ARTIST NOTE:

The dark cottage lay still in the cold dark night, a dark silhouette in front of the shining moon. Not a soul was up and about, well, they should all have been asleep but one little soul had gotten out of bed. Scootaloo was up and about, something had startled her awake, something in the house.

The little filly had a dreading feeling building in her gut as she silently shuffled through the hallway. Something felt wrong, the house was cold, colder than it should be, like someone left a window or a fridge door open. Scootaloo lets out a soft breath, giving her little wings a light flutter before entering the dark living room. That overwhelming feeling of dread still hung over her, as though something was with her.

Creak

Scootaloo whips her head around, eyes going wide as plates at the sight. In the shadows was a towering figure, slender, almost too skinny to sustain itself. Its skin was pale and clammy, with wrinkles like stretched leather wrapped on a skeleton. Its face, gaunt and lumpy with rotted, jagged teeth flashing from a wicked smile. Strangely it wore rather regal clothing, almost in a parody of a kindly old lady. Spindly legs carry it closer to the filly, the floor groaning under its weight. Impossibly long arms hang at its sides, with long, bulbous hands that slowly start to reach out towards her. Scootaloo backs up, pressing herself against the wall, fear overtaking her little body. She couldn’t move, her legs paralyzed under the hateful gaze of this creature. All she could do was whimper as that hand loomed closer and closer…

The silence was instantly broken by the deafening cycling of a shotgun’s pump, “GET AWAY FROM HER YOU BITCH!”