Applejack ran.
Roots, blow-downs, and the small mud ponds that formed in forest trails in Autumn did not slow her. There was only herself, the path, and the schoolhouse on the opposite side of town. She could not have told how long it took to reach the forest's edge, nor run the shortest route through the nearly deserted town. She did not see another pony until she was halfway up the small hill upon which the school stood.
Then, in a moment, children were all about her.
Running.
Screaming.
Away from the school—leaping from its only door.
Applejack slowed enough to glance at their faces as they galloped by. Apple Bloom was not among them.
She made for the open door as the last of them scrambled out, slowing only enough to crouch and spring through. She halted just within and looked about. The schoolroom was unlit, but light from the late afternoon sun streamed in the windows, casting long shadows from overturned desks and scattered chairs. The building had recently been wired for electric lighting, and Applejack pressed the switch beside the door.
Nothing happened.
Applejack's ears swiveled. She tried to slow her breathing, but the pounding of her heart was loud enough to drown out the steps of anything that might sneak up.
From somewhere, there came a rustling. Applejack held her breath. There it was again—from the supply closet in the corner. Applejack crept toward it, as silent as hooves upon a wooden floor allowed. It was a long moment before she faced the door, nerves taut as piano wires, ready to deliver a stone-shattering blow. She silently counted to three, seized the doorgrip, and flung it open.
Out tumbled three roly-poly bodies, shrieking in surprise and tripping one another up as they squirmed to their hooves.
Applejack was upon them in an instant, seizing one of their number in her forelegs, hugging more tightly than she ever had before. Tears of relief streamed down both sisters' faces. For just a little while, all was well.
* * *
Twilight hovered steady above the entrance to the forest's main path, again surrounded by a brilliant magenta glow. Along the treeline, searchers emerged singly and in groups before making their way toward her beacon. In the west, the sun began to dip below the horizon.
As the mass of ponies gathered below her, she pondered the next move. The monster might still be in the town, but if it had hidden itself in the surrounding farmland, or fled the township entirely, it would be impossible to track in the dark. Then there was the matter of lighting. The town had been wired with electric street lights the previous year, and the chief engineer should have switched them on by now. But the only lights came from single windows here and there—lanterns lit by ponies who had been unable to join the search. Twilight frowned.
The crowd of searchers were now close beneath her, looking up with expectation and worry upon each face. Still hovering, Twilight looked down and did her best to assume a military manner, as she had seen her brother do when addressing Guardsponies.
"Everypony, listen up! We're going to search the town! Split into groups of five! At least one pony of each tribe per group! If you encounter anything hostile..."
But then, screams from below—cries of sheer terror mixed with "Help, help!" Twilight cast a broad light upon the ground and made out the figures of a filly and a colt, about ten years of age, galloping from the town and toward the crowd. As they reached the crowd's edge and began trying to hide among the nearest adults' legs, Twilight flitted down, approaching from the side so as not to unnerve them further.
Immediately, the two ran to Twilight and threw themselves at her hooves, gibbering. Twilight knelt and extended both wings, taking both in a comforting embrace. "Shh, it's okay, it's okay."
The filly, who Twilight recognized as the youngest Hooves sister, gesticulated toward the town. "He's there! He's after me! He's coming!"
Twilight shone her light upon her and gasped, for the hair of her right cheek was matted with drying blood. "What happened to you?"
"There was a noise and something grabbed Miss Cheerilee and we ran! And, and, and he came out of the shadows and he cut me! He cut me!"
"Who?" somepony said from Twilight's left. "Who did it?"
"Him! The Glue Maker!"
The filly's voice was not loud enough to reach all the crowd, but its message, carrying from one pony to the next, made its way throughout in seconds. The crowd's low murmur rose as its shape rippled and shifted, hundreds of hooves kneading at the earth.
Twilight again took to wing, lighting her horn and projecting her voice as much as she could. "Everypony, stay calm! There's no need to..."
Too late. Primitive fear of the unknown had finally banished the crowd's rational thoughts, and as one they were seized by their ancestors' instinct for flight. They broke and ran this way and that, some toward their homes, but most to the south and north, away from either the forest or the town. Some formed small groups of friends or relations, but many ran blindly, or helplessly looked about for somepony to help them as they fled.
Within seconds, only Rarity, Pinkie, Zecora, and Turner remained, all standing in a loose circle, fidgeting with nerves and looking to Twilight expectantly.
By this time, sunset had given way to a deep dusk.
* * *
Cranky was in an uncommonly bad mood.
He had woken up to find the last of his milk had soured, and as market day had been cancelled over some sort of mischief, there was no place to buy more. The early chill of autumn had gotten into the house, and his afternoon stroll had not helped the stiffness in his joints as much as it once had. As Matilda would be at her mother's house in Canterlot until the next day, and the chores were done by noon, there was little to do but sit on the front porch and lose himself in a book. Among the things Cranky hated, one of the greatest was boredom.
When the evening's dim began to make reading impossible, he stood, lit the kerosene lamp that hung from the porch roof, and returned to his rocking chair. But no sooner had he cracked his book again than there came a drumming of hooves on the ground, and from the bushes off to the left emerged two mares and a filly, who began hastily cantering through with no regard to property lines. Compounding Cranky's astonishment, he recognized them as Derpy the postmare and her cousins, Dinky and Sparkler.
Cranky stood up against the porch railing and shouted to them as they passed. "Hey! You! What in tarnation is goin' on?"
"Run for it!" Sparkler yelled without so much as a glance toward him. "The Glue Maker is coming!"
"'Glue Maker?' What kind of gag is—"
But the three had already crossed the yard and vanished into the gathering darkness.
"Oh well." Whatever this was, Cranky was not buying it. He put his book down, stood, stretched, and plodded around back for the day's last visit to the outhouse.
Halfway down the stone path, a nasty stench assailed his nostrils. He paused, grimacing not only at the smell, but at this last annoyance of the day. It was not the ordinary outhouse smell, but the particular odor of something that had died and rotted. With Cranky's luck, it had probably fallen into the tank before expiring. He wrinkled his snout and moved to investigate before the last light of dusk vanished.
As he reached the outhouse door, his left forehoof fell upon something soft that made a squelching noise. Reflexively, he tried to pull his hoof away, but it budged only a little. Without thinking, he put his right hoof down to brace against the ground, but it struck the same gooey substance. He pulled at one, then the other, then both at once, but it was as if rubbery shackles had fastened his hooves to the stones of the path.
Cranky paused, bewildered, trying to appraise the problem. His eyes had adjusted somewhat to the dim light, and he could now make out a patch of some pale substance spread over the ground, into which he had stumbled. He leaned a little closer and sniffed. Through the death-stench, there was another smell—sharp, acrid, distinctive.
At that moment, he heard a small sound from behind his left ear: The click of a pair of shears.