Golden Harvest, standing with her hooves thoroughly planted in the dirt, closed her eyes and tried listening to the carrots.
Although the heat of the sun pressed down on her back and curls, not so much as a bead of sweat dribbled down her flank. The theory as she understood it went that plants were living things. Living things could, in their own limited way, communicate with ponies, or at least ponies of a certain calibre.
Thoughts like this occasionally clung to her mind, and this one was not coming off with any amount of rubbing. After all, there’d been that book in Twilight’s old library, which – or so she recalled – detailed the many ways trees used pheromones, and creeping vines used slow growth, and drum buttress cacti even used the odd gust of wind on their bodies to tell each other things. Things like “It’s very windy today, ready the pores”, or “Get out of my way before I smother you”, or “I’m being attacked by plant-eaters, beware!”
And ponies like Fluttershy proved that regular animals could be understood, if only by patient and gifted individuals. So, went the reasoning, it should be reasonable to infer that plants, in their own green, leafy ways, could communicate with ponies, albeit only with patient and gifted ones.
Golden Harvest had been standing there for hours. That took care of the first condition. It was the second one that was giving her trouble, but in a metaphorical way, didn’t all farmers have a gift with their crops? If only she could persuade the carrots, then she’d be made.
She didn’t stir until she heard the distant singing, and while it was spirited singing, it was also the aural equivalent of a repeated jabbing in the eye. At once, she hopped out of the dirt, smoothed down the imprints, and whistled her way along the furrows. She pretended not to notice the tiny head bobbing over the ridge.
“I was just looking for caterpillars,” she said a bit too quickly. To emphasize the point, she brought her corneas close enough to grab the nearest carrot leaves with a blink.
“Hallo, Carrot Top!” said Dinky, who broke out into another fit of off-key singing on her way down the slope. “I got you a surprise gift! It’s a bowl! Surprise!”
Golden Harvest didn’t bother correcting the filly. “Carrot Top” had popped out of her young mouth years ago as a nickname, and now it was as much a part of the daily routine as the sunrise.
The filly levitated the papier-mâché dome with her unicorn magic. Through the glaze of glue that had been applied with enthusiasm all over the thing, it was still possible to see yesterday’s headlines.
“How lovely!” said Golden Harvest, who made a mental note to put it on the table where everyone could see it, and made another mental note to never actually use it. “A bit odd for Nightmare Night, isn’t it?”
“I used a balloon,” said Dinky. She tipped it forwards and there was a flat slap inside it.
“Yes, I can see.” Golden Harvest dutifully peered inside. “And it’s still there. Very creative.”
“It’s not just a bowl, either.” With a flip and a plop, the thing landed upside-down on her own straw-like locks. “Now it’s a war helmet. You could hit me on the head, and I wouldn’t feel a thing.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
Golden Harvest about-turned and began strolling along the furrows. Beside her, Dinky marched forwards, face set in stone as though the flanking carrot leaves were solemn guards of honour.
“Why are your hooves all dirty?” said Dinky. The question was softly spoken, but even a softly cracked whip still makes a heck of a snap, and Golden Harvest blinked as though narrowly missing the lash.
“I’ve been mucking about in a field of carrots,” she said simply.
“You must have been really mucking about, then. It goes all the way up to your knees, look.” Dinky paused to point out the tidemark of brown.
“Digging trenches does that to my coat.” Golden Harvest could feel the heat of the sun hard on her cheeks now. “And filling them in afterwards,” she added when Dinky opened her mouth again.
“Were you trying to be a carrot, or something?” said Dinky with a grin that should never have found itself on the face of one so young.
“Uh, no… So!” Golden Harvest continued cheerily as the towering timber-bucket she called home loomed into view. “What else have you been doing? Anything good for Nightmare Night?”
Dinky sighed. “No. I still have no idea what costume to wear. Everyone else does, though. Derpy said she’d make something special for me, but to be honest, I think she’s forgotten.”
“Maybe she meant she’d be making something special for herself? You could always make your own costume, just in case. Nothing wrong with having a contingency plan.”
“Hmm,” said Dinky to the dirt below. “I guess. I hope she hasn’t forgotten. I don’t like making my own costume. Or other ponies’.”
“Oh?” Golden Harvest raised an eyebrow; there was an odd bite in the way those words had been spoken, and Dinky was looking down at the ground rather than up at the sky. “You used to really get into arts and crafts. I thought you liked making things, especially for others? Besides, some might consider it a labour of love, don't you think?”
Dinky sighed. “But I’m no good at it. I don’t see the point. If you love somepony so much, then why does it matter if you make them stuff when you can buy better ones from a shop? Love doesn’t make a costume better, does it?”
“Uh oh.” Golden Harvest guiltily felt her mind drifting to a certain drawer next to her bed. “You’ve been talking to someone?”
“No. I’ve been thinking again.”
The drawer was full of costumes she’d saved up since kindergarten. And they hadn’t been less than a few scraps of clothing even during the slower years. “Labour of love” was something that happened to other ponies. At least Golden Harvest had the decency to blush.
“Oh dear,” she whispered, but not quietly enough. Dinky tilted her head and aimed a sidelong glance at her. “Sorry,” the mare added hastily.
“No, I think I can do a bit better than silly filly paper,” continued the foal. “I’m gonna be a mare one day. And I’ve been watching, and mares don’t do it with paper and giant floppy bags. It’s about time I stepped up, isn’t it?”
These days, Golden Harvest was having trouble even opening the drawer. She blinked back into the present.
“Sorry?” She shook her head until her locks whacked her in the face. “Whatcha say?”
Dinky aimed and fired a glare up, and struck right between the older pony’s blinking eyes. “I said I’m not a little baby any more. I need something that isn’t so cheap and small. Cheerilee always says it’s the thought that counts, and that what matters is that the ponies I love are happy. And when the big ponies give the foals in my class their best costumes, they always start smiling. Well…”
She glanced back at the upcoming orange paint of the front porch, and following her gaze, Golden Harvest felt a blow right on the back of her self-respect. Where most houses had a paper chain slung from post to post, each curled chain of paper sagging with a black bat or a blanket ghost, this one was completely free of decorations.
Why oh why didn’t I put something up? Golden Harvest almost hit herself in the face. “No one cares”? Everyone cares! How could I have forgotten to save up for some dangly paper things, at least?
But then Dinky had never been in a mood like this before. Why should she put anything up? It was a waste of money, and no one had complained. True, because no one had come up here during previous bad years, but the point was that there were no complaints.
Golden Harvest went towards the watering tap and reached both front hooves across for the coiled hosepipe. She hoped, if she waited long enough, that this moment would never have happened. Do not stand out. Do not stand out. Do not stand out. You know what’ll happen if you stand out. You’ll end up like Derpy.
“Besides, I can’t think of anything,” continued Dinky, who no longer seemed to notice or care about any embarrassment.
“I expect you’ll want your usual carrot and custard pie, then?” said Golden Harvest more cheerfully than she felt. The pipe stuck fast over the nozzle of the tap. “I’ve kept yours in the fridge where the pies usually are. You might get a brainwave with a good meal inside you. Don’t worry about it now, OK?”
“That might help! I’m there!” Planks creaked, hinges squeaked, and the door slammed and bounced off the frame.
That ought to keep her occupied for a while. Things were falling back into their usual routines. Dinky would have her pie and then go find Derpy, and then no one would come up here and bother her.
Good. She had a dozen fields to water before the end of the day. Thank you, sudden rush of pegasus vacations.
“That’s that,” muttered Golden Harvest, watching the hose bulge in the middle. “She can handle herself. Now I can get back to some real work. This is going to take ages.”
She grimaced when a growl shook her stomach.
“OK, I admit it,” she said wearily. “I shouldn’t have skipped lunch for that stunt. Don’t you start, all right? Dear oh dear…”
Derpy emerged from the inside of Town Hall, and turned around to wave happily at the Mayor, who was hanging around the front entrance. A sheepish wave back was all she got.
“Just give it a good whack if the tack comes out,” Derpy said brightly. “I’m sure it’ll stay in this time, though.”
“Uh,” said the Mayor, whose mane was frazzled over her brow, “th-thank you once again for helping us to put up the decorations, Derpy. Your… enthusiasm is an inspiration to us all.”
“My pleasure!” said Derpy cheerfully, and she turned and waved at a passing pegasus flock. Behind her, the Mayor frantically signalled at someone across the square and then pretended not to have done so when Derpy turned back. “If you ever need a hoof with anything, just remember my name!”
“Yes,” said the Mayor when the pegasus turned around. A bead of sweat dribbled down her temple. “We most certainly won’t forget it. Have a nice day.”
While Derpy marched onwards, the carpenter ponies on standby rushed across the town green and disappeared inside the hall. She heard the urgent whispers and then the slam of the door, but that was it.
Oh, she’d been on a roll today! She waved at Vinyl as she passed the DJ's studio; the unicorn had been struggling to pick out a record for tonight until Derpy had visited earlier. The unicorn was currently dropping a pan full of broken discs into her own garbage can.
“Afternoon, Vinyl!” Derpy cried out. “I can’t wait to hear your music tonight!”
Vinyl jumped with shock and darted back indoors with a slam.
“Wow. Busy. OK,” said Derpy brightly. “I, uh, guess you’re still busy setting up. I love your music!”
The curtains were drawn shut on the lower floor, but it hardly registered in her consciousness; just then, Rainbow Dash flew into view overhead. An errant memory flitted out of hiding.
“Oh, Rainbow Dash!” Derpy called up. “I thought I’d let you know someone left some thunder clouds outside ponies’ houses this morning.”
Rainbow skidded to a halt in midair. “Oh yeah? Oh. Um. Right. Uh. I… don’t know who that could have been.” She rubbed the back of her neck and cast her gaze hither and thither. Derpy wondered if she was hot; there seemed to be a lot of reddening around her face.
“It was probably just a prankster!” she shouted up. “Don't worry! I gathered them up and put them in the cellar in Town Hall! Now no one can get any nasty shocks when they go outside! Hooray! Derpy saves the day again!”
Now she was sure her eyesight was playing tricks on her; Rainbow had gone from red to white faster than blinking. “All of them?”
“Yep!” She nodded her head so hard and fast that it almost fell off. “All in the cellar! I made a point of checking to see if I’d gotten them all!”
“But that many thunder clouds in such a small space…” A thought made her zip higher for a moment, and she curled round for a dive. “Uh oh. Gotta go!”
There was a rainbow streak, and then she vanished.
Maybe she just forgot something, thought Derpy as she carried on trotting. Well, I know that feeling well enough. I’ve got it right now. Now what was it I was supposed to remember…?
A familiar squeaky wheeling came up the avenue towards her. “Hello, Big Macintosh!” she yelled, even though by this time he was a yard to her right and stopping. On his cart was a gigantic tub. “Another apple-bobbing tub? Wow. How many do we have?”
“Jus’ the one,” he murmured, trying not to make eye contact.
Derpy’s face creased with concentration. “But didn’t I help you set that up this morning? What happened to it?”
“Um.” Big Macintosh coughed nervously. “Plug got pulled out.”
“Oh dear. I’m sorry to hear that. It was an amazing set-up. Maybe it was this prankster who keeps going around the place? You know what I found when I went around the town this morning?”
“Oh, there’s the plug!” said Big Macintosh, vying for Most Overacted Double-Take Award. “Now, who’d be so silly an’ mean as to wrap it round right there? Awf’ly sorry ‘bout this.”
He pointed; she followed his gaze to her back leg, where a chain had somehow wrapped around her lower hoof. Holding the offending leg up, she watched the aforementioned plug slide off and hit the grass with a thud.
“Pranksters,” Big Macintosh added quickly, looking at the sky. “Eeyup.”
“Deary me, they have been busy today.” Derpy scooped the plug up with a wing and handed it over. “Well, I hope you catch whoever did it. Such a shame to make you go and fill this up” – she patted the side of the tub with a hoof – “all over again.”
“Shame,” he said to the clouds, coughing nervously again. “Eeyup. Th-Thanks.”
She waved him off as he went whistling nonchalantly away, but by that point her nagging memory had snatched her attention back. Now, what was it I wanted to do for Dinky? I got the decorations up… the candy ready… the collecting pouch for Dinky…
“Dinky!” she shrieked.
To her inconceivable joy, she saw the filly herself scampering past the rumbling wheels of Big Macintosh’s cart. Dinky was making a beeline for her, and both of them stopped and yelled “hooray” and gave a hug and chuckled, and then wondered what the other one was going to do next.
“Hi,” said Dinky, coughing into her hoof. Something round shook on her head.
“So,” said Derpy with a shrug, trying not to think about the memory loss. “Busy?”
“Yeah,” said Dinky, equally blasé. “You know. The usual.”
“Ah,” said Derpy sadly, and her gaze drifted up to the rattling “helmet” clattering around the little horn as though it had been thrown on. “Been boring at school, I guess?”
“Eh.” Dinky flicked her head back and blinked idly. “A bit.”
“Well, don’t you worry,” said Derpy, coming to life once again. “I have got a real humdinger of a surprise for you later. Oh yes.”
Dinky’s eyes lit up at once. “You mean that secret super-special costume surprise you kept going on about?”
“Uh…” Panic began to well up inside her head. “Sorry? What costume?”
“You know, the one you said you’d do last week?”
“What? I said that? When did I say that? I don't remember that.”
Dinky tilted her head – rattling the helmet again – and narrowed her eyes. “You’re kidding, right? You wouldn't stop going on about it, remember?”
There was a pause while, somewhere in the distance, the sky lit up with a thousand volts. A boom ripped through the air. Bits of wood and timber rained down over the nearby streets. A smoking remnant of a windowpane crashed a few feet away, but neither of them paid it any attention.
Then, Derpy chuckled and ruffled the filly’s hair. “Of course I’m kidding. Why would I forget something as special as that? I wouldn’t forget something as special as that. I haven’t changed my plans at all.”
A smile braved Dinky’s lips. “Oh, good. You had me going there for a moment.”
“Yeah? Well, there won’t be a costume like it anywhere in town. But… uh…” Derpy glanced at the smoking wood for inspiration, and then added, “But you have to go home and wait patiently, and I’ll show it to you this evening.” She ventured a wink. “It’s a surprise.”
“I won’t tell a soul!” Dinky saluted.
“Excellent, Private. Then, my little soldier: diiiiiiiismissed!”
Dinky giggled and rushed past her. Although Derpy waved and smiled and shouted “See you later” every time the filly turned around, as soon as Dinky had rounded a corner, she carefully placed a hoof in her mouth and bit down hard.
Oh gosh, oh gosh, oh gosh. I knew it was a humdinger! Now what do I do? I haven’t gotten a thing! How can I possibly make a costume in time for –
A reassured sigh escaped her. Aha. Brainwave. Get someone else to do it. The cunning mind strikes again, and it knows exactly who to strike…
“Two fields down,” said Golden Harvest, wiping her brow with the back of a foreleg. “Just let me do another one.”
The irritable stomach gave another rumble.
“Oh, fine. Time for that meal, I think. It should be ready in a few minutes. Happy?”
While Golden Harvest twisted the handle and let the gurgle run along the coils of the hose, she stood against the dark stain of the wall and clamped the nozzle between her teeth. When it came, the water punched and almost shot the hose clean out of her mouth. Clumps of dirt rained down where the blast knocked them off her legs.
Oh not my mane! She sighed through the oral obstruction as sodden locks slapped her brow. Darn it! Don’t aim up, you fool! It takes hours to get the curls just right.
Even as she thought it, she blushed. It’s not as if anyone looks good hosing soil off themselves. Besides, she added, glancing up at the shameful lack of decorations above her porch, it’s not like there’s anyone left to impress until tonight. Thank goodness for that.
She turned around just as Derpy landed with a thump before her.
Golden Harvest screamed and rammed her entire body against the wall. Only then did she remember that the tap was sticking out right behind her.
“Ah!” she groaned. “My back!”
“Oh, I’m sorry!” Derpy rushed forwards to catch her, missed, and winced at the second thump hitting the floor. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I swear!”
Back still throbbing, Golden Harvest raised a mud-splattered glare. “Didn’t mean to startle me!? Ow!” The tap-shaped hollow on her back popped out of existence. She cringed and rubbed a hoof along it. “Coming at me out of nowhere isn’t meant to startle me!?”
“I was in a hurry, you see. There’s a terrible disaster coming!”
The hose had been dislodged from the tap. A gurgle, a rumble of metal, and the spout vomited a cascade of dirty water right over Golden Harvest’s locks and face before settling back down to a trickle.
The mud monster blinked gunk out of her eyes. “You don’t say?”
“Sorry,” said Derpy sheepishly. “Uh, at least I got rid of that blockage for you? Look, it’s just that I need your help. I promised Dinky I’d make a special costume for Nightmare Night, only I promised last week, and then there was that trouble with the mail orders, and I got sidetracked, and then I completely forgot about it!”
The mud monster hauled herself to her hooves. “Sucks to be you, I guess,” she muttered.
“Can you help me out? Please, please, please? Only you’re always so helpful and kind, and this is a big emergency, and Nightmare Night is tonight, and… uh…” Derpy’s gaze drifted to the empty porch. “What happened to your decorations?”
The mud monster spat a glob of brown out of her mouth. “Fine. Whatever. Just get inside while I clean up.”
“Yes! Thank you, Carrot Top!”
“Don’t call me that.”
“I could kiss you, if you weren’t covered in mud!”
“And don’t help yourself to that pie in the oven!” she shouted after her flapping wings. “That’s my lunch!”
A few minutes later, the handle squeaked back into place and the trickle dried up completely. Golden Harvest shook her much cleaner self down to rid herself of the last few drops, and finally was hopping up the steps. Occasionally, she’d stop to wipe wet patches onto the wood, and once onto the welcome mat.
Derpy was pressing her face against the oven door, determined to forestall any smoke this time. The sight of the wide eyes almost pressing against the thickened black glass made Golden Harvest wince; she used to do the exact same thing at that age, and for pretty much the same reason.
The guilt crept back into her mind. That was the thing about Derpy and Nightmare Night…
“She thinks I’ve got it ready to go for her! Doesn’t she, Carrot Top?” said the pegasus suddenly, not looking round.
“Uh…” she replied, thinking about the strange conversation from earlier. “I imagine so.”
… in her experience, the mare’s costume choices weren’t exactly ambitious.
With a ding, the steaming pie was wrenched out of the oven by Derpy's flexing wings. She nodded with approval at the golden sheen of the crust. Hardly any burnt bits this time.
“And you didn’t eat any,” said Golden Harvest with relief. “That’s a first.”
Derpy frowned. “I thought you said earlier ‘help yourself to that pie in the oven’.”
“I said don’t do that. I see your listening skills haven’t improved.”
“Oh.” The pegasus coughed and lowered the pie to the table. She looked like someone had thrown water over her.
Wow, thought Golden Harvest. She must really be in a tizzy if she's even forgetting to forget not to eat my lunches. I wonder if Dinky’s attitude got through to her.
“Fine,” she said, not unkindly. “Have a slice if you really must. I’ll eat around it. And leave some for me!”
“Thank you. And while I’m doing that, you’ll help me solve my problem?”
“No promises.”
Tying on her bib with the wings, Derpy pulled herself up to the table with a scrape of wood and licked her lips. Beside her Golden Harvest found her own gaze drifting towards the slightly open fridge, and then to the cupboard next to it. To her horror, it too was ajar.
As casually as she could, she sidestepped over to it, wincing at each groan of the floorboards. Derpy was a champion gastronomist, however; soon, her face was covered in yellow and orange stains, and she’d even shut her eyelids tight so that her brain could concentrate on the onslaught of taste burning her mouth. It was still steaming while she ate it.
Easing the cupboard door open, Golden Harvest reached a hoof inside and patted about. An old rug that was shinier than metal lay on the floor within, and she flicked it aside. Thankfully, the tome was still where she’d left it.
She checked back. Derpy still had her head in the pie, tail wagging with enthusiasm. Any moment now, she’d bite through the metal foil and right into the table.
Golden Harvest pulled out the book. Below her, the gilded lettering shone against the bright summer sky coming through the kitchen window. “Amazingly Awful Attire for Nightmare Night” reflected off her face.
There were other books in there about talking to plants, but she quickly snapped the cupboard shut. No one could know about the secret stash. She used to keep crude romance novels in there, and the only thing that had changed since was the type of literature.
With a thud, the tome landed on the tabletop, making Derpy jump up on her seat.
“I suppose we could have a flick through this and see if any ideas strike.” Golden Harvest came over to watch her turn the cover over, and then glanced sideways at the foil. “And I see you’ve eaten the whole thing. Because of course you did.”
Derpy gulped. “Sorry. I got carried away. Um... I'll buy you a new one tomorrow, first thing, I promise. But this is good, though. Let’s have a look. I’m sure we’ll find something soon enough.”
Golden Harvest flicked irritably through the pages, her muzzle covered in a swarm of paper cuts. At one point, she had to stick out a hoof; the doorstopper threatened to slide off and over the edge of the table, and pitted against this rickety wooden floor, it would probably go right through.
Beside her, Derpy oohed and aahed and gaped and chuckled. It was irrelevant what the actual picture was; every single page met with her artless approval. Golden Harvest was half-tempted to open the contents page and see what happened.
“This is better than I thought,” said Derpy gleefully. “Look at how many great costumes there are!”
“Great,” murmured Golden Harvest, and she concluded this monosyllabic verbal review with a heartfelt sigh. “I hope we’ve got enough fabric to make them all, then, because you’re doing the sewing in that case.”
“Oh, fiddle-faddle.” Derpy waved a hoof breezily. “It’s the thought that counts. I want Dinky to be wowed, and it turns out there are so many ways to do it!”
Golden Harvest inspected the bare, featureless tabletop, the bare, featureless timber of the walls, and the bare, featureless and above all wow-free flaps of fabric she’d managed to pile against a wall. “Why don’t we just buy a costume from Carousel Boutique? We’d be doing something nice for her, and it would look ten times better than anything our hooves could scrounge up. Everyone is happy.”
To her annoyance, she had to cringe as the mare ruffled her thick curls with a hoof that almost certainly hadn’t been washed first. “What Rarity can do, we can do too. I’ve seen her doing it, and I took tips from Fluttershy, and they are both wizards with a needle and a thread. But that’s not the point! The point is that this time, it’ll be done by my own two hooves and it’ll be a special, hoof-crafted costume, just for her.”
“Meaning you’re too cheap to get a real costume. Hey! My mane!” Golden Harvest batted her off. “Don’t ruffle it! Took me hours to get that bouffant look!” She groaned at the stray locks twisting over her face.
“Ooh, poor simple Carrot Top! No expense shall be spared for this Nightmare Night. It will be the greatest costume in the history of horror.”
Pointedly ignoring the nickname, Golden Harvest shook out her mane and forged a small smile. “And that’s very noble and sweet of you, Derpy, but where do we even start? Everything here either needs more stuff than we have, or is way beyond anything you or I could manage.”
Derpy shook her head and forced her eyes not to stray away from each other. It happened sometimes.
“Oh, all right,” the pegasus said, every syllable as defeated and slumped as her shoulders. “How about we… we come back to this later and think again, huh? Maybe a few minutes away from the catalogue will clear our heads for ideas.”
Golden Harvest opened her mouth, preparing a sharp remark about needing something in the head to clear first, but then wisely clamped it shut again. This was just the frustration talking, not herself. She could almost hear the carrots calling to her through the kitchen window, and feel her hooves itch with the motions not going through them. Glancing around the wooden cube that passed for a room, her own lack of paper bats or pumpkin jack-o-lanterns brought a blush to her face. It wasn’t as if carrots sold well during this particular month. Autumn preferred sweeter goods.
One day, she thought, I’ll have to invent carrot-bobbing and see if it takes off.
“I’ll just go and, uh…” she began, but then a rare pang of sympathy nudged her forwards and she placed a hoof on the pegasus’ withers. “Look, we may have managed if we weren’t trying to do it at the last minute. It's bad luck you didn’t think of it earlier, that’s all.”
“It’ll work,” said Derpy brightly. “All we need to do is figure this out. You’re a smart mare. Maybe a bit of labour will bring you inspiration.”
“Hmm,” said Golden Harvest doubtfully. “Listen, the sensible thing now is to just get out the old costumes. It’s not like she’ll be any less happy, one way or another.”
Derpy sighed, flicking a straw-like lock of hair up. She watched it drift back down to the mass that passed for her fringe. With an about-turn, she went over to the far door and out of the room. Golden Harvest heard the groan of floorboards and the creak of hinges that reminded her to get some oil from the market tomorrow morning. Something papery was flicked out.
After the hoofsteps came back, Derpy peered around the doorway with a brown paper bag on her head.
“What? It’s my thinking cap,” she said defensively.
“I didn’t say anything.” Golden Harvest shrugged and tried not to laugh.
“Want me to get your devil outfit too? Getting into the spirit of the holiday might help the ideas come to you while you're out and about in the fields.”
As if that would actually work in real life, scoffed Golden Harvest’s brain. You get good ideas from learning and studying and thinking, not by play-acting and dressing up. Besides, any halfway decent farmer focuses on the job in front of them, not on idle daydreams. I should just be kind and tell her right now. She might as well give up and save herself from worrying over nothing.
Finally, the tome tumbled onto the floor and cracked the loose planks under it.
“Ooh,” said Derpy, blushing. “Sorry about that. I’ll pay for the new timber.”
She groaned and shrugged. Why not? I’ll only give in sooner or later. I always do, more fool me.
“Oh, fine then. Get the devil costume, if it makes you happy; at least I won’t have to worry about getting changed later. And don’t worry about the floor. I was planning on having the kitchen refurbished anyway.”
Out in the fields, Golden Harvest tried to ignore the itchy devil horns and stifling cape. She bit down hard on the nozzle while the jet almost shoved it down her throat. Gently, she eased each coil of the hose across her shoulder, under her pit, and up to her neck, marching along as she went. The leaves around her shook beneath each passing wave of drops.
She knew why the pegasus did it, of course. Things broke and fell apart around her, and every single time, Derpy weathered the angry comments and disapproving looks until she was free to charge into another job, whereupon things broke and fell apart around her again. It never seemed to put her off; if anything, each disaster only made her jaw jut more strongly and her legs march more vigorously to the next task. A mare with unfocused eyes was a mare with something to prove.
Carrots, now: carrots were simpler. Golden Harvest grinned around the nozzle as the last of the furrows darkened with the permeating moisture. Overhead, the blazing oranges and pinks of the skies signalled the end of the day. And just in time, too! Obviously, rushing things a bit had paid off. She even wanted to graciously grant Derpy a pardon for wasting the last few hours.
A twist of her teeth, and the jet shrank down to a trickle. She turned around, and that was when she spotted the galloping mare coming at her full tilt.
After they picked themselves out of the dirt and brushed themselves off, Derpy immediately began grinning. Her hooves reached down for the doorstopper that had fallen off her back.
“Ow,” muttered Golden Harvest, massaging her chest with a hoof. “There had better be a good reason for this.”
“Oh, there is! I’ve had the most wonderful idea!” Derpy dumped the doorstopper right on top of one of the luckless carrots, creating in one move an extra task for her friend’s To Do list. “Let me just find it. I think it’ll make the perfect Nightmare Night costume!”
“Not this again,” she groaned over the riffling of pages. “Come on, Derpy. I’m tired. You know we don’t have nearly enough time to make anything.”
“We can do it if we hurry! I was just thinking and thinking until I almost thunk myself into a dizzy spell, and then it occurred to me: what would be the perfect, most horrifying costume any pony could make? What’s the one thing that would scare any pony out of their wits? That would be the perfect costume!”
Golden Harvest pursed her lips, waiting for the final flick of paper and the inevitable triumphant look that accompanied it. Dutifully forgetting bed for the moment, she leaned forwards and squinted.
“A clown,” she said.
Derpy blinked and looked down.
“Interesting choice,” said Golden Harvest, “but I ought to tell you it’s been done. Like way too many times; it’s not even funny. Or scary. Why are clowns scary, anyway? I don’t get it.”
More pages flashed by. “Oops, aheheh. Wrong one. Ah! Here we go!”
“Derpy,” said Golden Harvest calmly, “we need to talk. I know you mean well, but there’s nothing shameful about just giving the old stuff an airing again. You’re going to do yourself an injury.”
“No, I’m not. Just look! It’s incredibly simple, and it works incredibly well. It’s… uh… incredible! Yeah!”
“Come on, now. Dinky won’t think any less of you if you just keep it simple, and...” Finally, her gaze met the page header. “Wait, the circus section? Why are you looking there?”
“What’s in the circus section! Look what’s in the circus section!” Derpy glowered at her and tapped the page impatiently.
“Oh, all right.” Lazily, her gaze swept over it, and then hopped back up. “It’s just an ordinary –”
Her inner lightbulb, always cursed with an intransigent delay, finally switched on and seared across her vision. Drawn back down, her gaze alighted on the lines of the drawing, which seemed to swell and pulse under her steady eyes.
“Ah,” she said. “I see. Horrifying, yes.”
“Exactly!” Derpy slapped the page as though it had just told a rib-cracker of a joke. “Those fillies and colts won’t know what hit ‘em! I think we might even have a chance at winning this year’s Most Dire Attire Award from the Mayor herself!”
Golden Harvest sighed, but under the dim sunset there was no mistaking how short the instructions were. Even she had to admit it was a humdinger of an idea. Just looking at the illustration, though, conjured up a spasm along her spine.
“You don’t suppose,” she said, wiping her forehead with the back of a muddy hoof, “that it’s too scary, do you?”
“Heeheehee!” Derpy leaned in closer for a conspiratorial whisper. “Don’t worry about it. Children like being scared. Trust me. Dinky is going to love this.”
Yawning and mouth wide open, Golden Harvest eased one hoof over the fabric and hoped the red, throbbing skin around them would die down soon. There were only so many times she could prick herself with the same needle.
Guiltily, she thought about dropping the whole thing and sinking into the bed. As she was already lying belly-down on the duvet, the pillow propping up her chest so her elbows could hold her forelegs up, her imagination constantly taunted her, and it was all she could do to hold back the next yawn.
On the floorboards – Golden Harvest’s bedroom held no greater furnishing surprises than the rest of her house – Derpy had practically glued her face to the tome and was flexing her much more dextrous wings for the purpose. She held the steady, dry gaze of those who take what little they can do very seriously. Raised up, no doubt, by a long history of blushing and skyward glancing and nervous chuckling, her face was now fossilizing, burying her soft emotions under the silt of concentration.
Finally, the layers cracked. Both wings held up the tatters and cloth as though picking up a discarded banana skin, and Derpy's lips curled as though she’d just been asked to eat it. The growl escaped.
Golden Harvest forced her eyelids up and squinted across the mess. “Cheer up. At least it looks like a head now.”
Derpy’s ears drooped. “I don’t understand it. I’m following these little instruction boxes as well as I can, but it looks nothing like the picture.”
“They never do, do they? Just relax. So long as it hasn’t got three noses, you’re doing fine. Actually” – Golden Harvest’s eyebrows climbed up her forehead as intrepidly as mountaineers – “you really are doing fine. That handiwork deserves a pat on the back.”
“Please don’t.” The fabric dropped to the floor and Derpy’s head rested on her crossed forelimbs. “Oh, you’re right. Who am I kidding? We started too late, and I’m too slow, and I’m making you do something you’re too tired to do, and it’s gonna be just another one of my messes. Why do I even bother?”
For once, Golden Harvest kept her mouth shut. Derpy was going into one of those stages. This wasn’t the first time. Cracking the joints in her neck, she settled in and curled up and waited.
“You know what I think?” said Derpy to the floor, jolting her head as her jaw waggled against her hooves. “I think I’d be better off staying away from other ponies and letting them get on with things. I’m no good at anything.”
“Uh huh.” Golden Harvest reached down and eased the sewing needle through the fabric.
“Do you think Dinky’ll mind if I rush out and buy something from Rarity’s? Maybe she opens late for ponies who rush out at the last minute. That’s business sense, right?”
“If you say so.”
Floorboards creaked; Derpy had rolled onto her back, and now her four legs stretched out and landed with a dull thud.
Golden Harvest glanced up at her. Springs in the mattress went sproing as she adjusted her weight along the toasty top duvet. Irritably, she threw off the stuffy devil's cape before continuing with the needlework. One thread through… again…
Yet, she couldn’t fight against her drooping eyelids for long. It had taken a burst of activity just to get the watering done on time. Moreover, the needlework was pushing against her habits, which around this point would have seen her reading a bedtime novel or – here, she glanced at the chewed-up pencil on the bedside table – practising her sketches. At some point, she’d heard that high society mares learned at least one form of artwork for the sake of cultural sophistication, and presumably sketches counted.
She needed sleep. She threw down the needle and tried to make an angel on the duvet, wiping her limbs up and down and over the creases and lumps.
“The money’s in the top drawer,” she mumbled indistinctly.
Three… two… one… Golden Harvest raised her head. Unexpectedly, Derpy was lying on the floor still, but this time her ears swivelled upwards, and both pupils pinned her down.
“Never mind,” Derpy said quickly, turning away. “The shop would have shut by now anyway.”
They both looked out the window. Rising from the distant hilltop, the moon swallowed up the sky. Silver patinas marked where the carrot leaves stirred in the wind.
Finally, Golden Harvest rolled out of the bed and flicked the page of the tome aside with a hoof. A grin stretched across her face.
“You know what I think?” she said. “We’re not too far from finishing this.”
Derpy eased herself onto all fours with arthritic slowness. “Don't try and make me feel better. Besides, it doesn’t look anything like the picture.”
Golden Harvest snapped the tome shut and lifted a corner of the costume. “It doesn’t have to. Don't you get it?”
“It does! That’s the point! It’s got to be perfect.”
“Ha!” Shaking her head, Golden Harvest kicked the tome so that it went skidding into a corner. “Just because something’s not perfect, doesn’t mean it’s not worthwhile. Look, we don’t even have to sew up the middle. So long as the front and the back are close enough, no one will notice the gap. That’ll save us oodles of time.”
Derpy screwed up her lip, but she was leaning forwards and giving the folds a critical eye. “You think so?”
“I know so. And with that time saved, all we’d have to do is forget the eyeholes and maybe draw some features on its face, and bam! Dinky’s got something made by Derpy this year.”
“And by you.” Derpy began to smile again. “It’s a long shot, but it might just work.”
“Then what are we waiting for?” Golden Harvest plucked the pencil from the surface and winked at her. “Ets g’t t’werg.”
“Er… sorry?”
She spat said pencil at the floor, where it clattered. “Let’s get to work. We can’t keep Dinky waiting for much longer.”
Ding dong.
On the bed, Dinky looked up from her newspaper and cocked her ears. From the bedside table, the firefly jar cast dots of light over her face.
She was chewing her lip. At this time of night, normally Derpy would answer the door, though normally they didn’t get visitors so late anyway. Yet, no one else was in the silent cottage, and Dinky dutifully remembered her lessons from years ago, like: never open the door to strangers.
Ding dong.
“Dinky!” called a familiar voice from the window. “It’s me! I’ve come to show you the surprise!”
With a gasp, she threw herself off the bed and bounced off the door in her haste. “Cooooomiiiing!”
Outside the front, Derpy rubbed her hooves with glee and fumbled with the head. Behind her, the fabric parted and Golden Harvest wheezed as though emerging from a lake.
“Can we swap at some point?” she groaned. “I’m boiling, and I think my mane’s melting, and I can’t breathe.”
“I’ll hold the mouth open.” Derpy heard the thunder of hooves down the steps, and patted her friend on the head. “Down, down! Quickly, now! I don’t want to spoil it for her!”
As little hooves fumbled with the keys, Derpy giggled and dropped the upper jaw with a flop. Only when the latch clicked and the door swung back did she remember to leave a gap for air. Behind her, Golden Harvest spat out the straw-like hair of her friend's tail and muttered about spacing arrangements.
“Is she looking?” hissed the earth pony, but a quick shush kept her from saying anything more.
Both of them heard the sudden rush of silence. They were both imagining the effect they were having on the filly.
What greeted Dinky on the doorstep of the cottage was a gigantic pantomime horse.
Only technically, though. Its sock-puppet head was half-sunken, giving it the dented look of the fatally concussed. Two eyes had been hastily pencilled in, and it boasted a block of teeth that more accurately resembled scaly lips.
Through the slit of a mouth, Derpy peeked at Dinky’s gawping face as it scanned down to take in the rest. A flap of fabric hung like a curtain from its neck, presumably in approximation of a mane. Its midriff had a fold like the armour plating of a rhinoceros, and there was something Frankensteinian about the obvious stitches running along its joints. Lastly, each sleeve ended with real hooves poking out, two grey-blue ones at the front, and two orange ones at the back.
Dinky’s brain seemed to have shut down. There was a fundamental wrongness to the thing. The effect was like facing a scarecrow that had suddenly started walking and talking.
Derpy saw her take a step backwards.
“Uh oh,” she murmured.
The mouth wrenched open and she spread her forelimbs wide. “Don’t worry about how it looks. It’s me!”
Dinky stopped backing away; it was hard to be scared of something with Derpy grinning in its mouth. She leaned to the side and raised an eyebrow at the second pair of horseshoes.
“What?" she said.
“I made this with Carrot Top just for you. We did the stitching and the sketching. She’s really good at it, too.”
Golden Harvest poked her head through the middle and tried to pull the stray locks out of her face. There were going to be tangled knots, she knew it. Plus, her back was killing her.
She considered throwing in a witty comment, but her brain was oozing out of her ears, and she only managed a hasty, “Um, 'surprise', I guess.”
Dinky’s wide face settled back down with a chuckle. “You look terrible with your hair all like that.”
It’s stuffy in here. You switch places with me and we’ll see who looks terrible then. Aloud, she said, “I hope this isn’t too scary for you? I thought for a moment you were gonna run away when you saw us.”
An impish grin met these words. “No, your hair’s not that scary.”
“Hey!”
“But this?” Dinky waved her hoof at the ensemble. “Is this the surprise you promised for me?”
Shaking with excitement, Derpy yanked her wings out and spread them in a commendable attempt at theatricality. “Hoof-crafted by yours truly, and with some aid from my little associate!”
“Hey!” snapped Golden Harvest. "I'm right here!"
Dinky pouted and walked around the thing. While she encircled the pair and hummed and hawed, Derpy twisted round to keep track of her, wings starting to droop. Dinky only stopped to pick up the fraying curtain rope that passed for a tail, and Golden Harvest found herself turning redder than before.
“Hm,” said the filly, completing her inspection and the circle with a businesslike face. “And how long did it take you to make this, exactly?”
Derpy beamed at her. “Oh, we’ve been working hard for an incredible amount of time to make this, the pantomime pony of peril, the magnificent spectacle that it is –”
“About two hours,” said Golden Harvest, feeling suddenly guilty without knowing why. “It was a last-minute thing, and we barely had anything to go on, and it was just lucky my pencil worked at all on the thing. Um.”
Dinky nodded curtly. “Well, you are late, and I should have been out getting candy long, long ago, and I didn’t know where you were all that time” – she flicked a hoof at Derpy’s suddenly sinking head – “and it does look a bit… funny…”
“You don’t like it, do you?” Derpy almost sank out of sight completely. “Oh –”
For a moment, Golden Harvest swore the filly made eye contact with her, but next moment the serious little face broke out into a grin.
“It’s perfect!” said Dinky.
Both of the older ponies had to stop and think about this one. Derpy emerged tortoise-like from the mouth.
“What?” said Golden Harvest. “But it’s so... well… You can’t possibly say it’s good, much less perfect.”
Derpy glared round at her. “Hey!” she said.
“But it’s so you!” said Dinky when the pegasus turned back. “Sure, it’s a bit, well… odd. And you could’ve started a bit sooner and not left it to the last minute. But wow, you did an amazing job in just two hours with so little, and it’s so sweet of you.” An evil grin crept across her face. “And I bet we could scare even the grown-ups with this one. I almost went white just seeing it at the front door! Imagine what the other foals would be like when they see this coming down the street.”
Golden Harvest breathed a sigh of relief. She could only imagine Derpy glowing with pride; the pegasus was almost floating off the ground with it.
“This is nothing!” said Derpy cheerfully. “Wait until you see what we’ve got planned for Hearth’s Warming!”
The earth pony’s left eyelid twitched. And she’d been looking forward to a quiet winter, too.
“Ahaha,” she managed to say. “You're kidding, right?”
All around the town green, fillies screamed and ran to and fro, carefully avoiding the pantomime horse as it strode among the rubble. Due to unforeseen circumstances, the original plans of hosting the event in the Town Hall had been scrapped, and the pharoah Mayor was currently hosting an open-air event from a pedestal right in the middle. Occasionally, she tried to make a speech, and ended up yelling at the vampire DJ not two feet away. The boomboxes were making the banners shake.
Once more, Golden Harvest thrust her head through the gap and took another deep breath. She had time to watch zombie Rainbow Dash dive with a splash into the apple-bobbing tub, soaking werewolf Big Macintosh from head to toe. It was always nice to know she wasn’t alone in misery.
The pair of them were surrounded by a small mob of ponies and foals. Questions bombarded them about the costume, while at the back the nervier ones were silently making their excuses and dropping away, glancing nervously at the pencilled-in face. Derpy prattled away, waving airily from the open mouth. She was so busy impressing them with her claims that she’d completely forgotten to swap over.
Despite herself, Golden Harvest had to suppress an indulgent chuckle. By all accounts, Dinky had not stopped beaming the entire night. They’d even gathered more candy in the pouch than usual, though this was probably because the pouch was attached to the pantomime horse. Even she shuddered at the glimpse of its flat grin, and she’d drawn the thing.
Speaking of Dinky… She ducked back down and prodded the flank until Derpy made her excuses and peered under her own pit.
“Where’s Dinky gone?” she said. “I haven’t seen her at all since we left Carousel Boutique.”
“I’m sure she’s fine.” Derpy patted her on the mane. “You must have really gotten through to her this afternoon.”
“Hm?” Golden Harvest blinked up at the crossed eyes. “What makes you say that?”
“Oh, we’ve been talking.”
Blushing, she added, “About… me?”
“She said you inspired her. Didn’t you hear a word of it?”
“I’m in a giant muffler. By the way, when are we going to swap? It’s not much fun looking at your rear end all night, you know. Besides, we must have a bucket full of candy by now, and you still owe me a pie.”
Derpy disappeared up to the mouth. When she reappeared, her hooves were full of the sweet, colourful trickle of lots of candy bites.
“Sorry," she said with an apologetic grin. "I forgot. Here you go.”
Another rumble from the stomach launched the earth mare right at the offered treats. Oh, so good! This stuff is ambrosia! I am never, ever skipping a meal again.
“Wow,” said Derpy with a chuckle. “Hungry? You look crazy with your mane all like that.”
“I might actually be crazy at this stage. Wait. Did you hear that?”
Both mouth and midriff opened up, and the two mares peeked out. Dinky was charging towards them, weaving and ducking and dodging and shouting out their names. Derpy shouted and waved back, and the missile curled around the Count Vinyl Scratch and skidded to a halt before them.
“Sorry… I’m late…” said Dinky, struggling to hold back the panting.
Golden Harvest found her gaze drawn up to the filly’s head. There was the rattling and wobbling from before, so it could only be the papier-mâché helmet. Only…
“Isn’t that the bowl you made for me?” she said suspiciously.
“Huh? This? Oh. Yeah. Sorry, I forgot to leave it behind today.”
“You’re just as bad as Derpy.” She shook her head at the folly of the world while the two giggled. “But why is it orange?”
“Yeah,” Derpy said, nodding. “And what’s with the green paper stuck on it?”
Dinky skewed her jaw. With the care of one handling a bomb, she eased her forelimbs up and clamped each front hoof on the rim of the bowl. Slow as a mechanical winch, she brought the whole thing down to her eye level.
“You mean you couldn’t tell?” she said. “You?”
“That’s why I asked.” Golden Harvest gave her an apologetic shrug. “Should I have been able to tell?”
“Dinky!” The word burst out of Derpy’s mouth like a firework. Around them, ponies glanced about in shock. “You haven’t… Yes! You’ve made your own costume, haven’t you?”
Again, Golden Harvest was sure the filly made eye contact with her, but then Dinky was focusing on Derpy and smiling. Ignoring the two of them, she studied the orange paint closely, wisely also ignoring the darker patches where too many strokes had overlapped. When Dinky spoke, the green leaves of paper flapped.
“I’ve been thinking, that’s all,” said Dinky with a blush. “Well, you were willing to do something for me, so… I thought I’d have a go. It… seemed fun.”
“It is fun! It is!” Derpy clapped her hooves together, jangling the jowls of her costume. “Oh, how wonderful! You’re making things again. I always said you were a natural at arts and crafts.”
“Just one thing,” said Golden Harvest suspiciously. “What exactly is it?”
Now the precocious grin resurfaced, and the earth pony suddenly felt a flash of terror creep up in her head. Orange… with green leaves…
“Well,” said Dinky. “I thought it was kinda sweet, and an interesting idea, and of course there was that book in the cupboard, and I thought, well, maybe she’s right. I told you Carrot Top was an inspiration.”
“No…” the farmer breathed. She sank a little lower in her costume, hiding her blazing cheeks.
“So it was easy,” said Dinky in a chirpy voice. “I thought I’d try being a carrot.”
Golden Harvest groaned into the fabric, earning a raised eyebrow from Derpy, who was glancing back and forth in some perplexity.
“Am I missing something?” Derpy said.
“Nope,” said Dinky cheerfully. “Nothing at all. Just something a silly pony once tried. Come on, let’s go apple-bobbing. Bet you I can get more apples in my mouth than any of you can.”
“I accept your challenge!” Derpy threw her wings up and pointed energetically. “Let’s bob some apples!”
Golden Harvest was too busy stewing in some private nightmare to register the tug. As she stumbled forwards, however, Dinky fell in beside her and nuzzled her with the business end of the fake carrot top.
“Thank you, Golden Harvest,” whispered the filly. “I forgot to say that earlier too.”
And she hurried off, leaving the mare thoroughly confused. Because of course she did.