Mare of the House
We’d all heard of the Cupcake Killer. It was a necessary evil in small towns to pass their ghost stories along to those deemed young enough to still be frightened and hide under their blankets when dark houses creaked from natural swelling and bustling of weather. I had never believed in her. Especially not when my friends told me about how the house my family had bought used to be the bakery where she had committed her heinous crimes, sawing legs from wailing ponies and leaving them to wiggle their stumps as she split their bellies open for her sinister harvests. They say she used their organs as a secret ingredient for cupcakes, which is why they call her what they do. How could anypony not see the fallacies in their tale? It was like the Boogeypony or the Old Mare Searching for her Rusty Horseshoe. Fillytales. They just wanted to scare me.
I had just turned 13 and had been entrusted with staying home by myself for the first time in my life. Some of my friends suggested that I should throw a party or invite some cute colt over for a game of seven minutes in heaven. I did neither, just decided to cuddle up with a book from the library about princesses and true love. My parents were going to Canterlot on business and expected to be back the next morning when we would all go out and have breakfast together. I was happy for them, their art was catching on and a few businesses had bought statues from them. They would be taking measurements and planning a specific piece for some well to do company in the Canterlot Business section. I had just cracked the cover of the book when somepony knocked on my door. I had come home directly from school, hoping to see my parents before they left, but they had already departed. I hoped that maybe they had forgotten something and I would get my chance to wish them well on their trip.
I smiled and closed the thick, leather-bound cover and leapt to investigate. Standing on the tips of my hooves to peer through the spyhole, I could just make out the wiggling tongue of my best friend as she raspberried the door. It was Jib Jab, the curved lens of the spyhole warped her peach face to a strange shape and I giggled and twisted the lock. It was already open. It had been acting up lately and we were waiting for some new piece to sell before we could get it fixed. I felt a sharp cold as the door opened for Jib. One look at the sky told me that winter was well upon us and it may not be a bad idea to get some extra firewood from the alley behind the house for the night. I just hoped the snow would stay away long enough for Mom and Dad to get home.
It wasn’t unusual for Jib to come over and I was certain my parents wouldn’t mind. We talked and laughed and played together well into the evening. She was nearly as excited as I was that I was getting some responsibility, she had yet to be left alone by herself. Despite her happiness for me, pangs of jealousy drove her to recant ghost stories, trying to frighten me on my first night alone. I puffed my chest and rolled my eyes. Really? A hoof that came back to life in search of its body? Rattling chains? Filly stuff, I’d heard them all before so many times that they had no effect on me.
Seeing my bemused grin, Jib’s jaw struck and a sinister determination swept her features. She sauntered to the basement door and flung it open. She reiterated the story of the pink mare and dared me to go down. I felt the dread wrinkle my courage but I tried to play it cool. Cupcake Killer or not, I didn’t like the basement. I never had. I had went down into it once before when we had first moved in, helping my dad carry boxes down for storage. I know there’s nothing down there but pipes and the furnace, but the feel was wrong. I don’t really believe the rumors, no ponies were tortured and gutted there, but it’s dank and thick, like the walls are closing in. Like there are eyes in every dark corner.
She dared me to go down with her, to the place where they died. Where they still shriek for help. Where she cut them apart. I think a skitter in my step betrayed my bravado and when I took the lead, braving the first three steps alone, the door slammed shut, enveloping me in a blackness seemingly not of this world. I screamed, confidence be damned, I squealed like the filly I was and slammed my hooves into the door behind me blindly. I heard laughter, I knew it was Jib on the other side of the door but, I swear, it sounded like it was coming from the bottom of the stairs, and an impossibly sweet scent that had to be my imagination caressed the edges of my consciousness. I banged on the door and my screams deafened me to the laughter but was that the sound of my hoof echoing into the basement, or somepony climbing the steps of the cellar behind me?
The door swung open wildly and Jib Jab fell over with laughter, holding her sides and kicking her hooves like a foal throwing a tantrum. I wanted to hit her but slammed the basement door closed and yelled angrily instead. Her giggling stopped and she genuinely looked hurt. I didn’t care. I stormed off and stuffed my muzzle back into my book.
I pretended not to hear her apologies but, after a while, I couldn’t hold it against her anymore. She had got me good. Even I couldn’t help but laugh a little. We made up quickly and played more games, discussed what colts might be interested in us, and raided the refrigerator for snacks.
It was nearly dark when she left and I stood at the door, waving her goodbye. She would come over tomorrow and we would play again. I noticed that the snow had begun to fall, it was really coming down and had already covered the streets. Jib had only a few blocks to travel and I knew she would be safe for such a short distance, but wow, it was really snowing hard. She paused, turning to me with a playful smirk, “You know she escaped, right? The Killer?”
I only stuck my tongue out at her and shut the door, fearing this would become an inside joke between the two of us for years to come.
I pulled a few logs into the house from the back alley and lit a cozy fire in the fireplace, careful to place the screen so errant flames would not find purchase on nearby flammables. I sank into the couch and opened my book again.
I read for hours, the sun’s light had perished and the house was illuminated by the flickering tongues of the fireplace, a warm orange glow outlined the furniture as I read.
I came to a scary part in the story. The princess had been kidnapped and locked in a keep far away and only the brave prince could save her. He had galloped in pursuit but had come to the swamp of no return. A haunted place, the spirits of those who had died in the swallowing muck of the forest clawed at the prince’s hooves and threatened to drown him into the bog below. My skin crawled and suddenly the burning wood let out a loud pop.
I jumped, breath catching in my chest as I realized what had happened. It took me a moment to compose myself, pulling a throw pillow up over my tummy and craning my neck side to side, straining my eyes in search of ghostly hooves or movement anywhere in my proximity. Nothing was there. I was just jumpy from the book. It was then that Jib’s prank returned to me and thoughts of the Cupcake Killer strangled my imagination. For a moment she appeared and I clutched the pillow for my life. That grim smile of bloodstained teeth, a look of sadistic glee in her pin-prick eyes froze me in place. She had a butcher knife in her teeth dripping crimson droplets down her pale pink coat. I blinked and she was gone but the image stayed with me for far too long. I covered my head with the pillow and cried, wishing for sleep to take me and morning to come. Tomorrow would be great, just close my eyes and sleep.
After some time spent shivering silently, ears perked to every crack and pop of the house, sleep did come. It hit me and I fell off to dreams of my parents as the dancing light of the fire died in the night.
I awoke to a soft blackness and bitter cold. The fire had flickered its last but I could see well from accumulation of snow outside, the moon’s silver gaze reflected from the thick white powder outside. I had fallen asleep frightened but now it felt a thousand lifetimes ago and ridiculous. I was afraid of an old mare’s story designed to scare foals? It was embarrassing and I chastised myself for succumbing to such a stupid story. It was late, cold and I hungered for my soft bed and warm blankets. I kicked the pillow from my chest and rolled to my hooves, walking from the living room.
I paused at the kitchen window, peering out into the wintery white banks of snow that had appeared. It had really piled up and was still pouring. It was then that I thought I saw a movement in the night, just out of my vision. The snow obscured my sight and I squinted to see better.
Something out there moved, some distance away I could see the form of a pony standing on their back legs, facing me. My heart lurched in my chest and I sank down below the window sill. Were my eyes deceiving me? Was I still under the influence of that story? It was so late, surely nopony was really out there in this blizzard. I swallowed and a hard lump hurt my throat as I forced it down. I was just being foolish. It was nothing, a trick of the eyes and a tired mind. I popped my head up again.
It was closer this time. A pink mare standing on her back legs, something held in her forelegs in a gift-like gesture. I could almost make out her face but the snow was too thickly falling and hiding her features. My blood froze in my veins and panic shook me like a salt shaker. I felt paralyzed as the pink pony stepped closer in her awkward upright stance.
Somehow, I ducked below the window again and mumbled to myself, frantically trying to think of what to do, where to hide, whether to flee or not. I had to think fast; she was moving closer all the time. I tried to tell myself that it was a neighbor coming to check on me, but I knew better; it was the Cupcake Killer. She had escaped and was coming back home.
I was safe, right? I could hide in my upstairs closet. My parents would be home soon and she couldn’t get in, the doors were locked. It was just then that I remembered the broken lock on the front door. I had to get to it, had to lock it. I hoped I had time, I needed to look out the window one more time and judge how long I had to run to the door, lock it, and get to a good hiding place.
For the last time, I stood and turned my eyes to the window. It was as if somepony rested the breath from my body. She was standing just a few feet away, her icy eyes shimmering in the light of the reflecting snow, daggers dancing in fetid blue pools. Her smile was sanity-wrenching and twisted like the crook of a gnarled tree, a wrenching gash of fear. Her pink coat was splotched with red. Gouts, drops, lines of crimson decorated her thin frame like wandering scars. In her hooves was a tray of cupcakes, brown and lumpy, oozing with something sickly. I felt my consciousness threatening to fail, the world tinged with blackness as fear gripped my mind and I realized that the snow was unmarred, complete, pristine. But that could only mean …
“I’ve got a surprise party for you! Your parents are already there! Have a cupcake!” The voice was far too high pitched to be sane and the happy tones dripped of the undertow that holds corpses.
I realized too late that what I had been seeing was her reflection.
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Fun little story I decided to write quickly. There's 3 more on the way but they are longer and taking time that I do not have. I hope you like this story but I think it will get lots of hate for using a certain character as the monster. Oh, Lucefudu, I totally ripped off her nickname from you. Please don't beat me.
Well ... she's dead.
You have one helluva view on fun, don't you?
~Skeeter The Lurker
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t2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTL0b148yqwxy3A-iYE3FFTFAUoSRUvAX1warWAT3tL7_3ek8jmYw
But I don't WANT to get off JMJ's wild ride...
2980268
The best!
2980289 Hello Mr. Regidar! How are you, sir? Long time, no see!
2980376 I am fine thank you. And yes, it has been far too long since we've spoken ot each other. Many moons have passed...
Eeeeee.....
Is all I can say.
2980376
Well, don't ever stop with it, yeah?
~Skeeter The Lurker
One funny thing that occurred to me. I read the description and saw the character tag and went all "Oh boy, get ready for some gore." Then I kept reading... and reading... and reading... and I was all "Okay, so Pinkie is having good times, but I am sure there was a Dark tag over there somewhere. And this is jmj we're talking about; where's the twist?" and the story kept giving me a sense of... I don't know, strange foreboding. Nothing was happening except ponee having super good happy fun times, but I knew it was going to change.
Then, I reached the logical conclusion that since this mentioned the Cupcakes Killer and also had a Pinkie tag, the main character (whom I believed to be Pinkie) was going to reveal herself as the Cupcakes Killer, remembering everything as she goes down into the basement and finds the dead body of Jib Jab (who is a horrible friend and should be mauled to death, might I add).
But then, the story kept on going and in the end I was shown that the main character wasn't Pinks and also that Pinkie was phone all along!
I'm pretty sure this would be a Dysphoria spin-off/extra (I refuse to use the o-starting, japanese word), if you look at it. Possibly after, well... you-already-know-what-will-happen.
Quite enjoyable read, jmj. I'm eager to see the other three stories... even though two of them are already spoiled for me. Still, with your writing, I'm sure I'll still be able to get plenty of fun from them.
No, seriously, I'm currently having an affair with your descriptive language right now. Bitch still loves you and refuses to give in completely to me, though. Yes, I'm very jelly.
This was short and cute, just like all stories like this are supposed to be.
Clearly this is the story fillies tell each other.
2980648 Finally. 4 hours of driving with a screaming cat is finally over. I found out why she was screaming when I opened her cat carrier and she jumped out with 5 or 6 little brown nuggets rolling after her. She's never done that in her carrier before. So she got a bath, which she screamed about. To make things worse, our dog rode in the back seat with my wife in her car and guess what was in his little doggy seat? Yep! Bright orange streaks of digested food. So he got a bath too. I can't believe they did that though. Charisa, the cat, rode across the country and never pooped in her carrier. This wasn't really a long trip and yet there it was... anyway, enough about pets and poop.
I'm glad you liked it, sir. This was a pretty simple story and I put no thought into disguising or misdirecting the ending. Heck, I wouldn't even call it a twist. I think you overthought it.
And this might sound dumb, but I don't know what O word you are talking about.
Gore. Well, you know I usually don't go for extreme gore, but I may do something with it just to do it. THe poetry class I am taking is sort of pushing me to write concise stories with quick plots. Don't be surprised if I hammer one out tonight.
Pinkie was Phone.
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Thanks. I appreciate the view/comment. I'm not thrilled about the whopping 23 views, but it seems like the few who are reading it enjoy it.
When I started this, I was thinking nothing but things like, 'man, this ain't scary,' and 'just another cheesy Cupcakes ripoff.'
Then I got to the end.
My thought:
'Well, shit.'
Then I clicked the like and fav buttons.
I am now waiting for the other three.
2982593 Thank you for the fav/like/read/comment. I appreciate the time you invested in the story. I try to write good stories. I love Pinkamena/Cupcakes but so many are exactly what you thought this was going to be. There are also so many psychological ones that I think that style story is expected at this point. I have wanted to include Pinkamena in a story for a long time but couldn't find a way to do it and make it not suck. I thought this was a way to have her, however briefly, and not just beat the dead horse. At the moment, the only other Pinkamena is the non-cupcakes one in Pinkamenace II Society. I also helped very very very little on Lucefudu and Owlor's Dysphoria.
Well that was a nice read before bed, I enjoyed it, and three more on the way?
So the moral of the story is to always lock your doors and make sure they are always in good condition.
This story makes me love Pinkamena even more. I just like how it ended right there.
2982565 The O word I was referring to is omake, silly goose.
Fantastic!
2986698 OH! That word! Wait, yeah I've never heard it before.
2983711 Great. Thanks for reading.
2986956 Apologies for the crude, short reply, jmj. For a second there I thought I could write... turns out I can't and I became overly frustrated at it and now the story I was going to write will be nevermore.
Anywho, to reply to your former comment:
Hah! Haven't your dog&cat ever traveled by car? I'm sorry to laugh at your misfortune and at your pets' as well, but this is fucking gold, man.
You really didn't intend for me (and other readers) to be misdirected? Huh, interesting. By the looks of the comments, I wasn't the only one, so that's a plus, right?
I envy those who can write like you, man... no ass kissing intended, but you make it seem so easy. The story I was writing, for example, simply refused to be done with. Like... nothing I wrote seemed good, so I just said "bleh" and quit it. A few minutes of discussing it with Owlor and I get the idea to make a vector-like comic out of it (with only three panels; just to flesh the character out), but once more I grew increasingly frustrated with it and had to abandon it as well...
I think I'll stick with med school and my random headcanons... seems like the only thing I'm good at anyway.
That was highly enjoyable.
Meh, I'd at least try the cupcakes... I mean the oozing is clearly icing because they're just cinnamon roll cupcakes right, I mean those are brown an lumpy... and she clearly just doesn't like the overly sweet taste of icing. But really... I'd try those meaty cupcakes.
How did I manage to miss these two?! That's what i get, going on vacation and stuff...
Pretty freaky stuff you have going on here, I missed ya.
3092581 Thanks. I'm glad to see you again. I hope you had a good vacation. I will have a new story uploading today. Thanks for reading.
The twist, what ending? The gore is in your mind. Somehow you story only have the gore occurring after the narration ended thus turning the readers imagination against them
3093379 Whoa. This story, despite what I thought it would do, chilled me to the bone. The basement scene in particular froze my blood, as I'm sure we've all had that time where we turn off the lights downstairs and then sprint upstairs because we start seeing things that may or may not be there. I can easily imagine exactly what the little filly was feeling as she heard the steps coming up the stairs behind her.
Honestly, just writing this comment is sending ripples of ice through me. It's 2:30 in the morning and I can't see a thing. If Pinkamena were to pop up from behind my monitor I probably wouldn't even see her. Anyway, I was curious on a few things about this story:
How long had our "creative" pink mare been inside the building? Was she there the whole time? Because that would be scary as shit.
Also, what inspired you to write this? And is there more to come? I'd gobble it up...yes, as if I were eating cupcakes.
I have to end the comment here because just thinking about the story is literally freezing me in my bed. I hope I haven't displeased our mutual pink friend with this comment...
Anyway, excellent work, very effective at scaring the crap out of me...wait, how long has that window been open?
Seriously, guys, I didn't open that window...
3446506
I'm glad it scared you. It's a pretty creepy story. I got the idea when I walked by a window and thought my reflection was a deer or bear outside the house. From there it just sort of worked its way into being what it is.
Yeah, she was there the whole time. She had escaped from the asylum and went back where she knew best. So, from the moment the filly gets home, she was downstairs.
Basements are usually kind of creepy and I like using them to provide atmosphere. I think I've used Applejack's basement in three stories now.
There will definitely be more stories but maybe not more of this specific one.
Thanks for reading and I greatly appreciate the comments.
3447031 Wow. So that WAS Pinkie on the stairs then?!
Great story really had me wanting to read more. I figured that was pinkie on the steps in the beginning but thew ending really iced it. But great work i look forward to reading more from you.
Man, that was chilling story! I loved it!
4034268 Thanks. I'm glad you liked it.
Well, it's not like I ever intended to sleep again anyways.
I told it to a buncha people on a stop it slender game (it was hard to tell it in nonpony form) but anyway the second I finished it like ten people disconnected. Pretty cool story to tell, and sorry for not adding it to my favorites when I found it a few months ago.
That ending is going to keep me up all night. it was so good you should make a sequel where her ghost form tries to save Jib from her it was soo scary although not as scary as the creepy pasta where a little girl is playing in her room up stairs when she hears her mother call for her. She goes down the steps towards the kitchen to see what she wants when she is pulled under the stair cupboard and her real mother says, "Don't go in there. I heard it too." it defiantly ranks as a close number two if not a dead tie. It was truly good.
4350656 Thank you very much. I'm glad you enjoyed it. Your handle is awesome by the way.
4385824 not trying to sound stupid but what do you mean handel?
4385889 The name you are using. It's good.
This is probably my favorite out of all your stories I've read so far (Friendship Never Dies runs a close second, though, in case you're wondering). The atmosphere and concept of the story is perfect for a horror story: A filly, alone at night in a big, dark, empty house while her parents are out at a social gathering, taking place in the dead of winter with a heavy snowfall occurring outside. That premise on its own is ripe for all kinds of psychological horror elements, and you manage to ramp those elements up to their fullest potential by adding in a scary urban legend which, in the end, turns out to not be so much of a legend at all. All in all, you wrote one hell of a chilling horror story here. Fantastic work.
4731926 Thank you. I appreciate that you read it and enjoyed it. This story was written because I greatly wanted to incorporate Pinkamena into something but I didn't know how to make her different than what others have done. So, I went with urban legend. The house the main character lived in really was Sugar Cube Corner at one point and Pinkie was just coming home. I kept thinking about how alone you really feel in the winter when the lights are out and the snow is burying you.
Creepy as usual and a very good take on a cupcakes style story.
4823317 Always wanted to make a Pinkamena/cupcakes story but could never figure out how to make it unique. This one isn't so much about Pinkamena, but I may have one in mind now.
EEEEeeeee oh, am I ever fangasming over this! Such a unique take, wonderful description, great building tension, and then that last line that hits like a punch to the nuts. You've earned a fave!
I swear I've read this story before but I can't remember..... I am 95% certain I have but this seems like a story I should remember.
I liked it. This is quite well-written, and with some nice description, especially that paragraph where the main character is looking through the spyhole. There was a part that felt a little bit like report-style writing, though, but it was brief. Those unsettling, scary moments were brought out well. And that part where she’s looking out through the window... wow.
I enjoyed this.
Look what i found
I wish it hadn't been Cupcakes, but this is still really good.
OMG Y DIDNT U LABEL THIS HORROR INSTEAD OF DARK!
U JUST GAVE ME NIGHTMARES
And then the torture begins:
Pinkie tickles her silly until help arrives.
Whoa. Now that ending sent a chill up my spine! Thank you!