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// The Lights Were On, Yet No One Was There 
// Story: Hassenfeld Pony Anthology 
// by Chicago Ted 
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“Today’s the day!”
It had been four years, two months, a week, two days, twenty-one hours, fourteen minutes, and twenty-seven seconds, by her count, since Pinkie’s owner left home for army deployment.
“Deployment.” To her, it didn’t seem like a word—just a jumble of nonsense. “Deee-ployyy-ment.” What a funny word, for something so apparently important to her owner that he had to leave for so long.
That didn’t matter right now, because now he was coming home! You know what this called for? A party! P-A-R-T-why? Because she was so excited and she gotta! No, it had nothing to do with watching The Mask for the fifty-third time yesterday, no way.
Right! Time to get serious.
Pinkie distinctly remembered some party supplies down in his basement. Her owner insisted that they were left over from a previous homeowner, but she was convinced that he got them just for her. Once she finally twisted the doorknob in her mouth and opened the door to the basement, she went downstairs to find them.
The lights were on, yet no one was there.
“Hmm. . . .” Pinkie wasn’t sure if she should grab the supplies first, or find out who left the lights on. After all, she was the only one who’s been down here in four years. . . right?
“Hello? Anypony down here?” She crept slowly around the basement, before jumping to behind the water heater. “A-ha!” No one was there. “Hmm. . . tricky, tricky, tricky. I know you’re down here!” She stopped dead still, and listened carefully for any faint sounds.
Nothing. Guess I am alone after all.
Whatever, she’ll shut the lights off on her way back up. I just hope he doesn’t see the power bill, she thought. At any rate, she found the two boxes that had the supplies—balloons, streamers, confetti, the works. With a bit of effort, she put one box onto her back and carefully carried it upstairs. Not a sway to either side; can’t risk spilling anything onto the stairs. She could trip and fall on them, after all, and that’s just no fun!
Another quick trip down the basement later, both boxes were in the foyer, contents still together and intact.
And one last trip down to hit the switch to kill the lights. Thankfully it was a rocker switch; they were easy on her hooves.
First, she thought, I better start baking. She could mix the ingredients together in a matter of minutes, but the baking part of baking always takes a while. Might as well get that out of the way, and kill that time decorating the house.
She could Google dozens of recipes, but she had her owner’s favorite—red velvet—memorized for when she baked for his birthday. It started with flour, sugar, baking soda, cocoa powder, and just a hint of salt in one bowl, and oil, buttermilk, two eggs, and vinegar in another.
Any recipe would also call for red food coloring, but Pinkie refused to use any.
“Oh, right!” She nearly forgot to preheat the oven. Before she started actually mixing, she went over to the oven and twisted the knob to the 350 mark. The oven fan kicked in. “Now where was I?”
Before she could return to the mixing bowls, she heard the doorbell ring. “What, already?” Her tail twitched, her right thigh itched, and her mane and tail straightened themselves for a split-second—in that order. “Oh.” Her owner had a different set of Pinkie Sense effects; this was someone else. Someone she’d gotten to know very well in the last four years. . . .
She went and answered the door. “Oh hey, Mrs. Wilcox! What brings you here?” she asked.
“Just the usual business, making sure you’re safe and sound,” Mrs. Wilcox replied. “Don’t want to give James a panic attack, now do we?”
Mrs. Wilcox was their next-door neighbor. Before he left, he asked her if she could look after Pinkie. He wasn’t confident that she could completely look after herself. Considering Mrs. 	Wilcox had a Hassenfeld of her own—a Rarity model, to be exact—she understood perfectly, and was happy to do so.
Speaking of—“Hey, while you’re here,” Pinkie asked, “would you mind if I borrowed Sapphire? I could use some extra help setting up the party.”
“Really?” Mrs. Wilcox noticed the boxes of party supplies in the foyer. “Well, I suppose it is a special occasion. But on one condition!”
“Name it.”
She grinned. “You’ll have to invite me, too. He’s my neighbor too, you know.”
Hey, the more the merrier! “Deal!” Pinkie vigorously shook her hand.
“I’ll be back in a few moments, dearie. Don’t burn the house down while I’m away.” And with that, Mrs. Wilcox disappeared out the door.
“Right, the cake, the cake. . . .” Pinkie dashed back into the kitchen and quickly resumed her task. Peep-peep-peep! The oven finished preheating behind her. “Guess that’s time I’m not getting back,” she told herself.
As she started mixing the dry ingredients together, there was another knock on the door. Twitchy tail, itchy right thigh, mane and tail straightening themselves for a split-second—but this time, they also curled up neatly before going back to their usual poofy selves. Mrs. Wilcox was back, and she had brought Sapphire with her. As promised.
“Alright, what are we waiting for?” Pinkie said. “Let’s get bakin’ and decoratin’!” She gestured them inside.
“Baking, you say?” Accepting Pinkie’s invitation, Mrs. Wilcox walked into the kitchen and saw what she was up to. “Looks like you could use a hand here. Or did I interrupt you for the second time?”
“Uh, well. . . .”
“That’s quite alright, I’ll take it from here.”
“It’s red velvet cake, just so you know.” Pinkie tapped her head. “Got it all in here!”
“So I see.” Mrs. Wilcox took up the whisk and started mixing the dry ingredients again. “Sapphire, why don’t you help start decorating? You always have a keen eye for style.”
“I’d be delighted to.” Sapphire’s horn lit up, using patented Hasbio technology, and in a move that would make any physicist’s head spin, started grabbing some streamers from one box.
“I’ll help you when I can, Sapphire. For now, the cake awaits!” Pinkie grabbed a second whisk from a rarely-used drawer, and started whipping the wet ingredients together, at a quick yet clean pace.
Mrs. Wilcox had just finished mixing the dry ingredients. “All ready for you,” she told Pinkie.
Without missing a beat, Pinkie started combining the two bowls into one, carefully keeping an even mixture on the fly. In what seemed like no time at all, she formed a perfect cake batter.
“Cake pans,” Pinkie told herself. “Where does he keep those—”
Already Mrs. Wilcox was spraying down three of them with some cooking grease. “Bottom left cabinet by the stove,” she answered.
“Oh. I knew that,” Pinkie lied. She grabbed the bowl, and one at a time as Mrs. Wilcox was greasing them, poured the batter into each pan. Somehow she knew the precise amount to make each one hold exactly the same. Mrs. Wilcox just chalked it up to baker’s intuition.
Just before Pinkie could put the pans into the oven, Mrs. Wilcox stopped her. “Ovens can be dangerous for a little pony like you,” she told Pinkie. “Let me handle the rest.”
Pinkie opened her mouth to protest, but then deflated—almost literally. “Fine. James likes cream cheese frosting, if you can handle that. I’ll go help Sapphire with decorating.”
Mrs. Wilcox set a timer on her phone. “They should be ready in a half hour. Want to help frost when it’s ready?”
“I’ll be back,” Pinkie replied in an Austrian accent. Then she dashed off. “Hey Sapphire! How’re you doing?”
“Quite well, darling, thank you for asking.” In her pursuit for perfection, Sapphire had been focusing her efforts on just the foyer. Indeed it was lavishly decorated—but perhaps too lavishly, as the other rooms were left bare, and she had already burned through almost all the streamers and balloons. “Although I really do wish I had more to work with.”
“Ooooooor. . . .” Pinkie started to undo one streamer.
Sapphire started panicking. “Not that one! Anything but that one!”
Pinkie reached for another streamer. “Okay, how about this one?”
“Not that either!”
Pinkie stood on her hind legs, her front ones crossed. “Sapphire, c’mon. Those supplies are all I have. If we’re going to decorate the whole house, or at least the foyer, living room, and dining room, we’ll have to be a lot less wasteful.”
Sapphire sighed. “Very well.” With her telekinetic grasp, several seemingly redundant streamers were taken off the walls and moved into the living room. Pinkie rounded up several balloons and followed Sapphire.
Sapphire was humming to herself as she set it up. “That goes there—hmm, a bit off. Ah, better. Oh, Pinkie, could you set the balloons in each of the corners?”
“My thoughts exactly.” Her task was relatively easy, and once both were done with the living room, they moved on to the dining room. This one took a bit longer, since Sapphire wasn’t just moving decorations over, and they had a dining table to set.
“Pinkie, would you mind getting—oh, never mind.” Mrs. Wilcox came in with dishes and silverware, setting the table for them. “And we are finished.”
“Gotta say, that was a piece of cake!” Pinkie commented. “And speaking of which. . . .” Pinkie zipped right in front of the oven.
“Pinkie, sweetie,” said Mrs. Wilcox, “I don’t think the cake is—” But she flipped the oven door open anyway—and right as she did, Mrs. Wilcox’s phone timer went off. She looked at it in disbelief, and shook her head. “You never cease to amaze me,” she conceded. She knew by reflex where the oven mitts were, and pulled the pans out. They didn’t have a cooling rack, so they used some nonstick paper instead.
After some time letting it cool, Mrs. Wilcox got the frosting she made in the meantime. Pinkie did most of the work frosting it, with Sapphire adding the finer details, turning a delicious treat into a work of art.
“I’ll set it on the table.” Mrs. Wilcox picked it up gently and carried it over to the dining table. She set it down undisturbed.
“Do either of you know when he’s coming back?” asked Sapphire. “Oh, how I long to see that hunk of a man again. . . .”
“Sapphire, please!” Mrs. Wilcox chastised. “That’s not very ladylike!”
Sapphire pouted. “Hm!”
“And don’t forget the finishing touch!” From the bottom of one box, she pulled out a package of cheap party poppers. “We’ve got three left—everyone gets one!”
Mrs. Wilcox chuckled. “Going all out, I see?”
“In typical Pinkie Pie fashion,” responded Sapphire. “What about the boxes, though?”
“Oh, I’ll just set them over here, out of the way.” Pinkie grabbed both boxes, now much lighter, and carried them into the corner of the dining room. “We’ll use them for cleaning up. Easy peasy!”
Mrs. Wilcox nodded. “Good thinking.”
Pinkie’s Sense went off again. Twitchy tail, itchy thigh, but now she noticed a stronger heartbeat in her chest. Go time. “He’s almost here! Everybody hide!”
Mrs. Wilcox hid around the corner into the kitchen. Sapphire hid under the dining table. Pinkie hid around the corner just outside the foyer.
“When the light comes on,” Pinkie whispered, “we jump out, pop our poppers, and shout ‘Welcome home!’ Got it?”
Mrs. Wilcox and Sapphire nodded.
A moment later, Pinkie heard the doorknob jiggle. Then the door opened, and she heard her beloved owner, James Hall, walk in—or rather, shamble in slowly, and close the door behind him. After considering the light switch for a moment, he flipped it.
Everybody jumped out of cover, setting off their party poppers at the same time. “Welcome home!”
“Incoming!” He immediately dove to the ground, dodging a nonexistent artillery shell.
None of the three expected this reaction. Mrs. Wilcox clutched her heart. Sapphire darted over to her, to make sure she was okay. Pinkie stood still, unsure if she should leave him alone or comfort him.
Eventually he got back up on his feet, but he was still pallid and alert from fear. Pinkie chose the latter, and cautiously approached him. “James?” she asked.
Silence.
“James, it’s me, Pinkie Pie.” Her voice still had its trademark sweetness, but none of the excitement. “Aren’t you glad to see me?”
Silence still. He didn’t even look down to see her, though he did eventually move his hand down to pet her mane. “You’re alright, you’re alright,” Pinkie thought he mumbled. He cautiously moved into the dining room, where Mrs. Wilcox and Sapphire were waiting.
“James, honestly, what’s gotten into you?” Mrs. Wilcox didn’t sound angry so much as concerned. “This isn’t like you. What happened out there?”
James sat down at the table. He eventually mumbled out a “Don’t wanna talk about it.” He shook his head.
“Why talk—when there’s cake?” Pinkie grabbed a knife and started cutting it. “Red velvet, your favorite. And you get the first piece!” She lifted the piece away and set it on its side in front of James.
Evidently that was not a good idea. He started breathing heavily, and he looked away from it. He rested his face in his hands. He sounded like he was crying.
“What?” Pinkie set the knife down. “I could’ve sworn you would’ve liked it! What’s the matter, hm?”
“I just. . . .” James lifted his head up. “I just want them to stop screaming. . . that’s all. . . .”
Mrs. Wilcox nudged Sapphire. “Sapphire, would you mind running back to the house? I don’t want you to see this.”
“Thought you’d never ask, Rosemary.” On mostly silent hooves, Sapphire galloped out the room and out the house.
“Who’s screaming?” asked Pinkie. She already took the slice of cake away from him, and turned the rest of it around so he couldn’t see where she cut it.
He didn’t answer.
“James, darling, I mean this with no disrespect, but you really should talk to someone about this.” Mrs. Wilcox pulled out her phone. “If not me, or Pinkie, then I can call a therapist for you.”
James shook his head. “No. . . no. . . nobody should know what I’ve seen. It’s just horrible.”
Now Pinkie looked more determined than ever. “I’ve got one last trick up my sleeve. . . even if I’m not wearing any sleeves!” She got down from her chair and trotted around to James’ seat. Slowly and carefully, she climbed into his lap. Carefully, she wrapped her front legs around his midsection, and snuggled him as closely as she could.
Surprisingly, James returned the gesture—though not nearly as tightly as hers. He started gently stroking her back, mumbling something even Pinkie couldn’t hear.
“You’re safe now, James,” she reassured, though unsure if that would mean anything to him.
And finally, in that moment, Pinkie and James made eye contact for the first time in four years. Only then did she understand just how far gone James was.
The lights were on.
Yet no one was there.