Is Mr Cake literally a cake? Pinkie Pie seems to think so – but will her investigations really reveal that Mr Cake is made solely from delicious margarine, sugar and flour, or is something else afoot? One thing is certain – the Cakes are hiding something from her, and Pinkie will expose the truth no matter the cost!
Author’s note – This story takes place before the season two episode ‘Baby Cakes’.
Pinkie Pie rolled over lazily, hugging a pillow to herself as the rays of the warm morning sun gently trickled through her window. In a haze, she heard the clatter of plates from below as Mr and Mrs Cake went about their morning chores, but the happy warmth of the sun hurried all thoughts of going downstairs out of her mind, and she stifled a yawn, scrunching her cosy bed sheets around her.
Life was good.
Perhaps after a nice walk around Ponyville she would help the Cakes in the store for an hour or so. Then maybe a bath. Or another nap. She yawned again and cuddled her bed sheets. A nap sounded good.
“Pinkie!”
Mrs Cake’s voice disturbed her peace as her eyes flickered open. She started to rise, but then thought better of it and flopped back onto her mattress. There was supposed to be a travelling theatre that was arriving in Ponyville later, Twilight had been telling her about it. Maybe she could skip helping the Cakes and see a play. And then a nap.
“Pinkie! Your breakfast’s ready!”
It was Mrs Cake again. With a heavy sigh, Pinkie Pie rolled off the bed and onto the wooden floor with a heavy thump. “I’m coming!” she called down, shaking her head as her mane flumped into life. The Cakes usually started baking the moment the sun came up, and technically as their lodger she was supposed to help them, but they never made a fuss if she slept in. Which if she’d been up partying the night before could be a long long time.
***
Pinkie Pie half-trotted, half bounced down the stairs into the kitchen of Sugar Cube Corner. The room was humming with noise and activity – on the far counter she could see Mr Cake carefully cutting up apples and apricots and almonds on the sparkling clean worktop, ready for baking into whatever confectionary would be the dish of the day. He had a knife carefully gripped in his mouth, and dipped down with expert motions to slice the fruit into equal, neat segments.
Mrs Cake meanwhile was darting back and forth between several boiling pots, and Pinkie’s heart leapt as she smelt the familiar sugary odour of boiled sweets. “Sorry I slept in!” she chirped, scooting up to the dining table, upon which a bowl had been placed. “I was just so super sleepy!”
A smile crossed Mrs Cake’s face and she trotted over to Pinkie, tipping out a jar of sweets into Pinkie’s bowl and pouring a good serving of milk over it. “Don’t worry dear!” she soothingly replied, though Pinkie could swear she heard a slight tremor in her voice. “Just enjoy your breakfast, it’s your favourite!”
Pinkie stared at the bowl suspiciously. Mrs Cake was usually cross at her whenever she had candy cereal for breakfast. It was Pinkie’s own invention – candy and milk – though the Cakes seemed to be adamant that this was for some reason unhealthy. Pinkie looked back and forth between Mrs Cake and the bowl, and then making up her mind dipped her mouth down to slurp it all up.
“Oh, a letter came for you.” There was that quiver in Mrs Cake’s voice again, and the sound of a slightly more frantic chopping in the background as Mr Cake sped up his work.
Pinkie Pie’s tongue was touching her sugary breakfast, but froze as her eyes darted around to see a bulky letter sitting neatly on the table in front of her. Making a decision, she turned back to her breakfast, wolfing it down hungrily.
Mrs Cake had stopped in her work, and was just standing beside Pinkie, wringing her apron nervously. “Aren’t you going to take a look, Pinkie darling?” The chopping noise in the background became slightly more frenzied. Mr Cake looked away, slightly bashful. “The envelope was ripped when we got it and the letter fell out, I didn’t mean to read it, but I saw a bit…” she trailed off as she watched Pinkie for any flicker of a reaction.
Pinkie slowly licked off the sugary milk which caked her mouth and prodded the letter curiously. “I know you would never read anypony’s mail on purpose Mrs Cake!” she squeaked out happily, and Mrs Cake gave a sigh of relief. Pinkie inspected the envelope – there was a familiar postmark crisply stamped on the top right corner, and a large hard object inside which was just a bit too big for the letter – at some point it had seemingly torn through the envelope. Pinkie deftly ran her hoof over the top of the envelope, which had been neatly taped shut again and pulled out the letter.
“It’s from home!” she called as she began to read. Mrs Cake stood silent. The only noise in the room was the sound of Mr Cake’s chopping, getting faster and faster as Pinkie looked at her letter. From the corner of her eye, Pinkie could see beads of sweat on Mr Cake’s head. She concentrated on the letter.
My Dearest Pinkamena Diane Pie,
It seems like forever since we have heard from you, I hope all is well in your hectic life in the big city of Ponyville, and that the Cakes are treating you well. A travelling baker came round earlier with the most delicious cupcakes; it made me think of my darling daughter and I knew I had to write! The farm is doing well; we’ve had a bumper quartzite crop this year! Your father has been working all day and night bringing it in. It’s difficult with just the two of us, but we know you girls need to live your own lives without us in your way and we are so so proud of you Pinkamena.
If you ever grow tired of Ponyville though and want to move home, your room is still exactly as you left it. I know how much you love running about the fields, and the local fete is in a few weeks, it would be wonderful to see you again, if you have the time.
I have put one of those rocks you love so much in the envelope, you can add it to your collection!
Lots and lots of love,
Mum
Pinkie Pie nudged the large bulky object out of the envelope. It was a grey and white speckled rock wrapped in some tissue paper. It looked decidedly un-fun as it rolled across the table top and came to a stop before it fell onto the floor.
“It’s from home!” she announced loudly, glancing back down at the neatly written letter again. “They want me to go back and live with them.”
Mr Cake’s frenzied cutting suddenly stopped with a yelp of pain. The kitchen was silent as Mrs Cake cleared her throat. “Now Pinkie, you know we love having you live here with us, you’re like…” She placed a hoof gently on Pinkie’s shoulder. “You’re like the daughter we never had and having you here makes us so happy, but if you want to move back home with your family, if that’s what will make you happy, then we’ll understand.”
Pinkie gave a start as she turned around to see Mrs Cake stock-still, save only for the slightest quiver of her bottom lip. She had never seen Mrs Cake look so upset before, not even after Pinkie had eaten the year’s supply of candy canes after a particularly big sugar rush. Mr Cake was frozen too, staring at Pinkie. He was a strange, tall, thin gawky-looking pony, but Pinkie thought that somehow was right, that married to the short and dumpy Mrs Cake they somehow averaged out into two perfect ponies.
She scrunched her eyes up and beamed her biggest smile back at them. “Turn those frowns upside-down!” she half-sung, hopping to her hooves and doing a half-spin on the kitchen floor. “You’re just as much family as my actual family are, I’d never make you sad or leave you!”
The Cakes both gave an audible sigh of happiness at this, and Pinkie bounced towards the rock on the table. Recently for some reason her mother had taken to mailing her rocks. Pinkie had always said ‘thank you’ in her letters back, and the rocks kept coming. She imagined her mother at home, writing her letters and being delighted that she could still make her little filly happy. Pinkie didn’t have the heart to say otherwise; instead tucked under her bed was a shoebox full of rocks. Every time one arrived in the mail was a reminder that despite everything that had happened, her parents still didn’t understand her.
Mrs Cake did. Mrs Cake would never give her a rock.
“Uh, Cup Cake?”
Mr Cake called gently from across the kitchen, but Mrs Cake didn’t notice. Her crumpled face had turned into a beaming smile to match Pinkie’s, which in turn made Pinkie want to smile more. “That’s wonderful Pinkie dear, it really brightens up the place having you about.” She started to fuss around a jar of candy. “Would you like a second breakfast?”
Pinkie nodded as hard as she could, bounding back to her place at the table as Mrs Cake poured her another bowl of sweets. “I love being here in Ponyville Mrs Cake, everypony is so friendly and there’s always so much to do and so many parties to organise!”
“Uh, Cup Cake darling?”
Mrs Cake didn’t seem to hear her husband as she poured milk over Pinkie’s bowl and gave it a little stir. “Maybe you’d like to have the morning off, you could go and relax and see your friends, I don’t want you to think we’re working you too hard or taking advantage of you!”
Pinkie immediately dived into the bowl, scoffing down her milky candy before surfacing for air. She had already planned on not working that morning, but it was always nice to hear it officially rather than sneaking out the back. “That’s a great idea Mrs Cake! I’ll go to the market, I can pick up some new ingredients and make a super nice cake for us!”
“Uh, there’s been a little accident!”
Mr Cake’s voice took on a slightly higher pitched tone and both mares whirled around to see what the matter was. Mr Cake was standing by the kitchen counter, his eyes wide as he looked at his hoof, which had a nasty gash across it which oozed red liquid. “I ah, slipped when I was chopping fruit. It’s the knife I bought the other day from that salespony. Surprisingly… sharp…”
“Oh oh oh!” Mrs Cake was instantly by his side and cradling his hoof, pressing a towel against it. “Keep calm and look away, you know you don’t like the sight of your own blood!”
Mr Cake made a whimpering noise as he obediently threw his head towards the ceiling, his eyes watering as he trembled. “I don’t want to die!” he whispered hoarsely.
Mrs Cake just rolled her eyes as she led him slowly towards the front room, Mr Cake doing his best to stumble and trip over every imperfection on the floor, his eyes still fixed upwards. “It’s nothing a bandage won’t fix!” she chided. “Then it’ll be all better.”
Pinkie watched the scene with some concern as she finished her second breakfast. The Cakes were always so cheerful, it wasn’t right to see Mr Cake so upset. “I’ll help!” she called out. “I’ll clean up the worktop!”
Mrs Cake’s response was as surprising as it was harsh. “No!” she snapped suddenly, her face suddenly a frown as Pinkie sank back. “Don’t you dare touch anything Pinkie, I’ll clean it up once I’ve bandaged Mr Cake’s hoof!”
Watching the Cakes trot off, Pinkie slowly licked her bowl clean, her tongue squeaking loudly against the porcelain. “I’m not a baby!” she muttered at the departing Mrs Cake as she slid down onto the floor and, picking up a towel in her mouth, wandered over to the worktop. Mrs Cake was obviously trying to pamper her too much, but Pinkie didn’t mind doing a bit of cleaning for her beloved hosts. After all, she’d spent enough time helping Fluttershy care for poor wounded animals, a bit of blood wouldn’t faze her.
Reaching the worktop, she started to dab carefully at the red splotches with her cloth. After a few swipes, she lifted the towel away in confusion. The blood hadn’t wiped away. There was a strange, sticky resistance, and several strands glistened in the morning light as they stretched in strings between the worktop and the cloth. It was unmistakable.
It was jam.
“Huh…” Pinkie put the jam-covered towel down as her eyes swept the kitchen, looking for where the accident had occurred. But the rest of the room was clean. It was unmistakably here where Mr Cake had been cutting fruit; there were mountains of apple and apricot slices in neat bowls. There was even a knife with a smearing of…
Pinkie stared at the knife intently. It was jam as well. She could see the tiny crystalline sugar structures in it; her nose could detect the faintest sweet whiff rising from it. The worktop was splattered with beads of red jam and a dusting of cake crumbs. There was no blood anywhere.
“Maybe Mr Cake was making a cake…?” Pinkie muttered out loud as she started to walk around the perimeter of the kitchen. There were pots of sweets being boiled, a tray of meringues, even a half-finished fruit flan, but there was no cake.
Pinkie Pie shook her head quickly. She had seen Mr Cake clutching his hoof, seen what she had thought was blood. But it was jam. Or was it? Pinkie’s tongue was instantly hovering over the jam that lay on the worktop. She could feel her taste buds pricking at the thought of the delicious preserve, but she hesitated, uncertain. What if she was wrong? What if it was blood? What if the Cakes came back in and saw their lodger voraciously lapping blood off the kitchen worktop. That would be awkward.
Looking around for a container, Pinkie’s eyes settled on a nearby empty jam jar. Lifting the knife carefully by the handle, she slowly scraped the sticky red substance into the glass jar and screwed the lid on tight. A mystery was ahoof, and she wasn’t about to be kept in the dark!
“All better now!”
Pinkie turned around guiltily, almost dropping the jar as the Cakes wandered back into the kitchen, Mr Cake now sporting a bandage around his hoof and a rather exaggerated limp. Slipping the jar into the curls of her tail, she put on the most innocent grin she could manage and scuttered back towards the table.
“That’s good!” Pinkie bobbed her head up and down as she carried her breakfast bowl to the sink. “Oh hey, I’m rather hungry!” she exclaimed out loud, turning to her hosts. “Say Mr Cake, could I have some of that delicious cake you were making?”
“Oh, I wasn’t making any cake!” Mr Cake replied, slightly confused as he looked at his pile of fruit slices whilst Mrs Cake busied herself in clearing up the worktop behind him.
“No…” Pinkie’s eyes narrowed at Mr Cake as she felt the weight of the jar in her tail. “No you weren’t, were you…” Throwing her head up in a huff, she marched out of the kitchen, leaving behind a rather bemused Mr Cake.
“Now, what the hay was all that about?” he wondered out loud.
Pinkie didn’t go far. The moment she was through the doorway, she dropped her head and begun to look around the Cakes' sitting room. She lifted her hooves one by one as she felt something rough on the floor. Cake crumbs. There was a trail of cake crumbs leading from the kitchen doorway across the room to where Mrs Cake kept the first aid box.
Looking behind her to make sure the Cakes didn’t follow her in, Pinkie leapt across the room and opened the box. Inside was carefully packed cotton wool, plasters, a roll of bandages and…
Cake crumbs.
“I don’t get it…” Pinkie glanced back towards the kitchen door where Mrs Cake was talking and laughing with Mr Cake. But Pinkie wasn’t laughing. Was she somehow mistaken? Were the Cakes trying to trick her? She turned her attention to the bin and began to sift through it. Almost immediately she found what she was looking for – cotton wool from the first aid box, but covered in jam and cake crumbs.
Pinkie hid the evidence in her jar and stroked her chin thoughtfully. She wasn’t mistaken. It couldn’t be a trick. There was just one possible explanation.
“Mr Cake is literally a cake!” she squeaked.
***
Twilight Sparkle looked down at the jar Pinkie Pie was offering her with a degree of suspicion. “You want me to… tell you what it is?” she muttered in an unconvinced tone. Around her lay a heap of books, which had been dislodged from their neat piles when the pink pony had barrelled into her library babbling something about jam.
Pinkie just nodded firmly. “It’s very, very important!” she exclaimed. “I was thinking ‘oh Pinkie, who could help in your hour of need,’ and then I was all ‘Twilight, Twilight will help, she’s the most cleverest and scientific of all ponies’!”
Twilight gazed forlornly at her fallen books and then back at Pinkie Pie. With a large sigh, she started to unscrew the jar and dipped a spoon inside. “Fine, fine! Just as long as I can get back to my studying, I’ve got a lot to do and I’m supposed to be seeing a play tonight!” She lifted the spoon out, now coated in a thin red veneer, and dipped it into her mouth thoughtfully. “Hmm. Strawberry!” she called out, rolling the tip of the spoon about in her mouth to get the full taste. “Yes, definitely strawberry!”
“Phew!” Pinkie wiped her hoof across her forehead. “So it’s not blood then?”
The spoon slowly dropped out of Twilight’s mouth and clattered to the floor. “W-why would it be blood, Pinkie?” she stammered out, swallowing hard as her face went slightly green. “Why would it be blood?”
“Oh, because Mr Cake cut himself and I found this on the kitchen worktop and thought it was blood, but it turns out it is jam!” Pinkie Pie said brightly, smiling at Twilight. Twilight did not return the smile.
“So you… thought it might be blood… so you gave it to me to test…” Twilight couldn’t quite wrap her head around the concept, and instead started to stare down at her outstretched tongue as if it would suddenly start dripping crimson.
“Uh-huh!” Pinkie proudly nodded. “I thought ‘Twilight is so fantabulous, she’ll have some special test to work out if it is jam or not! And you did, you’re so clever Twilight! Now I know that Mr Cake is definitely a cake!”
“Oh Pinkie!” Twilight’s worried frown turned to one of disappointment as she looked glumly at her happy friend. “Mr Cake isn’t a cake. Don’t do this again, do you remember when you thought Rarity was a marshmallow and you kept on trying to bite her? Or when you started following around Daisy with a net because you thought she was a daisy and was in danger of having her pollen carried off by bees? Ponies are ponies. Rarity isn’t a marshmallow, Daisy isn’t a daisy, and Mr Cake isn’t a cake!”
“Lemon Dreams is a lemon though,” Pinkie instantly retorted.
“Yes, well…” Twilight clopped her hooves together thoughtfully. “That’s different. Lemon Dreams thinks she’s a lemon, and if she wants to self-identify as a lemon then that’s her own life choice and we should respect that and uphold the Ponyville lemon ban. But come on Pinkie, think!” She tapped a hoof against Pinkie’s forehead. There was a strange hollow sound. “If Mr Cake is a cake, then how does he walk and talk and do all the things a cake can’t do?”
“I don’t know Twilight…” Pinkie Pie took back her evidence jar and buried it back into her tail. “I mean how else would you explain the jam on the worktop? There’s no other explanation that I can think of apart from him being a cake, and I intend to prove it!” She started to zip between Twilight’s bookshelves, pulling book after book out with a cursory glance at each one. “Maybe he’s a magic cake who can walk and talk!”
“…Or maybe he’s not!” With an exasperated sigh, Twilight encircled Pinkie in a shimmer of magic and lifted the pink terror, placing her firmly as far away from her precious books as possible. “Pinkie, not even the most powerful unicorn could make a magical pony cake, trust me. Isn’t it more likely that there’s a simpler reason?”
Pinkie gradually stopped struggling against Twilight’s magical field and slumped her shoulders in a sigh. “I guess…” She looked down at the floor in contemplation and then back up at Twilight with the tiniest hint of a smile breaking on her lips. “Thank you Twilight, you’ve shown me the way!”
Twilight stepped forward to place a hoof against Pinkie’s shoulders. “Now Pinkie, do you promise not to do anything silly and stop worrying?” Her voice was tinged with a slight level of concern; Pinkie just stood there smiling as if she hadn’t been listening at all.
“I do-oo-oo-oo-oo!” Pinkie suddenly roared into life, bouncing out of Twilight’s library as fast as she could in a blur of pink. “OO-oo-oo-oo-oo!” As Pinkie exited into the bright sunshine of Ponyville, her face darkened. “Oo-oo-oo NOT!” she muttered, shaking a hoof as she looked at all the happy ponies going about their daily lives. She was certain now that something was being hidden from her and she wasn’t going to rest until she found out what. Her happy smile curled into a more sinister one. She knew exactly who she needed to speak to.
***
“If I said to you Mr Cake was a cake, what would you say?” Pinkie Pie thrust her face into Carrot Top’s, her eyes wildly staring ahead as she started to shake her with her forehooves. “What would you say?”
Carrot Top screamed as loud as she could, her normally neat mane frizzing out in all directions. “I’d say get the hay out of my fridge!” she squealed, standing frozen in shock as she stared at the pink pony who had somehow become lodged in her refrigerator.
“Yes, it is rather cold in there…” Pinkie slowly extracted herself from the fridge. Half the contents extracted themselves with her, clattering and smashing to the floor as Pinkie pulled herself free. “Oops!” Pinkie rolled her eyes and then glared straight at Carrot Top. “Carrot Top, tell me everything you know about Mr Cake, or as his full name is, Carrot Cake!”
Carrot Top just stared blankly black, half in confusion, half wondering whether she should get the police. “I… he runs Sugar Cube Corner?”
“Aha, I knew it!” Pinkie punched the air in victory, before her brain finished processing what she had heard. “No, I mean, tell me all his secrets!”
“Wait a minute…” Carrot Top gave a start as she suddenly realised why Pinkie was asking her questions about Mr Cake. “Do you think that because my name is Carrot Top and his name is Carrot Cake that we’re somehow related?”
“Or the same pony!” Pinkie leapt into the air at this stunning revelation, her hooves kicking in all directions. “I’ve never seen you in the same place at the same time, apart from last Sunday. And Tuesday. And at the market last week. The perfect alibi…”
Carrot Top’s mouth moved, but for a moment no sound came out as her mind struggled to deal with Pinkie’s thought processes. Her face fixed into a sudden grimace of annoyance. “Pinkie, just because we have the same name doesn’t mean we’re related! That’s…. I don’t know what that is, but it’s certainly rude and doesn’t give you the right to break into somepony’s house and demand questions! I don’t know anything about Mr Cake, all I know is that he’s a nice upstanding member of the community and wouldn’t like to see you acting like this!”
“I see…” Pinkie stroked her chin. She didn’t see. Something Carrot Top had said has given her pause for thought though. A new line of inquiry had opened up. First though, she needed one more thing from Carrot Top. “Hey Carrot Top, do you mind if I take your trifle, I kinda sat in it!”
Pinkie gave her most beaming smile as she showed off her rear end, covered in cream and sprinkles. Carrot Top just narrowed her eyes and muttered coldly. “Sure Pinkie. Take it. Take all of it.”
So Pinkie did.
***
“Pinkie, this is brilliant! I thought you’d gone crazy or something when you asked me along, but I couldn’t think of a better way of spending my morning!” Rainbow Dash collapsed into a hysterical fit of laughter amongst a pile of dusty paperwork.
Pinkie Pie coughed, running her eyes over the latest certificate in front of her. The Ponyville Archive was massive; with records stretching all the way back to the founding of Ponyville. There was no way she would have been able to search all the packed shelves on her own and Rainbow Dash had hardly been her first choice, but she seemed to be enjoying herself.
“Did… did you know Lyra’s full name is ‘Lyra Heartstrings’?” Rainbow Dash fell backwards again, tears rolling down her cheeks as she clutched a birth certificate to her chest. “This is golden! And speaking of that, did you know Carrot Top’s real name is ‘Golden Harvest’?” Rainbow Dash gripped a pen in her mouth and started to scribble on another certificate before spitting the pen out. “Or at least, it is now!” She raised her hoof for a congratulatory hoof-bump, but Pinkie didn’t respond. She was too busy searching through a mass of index cards.
“That’s nice…” Pinkie muttered in an uncharacteristically concentrated tone. She had before her all the records of all the Cakes who had ever lived in Ponyville. Banana Cake. Coconut Cake. Toilet Cake. So many Cakes over the years. Thankfully she had found all the Cake files in one place, unlike the myriad other records which seemed to be scattered about the musty room under some impossibly complex filing system. Celestia was surely smiling on her that day!
She had carefully cross-referenced their birth certificates, marriage certificates, even school reports. It was of course not complete – the archives were terribly maintained and didn’t refer to any ponies outside Ponyville, but she doubted that the archivists at Canterlot would be as easy going in granting access as the Ponyville staff. She had always assumed that the Ponyville archives would be difficult to get into, but the pony at the front desk had seemed ever so helpful and even had a pass made up in advance for her as if he’d known she was coming! That was good service! Getting Rainbow Dash in had taken a bit more convincing though.
“Oh oh oh!” Rainbow Dash started sniggering again as she amended another record. “What if it turns out Apple Bloom was Celestia’s long lost niece! Heck, it’s lucky Twilight was too busy studying to come help you! Oh hey, this is mine!” Her laughter suddenly broke off as she fished out another certificate, staring at it suspiciously. “Oh come on, whoever filled this one out got the names of both my parents wrong! Amateur hour or what!”
Pinkie wasn’t listening though. With a sudden shout of triumph, she rose to her hooves, scattering nearly stacked piles of cards all about. “Look at this, Dash,” she cried, pointing accusingly to a marriage certificate lying in front of her. “There’s no record of Mr Cake in Ponyville until twenty years ago! He turns up and marries Mrs Cake almost immediately. But get this – the certificate says ‘Cup Cake’ and ‘Carrot Cake’!”
Rainbow Dash stared back blankly. “So? I mean, they are married, right?”
“No. No no no.” Pinkie shook her head, her voice dipping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Those were their names before they got married. That’s quite the coincidence, isn’t it? Maybe…” She trailed off. “Maybe they’re related! Maybe that’s their secret. I mean, they don’t have foals of their own, they couldn’t, if you have a foal with a relation it could have weird defects like two heads or four wings or never being able to get a cutie mark or something!”
It made sense. Except if that was the Cake’s secret, it didn’t explain the jam. Again Pinkie’s mind came back to the only possibility that seemed to fit the facts. Mr Cake had to be a cake, didn’t he? “C’mon Dashie, let’s get out of here!” Pinkie pushed the paperwork she had accumulated into a semi-neat pile on the table and gave it a determined thump. “I’ve got work to do!”
“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.”
It was not the disposable weeping of an unruly filly, but a far more guttural thing. The sobs built up in wracking waves, thickly-caked makeup on the young mare’s face smearing and dribbling down her face as she failed to hold back the tears. And when she thought she could cry no more, as she gasped for breath with raggedy bursts, the tears came again.
She had sunk against one of the kitchen counters in Sugar Cube Corner, constantly rubbing the warm tears from her cheeks, aware of the mess it was making. From her blurred watery vision she could see the sky outside was black, could hear the tick-tocking of the old family clock as it counted down the minutes.
The dance would be starting soon.
That was the one thought, the only thought, that whirled around and around in her head that night. The Ponyville High graduation party. The start of her life as an adult pony where she was supposed to put her silly fillyhood dreams behind her and look forward with bright gleaming eyes to the life that awaited.
The letter she had received earlier that day put paid to any thoughts of that.
She didn’t have a date for the dance. Before, that hadn’t seemed too much of an issue. She had never been a popular pony; the others would laugh at her for being short, squat and dumpy but she had always been assured that it would all work out. Now she knew it never would.
Because of that terrible, crumpled letter that sat on the worktop beside her.
Everypony had found someone to take them to the dance, even that strange pony who was obsessed with fans. Given the odd number of students in the school it was inevitable that there would be somepony without a date, but she had never imagined it would be her at the bottom of the pile. Even then, she had resolved to go and have a good time. Until she read that letter and the enormity of what it said sunk in. How could anypony who ever wanted a normal life ever love her?
Her parents had left the house earlier. They had kissed her and wished her luck, and told her that she looked like such a beautiful little angel in her specially made dress. Now she lay on the floor, her face smudged, her dress crumpled, weeping for the life she knew she’d never have.
She could feel the hot tears pricking treacherously on her cheeks again and sniffled piteously in a vain attempt at holding them back. “I wish…” she half-choked out as she stared at the stars in the night sky through the window. “I wish I didn’t have to be so alone. Oh Celestia, I’d give anything!”
“Anything?”
Cup Cake stopped crying with a start, scrambling to her hooves and looking around in panic as a low, grating voice cut through her self-pity. Her heart fluttered in terror as she realised she wasn’t alone in the house – leaning against the kitchen door was an unfamiliar black pony, his eyes as red as coals as he grinned at her with a crooked smile.
“G-get out!” she squeaked as she backed up against the worktop, her hooves searching for a sharp implement with which to defend herself. Finally she grasped something that felt like a handle and with a cry of “I-I’m armed and not afraid to use it!”, she whipped the object menacingly in front of her, only to discover that it was a half-eaten cucumber.
The stranger just continued to smile, loping awkwardly towards her as if uncertain how legs were supposed to work. His front legs dragged across the ground as he walked, then quickly scampered forwards with a mind of their own. “I was just passing,” he said in a low tone which would have been soothing had it not sounded so rough. “I can’t stand the sound of a young pretty filly crying. And the lock on your front door was broken so I thought I’d investigate.” He threw down a torn and twisted lump of metal, which may have once been a door lock but was now so broken and scratched it looked as if a hundred angry chickens had clawed at it.
Cup Cake screwed her eyes shut momentarily to stop another onset of tears. “I’m not pretty!” she croaked out in defiance. “I’m a horrible ugly fat pony who’ll never be loved! Ever! I’ll never find my special somepony.”
“I see.” There was an odd kindness in the stranger’s voice, though his face remained an inscrutable mask. He slowly shambled towards Cup Cake, though it was such a slow and odd walk that Cup Cake momentarily forgot to feel threatened. “So you would give anything to be loved, Cup Cake? What would you give, I wonder?” He was very close now, so close she could hear his rasping breath, which seemed to come from deep within his body.
“I… I don’t… How do you know my name?” Her eyes flashed into roundels as she suddenly realised how vulnerable she was. “If you touch me I’ll – “
“No. No no no.” There was another attempt of a smile on the stranger’s face, though it was more of a rictus-grin than anything with life and warmth behind it. “You wished for help did you not Cup Cake? Well, here I am. I…” At this point he paused for a moment to crick his neck, his head lolling a bit too much for comfort, his coat bunching and rippling like stretched fabric rather than skin. “I like to help ponies, Cup Cake. Of course there’s always a cost, but I promise you’ll be delighted at the results.”
“Cost?” All thoughts of crying had now left Cup Cake’s mind, as she felt her tears drying on her cheeks. “How much?”
The stranger waved a hoof. It didn’t bend in the right place, and flopped about a bit too much like an oversized glove. “We can deal with that later, Cup Cake. Now, your problem as I see it…” He started to hobble around the kitchen, peering with interest at the pots and pans stacked haphazardly on the worktops. “You’re alone, Cup Cake. You’re growing up and you’ve realised you’ve been left behind by the world. Nopony understands you. Nopony can understand you. There will never be any pony out there who could possibly love you. Am I right?”
Cup Cake gulped hard. “M-maybe,” she whimpered. It all sounded so pathetic and self-centred when she heard it out loud, but there was something the stranger hadn’t mentioned. Something he couldn’t know.
“If it does not exist, then you must build it!” The stranger stopped his investigation of the kitchen and twisted around to look Cup Cake directly in the eyes. “A perfect pony, just for you. He’ll love you forever, he’ll care for you, he’ll always be by your side. He’ll never disappoint you or hurt you. You can have the life you’ve always dreamed of. It doesn’t have to be like this!”
“That’s ridiculous,” Cup Cake whispered with a sniffle. “You can’t make a pony, not even with magic! I’m not a little filly anymore; I know how these things work!”
“Not with pony magic!” The stranger’s eyes sparkled like a flickering flame, and he reached a hoof behind his back to pull out a battered book. Cupcake blinked – there didn’t seem to be any pockets, it was almost as if the pony had pulled the book from beneath his very coat. “But there is magic older than pony magic. From beyond Equestria, from the wild shadow lands that lay under the world. You don’t have to be alone anymore Cup Cake, you can make yourself a perfect life.” He opened the book, placing it invitingly on the kitchen table. “What do you say? Shall we bake a Cake?”
Cup Cake looked at the strange pony and thought about his strange offer. She had never heard anything so absurd before, but in the pits of her despair there was something alluring about the offer. And even if it was nonsense, she had nothing to lose.
“Yes,” she said simply.
The kitchen that night was aglow with life and energy, and for the first time in months Cup Cake broke into a smile. Her mysterious visitor (or ‘Krastos’ as he had later identified himself) had transformed the room into a whirring hive of activity within moments. The oven tops were covered in pots that were boiling over with sweet candy and every inch of worktop was coated in a fine mist of flour as the two mixed cake batter and rolled marzipan.
Cup Cake had never been interested in cooking; it had always been something boring that her parents seemed to obsess over. But watching Krastos dart from cupboard to cupboard, enthusiastically pulling out various ingredients with a song and dance, explaining in great detail the differences between the types of sugar, the techniques of sifting flour, and how to get the exact amount of air into the batter… it all suddenly made so much sense. At first he’d been content to have Cup Cake assist, leafing through the pages of the recipe book and calling out quantities and techniques. Later though as the cooking became more intense and the air became clogged with flour, he made her take the lead. It was, he said, vital for the magic to work that the cake be made with love.
Finally the ovens had disgorged their delicious cargo, and the two piled layer upon layer of cake on the table, until every inch of it was lost underneath a heap of sponge.
“And now,” Krastos had said with a smile, wiping an icing-covered hoof over his forehead. “You make your perfect stallion!”
Cup Cake wasn’t an artist. In her mind she had the picture of the most hunky stallion imaginable, but like her failures in sculpting class, it didn’t seem to want to materialise in solid form. The cylinders of cake she cut for the legs were too thin, and as she built them up with icing, she realised she had made them too long. The body was not firm and muscular, but a stubby tube. And instead of a rugged, handsome face the best she could manage was a crude rectangle balanced atop a long, thin neck.
It looked ridiculous.
Her bottom lip quivered again as she looked over the unsophisticated cake-statue that stood in front of her. Krastos seemed to beam with excitement though, looking over it, carefully dusting icing over any cracks. “It’s good!” he exclaimed, his red eyes shining bright. “I see a lot of skill here Cup Cake, you should be proud! You’re going to be so happy together, I know it.” Together they put the finishing touches on the cake; covering it with a sweet butterscotch coating, threading in a candy tail, even going as far as to rolling individual strands of marzipan for the mane.
Cup Cake took a step back and looked carefully at the pony they had made together which now stood in the middle of the kitchen like some macabre cake statue. It didn’t look much like a normal pony, but the strange, goofy creation had an almost endearing quality to it.
“Is that it?” She looked at Krastos expectantly as he brushed a string of marzipan off his hooves. “Now do you make it real?”
“No.” Krastos trotted across to the table, slowly rolling out a parchment which, like the book, had seemingly come from nowhere. “Now with the prize in view, now we discuss payment Cup Cake.”
Cup Cake looked closer at the gawky cake pony they had made. It didn’t seem possible that it could be brought to life in any way but there was something about it, something she couldn’t put her hoof on, that made her want to hug it and never let it go. “Payment?” her face fell as she moved over to the scroll. “I don’t have much money but maybe… a loan?” She looked at him brightly, her chubby face breaking into a hopeful grin.
Krastos seemed to find this amusing as he let out a low laugh. “I have no interest in money, little pony,” he smiled in that lopsided manner of his. “I seek more… interesting acquisitions. You must realise this Cup Cake, the magic that I will use to bring him to life is old magic, and it comes with old rules.” He looked across at Cup Cake, pointing out various sentences on the scroll. “For all intents and purposes he will have the outward appearance of a real pony. He will think he is real, he will act as if he is real, and he can do everything – “ he gave a wink at this point “–that a real pony can do. But he must never realise he is a cake. The magic will take twenty years to properly cool. The binding ingredient is self-belief; if he should ever realise that he isn’t real he will instantly crumble back into lifeless cake forever.”
Cup Cake nodded mutely, frowning at the scroll. “So I have to make sure he doesn’t realise he’s a cake for twenty years. Is… is that it?”
Krastos shook his head, and his friendly smile sneered slightly. “Oh no that is where I come in. This is the deal, Cup Cake. You can have your perfect stallion. You can have your perfect life. You can even have your perfect family. But if within those twenty years, if he ever discovers he isn’t real and turns back into cake…” somehow within the bright room his expression fell into shadows “…I get your children.”
The kitchen fell into silence as Cup Cake processed the bizarre bargain. “And… that’s it?” she finally replied, a note of trepidation creeping into her voice.
“That’s it.” Krastos swept a hoof over the contract. “It’s convoluted yes, but old magic has old rules which must be abided by. It’s a pain, but if you want a pony, that’s what you need to do, otherwise certain parties might get involved.” He cleared his gravelly throat as if about to launch into a long speech. “Now, you may be wondering why I wa-“
“Yes!” To the surprise of her visitor, Cup Cake pushed herself in front of the contract, and slammed her hoof down at the bottom, leaving a hoof-shaped smear of icing above her name which had been carefully prepared in advance.
Krastos seemed taken aback as he started to stammer slightly, but soon regained his composure. “I had a whole speech planned out! It was going to be very convincing!”
“It was, it was! You get my children, if he turns back into a cake; it’s a tough business but then so’s life!” Cup Cake chirped this almost too lightly, and scooted expectantly over to the cake pony, her tail flapping from side to side in anticipation. “Now, are you going to make him alive?”
“I see…” Krastos rolled up the contract and tucked it back inside his coat somehow as he moved to the cake. He leaned upwards to the head but paused, turning back to Cup Cake who felt as if his blazing eyes were staring deep into her soul. “Do not try to trick me Cup Cake, I’ll find out. That would be very unwise. Very unwise indeed.” With that he reached his mouth to the ear of the cake pony and whispered something that Cup Cake strained to hear. Then he stepped back with a flourish.
“It is done! It will be a few moments before the magic takes effect, so before he wakes, I will bid you farewell!” He turned to leave, sloping towards the doorframe, but before he passed out of view, he gave one final dark smile. “And I’ll be back. I will be back, Cup Cake, no matter what you think. You’ll have your family, you’ll fail, and then everything you hold dear will be mine.”
Cup Cake ignored all hint of menace in the pony’s voice. Instead she was fixated on the cake pony, which seemed to shift and blur with every passing second. The icing shimmered, becoming a fine fur coat. The crude, oblong head softened as the candy features became real. The candy tail slowly began to sway from side to side. Then he blinked.
In front of Cup Cake stood a tall, lanky pony with wide googly eyes who looked about in confusion. “Oh!” he exclaimed in surprise. “Hello, I’m Mr Cake. You’re the most beautiful pony I’ve ever seen. Will you go to the dance with me?”
Cup Cake’s astonishment at the magic actually working was replaced with a smile of absolute joy. She leapt upon her creation, wrapping her forehooves around his thin, scraggly neck. “Yes!” she sobbed, her tears this time ones of happiness as she buried her face in his sweet-smelling mane. “Yes yes yes!” Everything would be better now. She had a stallion who would love her unconditionally, and without any strings attached. Her heart burst with a strange sort of pride as she thought about how she had turned tragedy into her advantage. How Krastos’ contract was meaningless.
For on the worktop, still in that crumpled envelope was that awful letter from the Ponyville hospital, telling her that she would never be able to bear foals.
And that was how Mrs Cake thought she had tricked the devil.
***
“I’m so sorry Mrs Cake, I didn’t realise.” Pinkie sniffled as Mrs Cake finished her story, the room descending into a strange quiet. “Why’s he come back then? Do you think he’s gone now?”
“Let me in little ponies. Or I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll…”
Pinkie Pie and Mrs Cake screamed together, clutching each other as the heavily barred kitchen door splintered, the head of a huge iron axe crashing through the fragments of wood. With a rough tug the axe head withdrew, only to be replaced by a burning red eye that peered into the house. “I can see you Cup Cake!” came the creature’s rasping voice as a scaly claw snaked through the hole and reached towards the lock.
“Go away! Go away!” Mrs Cake snatched up a rolling pin and raced towards the door, battering the hand again and again. It withdrew with a hiss of pain. “There’s nothing for you here Krastos, leave me alone!”
She leapt back with a screech as the axe impacted again on the door, causing the mighty wooden entrance to buckle hard. With a furious scrabbling of limbs, Krastos reached inside and pulled back the bolts, letting the broken door swing open.
“No-one is coming to save you,” he croaked as his blazing eyes swept across the two terrified mares, who once again clung to each other for comfort. He was in some ways like a tree – a tall black cylinder that tapered towards the top. But instead of leaves his entire body seemed to be made up of long strands of thick fur, which swayed as he moved on imperceptible feet. One scraggly claw held a wicked axe, which glinted in the moonlight as he stalked into the house. “My magic has erected a barrier around your happy little home,” he rasped. “Any pony who passes will see your home as it was, perfectly quiet, perfectly untouched.” He raised his axe menacingly. “And of course, they will not hear any screams.”
“But the Princesses wi-" Pinkie stammered, but the creature shushed her, reaching into his deep matted hair to unfurl a scroll, stained with age-old icing, a familiar hoof print stamped at the bottom.
“They will not interfere.” Krastos croaked, shuffling forwards, holding the scroll out to demonstrate his point. “In the past Celestia has stopped me from stealing ponies. But a contract. A contract drawn up with old magic and signed willingly; even she cannot stop that.”
“But what do you want?” Mrs Cake was hugging Pinkie again, her earlier bravado in beating off the attacker long fled. Pinkie could feel the older mare shaking as the odious creature scuttled nearer, her heart racing in her chest as those red soulless eyes blazed down with a look of utter malevolence. “I never had any children. I can’t, I tricked you! Have…” her voice turned to a pale whisper. “Have you come for me?”
“No, Cup Cake.” There was a smug tinge in Krastos’ reply as the creature stopped in front of the pair, his axe shifting in his clawed grasp. Pinkie could almost see a flicker of amusement in those terrible eyes. “I am an old creature, and a patient one. I have watched you from the shadows, watched your happy perfect life.” He started to spit out the words. “I have seen you laugh and play and sing, and now I have returned to take it all from you and revel in your misery. Your life was a fragile illusion, one of make believe. You pretended you had a husband, and in a different way, you pretended you had a daughter.”
A claw reached out from that black mound of scraggly fur to stroke Pinkie Pie’s cheek. She recoiled in disgust.
“No Cup Cake. I am not here for you. I am here for Pinkie Pie.”
***
Pinkie pressed her ear against the kitchen door, straining to hear what was being said. Mrs Cake had convinced Krastos to discuss terms with her in the front room on the pretence that she didn’t want Pinkie to see her beg. The vile creature had seemed amused at this, and agreed; and so for the next ten minutes Pinkie had been listening through the door to Mrs Cake plead for mercy, offer up Sugar Cube Corner, anything to make the monster happy. But he just laughed. Pinkie knew the real reason Mrs Cake had wanted Krastos alone.
She was supposed to run away.
The broken outer door looked inviting as it hung open on its hinges, the clean night air of Ponyville lying beyond. It was so tempting to race outside and hide or get help. Had Krastos been telling the truth, was there really nothing the Princess could do to stop him? She had squinted hard out of the door, and true to Krastos’ word there was a faint shimmer around Sugar Cube Corner, as if a semi-transparent wall had been erected. Would she be able to pass through it, or would Krastos instantly realise she had gone? And what would he do to Mrs Cake if he found she’d escaped?
Mrs Cake’s beseeching wails from the other room got louder, and Pinkie felt her heart sink. She sloped over to the remains of Mr Cake, looking down at them sadly and gripping the fallen head in both hooves, placed it back on the neck. It seemed like the right thing to do.
“I’m sorry Mr Cake.” Pinkie stood before the strange looking cake, hugging herself as she looked at the pile of sponge and icing which had once been so alive. “You’re one of the most wonderful ponies that I know, you’re kind and thoughtful and generous and…” she stumbled over her words as she confessed before the inanimate object “…and you’re like a second father to me. This is all my fault, I never realised that it didn’t matter if you were a cake. You were still Mr Cake, and if you thought you were real then you were real, and that’s all that matters.”
She leaned forwards, and gently kissed the cake on its spongy muzzle. “Goodbye Mr Cake. This is all Pinkie’s fault, so Pinkie will put it right!”
***
“A tempting offer but no, I think I will stick with the original bargain.” Krastos rasped as he stood in the middle of Mrs Cake’s sitting room, the tall black furry monster gripping an axe a macabre contrast with the pleasant soft furnishings that littered the room.
“But… but… what about…” Mrs Cake gulped hard as she wracked her mind for more things to offer the creature, more ways to distract him while Pinkie could escape. “What about me? I signed the contract not Pinkie, it’s me you want!”
Krastos plucked the contract from his furry body and unfurled it, scanning his flaming eyes over the lines. “It doesn’t work like that Cup Cake. She accepted the invitation into your life, she becomes my property. And now…” His clawed digits gripped the axe shaft tighter. “I grow tired of this.”
“Yes, when are we going?” Both Krastos and Mrs Cake turned to see Pinkie marching into the room, clutching a small hastily packed suitcase in her mouth which she carefully placed on the floor before standing beside Mrs Cake.
“Oh Pinkie, no!” Mrs Cake’s face crumpled as Pinkie entered and she seemed to sag slightly, as if a great weight had been placed on her back. “I can’t lose you too Pinkie, not because of my foolish actions.”
Pinkie shook her head firmly. “No Mrs Cake, you took me into your family and loved and cared for me like I was your own, it’s time I paid for the privilege.” She stamped a hoof down and looked up at the bristling mass of Krastos that loomed over her. “Why do you want me anyway?”
“Why Pinkie Pie…” There was a gleam deep in Krastos’ eyes. “I want to make glue with you of course!”
Pinkie’s demeanour suddenly dropped and she clopped her forehooves to her mouth in a shriek. “You want to boil me up into glue?” she squealed in horror.
Krastos was momentarily taken aback by this. “What, no!” his gravelly voice choked out. “No, that’d be horrible. Why would you think that? I want you to make glue with me Pinkie, become my assistant.” He shambled over towards a window, glancing out at the night sky beyond. “I live in a twisted shadow land, Pinkie Pie, in an upside-down dark castle on the underside of the world. In that dank miserable hellhole I skulk with only my glue vats to keep me company. My days are spent foraging in the Nightmare Forest for the right plants to boil into glue. My nights are spent awake, tormented by the terrible screams and cries of the unnatural beasts which lurk outside. There is no light, no laughter, no friendship. I have lived for hundreds of years Pinkie Pie, hundreds of lonely, wretched years.”
He swung around suddenly, shattering a framed portrait of the Cakes. Mrs Cake jumped with a shriek. “Once, years ago, I left my dark castle and journeyed across Equestria on my glue cart. I saw the perfect little lives of you perfect happy little ponies and my heart grew more and more bitter that you had so easily what I did not. So I vowed to ruin it.” A strange scratchy laugh grew in his throat. “I made small deals at first. Perhaps a comb given to a pony whose mane I then took. A never-ending match which burnt down everything it touched. A goose that lay golden eggs which soon produced so much gold it became worthless. I became bolder and bolder; my gifts made those silly ponies so happy and then I took everything from them and revelled in their anguish. They all thought they could trick me Cup Cake, and they were all wrong.”
Krastos turned his attention back to Pinkie Pie, slowly shuffling to the pink pony who was rooted to the spot. “The happiness I gained from making ponies miserable did not last. I still had to return to my dank castle to tend to my glue vats. And then I thought, what if I had a pony to help in my task? To chain up and stir the stinking glue as it bubbled away. To venture into the slimy forest and gather the ingredients. To have another brought down low to my level, that would make my life so much happier. The Princess stopped me from stealing ponies, so I devised a new deal, and I waited. I have waited so very long.”
Pinkie’s eyes twitched at this. “You put an advert in the paper!” she snapped suddenly in a tone that sounded just a bit inappropriately loud. “That’s what you do! You put out an advert for an assistant, you don’t need to go kidnapping or tricking anypony with weird convoluted plans! Just ask nicely!”
A low gurgling erupted from within Krastos, and Pinkie Pie couldn’t tell whether it was supposed to be laughter or anger. “No sane pony would want to work in my glue factory. Trust me, it is a filthy foul place.” He started to slope towards Pinkie Pie, extending a clawed hand. “I do not know whether you would bring your happiness there, or it would break you. Either way, you are now mine forever.” The claw reached out to grab Pinkie by the scruff of her neck. She scrunched her eyes closed.
“Get the hay away from my family!”
Pinkie Pie’s eyes blinked open in surprise. Beside her Mrs Cake had given a loud gasp. Even Krastos turned in astonishment, his flaming eyes blazing with an almost confused look. “That’s impossible!” he rasped. “It’s against all known laws of magic! You’re not real anymore! You’re just a cake!”
Standing in the open doorway, silhouetted by the moonlight that streamed in through the kitchen window was a strange, lumpy pile of sponge in the shape of a pony, slowly shuffling forwards, chocolate button eyes seemingly fixed in a frown. “That’s Mr Cake to you!” He launched forwards, swinging a large oven tray in his spongy hoof at Krastos’ head.
Despite his menacing size, the dark creature was caught by surprise as the tray impacted with a clang on the deep fur that covered his head as it hit something solid within his hairy mass. Krastos screeched in a high pitched scratchy wail, staggering backwards and dropping his axe. Mr Cake took the advantage, leaping atop him and bringing down the tray again and again.
Pinkie picked her jaw off the floor as she watched the bizarre battle, and then coming to a decision, turned to a similarly shocked Mrs Cake. “Quick!” she shouted. “Get him!” Grasping her suitcase in her mouth, Pinkie dashed forwards to swing it at the furry monster who squawked in panic almost like a bird, throwing his thin sticklike arms in front of him in an attempt to protect himself.
Mrs Cake raced around the room, throwing everything she could find at the creature. Crockery, vases, even the picture frame that he had earlier shattered.
Krastos continued to stagger about in panic, but every time he tried to push off Mr Cake, he was attacked by another whack of Pinkie’s suitcase. “No!” he rasped in a frantic tone. “No, I am Krastos the Gluemaker, you should fear m–”
He didn’t get to finish his sentence, as Mrs Cake hauled up a heavy wooden table and hurled it at his head. He collapsed with a final cry onto the floor, looking for all the world as if a large rug with two stick-like arms had been thrown into the room. For that moment, everything was still.
The three ponies stared at the fallen Krastos for a moment half in shock, and then with a cry of joy Mrs Cake dove into Mr Cake’s spongy arms, the biggest smile that Pinkie had ever seen on her face. “I… I thought you were gone forever!” She swiped a hoof over her cheeks to hold back the tears which seemed to be starting to flow freely. “None of it was real, it was all a lie! I made you! I made you love me with magic!” She sniffled, pulling back and looking at the crude icing-covered oblong of cake that was Mr Cake’s face. “Can you ever forgive me?”
“Cup Cake.” Mr Cake pulled away from his wife, taking her hooves in his, looking into her eyes with his chocolaty gaze. “I love you, I’ve always loved you since the moment I saw you. No amount of magic could ever fake that.” He glanced down towards the unconscious Krastos. “There are some things even he doesn’t understand, Cup Cake. I might be a cake, just a collection of sugar and margarine and flour, but it doesn’t matter. I’m real where it counts. Inside.”
“Oh Carrot Cake!” Mrs Cake leant forwards and the two embraced in a kiss. Mr Cake’s features seemed to shimmer and melt, his coat rippling as it turned from cake and icing into fur, his mane flowing back into hair, and his eyes swimming from chocolate into bright pupils, full of life.
Pinkie Pie half smiled with glee, half looked away in embarrassment as the Cakes kissed. It was then she noticed the body of Krastos starting to twitch, one thin limb slowly lifting itself off the floor. “He’s awake!” she squeaked, leaping into the air with a start. “What do we do?”
Mr Cake broke the kiss with a look of anger on his face. “A sack! Get a sack Pinkie, a strong one!”
Pinkie understood. She raced into the kitchen towards the pantry, where empty sacks of flour were stored and grabbed the strongest she could see. Together, the Cakes lifted that horrible creature and bundled him into the sack as he started to awaken with low croaks. His entire body seemed to be fur, there was barely anything to hold onto as they stuffed the fur into the sack, but eventually it was full, bulging with black hair, two red eyes staring out of the top as the sack quivered and swelled as Krastos struggled.
Mrs Cake pulled the drawstrings of the sack tight, and Krastos wailed again, the red eyes that peeked out of the small hole at the top quivering slightly. “Mercy!” he quavered. “Show me mercy, I beg of you!”
With a sharp kick of her hoof, Mrs Cake pulled the string even tighter. “You horrible monster! You horrible evil selfish monster!” she cried out, shaking slightly as Mr Cake put a comforting hoof around her. “I can’t believe I was scared of you for so long! You wicked, wicked thing!”
“What do we do with him?” Pinkie whispered as she watched the shaking sack. It seemed like it might burst at the seams at any moment.
“Let me go!” Krastos’ croaky voice echoed out from inside the sack. “I’ve learnt my lesson, honest!”
“I don’t think so.” Mr Cake started to haul the sack toward the kitchen, eliciting squeals of protest from within. “He’s an evil monster Pinkie, and you know what happens to evil monsters in the fairy tales.”
As Mrs Cake and Pinkie followed the procession into the kitchen, Mr Cake grabbed a rolling pin in his mouth and battered the sack, causing Krastos to whimper piteously, the punches and kicks from within the sack quieting down. Then he placed the entrance of the sack against an open oven door, tipped the contents in and slammed the door.
“There!” His voice heightened slightly with a tinge of anger. “You dare to threaten my family Krastos? You wanted to cause misery and hurt? How does it feel Krastos?” He leaned closer to the closed oven door. “How does it feel when the horseshoe is on the other hoof? Should I bake you like a cake?”
A weak scrabbling came from within the oven as claws scratched at the heavy duty door, and a strange rasping noise started to rise at intervals. To Pinkie’s ears, it was almost like crying. “Let me out, let me out!” he choked, voice muffled by the oven door.
“No, you are a truly evil monster!” Mrs Cake rapped a hoof against the door, causing a shriek from inside. “You have brought only pain and wickedness into this world!”
“Uh, Mr Cake, Mrs Cake?” Pinkie looked between the two with a sad expression on her face. “I know he’s hurt you both, but… may I?” She gently pushed them out of the way, and opened up the oven door a crack. Mrs Cake let out a gasp and went for a rolling pin, but Krastos did not burst out. Instead a clawed hand curled around the small opening, and two red eyes peered out. There was none of the malevolent fire in them from earlier, just the quivering look of a scared animal.
“Mr Krastos…” Pinkie began, gathering her thoughts as she looked at the monster in the oven while keeping a tight grip on the door with her forehooves in case he tried to escape. “Am I right in thinking that you wanted a pony to help you because you hate your job and where you live? And that you go around being nasty because making others feel worse than you makes you happy?”
Krastos was quiet for a moment, then his croaking voice echoed out. “Yes. My castle is the foulest, darkest place imaginable. No light penetra– ”
Pinkie cut him off. “So if you don’t like where you live or what you do, and that’s the only reason you’re so mean, why don’t you move?” She looked at Mr and Mrs Cake. “Why don’t you come and live here?”
“What?” The Cakes chorused, staring at Pinkie as if she was mad.
“It’s not true that he’s only brought pain and wickedness into the world, Mrs Cake.” Pinkie began softly. “He also helped you make Mr Cake, and he’s the nicest, most wonderful pony I know. How can anyone who could do something like that be totally evil?” She opened the oven a crack wider, peering back into its depths. “Mr Krastos, what if you carried on doing nice things for ponies, but then skipped the ‘bargain of evil’ part? Then ponies would like you and you’d have lots of friends. You wouldn’t have to upset ponies to be happy, because you’d be happy anyway.”
The creature in the oven seemed to ponder this. “But I am Krastos the Gluemaker!” he finally rasped. “I live in the dark upside-down castle next to the Nightmare Forest! I boil glue in my glue vats! I am the monster that skulks in the shadows!”
“Well you obviously don’t like doing that.” Pinkie gave her biggest, most heartfelt smile into the oven. “You can be whatever you want. Mr Cake’s a cake but he can be a pony. I’m not related to the Cakes but I can still be their daughter. Lemon Dreams can be a lemon if that’s what makes her happy. Just because you’re a monster doesn’t mean you have to be a monster. It’s a mad crazy world Mr Krastos, you should be whatever makes you happy, not what you think you should be!”
Krastos considered this, his red eyes blinking in the darkness. “But I make glue!” he gurgled. “Who would make the glue if I did not boil it in my glue vats? Making glue is all I am good for, I am the Gluemaker!”
“Somepony else can make the glue,” Pinkie replied calmly as if talking to an errant filly. “Somepony who enjoys making glue. And if nopony wants to make glue then Equestria will have to go without! It’s not worth upsetting someone’s life over!”
Mrs Cake had been quiet up until this point as Pinkie talked, but then she stepped forwards to look into the oven, her expression now free of the earlier hate, feeling only pity. “You’re wrong Krastos,” she whispered down. “That night, twenty years ago, you looked so happy and alive when you were baking. I bet you could be an incredible cook. If you wanted to be.”
“I don’t… have to make glue?” There was a hopeful lilt in Krastos’ reply. “I don’t have to live in my horrible castle?”
“No you don’t.” This time it was Mr Cake’s turn to speak, his own face no longer showing any anger. “You’re welcome to stay here for as long as you want. You made me, so in a way, you’re my father.” He looked down at himself, then at Pinkie and finally Mrs Cake. “We might not be a traditional family but then again, who is? Dad.”
Pinkie leaned over the oven door and reached a hoof into the darkness. “What do you say Mr Krastos. Do you want to give it a go? Do you accept our friendship?”
A clawed hand slowly rose to grasp the tip of Pinkie’s hoof.
“Yes.”
***
The next morning, the residents of Ponyville awoke to a worrying sight. The side door to Sugar Cube Corner had been smashed in as if feverishly attacked with an axe. After a few fruitless knocks on the front door, some of the braver ponies decided to enter.
There in the kitchen, they found a giant hairy monster wielding an axe. And he was using the axe to carefully cut slivers of candied fruit to put in cupcakes. What was further confusing was that neither of the Cakes nor Pinkie Pie seemed at all concerned about this.
The worries of the citizenry of Ponyville at the monster in their midst was soon allayed by the fact that the cupcakes he baked were absolutely delicious.
As the days went by the strange monster was seen about the town, and soon became less a figure of terror and more another valued resident. When he wasn’t baking with the Cakes, he would offer to cut the lawn of neighbours’ houses, build boats for ponies to sail on the lake, even give talks about a variety of exotic subjects at the schoolhouse.
Within a few weeks, Krastos had opened his own restaurant in Ponyville. It served the best salads for miles around.
It was here that Pinkie Pie found herself sitting outside one day, feeling oddly alone as the ponies around her laughed and ate their food in the midday sun. Her own meal sat in front of her, a delicious array of leaves and seeds, sprinkled with a dash of beetroot sauce. It was, critics said, one of the best meals available in Equestria, a taste sensation. With a sigh, she slumped down. It wasn’t making it any better.
“Happy birthday Pinkie Pie!” Pinkie turned her head at the familiar rasp beside her, to see Krastos shuffling into view, an apron and chef’s hat strapped to his tall furry frame. “Don’t be sad Pinkie, it’s on the house! And I have some new ice cream I want you to try – it’s party flavour, tastes of parties!” He pulled a seat up as his waiters bustled about the other table, taking a short break from his tasks. “It wasn’t your birthday present was it? I thought you’d like that!”
Pinkie gave a small smile. “No Mr Krastos, it’s not that.” Amongst all the gifts she’d received that morning was a large box entitled “Flim and Flam’s Homebrew Cider Set.” Apparently she could brew forty gallons of cider in her own home. She wasn’t sure where she would put forty gallons of cider. She swirled her fork about in her salad listlessly.
“It’s good news about the Cakes!” Krastos exclaimed brightly, giving Pinkie Pie a little nudge. “Now Mrs Cake has a bun in the oven!” He paused. “Well, cake. Well…” he leaned in towards Pinkie Pie conspiratorially. “Cakes, plural! She made a bit too much dough, so I thought ‘Krastos old chap, give her a double surprise!’ Now they’ll have two foals instead of one, she’ll be double as happy!”
Pinkie stopped her moping to process this. “Uh… I don’t think it works that way…” she began.
“And I still had some mix left over, so I got a bit creative, gave one some wings, the other a horn, a bit of variety is always good!” Krastos sounded so enthused that Pinkie didn’t have the heart to explain why that wasn’t the greatest idea. He peered at his wrist, around which a large watch had been strapped. “A few more hours of cooking I think, foals are much harder than full grown ponies but it’ll be worth it in the end! Of course they’ll have to sneak them into the hospital, and can’t give them a bath for at least three days…”
He trailed off as Pinkie didn’t respond. “Are you… feeling left out Pinkie?”
Pinkie nodded. “Now the Cakes are having foals, where does that leave me? I thought I had two families, and now I don’t know where I fit in either of them.” She slowly brought out a letter and placed it on the table. There was another rock inside, and the envelope bulged at the seams, the flap sticking open. It had become harder to seal letters after the glue shortage. “My family back home, they still don’t understand me. They still send me rocks. That’s not the pony I am!” She pushed the rock out onto the table glumly.
“Is that all?” Krastos reached around with a scaly claw and gave Pinkie a little hug. “Pinkie, the Cakes still love you, of course they do! Foals don’t change that, you’re still a part of their – our – lives! Haven’t you learnt how important self-belief is?” He reached down towards the rock with his other claw, picking it up and peering at it intently with his red eyes. “And I think your family knows you better than you realise.”
Pinkie gave a start as Krastos crushed the rock in his fist, sending small showers of pebbles down. “What?” she squeaked in surprise, but was cut off as Krastos pushed the rock shards into her open mouth.
It started to fizz and crackle. Pinkie’s eyes shot open with surprise at the miniature candy explosion in her mouth. “Pop rocks!” she exclaimed with a full mouth. She laughed. Krastos laughed.
