//------------------------------// // Pumpkin Party // Story: Sun Redacted // by daOtterGuy //------------------------------// Ponyville Bulletin Adult stallion missing. Spice Latte. Light brown fur. Short cropped orange mane. Cutie Mark of a pumpkin with a cinnamon stick. If found, contact his family at the address noted below. Schluck. The grotesque sound caused Big Mac to flinch. It was the horrible resulting sound of innards being scooped out and dumped into a garbage bag with a loud plop. Like the worst clock imaginable, it happened without fail around the same time in the same month every year, and he loathed it. It brought memories he tried to forget to the forefront of his mind, dragging down his mental well-being into a dark pit of regret and self-blame. Apple Bloom, on the other hoof, was pleased as punch as she continued to messily splatter pumpkin guts all over herself and the surrounding kitchen as she carved out her helpless gourd, giggling like a madmare. “Get more in the bag and less on yer face, Bloom,” Applejack said from her side, her own gourd in the process of being scooped. Big Mac nodded. “I ain’t that messy!” Bloom protested, stringy guts hanging from her bow. “Uh huh, and I’m an ace flier for the Wonderbolts.” Applejack rolled her eyes. Big Mac shook his head. “You know ya got important school stuff later today and yer… Well, no point tryin’ to getcha cleaned up before yer done with that mess,” Applejack said. “Finish guttin’ her out then we’ll getcha in the bath.” “But I don’t want to—” “I ain’t askin’,” Applejack interrupted. Big Mac nodded. Bloom puffed out her cheeks. Her annoyance, however, didn’t last long, as she began giggling once again as she continued her vile machinations. Each new schluck pierced like a knife through his ears. Applejack trotted away with a weary sigh to deal with something elsewhere, leaving the two of them alone together. In the quiet, the wet, sloppy sounds of gourd massacre filled the room. It took everything Big Mac had to keep his breakfast firmly in his stomach. Seeing past victims lined up on the countertop like some sick head display wasn’t helping matters. “You gonna carve a pumpkin too, Mac?” Bloom suddenly asked. He shook his head. “Why not?” He shook his head more vigorously. Bloom paused her mad work and glared at her brother. “Granny says ya can’t just head shake your way outta conversations.” “Granny ain’t here,” Big Mac retorted in a way only siblings could. Now annoyed, Bloom returned to her work, scooping out the innards with renewed vigour. Schlucks came faster and faster as the table was coated in stringy pumpkin pulp mixed with seeds. The kitchen began to look like a butcher’s table with how coated it was in the poor vegetable’s guts. He wanted nothing more than for it all to be over. “What’s the sour look fer, Bloom?” Granny asked as she trotted into the kitchen. Bloom huffed. “Yer early,” Mac remarked. “Committee finished their stuff ahead of schedule. For once.” Granny rolled her eyes. “Now, no huffing. What’s got yer face twisted up like that?” “Mac won’t carve a pumpkin and he won’t tell me why,” Bloom said. “Oh,” Granny’s expression soured worse than her namesake. “That.” “That what?” Bloom asked. “Yer brother ain’t been fond of pumpkin carving due to an incident when he was around your age,” Granny said. There was a dark undercurrent to her voice that chilled the room. “Ain’t nothin’ worth retelling.” “Aw, but—” “No, buts,” Granny interrupted. “Finish scoopin’ out yer pumpkin so we can get to carvin’ it up like the others.” Big Mac glanced at the ‘others’. Each had an over-exaggerated expression of terror on their faces that Mac felt he shared with them. The whole display brought back memories of the screams and awful scent of rotted remains, filling his senses with their horrid echoes. The memories were stronger this year, like they were warning him that it would happen again. That it would return. He desperately hoped that his instinct was wrong and that another uneventful year would pass. Ponyville Bulletin Spiced Latte has been found dead by the main road leading to Whitetail Woods. Residents are urged to report any suspicious activity to the Ponyville Police. Another pony, Sea Crest, has gone missing. Mare. Light blue fur. Cyan mane. Cutie Mark of a wave crest. If found, contact her family at the address noted below. “It ain’t right,” Applejack said as she clutched a mug of cider between her hooves. She shook her head. “It just ain’t right.” “I-is it about the body they found?” Bloom asked. “...It is,” Applejack replied. “But it ain’t somethin’ you should know. Tartarus, I don’t think I should know.” “That poor soul,” Granny muttered. “Ain’t nobody deserve that.” Big Mac nodded his head. Despite the sunny autumn afternoon, there was a chill to the house, mired by the knowledge of the unspeakable things that just took place. It was worse for Big Mac, who had a piece of knowledge the others did not. He felt it to his bones that this would not be the last, and that it must be it’s doing. Despite his want to deny it, he’d seen the body. It was just the same as the last time it had rolled its ugly head into town. This time though, it wouldn’t take away more of his family. “Come straight home after school this week, Bloom,” Big Mac said. “Y-yeah, I guess with what happened I shouldn’t be out much,” Bloom said. “And no Nightmare Night,” Big Mac added. “Wait, what?!” Bloom slammed her hooves on the table. “But—!” “No Nightmare Night!” Big Mac shot back. Bloom turned to the rest of her family with pleading eyes. “...I don’t agree with how he said it, but can’t say I like you out with whatever did that out and about,” Applejack said. “It's for the best, Bloom,” Granny added. “That’s— that’s—!” Bloom growled in frustration. “Now, I won’t get to do anythin’ fun this year!” She stormed out of the kitchen and up the stairs, each creak in the floorboard marking her passage before a slam signified that she had barricaded herself into her room. Even if she hated him, this was for the best. Ponyville Bulletin Sea Crest has been found in the same state as Spice Latte. Another pony, Lax Chill, has gone missing. Stallion. White mane. Blue coat. Cutie Mark of an ice cube. If found, contact his family at the address noted below. In lieu of events, all Nightmare Night events have been canceled and residents are urged to stay indoors. If you must go out, please make sure to go in pairs. Canterlot has been contacted. An investigative team will be here tomorrow morning. Stay safe. Big Mac hung his front legs over the porch railing. Granny had gone into the town for an emergency committee meeting and Applejack was out harvesting the fields, with Rainbow Dash keeping her company. It was mid-afternoon. The sun was beginning its slow descent past the horizon. Bloom wasn’t home from school yet. She could be held up by her friends or teacher. She could have exhausted herself at school and walked slower that day. She could have made a pitstop by Sugarcube Corner, where Pinkie Pie could be keeping her busy with too much conversation and sweets. Or that thing had his baby sister. He hefted himself off the railing and cantered down the road leading from Sweet Apple Acres and into town. Halfway there, he saw tracks in the dirt. Two ditches curved off into the woods as if something dragged two small shapes into the undergrowth. A canter turned into a gallop as he charged into the fringes, uncaring of the sharp branches that scratched him. His ears perked as he heard a shrill scream. He ran faster, his breath haggard. Bursting through the overgrowth, he came upon an open grove. Memories came back to him. His grandfather, Spartan Apple, devoured by a monstrous beast, torn piece-by-piece by its tendrils as he screamed for Big Mac to run. He quickly shook off the haze of memories snapping reality back into sharp focus. He noticed the remains of a colt nearby. His innards had already been thrown into the thing’s bleeding mouth, orange juice leaking around the jagged hole. He’d been scooped, just like the monster’s prior victims. Big Mac could hear the schluck as the creature did to the colt’s remains as it had to his grandfather, cleaving through flesh to get to the morsels of its sick feast. His sister was ensnared nearby, bawling her eyes out. She had been splattered with her friend’s gore and was wailing as loud as she could, calling for help. She noticed him. “Help me, Mac!” She screamed. The abomination finally noticed too. Big Mac took in the entirety of the horror, his eyes forced to take in its grotesque appearance despite his best efforts to not focus on its form. A singular deflated-looking pumpkin covered in tumorous smaller pumpkins, all carved with faces in the midst of pure agony. Thorny vines grew from its base, lashing at nearby foliage. He could hear the sloshing. The moist roiling sound of its stolen innards. Through carved holes, he could see the abomination was nearly full from harvesting the organs of its victims. So full that some of its ill-gotten gains spilled from openings in its flesh, tinted a strange orange from an unknown glow inside. It smelled rancid. Like the meat he had once smelled in the Griffin Market in Canterlot that had been left out in the sun for far too long. “The red one returns,” one of the pumpkins moaned. “Such a good child,” another whispered. “We have no quarrel with the red one,” another pumpkin added. “W H A T  D O E S  I T  W A N T?” the main pumpkin wheezed. “Let my sister go,” Big Mac said, trying to keep the tremor out of his voice. “Why should we?” a pumpkin replied. “The little yellow one has been bad,” one hoarsely whispered. “It must be punished,” another chimed in. “W E  N E E D  S U S T E N A N C E,” the main pumpkin intoned. “If ya need someone, take me!” Big Mac pleaded. “You have been good,” a pumpkin said. “This one has not,” another added. “It is better food,” another noted. “W E  G R O W  I M P A T I E N T,” the big pumpkin intoned. The abomination began to drag Bloom toward it. She screamed. Big Mac raced forward, helpless tears clouding his vision as he grabbed onto his sister. He latched on with his hooves while using his teeth to bite through the bitter tasting vines. Blood flowed freely from his mouth as it was cut on the thorns, but he ignored it. Despite his efforts, she was being pulled closer and closer toward the monster. At this rate, he was going to lose another member of his family like Spartan before her. He had grown strong in his stallionhood, yet in the face of this creature he might as well have been his foalhood self. Then the vines snapped. The monster screamed. The vines that had once entrapped Bloom went slack. He felt a gentle touch on his shoulder. “Get’er home, Mac.” He turned to see his Granny. Her eyes had a dangerous glint to them he couldn’t place. Big Mac looked at the monstrosity and saw that it was pierced by several rotten roots of wood. He wanted to question where they had come from, but his sister was crying and his Granny had given him an order. Scooping Apple Bloom onto his back, he ran back toward home. “Spartan’s death ain’t yer fault, Mac,” Granny called after him. “None of it ever was.” Fresh tears fell from his face. Applejack, Big Mac and Apple Bloom hung their legs over the porch, their hooves dangling over the railing. Applejack had joined them soon after they’d gotten back to the farmhouse and, after being filled in on what happened, had bandaged them both up. They watched as the last vestiges of sunlight disappeared over the horizon. “...I’m never carving a pumpkin again,” Bloom said. “I second that,” Applejack added. “Eeyup,” Big Mac said. “Do ya think Granny is okay?” Bloom asked. Silence. Big Mac thought about the look in his Granny’s eyes and the strange roots that had pierced the body of the abomination. Though he had nothing but his gut instinct to follow, he felt certain she would come back. If nothing else, she had to. She just… had to. “Eeyup,” Big Mac replied. Applejack hesitated, then added, “Y-yep. Definitely, Bloom.” “...Can we wait for her here?” In response, Big Mac and Applejack leaned against their younger sister, providing cover from the chill of the early evening and dread in their hearts. Then they waited.