THE SLEEPERS! PRAISE THE SLEEPERS! PRAISE THE SLEEPERS! PRAISE THE SLEEPERS! PRAISE THE SLEEPERS! PRAISE THE SLEEPERS! PRAISE THE SLEEPERS! PRAISE THE SLEEPERS! PRAISE THE SLEEPERS! PRAISE THE SLEEPERS! PRAISE THE SLEEPERS! PRAISE THE SLEEPERS!
When... when did they enter my mind? I think... I think when Bemnal spoke... it... let something into my mind... I see things... I hear things... even without my ears; I can still hear a little bit... I needed ponies to write what they wanted to say on paper but...
But there are times when I can just... hear... hear... hear them
Hear the Sleepers... Praise them. Praise the Sleepers.
They... are... so old... so ancient... yet; they are like foals. Pure... instinct...
Even... even those with higher intelligence like Bemnal... even the Sleepers like him are... are... innocent... they are all innocent... they act like foals... they... they act as they were made to act. They simply do as they have always done. And they never stop dion as theey have always done. They have purpose.
To simply, be.
And for them. Such beings of power that would shame elder gods... they... for beings of such power and such ancient age, and of such immature, innocent, and... simple... but impossibly complex minds...
it's enough... to simply exist is enough for them.
And that is why wer are imperfect. We cannot simply be, we must always be more; we must always have more. We are never content. The Sleepers are content. Always content. They are perfect.
Yest, so perfect.
Ugly, disgusting, horrifying, madness, insanity, genocide, apacolypse... they are... pefect... I love them.
I love them so much. They are so old but so young. Older than the universe but still children. So powerful, so strong. So intelligent but so innocent and dumb. So old.
Yes... Yes.. so old, so perfect, so young, so complex, so smart, so stupid, so simple, so complex. so perfect, so broken.
Perfect
yes, lovely, ultimate
Perfect
I love them, so complete, so whole, so fragmented.
Perfect.
Praise them, Praise the Sleepers.
...
...
...
They're here...
...
...
The police...
...
...
...
I refuse...
...
I refuse to let them take me. To take me way from my precious mares and fillies... to take me away from my studies... to take me away from... from the Sleepers...
No...
..
...
...
I refuse.
I... saw him... the stallion, he stood... atop a... stool with a rope around... his neck... He kicked out the chair from under him... and dangled... He spasmped... jerked... around, and even clawed at his neck... as if deciding... to change his mind at... the last minute... But it was too late...for that...
He died... Face blue and tongue... swollon...
The guards came in... they stormed the place... They searched...
But they did not look at his desk..They did not look at me... I did not want them to see me... I did not... want them to see the desk... So they did not... I... do not... exist... and... the desk did... not... exist... you can't see.. what... doesn't... exist... so the guads did... not... see me.. and did not see... the desk... letters... on the desk... words that he wrote...
I read everything that he wrote... I... liked... it...
I... liked... him... he... told me... a... story...
A... bedtime story... of... horror... and... monsters... and... impossible... things... he... told me a...
Bedtime... story... and... I liked that... another... story... for my... secret... book..
And I... liked.. it...
So... I... I...
I...
I...
I...
...
...
I sleep... I sleep... I sleep...
Unti...l another story... calls me awake...
But... not... now...
Now... I am... tired...
Now... I... sleep...
One... last... thing... written... on... his... notes...
Priase... the... Sleepers...
PraiseTheSleepersPraiseTheSleepersPraiseTheSleeper s...
...
...
...
Praise... the... Sleepers.
...
...
I am tired...
...
Goodnight...