Far from the streetlamps and crowded homes of Ponyville, Sweet Apple Acres was plunged into darkness as banks of thick grey clouds hid what pale light shone from the moon’s last thin crescent. Off in a disused corner of the farm lay a clubhouse, a single lantern within illuminating three fillies with dim flickers.
“Well, that was a total loss.” Scootaloo scowled, hooves crossed. “A whole night blown and blank flanks all around.”
“Hey!” protested Sweetie belle, pointing an accusing hoof at the orange filly. “My sister says time with friends is never time wasted!”
Applebloom nodded, her overlarge bow bouncing in time, “Applejack says the same thing, an’ ain’t never wrong ‘bout friendship. Though I do wish we coulda spent our time doin’ stuff besides pickin’ briars outta our tails. Who ever heard of Cutie Mark Crusader Snipe Hunters anyway?”
Scootaloo snorted and twitched an ear. “Blame Rainbow Dash for suggesting that one, I guess. AB, you sure we’re alone out here? We’re not exactly in bed like we said we’d be.”
The yellow pony shook her head as she worked a briar free from the lilac stripe in Sweetie’s mane. “Just us an’ the orchard, Scoots. Mac’s away in Appleoosa an’ Granny’d sleep through a tornado. I saw AJ earlier. She said she was plum tuckered and hit the bed right after we did, or after we said we did, anyway.”
The pegasus squinted her eyes and perked both ears upright, tilting her head slowly to each side. “You certain, AB? I swear I heard something out there.”
“Maybe y’all got briars in yer ears, Scoot! I told y’all, there ain’t nopony else … “
A thundering crash shook the little clubhouse, shuddering it and dropping the three fillies inside to their haunches. The lantern flickered, rocked, and tilted crazily before righting itself. Somewhere below, close enough to hear the scrape of hooves on hardwood, a muffled cry again broke the midnight silence.
“Y’all … Y’all hear that?” whispered Applebloom. “That ain’t a timberwolf, is it?”
“I don’t think so, AB.” Sweetie Belle cast nervous looks around the clubhouse, its open but pitch-dark windows offering neither help nor clue. “Whatever it is, though, it sounds like it got somepony already!”
Heavy blows rained against the clubhouse ladder, each thud shivering its walls. Finally a gasp escaped below as something weighty fell with a wet and gurgling squelch against the ramp.
Scootaloo shot to her hooves and flared her undersized wings. “That’s it, we gotta get outta here! Ramp’s out of the question, we’ll take the window.”
“Are y’all nuts? I cain’t jump that far!” hissed Applebloom.
Sweetie threw a hoof around the yellow filly as Scootaloo did the same. “No worries, AB! Scoot can hover a little and I can levitate a little. We’ll carry you down. On three!”
Ignoring the wide eyes and desperate flailing of the youngest Apple, they leapt through the largest of the treehouse’s windows. Tumbling and cartwheeling and careening to the ground, the trio landed in a tangle of bruises and limbs and dust. Spitting out a mouthful of leaves, Applebloom yelled, “Back to the house, Crusaders! We gotta get AJ!”
They sprinted the familiar path back to the looming Apple homestead, panting as they hurdled over roots and rocks they knew by memory alone. Behind them a great thrashing and grunting sound erupted from the bushes ringing the clubhouse tree, followed by thundering hooves hot on the three fillies’ trail.
“What is that? The Headless Horse?” panted Sweetie, “The Marsh Mare?”
“Whatever it is, it’s after us, girls! Faster!” cried Scootaloo as she galloped, ears flat and wings buzzing helplessly. “Oh, I’m never gonna learn to fly, never gonna fly with Dash, never gonna … “
Shapes in the darkness plunged headlong after the girls, and between moans and grunts they could make out snarls of “clubhouse … fillies … ” The three diminutive ponies screamed and crossed the last few bounds to the Apple family household in seconds, bolting through the door of the unlit kitchen and slamming it shut behind them. Before they could ascend the stairs, the rickety door exploded and screams filled the silent Apple night.
Suddenly a flare of magic lit the little kitchen, three cowering fillies bathed in its pallid glow. Two dirt-smudged and leaf-covered mares stood opposite them.
One of the grim shapes spoke, her voice harsh and accusing. “AB? What in tarnation’re y’all doin’ awake? Y’all was supposed to be havin’ a sleepover, and long since been ta bed!”
Exchanging confused glances with her fellow crusaders, Applebloom tilted her head and asked, “Applejack, we thought there was a monster, an’ … an’ … What’re y’all doin’ up at midnight yerself? An ‘why’re y’all all covered in twigs an’ dirt? An’ why is yer lasso all tangled around ya like that?” Looking at the source of the magical light, she squinted and continued, “An’ why is Miss Rarity wearin’ yer hat?”
The show-white mare cleared her throat and began, “Well, girls, Applejack and I were … “
“Yep, AB,” interrupted Applejack, “a monster! That was it. Almost ate us, right, Rares?”
“Yes, darling. Ate us. The beast nearly ravished and devoured me. Us. Correct, my dear?”
“Darn tootin'! I almost had that ornery ol’ critter licked! Then I, uh … What’re y’all all starin’ at? Was it somethin' I said?”