It was late afternoon by the time I set out towards Zecora's hut in the Everfree Forest. Luckily for me the streets were empty. Police ponies were patrolling the streets on the lookout for an alleged 'wild beast or cannibalistic serial-killer'. Also lucky for me, the police did apparently not buy into the rumors about two little fillies being behind the murders, so as soon as I explained that I was out to find my friend and get us both to safety they let me pass.
The Everfree Forest was a scary place even in daylight, and the whole cannibal-murder-thing was not exactly helping, but I kept my eyes on the path and my trotting pace high, and before long I found myself in the little clearing where Zecora's little straw hut was built.
I knocked on the door, and found it was unlocked. When I heard no answer I nudged open the door and entered.
The hut was pretty dark. The only source of light was a burning brazier casting a eerie orange gloom over the room. Applebloom seemed to be working by a table covered in a white cloth. The brazier was standing behind her and on top of it a small cauldron stood bubbling with some thick, icky liquid.
Applebloom nodded to me, as to acknowledge that she had noticed my entry, but did not take her eyes from whatever she was working on. I stepped closer to get a better look at what it was, but the cloth and the darkness made it virtually impossible.
It was clear that Applebloom did not want to be disturbed, so instead of asking her what she was doing I turned around to take a look in the cauldron. At a closer look the slow-boiling liquid seemed to be a thicker version of the resurrection-drug. It was green and had a faint, eldritch iridescence. Floating and slowly rotating in the goo was a semi-spherical object about the size of a coconut. For a moment I actually thought it was a coconut, for it had the same kind of short blackish hairs, but as the boiling made flakes of the outer layers – apparently some kind of skin – peel off I could see small red fragments leaking into the gruel.
“Applebloom, what the--” I started, but as I turned back to face my working friend I could finally make out what was hidden under the white cloth. It was a body – the body of a zebra – but the head was surgically removed. Or removed with an axe or something, I couldn't really tell in the dark. The main thing was: Zecora was dead, and her head was being made into meat-soup with zombie-drugs as seasoning.
I had seriously thought that Applebloom had learned her lesson with the granny Smith-incident. I was so disappointed and angry that I almost started crying, but I decided to go trough with what I had come here for and bring her home. This time I would tell her family the whole story, and it would be up to them what to do. I had had enough.
“Come on Applebloom, we're leaving.” I said firmly.
“One minute,” she answered, still obsessed with whatever she was doing. “Ah've almost got this.”
“Got what?!” I screamed at her.
“Ah'm wakin' her back up.” Applebloom said whiteout braking of her work or expression in any way.
Her complete calmness had a strange effect on me. Suddenly my anger and fer was accompanied with curiosity.
“You are aware her head is boiling away in a cauldron, right?”
“Eeyup.”
I took a long look on Applebloom's face to see if she were mocking me, but she looked absolutely serious, so I kept going.
“You-- eh-- don't think that might complicate the whole back-to-life concept?”
Applebloom looked at me, as for the same reason I looked at her. I saw in her eyes a reflection of the same burning curiosity that I felt in my own head, and I knew she could see it in my eyes as well. She smiled.
“That's what Ah'm wanting to find out,” she said. “This, mah friend, is science!”
She was just about to do something to the headless corpse, and I was leaning close over her shoulder not to miss anything, when a horrible, unnatural, heart-wrecking howl made us both jump a yard into the air and fall on our backs. We were both staring at the corpse on the table, but it had not moved. It took us a moment to realize the howl had come from the boiling cauldron, but once we did, we were out of there in an instant.
I cannot tell how long we ran for, for we did not notice where we ran in the gathering darkness, and did probably not take the fastest way back to Ponyville. We did eventually reach the town however, and when we did we stopped running to avoid attract any attention from the police ponies still patrolling the town.
I started to notice that Applebloom's nerves were constantly on edge. She constantly looked behind her shoulder and got startled from the minutest things. The habit seemed infectious, for I found myself looking behind my own shoulder more than once.
I started to realize I only had knowledge of a tiny frame of all the things Applebloom had been trough. I started to wonder what could have happened in the two weeks between the squirrel and Granny Smith, and a recall to Applebloom's comment about a huge section of her cellar wall being 'taken' was far from reassuring.
As I was lost in such thoughts I suddenly walked straight into Applebloom from behind. She had frozen in her tracks right in front of me and was now shaking violently in what was clearly a state of severe shock.
Her previous fits of paranoia made me suspect that this was just some minor thing like a falling leaf or a squirrel – an alive, not undead one – that had tipped her over the edge. I tried to push her along, but her hoofs was like nailed to the ground. I took a peak over her, and took a great effort in not waking the whole town with a shriek of stark terror.
What I saw was two police ponies laying dead on the road. Over them stood a bent figure of a pony with a mane that seemed to once have been pink, but was now soaked wet in blood. The rest of the pony was also soaked from nuzzle to tale in blood and other less recognizable bodily liquids and -organs. The pony was missing several patches of fur on her back and legs, and one place I could even see all the way down to her skeleton that gleamed white in the moonlight.
The cannibal-murder-pony – whom I now recognized as Pinkie Pie – was busy ripping open one of its victims' throat with her teeth. I was desperately trying to shake Applebloom back to life, but she did not move. She only started to mumble to heself.
“This is mah fault,” she muttered. “Ah 'ave to fix this. Her victims are on me. Ah brought her up, I need to put her down.”
“No! Please, come with me, there's nothing you can do.” I pleaded while trying to nudge her along, but she was too strong.
“Ah'm pretty good at kung-fu, ya'll knew that?” she sad, starting to raise her voice who started to develop a hysterical quality. “Ah'm pretty sure Ah could kick that thing's head straight off. Ya hear that monster? Ain't nopony g'nna eat no police in mah town!”
At that moment she charged the ghoulish figure with a rather impressive flying kick to the back of the head. The undead pony, taken completely unawares, lunged headfirst over the dead police pony and crashed into the ground. A huge flake of skin and mane was ripped from it's head, but no sound came from it's muzzle. The thing stayed down long enough for me to hope beyond hope that it was finally dead for good, but before long it shambled to its hooves and limped away into the shadows, more out of confusion or disinterest than of fear I guessed.
“Hey, did you hear that?”
A couple of police ponies were rounding a corner down the street. I quickly realized how it would look if we were found around two dead bodies – Applebloom on top of one of them covered in blood and dead flesh – so I dragged her along and luckily she had snapped out of her worst shock and tagged along.
We eventually made it back to Sweet Apple Acres undetected and in one piece. Applebloom went straight into the cellar while I informed Applejack and Big Macintosh of our arrival. Out of loyalty to my friend – and I guess due to my shared guildt in what happened –, I omitted the details about what I'd seen in Zecora's hut, but I told them about the trouble on the way and begged them to lock us in the cellar where the crazed cannibal killer could not get to us.
The concerned looks they gave me made me suspect they were at least as worried about my sanity as about any alleged monster killer, but they made me promise to look after Applebloom; and they promised to check in on us during the night. The way they said it made me suspect they would be accompanied by ponies in white, but I said noting and went to Applebloom to keep her company.
- - -
From here on my story might get a little dubious. Most of the doctors agree I was already delusional at this point, but I have really good reasons to believe that what I write here really happened.
When I joined Applebloom in the cellar she was sitting in a corner with her back to the room. She did not react to me entering, so I sat down in a chair turned away from her and tried to get some rest.
I don't know if I dozed of, but I was soon alerted by the sound of Applebloom clopping her hoof at the wall. Then I heard the clinking of a vial, and then the buzzing of a fly. Then another clop of the hoof, that stopped the buzzing, and the whole ordeal repeated again and again.
Clop, clink, buzz; clop, clink, buzz; clop, clink, buzz.
I tried to lean forward on the chair and put my hooves over my ears; I even tried to hum aloud to myself to block out the sound, but with the rest of the room being dead quiet there were nothing I could do to keep the maddening rhythm out of my head.
Clop, clink, buzz; clop, clink, buzz; clop, clink, buzz.
This went on for what seemed like hours, non-stop. I can understand why – given what I claim happened next – the doctors choose to believe that during this time I fell into some hypnotic, delusional trance. Given that nothing of what I tell have been supported by any evidence, I do not expect anypony to believe me at all. What I tell is simply what I vividly remember seeing.
As I mentioned, this ordeal went on for hours, but then it suddenly stopped. The cellar was suddenly bathed in complete silence.
At first I took this new silence as a relief, but I soon grew worried. I realized that something had probably happened to Applebloom. I dreaded to turn around, for I already feared the worst. Or, at least, the worst I could imagine at the time.
I told you I had reasons to believe that what I saw was real, and that reason is that I could feel my brain snap the moment I turned around and took in that horrible sight. The sight that drove me to insanity could not possibly be a creation of my insanity, could it? And to even suggest that my innocent, unimaginative brain could conjure up such a phantasmal visage is simply laughable.
What I saw, made even more shocking due to the fact that I had heard nothing, was about half a dozen ponies – in different stages of deterioration – climbing soundlessly and slowly out of the shallow graves in the walls.
Applebloom was apparently in some sort of chock-indued trance, for she neither made any sound; nor did she make any attempt to move or get away from the approaching horrors. In the dark cellar I could not tell if she had fainted or merely accepted her fate, but it made little difference.
As my numb brain left me a helpless observer to this gruesome scene, the shambling, unholy monstrosities gathered around my friend's – hopefully unconscious – body. One of them appeared to be the leader or coordinator of the foul party, and my already taxed mind got another scarring blow when I noticed that that particular assailant had a blood stained coat covered in black and white stripes; and no head!
The dead ponies, Applebloom's former patients – or rather victims – lifted her body off the ground, each holding one limb. The headless zebra-corps held her head. Suddenly and without warning they all pulled at the same time and my best friend was torn to bloody shreds and pieces right in front of my eyes.
This is where my memory mercifully started to get blurry. I seem to recall seeing the things crawl back into the walls carrying each a sample of Applebloom's body, but this might very well be a delirium-induced dream.
The next thing I remember for certain is standing by the cellar door, knocking until my hooves were bloody and screaming until my throat was raw. I think I was crying as well, but I was out of tears, and my eyes were red and swollen.
Applejack soon rushed to my rescue and got me to the hospital. I had to answer many questions, but I think I mostly babbled incoherently for most of the time. After a while there were police ponies asking questions. They wanted to know where Applebloom was. I told them the truth. They did not believe me.
One of the police ponies got angry. He said there were no holes in the cellar wall and no traces of blood, as it obviously would be if my story were true. I started crying and the police pony was escorted out by the nurses.
The next day I got sent to the Canterlot Institution for Special Care. It's very nice here. I have my own room and all my friends and family can visit any time they want. Nopony except the doctor are allowed to talk to me about what happened, in case it upsets me. I still dream about it, but the doctor promises that the dreams will stop. “It is only a matter of time,” he always say.
I was not supposed to know this, but I know what happened to Pinkie Pie to. I peeked on a newspaper left by my door by one of the nurses.
She was captured in the act of killing and devouring a little colt. They say that when they caught her she was rabid and unresponsive, so they had to sedate her to take her in for questioning, but nopony could get her to say anything. She lives on the floor below me. They say in the paper she's got a psychotic breakdown, but I've heard the doctors talk and nopony has a clue what's really the matter with her.
Well I do. I even told them she's not supposed to be alive, but I'm locked up with severe trauma induced delusions, so who's gonna listen to me.
And Applebloom wanted to cure death, and caused more death and destruction than any pony has ever done.
Why does life have to be so ironic?