There was an unflinching intensity in the air as the sun began to wane far in the distance. All of nature seemed to sit quiet as the days-light slowly dissipated and gave way to the haunting shadows of night. In the middle of the forest area sat a wide dirt path that broke off from the main dirt road and stretched straight forward into seeming-nothingness, almost as if to suggest that it would go on forever. The churning wheels of a wagon squeaked loudly in the middle of nowhere as it turned into the path, the harsh sound of dirt being crushed under its weight overwhelmed the natural hum of the wild-life. As the wagon pushed on, a strange fog began to envelop them, becoming thicker as they continued on their way. Eventually, as it seemed the fog filled every space and crack, the wagon came to an abrupt stop. In the dense sun-lit fog, as the light of day was in its last throws, sat steel fence caked with rust and decay, the wear of time showing clearly as several bars were bent out of shape but the spear-head tops were as jagged and threatening as ever. There was a faint unnaturalness to the fence as it sat silently as a solid individual entity impeding upon the path. The door on the wagon swung open and out stepped Talkie Buckman, premier Equestria filmmaker. He looked around, dawning a confused look upon his face as all he could see was the fence, the fog, and the trees. He threw a glance over at the stallions pulling the wagon, both of which had a stern, humorless, look to them. Talkie trotted up, steel peering around at the lay-out. "Is there a reason why we've stopped?" Talkie asked, hoping to shorten this delay by any means necessary. "We go no further, trot on if you wish, but this is as far as our services will take you," one of the stallions spoke up with out the slightest sense of irony. Talkie just shrugged and motioned for his fellow passenger to exit the wagon. Out stepped Wilbur P. Hoovecraft, well renowned horror writer, carrying a great deal of filming equipment on his shoulders, partially obscuring his vision. "What seems to be the nature of our ever so sudden stop? Have we arrived to the home of ghouls ghastly images?" Wilbur asked in his most excited of voices, as if hoping to see something of a supernatural nature as soon as he had stepped out. "Nah, turns out we truck it on our own hooves from here, Wilby," Talkie replied. "Don't call me Wilby, and if that is the case, can you at least carry some of this?" "Sorry, I'm the director, you know the unions and all." Wilbur set the equipment down for a breather and looked around at the scenary, "Oh, quite marvelous, such fantastic visuals. So, shall we continue?" "Not yet, I figure we might as well wait for our accomplice in this matter, maybe they had more luck picking transportation than we did." Wilbur sighed as he sat down, almost disappointed to have not reached the house of horrors by now.