Manofass(2016): Beach Bum Anon Chapter 4: Fat Stacks


                                            >You nod dumbly as the fire quickly dims

                                            >"Well Speedy, since Trixie assumes you have no idea who we are, she will explain our purpose."

                                            >She clears her throat and places her hoof against her chest

                                            >"We noble few have made it our mission to save innocent folk from unfair persecution, primarily those forcibly imprisoned under the false pretenses of mental healing.

                                            >"The state of mental healthcare in our society is apalling, with ponies deemed undesirable thrown away to die at the whims of twisted 'doctors' who care not for the well-being of their patients.

                                            >"However, powerful figures in the aristocracy-"

                                            >It was about this time that you stopped listening

                                            >This tent was giving quite the fucked up vibe

                                            >Trixie was casting a long, angular, wicked-looking shadow on the teepee wall

                                            >The mat she sat on was striped with dark purple and black zigzags, and on either side of her fire-polioshed sticks jutted from the ground, topped off with clumps of feathers and long beaded strings

                                            >It's way too indian in here

                                            >The smell of burning hair permeated in the air, its source you assume being the incense burning to Trixie's left

                                            >A quick glance behind you reveals the tent's exit is being guarded by Glass Joe, whose dull face stares at you with the polished, unblinking eyes of a doll

                                            >An overwhelming sense of dread befalls you as you see Trixie waving her hoof in the air with her eyes closed, oblivious to your obvious disinterest and discomfort

                                            >You need to leave this place

                                            >Your eyes dart around the room as you enter an uncharacteristic silent panic

                                            >Something moves inside the fire, kicking excess ash and embers out of the hole in the teepee's conical ceiling

                                            >But it is simply a log shifting as it is burned to cinders

                                            >You glacne back at Trixie and notice a cow skull now topping the left stick

                                            >Glass Joe has yet to move an inch and Trixie is still absorbed in her speech

                                            >Something moves behind its yellowish eye sockets

                                            >A pale white liquid drops out of the nose holes, then another, then comes a steady stream, then a violent blast

                                            >Nobody else in the rooms seems to have taken interest or even noticed this

                                            >You are paralyzed with fear, your muscles refusing your instinct to run as far and as fast as you can

                                            >It forms a puddle in the dirt and the puddle soon starts rushing towards you, straight through the heat of the flames and pools around your hooves

                                            >You stare down with an open jaw, and instead of screaming you can only let out a quiet squeak

                                            >The world around you seems to spin as some shadow moves underneath the surface, the pool suddenly gaining impressive and impossible depth

                                            >A loud squelching noise breaks through the sound of the room and something large bubbles out from the liquid

                                            >The white, smiling face of the nurse from the hospital stares back at you and open its mouth to speak

                                            >Your strength returns just in time for it to moan the word "Sweetie", its voice a distorted bastardization of the nurse's

                                            >Your thoughts suddenly turn to the locket as you suddenly recall the instantaneous escape it provided you from Twilight the first time you met her

                                            >You grab it and rip it open, and just as before when you look away from the mirror glass you are sitting in the Escher house

                                            >You fall on your behind, breath heavily, then collapse and sob violently


                                            >After an hour or so of crying, you were finally given a quiet moment to recollect your thoughts

                                            >You've had a thousand different hallucinations, auditory and visual

                                            >But nothing like that since high school

                                            >It felt too real, more real than real life

                                            >It shook you so deeply you could hardly think about it without bursting into tears again

                                            >There wasn't even anything particularly scary about the concept of what happened

                                            >Just some spooky nurse slimegirl falling out of a weird skull and saying cryptic things

                                            >But the feelings that accompanied it

                                            >You weren't even sure if they were a product of the visage or a companion of it

                                            >Maybe you really are in some form of withdrawal-induced psychosis

                                            >The thought makes you physically cringe, and you erupt into sobs

                                            >You wish Satan was here

                                            >He might do something wacky or thrust you into a horrible situation to take your mind off things

                                            >You feel tired

                                            >Odd, since you had spent a considerable amount of recent time sleeping

                                            >Too mentally exhausted to bother looking for a bed or couch, you lay your head down on the floor and cry yourself to sleep


                                            >This time you wake to find something wrapped around you

                                            >In the pale light of a hundred moons in varying stages and colors shining through a nearby bay window which wasn't there before, you see the scaly body of a snake wrapped around your curled form

                                            >Discord/Satan's glowing yellow eyes stare at you from mere inches away, as motionless as Glass Joe's

                                            >You feel like screaming, but you also still feel like sleeping, and when one overpowers the other you lay your head back down and drift off


                                            >It's much colder now

                                            >The window has disappeared, in its place a painting of a lollipop

                                            >Discord is nowhere to be seen, and you don't care enought to fret

                                            >Not knowing what to do, you simply sit and wait for something to happen

                                            >The room you are in has no visible purpose

                                            >A harsh yellow tile floor clashes with walls of ebony lumber

                                            >The ceiling is covered by what look like clouds, so you have no idea what it might look like

                                            >A marble fountain sprouts from the the cloud level, depicting Discord surrounded by winged cattle, all spitting out water in physics-defying upside-down arcs

                                            >Chairs and tables swirl around the edges of the room, smacking against the walls and each other

                                            >A rough, splintery, rotten dining chair lazily bumps into the back of your head before slipping back into the current with the rest

                                            >There are several new windows on a single wall, all of varying size and shape, all depicting different exteriors

                                            >One is a peaceful meadow, another is a bloody dungeon, one is a field of burning wheat

                                            >You even see one showing a massive glacier moving at an impressive speed towards you

                                            >A small puff of white eminates from your nostrils as you exhale

                                            >You wish you had a coat

                                            >There's a tall, dark wooden door at the end of the room opposite of the windows

                                            >As your eyes come to rest on it, the door creaks open barely half an inch

                                            >You can feel your nose numbing and you begin to shiver from the air's chill

                                            >You suspect Satan or whatever the fuck else is in this building is trying to forcibly guide you somewhere

                                            >You stand to gain nothing from resisting, but who the hell knows what horrors lie in wait beyond that door

                                            >A sudden loud creaking noise breaks you away from your thoughts

                                            >You look behind you to see that beyond the glacier window, the wall of ice has met with the wall of the house, all windows now blocked by the pristine snow white

                                            >Cracks have begun to form in the wood as it buckles to resist the glacier, the whole house groaning as it is assalted by the unforgiving ice

                                            >They don't stand a chance

                                            >The walls shatter like china plates and you make a dash for the door

                                            >You enter a lightless room and slam the door behind you, knowing it will likely do nothing to stop the advance of the ice but feeling obligated to do so nevertheless

                                            >The groaning has stopped, but you are still in freezing cold

                                            >A blind stumble ensues as you attempt to make your way across the mystery room

                                            >Your steps echo as if in a parking garage despite the floor feeling like dirt

                                            >You stop momentarily, to see if your eyes might adjust to some unseen light source and you could get a vague interpretation of where you are

                                            >Can't see shit, captain

                                            >You wait a while longer, then continue on your way


                                            >Hours tick by and still you are in complete darkness

                                            >You have been walking in what you hope was a straight line the entire time, but nothing has really changed

                                            >Once you stepped on something small and oblong, but when you inspected it with your hooves, you decided it was just a rock

                                            >The echoing seems to only get louder as time passes, mocking any calls for help you make with a hint of hatred


                                            >The locket remains lifeless in your hooves

                                            >You could swear on your life that the faintest flicker of light had shot from its silver sides

                                            >But that was several minutes ago, and has yet to happen again since

                                            >You attempted to pry it open, to use the magic mirror to send you to Satan, but it refused to budge even a centimeter

                                            >You curse loudly only for the echo to berate you with your own angry voice

                                            >You place a hoof in front of your mouth and cringe, expecting to be shocked, but remain unharmed

                                            >That is both satisfying and somewhat worrying

                                            >You spout a string of vulgarities out of curiosity without effect

                                            >However, your voice echoes back with far more venom than you put into it, and that prompts you to shut up

                                            >It's getting colder


                                            >You take some time to rest

                                            >Your limbs have started aching and there's the beginnings of hunger pains in your stomach

                                            >You try to draw dicks in the dirt, but since you can't even see them you give up

                                            >A little while back you stubbed your hoof on another rock, and with the intensity of the cold it hurt far more than it should have

                                            >The pain still lingers, coming and going with your heartbeat

                                            >Out of boredom and to combat the terror creeping into your soul you count the throbs long enough to devise a rhythem from them

                                            >Soon enough, it fades completely, leaving your with the dirt and your thoughts


                                            >You awoke groggy and sore from sleeping on the hard ground

                                            >The light level still hadn't changed, the approaching cold had not relented, and the echoes had settled on a volume just barely under your own voice

                                            >The hunger pains had been getting worse, too

                                            >And your mouth was dry as sawdust

                                            >You shiver and press on


                                            >You contemplate turning back

                                            >Surely the glacier was only some sort of illusion

                                            >And Satan seemed to have some vague ulterior motive for you, so he probably won't let it crush you to death if it isn't

                                            >But what if you are getting close to wherever it is this room leads?

                                            >Maybe wherever that is will have something to eat and drink

                                            >Actually, you could no doubt find something beyond one of the windows to consume

                                            >And the ceiling had magic gravity water

                                            >Advancing this far was a foolish idea, you should turn around immediately

                                            >You decide to do just that

                                            >About three steps in and your hoof reaches for a floor that isn't there, throwing you off balance and causing you to fall on your side

                                            >You creep the same hoof across the ground and find that the dirt is cut off by a vertical drop

                                            >The bottom of which is too far down for you to feel

                                            >You walk around the edges of the drop and decide that it extends indefinitely to either side

                                            >You shake violently and swallow hard

                                            >You're going to die here, aren't you?


                                            >You are unsure of how much time has passed

                                            >The hunger has grown almost debilitating, and occasionally the pangs of agony would force you to keel over

                                            >You collect enough dirt to make a mound to function as a crude pillow

                                            >You cry yourself to sleep yet again as the hopelessness of your situation looms over you


                                            >Your hoof throbs with all-too-familiar pain

                                            >You've stubbed it on yet another rock

                                            >Another fucking rock

                                            >The third rock since you woke up

                                            >This is gay

                                            "This is gay!"

                                            >"This is GAY!"

                                            >The echo shouts back at you

                                            "FUCK YOU!"

                                            >"FUCK YOU!"

                                            >You can hardly recognize it as your own voice

                                            >It drips with hatred and the rage within it surpasses your frustration

                                            >But you're tired of this shit

                                            >All of your fear evaporates to be replaced with pure fury

                                            >You pick up the rock and lob it at the sky, screaming curses and threats as you do

                                            >Your voice does not echo, and the rock lands on the ground with a soft thump

                                            >You smile triumphantly until something smacks you in the mouth and sends you on your ass

                                            >You rub a cut on your lip and feel the ground for whatever hit you

                                            >It's a fucking rock

                                            >You throw it at the direction of its source, then stamp the ground and unleash a slew of swears so vulgar they would make a sailor blush

                                            >Rotten vaginas and child fucking and all that

                                            >You are hit again, this time in the forehead, and this time so hard you are knocked back several paces

                                            >Which is enough to send you toppling over the edge of the drop and screaming into the unknown


                                            >Your body lands with a loud thump and sickening crack

                                            >There is a sharp pain in your chest as you wheeze violently, the wind knocked from your lungs

                                            >Something cold dribbles down your face and your nose detects the coppery smell of blood

                                            >Gasping for breath, you make a weak attempt to pick yourself up, only to fall and further aggrivate the deep somatic piercing in your ribs

                                            >Your eyes are forced shut by the sheer brilliance of the sudden appearance of light

                                            >You roll onto your back and wheeze for a little while longer before slipping into unconsciousness


                                            >You remember living up in Alaska

                                            >It was when you were small, real small

                                            >Big enough that you could still remember things, but small enough that those memories couldn't be trusted, as they were muddled by time and distorted by a disconnect from your old childhood superstitions

                                            >You went with your family to see one of the glaciers

                                            >It was on a lake, so getting a closeup view required kayaking

                                            >Someone, your father you think, really wanted to touch it, just to see what it felt like

                                            >You remember getting close, seeing this titanic, godlike wall of ice right at its feet

                                            >You stared up at its face, seeing it stretch into the heavens to mingle with angels

                                            >You felt like touching it would disturb the dormant beast and invoke its wrath

                                            >Your father rubbed the side, someone whistled and said "Wow," and little baby Anon had begun to cry


                                            >"Sklort will show you to the tent."

                                            >Trixie's voice snaps you out of your stupor

                                            >You look up at her and then around at the teepee

                                            >You don't know what to think

                                            >Something grunts behind you and you turn to face Glass Joe, or Sklort, who beckons for you to follow

                                            >You comply and he begins leading you to the back of the cult compound to a tent larger than the rest

                                            >It looks like one of those military tents that soldiers might eat in or go to get limbs amputated

                                            >Standing at the entrance of the tent is Monster Mash, who is now holding a sleeping bag and pillow

                                            >She waves at you and Sklort departs wordlessly

                                            >You towards her and she stuffs the ragged fabrics into your chest, and you take them in your leg

                                            >"These are yours. C'mon, you better claim a spot now so you don't have to lug that around camp all day."

                                            >She pushes open the tent flap and takes you inside

                                            >It smells of sweat and urine

                                            >Very few ponies are here despite a fuckton of sleeping bags strewn about the floor, which is a thin plastic tarp that has torn in some places

                                            >Unlike outside, inside all of the ponies are either rocking in place or aggressively mashing their hooves together, creating a sort of broken rhythem from the clopping sounds

                                            >You find a spot somewhere in the center and lay down your things

                                            >Thankfully yours is denoted by three large blue stripes sewn across the bag's exterior, and the rest are all marked with their own unique patterns and colors so there is little chance you'll be sleeping in someone else's piss tonight

                                            >Just as your thoughts begin drifting back to the miserable escapade in the darkness, Monster Mash speaks up

                                            >"You should get introduced to some of the family, since you'll be sleeping with most of us tonight."

                                            "Most?"

                                            >"Some of us have individual tents that we've either bought or made ourselves, me included."

                                            "Oh."

                                            >You are taken back outside and to the sizable bonfire, where a collection of unwashed treehuggers, grizzled foresters and the horribly deformed

                                            >There are tie-dye bandanas, long white beards and one harelipped stallion with so many excess teeth his lips can't shut properly

                                            >It's like that time you accidentally walked into the retarded classroom in high school

                                            >Except instead of screaming and hitting each other like tendies do, these folk are just sitting around, enjoying small talk

                                            >"What's up, guys?"

                                            >They break from their conversations and look over at Monster Mash

                                            >"'Sup, Mash. And who might you be?"

                                            >A yellow mare with slightly bulging eyes and dreadlocks responds, setting her expressionless gaze on you

                                            >You open your mouth to speak, stop, close it, and look into the fire

                                            >"This is Speedy, he's just joined the family."

                                            >"Hi, Speedy."

                                            >They say in unison, sending shivers down your spine

                                            >Mash keeps calling it a 'family,' lending further credibility to your suspicions of cultly activities

                                            >Either that, or some stoner conclave for former carnies, since a good chunk of the ponies you've seen look like they'd be found in a midnight monster picture

                                            >Maybe Trixie had actually given you an explanation, but you in your terribly mindfuck vision had tuned it all out

                                            >Perhaps that incense in the teepee was some sort of mystic chinese drug

                                            >Maybe you've just lost your marbles

                                            >"Sho, what did the /man/ deem you guilty of? Thinking the wrong way? Looking too different? Or did shome fuckin' shadisht doctor jusht pull you off the shtreet?"

                                            >The green snaggletoothed cunt hisses, his voice full of bitterness

                                            "Well, I..."

                                            >You've forgotten what got you there in the first place

                                            >Something about Nazis and wrestling

                                            >...

                                            >Right, your daring escape from Unit 731

                                            "Okay, so there were these Japanese Nazi horses who had no idea how to counter a turnbuckle high-flyer dropkick-"


                                            >Your new companions are quite sociable

                                            >Timber, the guy with all the teeth, gave you a lecture about all the evils of the medical world, and you found that the two of you had a lot in common

                                            >Hodgepodge, an aptly named mare whose coat and mane were s comprised of all sorts of pigments (though mainly baby shit green), and whose limbs were all of inconsistent length, led you all in a song about nature and peace on earth n shit

                                            >She actually has a lovely voice

                                            >Some green lady in a doo-rag and red dreadlocks, who you later learned was named Tree Hugger, wove you a wicker basket and seemed only to grin and giggle

                                            >The night was surprisingly pleasent, even though when supper came around you secretly dumped out your rations of onion soup in the bushes on suspicion they might be drugged

                                            >Trixie introduced you to the whole camp over said supper, after which you all drank moonshine and the rest of the night is a blur of drum beating, chanting and dancing by the fire

                                            >The fire itself was later fueled by a managerie of funky herbs and fungi, putting most of you in a pleasant daze that lasted seemingly forever

                                            >Your final memory is the lot of you howling at the full moon and laughing at yourselves

                                            >Overall, it was a 10/10 night, which made the discovery of Hodgepodge's mangled corpse in the surrounding woods the next morning all the more unpleasant