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Chapter 37,840 words

Chapter 2

“Mr Breezy, you’re old aren’t you? How old are you, real old I bet!”

Mr Breezy, proprietor of Mr Breezy’s Fan Emporium, the number one rated fan store in Ponyville ten years running, blinked in horror at the pink pony looming in the middle of the street in front of him, feeling oddly terrified. “Keep it down!” he gulped, glancing about in case any passing pony overheard. “That’s not something you ask, Pinkie Pie!” He gave a short huff. “Besides, you’re only as old as the mare you feel. And as I’m single, that means I’m ageless!”

Pinkie frowned. Perhaps this did need a more delicate touch. “I meant it in a good way Mr Breezy!” she merrily chirped as if it was the nicest statement in the world. “I thought ‘who is the bestest, most cleverest pony who has lived in Ponyville a long time and knows everyone’, and I thought of you! It’s you!”

“It’s… me?” Mr Breezy repeated in a slightly dumbfounded manner. “Look Pinkie, I’ve got a delivery of fans coming in soon. They’re the new model – four blades instead of three! What’ll those crazy ponies in Canterlot think up next, I’ve absolutely no idea!”

“Ahem!” Pinkie coughed to bring her interviewee back on course. “It’s just that I’m living with the Cakes, and they’ve been so nice to me but I don’t know that much about their past, and I was thinking maybe you could tell me anything about their past. Your earliest memory, how they met?” She smiled up at him with wide open eyes. “AlsoisMrCakeacake?” she added quickly under her breath.

Mr Breezy’s eyes glazed over as he puffed out his chest and straightened his flat cap. “Well…” he began in his best storyteller’s voice. “I knew Cup Cake of course. Everypony knew her. She was different back then, not quite as…” he trailed off. “No, okay, she was pretty much the same. Bit shy, bit frumpy but with a heart of gold! We were at school together, sat next to each other in literature class; she was never that interested in my fan-fiction though.” He started to fish a forehoof about in his jacket pocket. “I’ve got one of my stories here actually, ‘The Legend of Rotor The Magnificent,’ an epic in two hundred parts…”

“Mr Cake!” Pinkie half-screeched in horror at the thought of having to listen to one of Mr Breezy’s stories about his fans. “Tell me about Mr Cake!”

“Ah, well…” Mr Breezy’s eyes took on a faraway look again. “I suppose you can read my story later, I’m getting it published you know, once the publishers in Canterlot get a copy. It keeps getting lost in the mail apparently…” He yelped at a sharp prod from Pinkie and immediately got back on track. “Now, it was probably – ” his eyes lit up “–yes, yes it was! Twenty years ago this very day, my my! It was the night of the Ponyville High graduation! Cup Cake wasn’t her usual self; she was very down about something. Kept on warbling about how her life was ruined, how she had no-one to go to the dance with, you know the sort of thing, Pinkie. Not even my finest fan-related jokes could lift her spirits, she was a mess! C’mon though; a Mazinder 3000, a Newton 3 and a Mini Hydroflange walk into a bar and order a–”

Pinkie Pie stamped her hoof. “Yes! Ha ha ha, very good. But how did they meet, what happened?”

“Oh, well…” Mr Breezy gathered his thoughts. “We all thought she wouldn’t go in the end, she was in no fit state to go anywhere. But blow me down, she turned up that very night with Carrot Cake. He came from out of nowhere and swept her off her hooves, danced the night away, so they did. Of course…” he gave a knowing smile and leaned in to Pinkie. “I was the one who got lucky, if you know what I mean…”

“This would be lucky in a fan-related way I imagine?” Pinkie offered uncertainly, not wanting to think about the alternatives.

“Yes!” Mr Breezy continued. “For that night, I found that the dance was using a Marshall 2K, which, you see Pinkie, was only m– “

“That’s wonderful, thanks!” Pinkie gave her most encouraging smile and started bouncing away as fast as she could. There was a lot to process.

***

As the Ponyville clock chimed midday, Pinkie slouched on a bench enjoying the cool shade of the tree behind her. “Come on brain, think!” She started to pound her head with her hooves in annoyance. “It’s their twentieth anniversary tonight! What do ponies do on their anniversary? Why would they be tricking me? What’s with the jam and the cake crumbs?”

She lifted a bottle of lemonade and took a slow sip through the curly straw. “What are they hiding from me?” she muttered, trying to visualise the clues in her mind.

“I don’t know, what are they hiding from you?”

Pinkie peered up in surprise at the voice coming from above her. Hidden amongst the foliage of the tree was a bright yellow earth pony with a leafy-green mane, hanging upside-down from a branch by her tail. On her flank, Pinkie Pie could just about make out the familiar cutie mark of a lemon sitting on a cloud.

“Oh, hi Lemon Dreams!” Pinkie called up, fumbling slightly to hide her bottle of lemonade. “What’re you doing up there?”

Lemon Dreams swayed back and forth gently in the wind as she waved a hoof down. “I thought it was such a lovely sunny day, I should get some hard-core photosynthesising done.” She took in a deep breath and sighed contentedly. “Who’s hiding stuff from you then Pinkie?”

“Oh well Mrs Cake has been acting all emotional, and Mr Cake bleeds jam so I think he’s actually a cake and they’re trying to cover it up!” Pinkie didn’t quite shout up at Lemon Dreams so as not to alert the entirely of Ponyville to her suspicions, but it was loud enough for the yellow pony to hear.

“Yeah, okay.” Lemon Dreams just nodded. “What else is new?”

“No!” Pinkie Pie called up into the tree slightly louder so that Lemon Dreams could hear her properly. “I mean that Mr Cake is literally a cake and they’re trying to keep it secret from me!”

Lemon Dreams blinked. “Well, yes I heard you first time Pinkie. So what if he’s a cake, that’s his own business. The happiest day of my life was when I realised I was a lemon, everything finally made so much sense. My love of wrapping myself in pancakes for example. If Mr Cake is a cake then you should let him be a cake!” She swept her hooves out joyfully. Pinkie did not follow suit.

“But…” Pinkie trailed off. This wasn’t quite the reaction she had hoped for. Her voice tipped into a whine. “But he’s a cake!”

Lemon Dreams didn’t respond. The strange pony had closed her eyes and was humming, swinging gently back and forth on her branch. Pinkie slumped in defeat. One way or another, she had to find some evidence. She had to find out what the Cakes were keeping from her.

***

Pinkie continued to watch Mr Cake from her seat at the kitchen table. The more Pinkie looked, the stranger Mr Cake became. She hadn’t noticed it before, but he really was unlike any pony she’d ever known, with his long thin neck, misshapen head and strange walking gait. He looked odd, goofy, not like a normal pony at all. Despite his bandaged hoof, he still rushed about the kitchen cooking and stirring and baking, almost as if he was born to it. But of course, a cake would know its way around a kitchen.

“Mr Cake…” she finally began after ten minutes of contemplative silence. “What’s your earliest memory? Is it oven-based? Does cooking cupcakes make you feel uncomfortable?”

Mr Cake paused from dabbing a spot of glazing onto an apple tart and looked thoughtful. “Oh goodness!” he harrumphed. “I suppose… no…” He frowned and then broke into a smile. “Pinkie, when you get to be as old as me, you tend to forget a lot. But I could never forget the day I met my darling Cup Cake. Oh Pinkie, it was love at first sight. She was gorgeous like the blossom on a plum tree, like the-“

“Yes yes yes,” Pinkie waved a hoof frantically. “But Mr Cake, what about your family? Was your mother a sack of flour? Was your father a tub of margarine. Mr Cake, what I’m trying to say is…” She shuffled towards Mr Cake, her eyes looking slightly wild. “Are you a cake?”

Mr Cake gave a start at this. “Well, of course I’m a cake!”

“Oh… that was easy…” Pinkie looked slightly disappointed at the ease of this dramatic revelation. She was about to ask further probing questions about life as a sponge-based entity when Mr Cake continued.

“I’m a Cake, Carrot Cake! And my father was a Cake, and his father was a Cake, and his father before him! I come from a whole family of Cakes, Pinkie! Now…” He picked up the tart he’d been working on and placed it proudly in front of Pinkie. “I know these are your favourite Pinkie, and I thought you’d want to have one all to yourself! Go on, try it, you’ll like it!” He stood expectantly before Pinkie, waiting for her to try his culinary masterpiece.

“NO!” Pinkie slammed a hoof into the tart with a cry of frustration, sending a shower of apple and pasty all over Mr Cake. “No Mr Cake, I will not be bribed or distracted, you can’t stop me from discovering your secret!” She thrust her face into Mr Cake’s, glaring deep into his eyes as if she could somehow detect the frosting that beat within his heart. “Are! You! A! Cake!”

Mr Cake pulled away, his eyes wide as he peered at Pinkie. “W-what?”

“Are you a cake? Are you literally a cake?” Pinkie continued to slam her hoof into the remains of the tart. “Are you full of sponge and jam and cream, is your mane made out of marzipan!” She started to shake the stunned Mr Cake rather violently. “Are your teeth made of liquorice?”

“Pinkie!” Pinkie stopped shaking Mr Cake, and guiltily turned around at the loud, angry voice that echoed from behind her. She took her hooves off Mr Cake, letting the goofy earth pony stagger back. It was Mrs Cake, her usually kind face etched into a vision of fury.

“Pinkamena Diane Pie, what do you think you’re doing?” Mrs Cake stormed into the kitchen, her normally soft voice quaking with ill-restrained rage as she darted straight towards Pinkie Pie. Pinkie scuttered back against a cupboard doing her best impression of a rabbit in front of a runaway cart.

“She thought I was… a cake!” Mr Cake exclaimed in disbelief, looking at the cowering Pinkie Pie. “Pinkie, that’s ridiculous, why would you think such a thing?”

“I heard.” Mrs Cake’s voice was cold, taking even Mr Cake by surprise as she turned on Pinkie. “You wicked filly, Pinkie. We take you into our home, we treat you like family, and this is how you repay us? You should be ashamed of yourself! Today of all days!”

“I’m sorry Mrs Cake!” Pinkie babbled, uncertain what she had done to provoke such sudden venom. Her large watery eyes trembled, a technique that usually melted the hearts of even the most annoyed pony, but in this case it didn’t seem to work. Mrs Cake was still fuming, breathing in ragged bursts as she tried to calm herself down.

“If I ever – ever – hear you treating us in such a manner again Pinkamena, you are out! You can just pack your bags and leave because you won’t be welcome here, do I make myself clear?” Mrs Cake still seemed to shake, but slightly less now as she worked the anger out of her system.

“I didn’t mean to upset you, I just…” Pinkie wiped a hoof over her eyes, finding to her surprise that she was starting to cry. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I think I just got a bit carried away with my silly ideas.” She threw her forehooves out towards Mrs Cake, and the older mare’s face crumpled, scooping Pinkie up in her hooves and hugging tightly.

Mrs Cake broke the hug and smiled sadly at Pinkie Pie. “Are we clear Pinkie? You’re not to think about any silly things like that again? Can we get back to being like a family?”

With a sniffle, Pinkie nodded hard. “Yes Mrs Cake, I’ll stop making wild accusations, I promise. If it makes it better, I don’t mind watching the shop if you and Mr Cake want to go out.” She hopped to her feet, regaining some of her previous bounce, and passed Mrs Cake an envelope which had been resting on the worktop. “And Mr Breezy said it was the anniversary of you two meeting tonight, and I didn’t know if you were doing anything, but I thought you might want to see a play.”

Mrs Cake opened the envelope and stared at the tickets. Mr Cake peered over her shoulder and grinned at Pinkie. “That’s a wonderful idea Pinkie! What’s the play?”

“It’s called ‘The Terrible Tragedy of Doctor Faust.’ I think it’s a screwball comedy or something.” Pinkie beamed as Mrs Cake gently nodded, her own face gaining a smile. “Twilight kept going on about how great it was, but despite that it’s probably good. I know the last play she liked was a bust, but I think that was because the actor who played Godot forgot to turn up. That was awkward!”

“That… that’s very kind of you Pinkie.” All Mrs Cake’s previous vitriol had melted away, and she tucked the tickets into her apron. “Very thoughtful. I’m sorry for snapping earlier, you are a good pony. Now, are you sure you don’t mind being alone in the shop for the rest of the day?”

“Oh no, Mrs Cake!” Pinkie gave her best innocent grin. She would need to be alone in the shop without the Cakes about.

She had a whole house to search.

***

“Nothing!” Pinkie Pie sank behind the counter of Sugar Cube Corner in a sulk. As soon as the Cakes had left, she had begun to zip from room to room looking for clues, for any evidence that the Cakes had been hiding something from her. Mrs Cake’s angry reaction to her previous snooping had cinched it – she had obviously got too close to the mystery, and if there was something Pinkie hated, it was not knowing the answer to a puzzle.

All the drawers, all the cupboards, even all the boxes in the attic. Pinkie had meticulously searched them all and had found no clues at all. She had found a stockpile of birthday presents addressed to her hidden in a chest, though she was sure it wasn’t her birthday for a good few months yet. She had found Mr Cake’s lost tie which had fallen behind the sofa, even an anniversary card Mr Cake had hidden in a box of cereal, but no evidence as to his doughy origins.

Pinkie had promised to not make any more wild accusations. But this wasn’t a wild accusation; it was logical! Mrs Cake’s mood swings hinted that she was hiding a secret. Mr Cake must have bled jam; he couldn’t have been baking a cake or he would have told her. Unless he didn’t want Mrs Cake to know, but then tonight was their anniversary and surely ponies should be super honest with each other at such times!

“There must be something I’m missing!” Pinkie exclaimed, bobbing her head to stimulate her brain cells. “Some subtle clue…”

“Ahem!” Pinkie jerked suddenly to attention as the bell suspended over the shop door signalled a new customer. Pinkie knew every pony in Ponyville, but she had never seen this pony before. He was a strange looking black stallion, whose coat seemed to sag slightly, and each step he took was slow and deliberate as if he was afraid of stepping in something nasty.

“Hello Pinkie Pie.” The stranger’s voice was low and steady yet slightly grating. He made his way to the shop counter, eyes darting with curiosity about the entire shop, taking in every minute detail. “Lovely day isn’t it?” He flashed what must have been an attempt at a warm smile, but the corners of his mouth drooped slightly, creating an almost comical impression.

At least it would have been comical if it wasn’t for his two red eyes, which seemed to burn into Pinkie’s own.

Pinkie gave a little gulp. This pony couldn’t help how he looked though, and she wasn’t about to judge him based on that! She put on a chef’s hat and gave it a little doff towards the customer. “It’s a super lovely day!” she brightly chirped. “And here are Sugar Cube Corner we have all your favourites! Apple tarts, sugar snaps, butterfly cakes…”

“No. No.” The stranger shuffled to look at some family pictures hung on the wall, his eyes seemingly glazed and unfocussed. “No Pinkie, I’m not here for that at all.”

“Oh, I see!” A look of realisation came over Pinkie’s face and she popped down under the counter, bringing up a tray that had been hidden. “Well we’ve still got some lemon meringue pie left, and-“

“No Pinkie.” Pinkie gave a little screech as the stranger turned and sprang across the room, instantly in front of her, his slightly formless face pressing against hers. From her now close-up perspective, Pinkie could see that the stranger’s coat was in an awful shape, dusty with the look of felt rather than fur. He obviously wasn’t the type to take care of himself. The stranger pulled back slightly, as if aware he had invaded Pinkie’s personal space a bit too much. “Is your mother in?”

Pinkie frowned and then gave a little gasp. “Oh, you mean Mrs Cake? No, she’s gone out for the afternoon with Mr Cake, they’ll be gone for ages. Do you know Mrs Cake? I’ve not seen you about before and I know every pony in Ponyville!”

The stranger gave another crooked smile as he shambled towards a picture of the Cakes and Pinkie Pie hanging on the wall. “Oh yes Pinkie, I know Cup Cake. I know her very well indeed. But it’s been so long, so very long. Almost…” his voice took on a strange, sing-song quality. “Almost twenty years to this day since I saw her last.”

Pinkie’s mouth fell open. “And Mr Cake?” She croaked. “Do you know Mr Cake too?”

“I know Mr Cake, yes, you could say that…” There was the strangest of glints in the pony’s fiery red eyes as he seemed to gaze deeply into the picture. “Oh, what a happy life you three lead in Ponyville, Pinkie. Where the days are sunny and your hearts are full of love and joy…” His voice cracked slightly and he slouched back towards Pinkie with an odd, lumbering gait, his body rippling with every movement in a manner that looked rather painful. “You’re so close Pinkie!” he hissed. “You nearly had your hooves on the truth in the Ponyville Archive! Don’t give up now, clever little Pinkie Pie, you can solve the mystery!”

Pinkie Pie suddenly stood to rapt attention, her forehooves clutching the countertop. “You mean there is a mystery?” she whispered. “I knew it! Tell me tell me tell me! I searched the whole house and couldn’t find anything! Is Mr Cake really a cake?”

The stranger’s mouth curled and he let out a low, dry laugh. “Oh Pinkie, you have no idea,” he chuckled, shaking his head, which seemed to sway a bit too much. “Perhaps you didn’t look hard enough Pinkie Pie. I seem to remember Mrs Cake used to hide things underneath a loose floorboard in the pantry. Perhaps you should try there…”

Pinkie opened her mouth to reply, but the stranger simply placed a hoof against it. It felt warm and fuzzy. “No Pinkie, no more help,” he croaked in a far-away voice. “Don’t tell Cup Cake I was here, I’ll pop round later. I have something to pick up. I want it to be…” he tilted his head at an odd angle “… a surprise.”

Pinkie waited until the odd pony had sloped off, and flipped the sign on the front door to “closed”. There was a pantry floor that needed investigating! She shook her head as she narrowed her eyes. There was something strange about that pony. Not just the way he looked or walked or spoke, but something not quite right. Then it hit her.

How had he known her name?

****

“Well, that was a lovely evening!” Mr Cake took his wife’s jacket as they stepped in out of the cold. It had been nice to get out of the house for a good few hours, even if the play wasn’t the zany comedy Pinkie Pie had promised. He looked across at Mrs Cake with concern. She had been slightly pale during the play, and didn’t seem to enjoy it at all. Still, it was nice to spend some quality time together.

“You go sit down, I’ve got a little surprise for you!” Mr Cake bounded into the kitchen with a quick peek at the grandfather clock which stood proudly against one of the walls. It was nearly midnight, nearly time for their anniversary. He had to find the card he’d written.

He didn’t expect to find Pinkie Pie.

Pinkie slowly looked up as Mr Cake entered, seated at the kitchen table. Her face had seemingly paled slightly, her mane losing some of its exuberant puff. In front of her was a broken wooden floorboard and a large, dusty book. “I know,” she whispered at Mr Cake. “I found the book. I know everything. I know your secret!”

Mr Cake was slightly taken aback at this as he started to peer around the cupboards to find the card he’d hidden. “Secret, what secret?” he exclaimed, shaking his head. “I don’t have a secret Pinkie, don’t let Mrs Cake hear you talking like that, you know how angry she can get!”

“But you do! Look!” Instantly Pinkie was in front of Mr Cake, waving the book at his face.

Mr Cake struggled to read the cover as it swayed back and forth before him. Pinkie realised her mistake and held if as steady as she could. In large, black letters on the cover was the title: “CAKE RECIPES: HOW TO BAKE A CAKE.”

“It’s… a cookbook?” Mr Cake offered, unsure of the significance of such a tome. There were plenty of cookbooks scattered all about Sugar Cube Corner, more than one pony could never hope to read in a lifetime. “Pinkie, I really don’t see…”

“Look!” Pinkie flung the book open on the table and half-forced Mr Cake’s head down towards it with her hooves. Mr Cake started to struggle against the surprisingly strong mare, but then something on the page caught his eye. It was a picture of his face.

“Victoria sponge body! Strawberry jam and cream! Butterscotch icing!” Pinkie turned the pages before Mr Cake, each of them showing detailed recipes. “Cotton candy mane! Marzipan cutie mark! I was right, Mr Cake! You’re a cake!” Pinkie had shaken off her earlier gloom, and was bouncing up and down happily, her heart bursting with pride that she had been right.

Mr Cake’s face flashed between a frown and a look of uncertainty as he shuffled through the pages, stopping on one which detailed the correct way to create fondant icing teeth. “I’m not a cake!”

“You are, you are! Look!” With a yank, Pinkie grabbed the bandage that was wrapped around Mr Cake’s forehoof and pulled hard. Mr Cake gave a yelp, and then looked at his injured hoof.

There was jam oozing out of it. There was sponge cake visible inside the cut.

Mr Cake leapt backwards as if stung by a bee, clutching his hoof to his chest, his eyes widen open in panic. “I… I’m a cake?” he croaked in disbelief.

“Yes, isn’t it great?” Pinkie started bouncing around him, humming happily to herself. “I was right! You’re a cake, Mr Cake! You’re a cake! A cakey cakey cake cake!”

“No!” Pinkie froze in mid-hop as Mrs Cake stumbled in to the kitchen, a throaty gasp escaping from her mouth as she looked on in horror at the scene playing out in front of her. “Pinkie, what have you done? After all I said!” She was instantly by Mr Cake’s side, cradling him gently.

“Cup Cake, I’m… a cake…” Mr Cake craned his neck round to look into his wife’s eyes, as his features seemed to blur and soften, cracks appearing in his neck as he moved his head. “I’m a cake…”

“No no no, hush, you’re real!” Mrs Cake clutched her husband to her, cooing softly as she buried her face in his neck. “Please, please calm down.”

Pinkie could only watch, her mouth gaping open, every thought of victory gone from her mind as Mr Cake continued to stutter on the floor, his words become more incoherent, his coat taking on the pallor of icing, his mane looking more and more like marzipan and cream.

“I’m… a… c…” But Mr Cake never finished the sentence. He sunk further into Mrs Cake’s arms, leaving smears of icing over her coat. He seemed to twist and loll slightly as his eyes glazed over until they were nothing but two chocolate buttons. Then with a slurping, sucking noise, his head sloughed off by the neck in a torrent of jam and icing and sponge, thudding onto the floor in a splattering heap.

The kitchen was silent except for the guttural sobbing of Mrs Cake as she held the remains of a pony-shaped cake, covered in jam and icing, her own face splotched red with tears as she shook and wept. Pinkie took a step forwards, staring down at Mr Cake’s head which lay before her. It was just a crude rectangle of sponge with a smile iced onto it; it didn’t seem real that just moments before it had been one of the most wonderful ponies she had ever known.

“…Mrs Cake?” Pinkie squeaked, flattening her ears against her head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

Mrs Cake’s head snapped up at Pinkie’s voice, and Pinkie leapt back in surprise. But she wasn’t angry as Pinkie had expected. She was rocking the remains of the pony-cake back and forth, gulping down the tears. “What have you done, Pinkie?” she choked out as the clock in the hall began to strike midnight. “Oh no no no, my poor Mr Cake, what have you done?” Slowly and reverently, she placed the rest of the cake on the kitchen floor and looked around the room as the clock chimed. “Pinkie.” She spoke softly and gently, with only the barest quiver in her voice to betray the emotion. “Pinkie, I want to you lock and bolt all the windows. Now.”

Pinkie couldn’t tear herself away from looking down at the remains of Mr Cake. He was now just a pile of sponge and jam, the crudest approximation of a pony possible. “I…” She thought about putting his head back on to at least give him some final dignity, but she couldn’t see any way it attached to the neck, just a thin veneer of butterscotch icing. That and she didn’t want to touch it. “I…”

She leapt out of her skin at a frantic scratching, scrabbling noise that came from the nearest window. Her heart racing she turned around, only to see a pair of burning red eyes staring in from the pitch black darkness outside. As soon as she saw them, the eyes vanished. “W-what was that?”

Mrs Cake was already at the other windows, drawing closed the heavy bolts that secured them. “We don’t have time for this Pinkie, for once, can you just do as I say?” She quivered, the sound of resentment in her words as she moved at speed from window to window.

Pinkie slunk back as she moved to secure the nearest window. Then she paused. Outside on the lawn, looking in, was the odd black pony she had seen earlier in the shop. “It’s him!” she exclaimed, peering through the darkness as she tried to make out what he was doing. He was just standing at a slightly crooked angle, his red eyes fixed straight at Sugar Cube Corner. Straight at Pinkie Pie.

“He’s come back! I knew he would, he’s come back!” Mrs Cake was at the window with Pinkie, hugging her tight as she looked out into the night. A cold wind was blowing.

Outside, the strange pony took a step forward in his uneasy, lopsided manner, a crooked grin on his face. “You clever filly, Pinkie Pie, with help I knew you’d prevail!” he called in his rasping voice like sandpaper, causing Pinkie to press herself further against Mrs Cake’s icing-dusted chest. “A tragedy inevitable, a sorry pony's tale!”

“The door!” Mrs Cake almost dropped Pinkie and galloped to the back door. There was a scraping of metal as she sealed the entranceway with heavy iron locks.

Pinkie raised her head over the bottom of the window, feeling her hooves wobbly, barely able to stand up. The black pony scraped across the grass, only to stop and give them another wide, toothy grin. “Cup Cake my dear, I have returned, to finish our little deal!” His words carried a sing-song quality, a mocking tone. He raised a forehoof, and with the other, slowly slid the skin off. Only it wasn’t skin. It was felt.

Unable to look away, Pinkie saw that under the hoof was a scaly claw. It flexed back and forth in the darkness as it pulled off the felt that covered the other hoof. More locks slammed in the house, the noise echoing outside and catching the attention of the pony – creature. “Are those locks I see? A bolt or three? Is that terror you can feel?”

Pinkie felt Mrs Cake scoop her up again, squeezing hard as if she was a teddy bear. “What do we do?” she hissed up at her, not wanting to take her eyes off the pony outside for an instant. “Will it go away? Can we shout for help? What is that thing?”

“I’m sorry. Pinkie, I’m sorry…” Mrs Cake’s shoulders slumped and she lost her grip on Pinkie, sinking to the floor besides the remains of Mr Cake. “Oh Pinkie…” she murmured in a lost voice. “What have you done?”

With a gulp, Pinkie saw the creature’s claws move to its neck. There was a creaking, shuffling noise, and its head slipped off. From the empty costume spilled what seemed to be wave after wave of black, scraggly fur, wriggling free, until standing in the dark in front of Sugar Cube Corner was the strangest thing Pinkie had ever seen. It was a tall ball of fur with stick-like claws that jutted from the middle and two red, burning eyes deep-set near the top. It seemed to sneer at Pinkie Pie, even though she couldn’t see a mouth. “A bargain struck cannot be changed; you know this to be true.”

Pinkie slammed the window hard, drawing the lock across it and dropping down beside Mrs Cake to give the sobbing mare a hug, nervously craning her neck upwards. Even through the closed windows, she could hear that terrible rasping voice.

“For when Krastos the Gluemaker comes to town, the devil gets his due.”

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