A mare lost to the forest must put trust in a creature who's devilish charm leads to sinister demise.
Fluttershy has spent her life in fear of the forest, but on the eve of her 16th year she is sent out on an errand by her grandmare. However a night of frivolity quickly turns to terror, when she finds herself lost to the forest and at the mercy of a strange creature who speaks sweet words with devilish intent.
Gather ‘round dear children, as I craft a tale most foul… Of lost souls and ghastly beasts, of haunted melodies and wicked wonderlands, of dark secrets and darker truths. And perhaps… the tragedy of a young mare who followed the music of her heart… into the forest of the damned.
…
When I was a little filly my grandmare told me to never venture into the forest.
“It is no place for foals,” she’d say, and when I asked why, she would reply, “Something evil has made nest there, child. And to the foolish pony who should dare wander too far…” She paused, then leaned forward in her rocking chair, and I held my breath as she looked me straight in the eye, and said, “—Was never heard from again!”
I learned to fear the wood that night; and every night thereafter, I would look out into the dark thicket behind our home with cold terror, and a creeping intrigue.
My youth was filled with stories of lost ponies and the creatures that stalked them. Once, I had awoken from a nightmare, shaking and terrified of things hiding in the dark. I cried and hid under the blanket; wishing for light to banish the evil of the night. Suddenly, I felt a weight settle beside me, and my grandmare’s soothing voice sang to me sweet nothings until my tears did dry. Not once did she question my fears, nor scold me for waking her at such a late hour. Later, she kissed me on the cheek and tucked me back into bed. However, when I asked her if the stories were true; she paused, then turned to me with a sadness within her soft blue eyes. I waited for an answer, but instead she smiled at me, and then wished me goodnight.
Years later, I began to doubt my grandmare’s authenticity. She was getting on in age, and I was aware of the colorful names the school ponies called her behind my back. She was the “Quack” of the village, the “Storyteller,” and I hid my face every time she would wait for me at schools’ end.
“Granny,” I whined, “I can walk home by myself. I don’t need a chaperone.” My grandmare shook her head and kept a steady pace ahead of me. “You are not old enough, child.” She replied, and I puffed up my cheeks. “I’m sixteen!” I snapped, “The other school ponies can walk home by themselves… why can’t I?” My grandmare stopped and looked back at me then. She raised a brow, and I rolled my eyes, relenting, “Okay, almost sixteen… but still–” My grandmare sighed. “I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a hundred times Fluttershy. You. are. not. old. enough.” She flicked her silver tail at me, punctuating her point, then turned and continued down the path that led to our forest home. Myself begrudgingly following.
As my grandmare walked along the tree line, I noticed the glow of the autumn sun warmed her rosy coat to resemble the deep magenta of my youth. Half a century old, and she still shined with such beauty and grace… while I silently seethed behind her. “It’s not fair…” I mumbled, “When will I be old enough?” I turned my eyes to the long shadow cast by my grandmare. “… when I’m as old as you?” That must have stirred something within her, because my grandmare turned around and walked back to me with a deep-set frown on her elegant face.
“Fluttershy this behavior is abhorring.” She said, “Years past you have never complained, so why do you insist on whining now?” I flinched away from the bite of my grandmare’s words. “Because…” I hesitantly replied, “It’s nearly my birthday, and…” I looked to the honey-colored trees for support, imagining garland and lanterns hanging from their branches. “I’d like to celebrate with my pony friends at the…” Whatever resolve I had before quickly drained under the piercing scrutiny of my grandmare’s icy stare. Silently I made a prayer to Faust before looking up and into the eyes of my one-and-only family. She wasn’t going to like what I had to say next. “… at the Festival?”
My grandmare’s eyes melted from ice to venom, and I withered beneath her gaze.
“Fluttershy.” I swallowed at the lump in my throat, hiding my face from the cruel words I knew would come. “If you value your current privileges… You will walk home with me, eat the dinner I painstakingly prepared for us, and turn in for the night without another word from your pretty little mouth. Do you understand?”
I waited… hoping my grandmare would turn away, but she stood erect and tall before me, like a looming storm— foreboding and humbling.
“Y—Yes, ma’am.”
“Good.” And with not another word, I felt the weight of her presence leave me as her hoofbeats resumed their stride down the dirt path. I didn’t dare look up until we made it home.
…
Later that evening I had just finished setting the table for dinner when I heard the sounds of metal clattering against the floor. I turned and looked to the kitchen, expecting to hear my grandmare curse about the clumsiness of old age… but instead nothing. The silence stretched on as I suddenly felt very alone in the dark old house.
I walked to the archway and peered around the corner. “Granny?” I asked, hoping my grandmare wouldn’t scold me for speaking when I was still being punished for my earlier transgression. “Granny, are you alright?”
My eyes widened and I held my hooves to my mouth to keep from screaming at the sight in front of me. My grandmare lay on top of the kitchen counter lifeless, blood flowing freely from her right hoof.
“Granny!”
I rushed to her side and pulled her body from its slump on the table. “Granny can you hear me!” I felt for a pulse at the base of her neck, and sighed in relief when I found one. She was alive, albeit barely. Carefully, I pushed her body into a nearby chair, shaking her in hopes to rouse her spirit, but no response. I looked around then… seeking something — anything that could help. Her hoof was bleeding terribly, and glancing down I noticed the large hatchet that lay on the floor... covered in blood.
I shivered, and shook my head, trying to keep my wits about me and not succumb to the feelings of dizziness that twisted under my skin. Pulling a rag from the sink, I dipped it in water, then returned to my grandmare. I covered the wound and while tying it off, I watched as the white fabric bled crimson. Entranced, I studied the towel as it was slowly engulfed by the bloody mess. Minutes past… until the sounds of hoarse mumbling woke me from my stupor. I looked to my grandmare and saw her blinking wearily as she gazed through me with a sickly pale stare.
“Granny!” I threw my arms around her in a desperate embrace. “You’re awake! Oh thank Faust!”
“… Fluttershy?”
“Yes Granny, Its me! Oh I was so worried!” Tears flowed freely from my eyes as I hugged her again, but my grandmare looked lost. “Granny?” I asked, confused as to why she looked as if she was searching — No, hoping for somepony else. Finally, my grandmare turned her eyes away from me and said, “It’s nothing child.” And I felt the weight of her hoof on my waist as she tried to separate herself from our embrace. Reluctantly, I loosened my grasp and stepped back from a mare who suddenly didn't resemble the only family I had ever known, and known to love.
“Granny… why are you—”
“I said it is nothing.” Her voice sliced through the air like the edge of a knife. “Just a cooking accident is all. Nothing to worry about.”
“But Granny…”
“I said not to worry, Fluttershy!” The thunder that boomed from her anger caused me to flinch as if stricken by lightning. “Child, please... I have much to do, and little time—” She glanced to the cutting block and sneered at something, cursing under her breath. “Ruined!” She exclaimed, and I heard a crash as she knocked a bowel off the table. It came crashing down to join the hatchet on the floor. Hesitantly, I glanced at its contents. It was black, and smelled faintly of fresh earth mixed with autumn spice. I looked up and caught the rigid stature of my grandmare’s backside. I knew she was upset, but why? I glanced at the table and noticed several bottled herbs scattered about. They looked… foreign, exotic, and nothing I had recognized from my books on botany. I meant to ask my grandmare, but before I could open my mouth, the cold tone of her voice cut through the silence between us.
“Fluttershy, we are out of bread. I need you to go to town and buy a loaf.”
I blinked. My grandmare refused to turn and acknowledge me as she quickly began to gather up the strange bottles and stack them in the pantry. “But… Granny. Haven't we got that rye you bought only a few days prior?”
BANG!
I jumped as the hooves of my grandmare lay flat across the table. Her head slowly turned and her eyes met my own. I could only see the whites, but I swore they glowed under the cast of the bleeding evening light.
“Go.”
It was all she had to say. I swiftly skittered to my hooves, and ran out of the kitchen and into the parlor to retrieve my traveling cloak. Just as I was dressed and ready to embark, my grandmare was waiting by the foyer, examining the fading horizon outside the hall window.
“It will be dark soon... The night is yet upon us.” My grandmare turned from the crimson glow and looked me up and down. “You have your purse, then?” I nodded and she turned back to the sunset. “Alright, I expect you home before nightfall.” She closed her eyes and sighed. “There are a great many things I must attend to before moonrise, and fortunately for you, I cannot spare the time to make excursions into market.” Opening her eyes once more, she stared endlessly into the dying sun and said, “Therefore… I will allow you to make this journey on your own.”
“M-Make the journey on my own…” I mumbled. “Y-You mean… Alone? You are letting me go out alone?” And at night?
I could hardly believe what I was hearing. My grandmare accompanied me whenever we traveled to town, and scarcely left my side. Why was she suggesting I travel unchaperoned now? And on the eve of Hallows’ Night?
“Fluttershy.” My grandmare continued, “You have been a doting and cooperative grandfilly. Little have you questioned, and much you have accepted without facet… But—” Smiling, she turned fully from the window and raised a hoof to my face. There was a secret sadness hidden behind her smile. A sadness I couldn’t put words to, but felt all the same. “I have heard your weeping at night.” I gasped. “And—” She continued, her smile wilting. “I have seen the longing in your eyes when you look upon the autumn festivities.” My grandmare paused, searching my eyes, and again, I thought she was seeking something... something that wasn't there. Finally she relented, and that same smile that hid the depth of her sorrow appeared again. “I’m sorry… I wish I could have been a better mother to you.”
Tears began to pour from my eyes. I grasped her old hoof in both of my own, and rubbed my face along it's cracks. “Oh Granny,” I sobbed, “You have been more than a mother to me. You have been my friend, my confidant.” I looked into her eyes, smiling, when I said, “And I love you for it.”
A moment passed between us, still and silent, when my grandmare glanced back to the window and frowned at the crimson glow. “You must go.” She said, and pulled her hoof from my grasp to lay it on my shoulder. “Fluttershy, by the last light of Celestia’s sun, you must return home. This I cannot stress enough.” Her deep-sea eyes, which only moments before held such love, were frozen over, cold as ice once more. “Should you fall stray… You will be lost to me. Forever.”
Frightened, I swallowed the lump in my throat as my cruel mind jumped to staggering conclusions. Lost to her? Forever? What does that mean? Does she intend to cast me out on the streets?
I wanted to ask—no—I wanted to crumple into her embrace, just as I did in my youth—sobbing as she rubbed my back and sang sweet nothings to soothe my fright. The joy and excitement I felt at the prospect of experiencing the festival, soon melted away until all that remained was the cold chill of foreboding that loomed over my head, like the shadow of my grandmare.
She stood between myself and the door, looking just as tall and intimidating as I remembered from my fillyhood. She awaited my reply, and silently, I nodded my head—giving into her veiled threats and frigid warnings.
Satisfactory with my consensus, my grandmare stepped aside and opened the door into the crisp autumn evening of Hallow’s eve.
“Go now. Be quick. Be wary. And return home to me… my Fluttershy.” And as I walked out into the shimmer of the sunset’s dying light, I caught sight of a single tear as it slid down my grandmare’s cheek just before she turned away, and shut the door behind me.
His treats are sweet, but fillies beware. He sleeps where the arrows meet, so tread the forest with care. His songs are lies, but trust you must, in his care. For dark is the forest deep, but overhead he looms. Waiting in the tree where harmony blooms. By the 13th hour the end is nye, so begin again, he’ll cry—“I am the forest, and a knight of dark suits. But she who is not afraid of my darkness, will find banks full of roses under my roots.”
…
The festival was in full swing when I arrived in town, colors and smells assaulting my senses as I wondered aimlessly through crowds of costumed revelers.
How I wished I could join in their frivolity, but my grandmare’s dark warnings weighed heavily on my soul. I shivered at the thought of disobeying her, and instead, searched the market, seeking out the familiar shopfront of the Bakery.
Past the Alehouse I walked, nodding to the drunken ponies swinging mugs of hot cider as they sang sweet tunes together. Past the Bookshop I walked, giggling as the bookkeep dressed as a Timber Wolf, spun tales full moons and fevered dreams to wide-eyed colts and fillies. Past the Sweetshop I walked, blushing as I squeezed by a pair of lovers, their hooves locked and feeding each other candied apples as they cooed and flirted with one another.
I smiled as I took in all the joy and laughter surrounding me. Sixteen years I had spent this night alone in my room; looking out into the horizon and imagining the celebration hidden beyond the forrest shade. I didn’t understand my grandmare’s aversion to this holiday, but I learned early on not to question her judgement. She was my elder, and I her charge. Without her, I had nothing.
Saddened by my dark thoughts, I hadn't noticed the hoof on my shoulder until I was pulled into the shadows of a nearby alleyway. Wide-eyed, I whipped around on my assailant, only to be met by a giant lollipop thrust into my face.
“My little pony, why so sad? This is a night for laughter and smiles, not frowns and sorrow!”
I blinked and looking past the black and orange swirls of the treat, I saw a pair of sparkling green eyes and a matching smile. Folding my ears back, I blushed in embarrassment and replied, “Oh no… I’m fine. Really.”
The green-eyed pony leaned closer, and though I tried in vain at making myself look smaller, he eyed me up and down. An awkward silence settled between us as he stared at me, then—just as sudden—he nodded once and stepped back, swinging the lollipop over his shoulder with the movement.
“Yep, yep. Just as I thought.” He said, nodding again. I noticed then that he wore a large sombrero that partially hid unruly brown curls beneath its wide brim. A colorful poncho matched this ensemble and complimented his sunny-colored coat. And although I had no idea what he was dressed as, I had to admit it suited him. Especially against the glow of the evening sun.
“—No costume, either.”
I blinked again and internally berated myself for not paying attention. “When somepony is speaking you must be quiet and listen attentively,” my grandmare would say. Oh how she would scold me if she knew I had let my mind wander… But my grandmare wasn’t here, was she? Surely, I can afford a little day dreaming from time to time? I nodded my head, and with that thought in mind, I gazed back up at the pony who was giving me the oddest look in return. Oh dear.
“Um… I’m sorry, uh—sir.” I mumbled, softly pawing the ground. “My mind was elsewhere…Um, would you mind repeating?”
Smiling, the pony replied, “Why certainly! The name’s Cheese Sandwich, and you my little pony, look like quite the sorry sight for such a sensational celebration!”
“Cheese Sandwich?” I repeated, and quirked my eyebrow at the peculiarity of the name. “Surely that can’t be your real name… can it?”
The laughter in Cheese’s eyes suddenly vanished, and his face grew cold when he asked, “Why, does my name sound funny to you?” His tone daring me to agree. “Does it make you laugh?” Blushing, I shook my head. I tried to step away from him, but he stepped forward; invading my space again. “Am I a joke to you?” He continued, “Do I amuse you… Huh?!” The strange pony loomed over me now; his eyes blazing fires of green indignation. “Well-now, If you think that’s funny… Then I have a joke for you.” He leaned forward until our faces were almost touching, then with a menacing voice, he asked, “What’s Pink, Yellow, and Red all over?” Terrified, I let out a squeak. But the pony was relentless and with eye’s alight he replied, “YOU!” … And burst out laughing.
I was dumbstruck. I watched mutely, as this curly haired maniac barked out laughter until tears formed at the creases of his eyes.
“You should see the look on your face!” Cheese exclaimed, laughing anew. “I can’t believe I had you going! You were shaking like a leaf!” I frowned, and the pony tried to muffle his giggles when he said, “What can I say, darling?” He shrugged his shoulders, “My jokes are just that cheesy.” And I swore I could hear the echo of a rimshot in the distance.
“Well, I don’t find your humor appealing, Sir.” I bit back, and held my head high as I turned from the pony with a swirl of my cloak. I started walking down the alley, but Cheese Sandwich caught up with me; sporting a concerned look upon his brow.
“Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend.” He offered, but I ignored him. I tried to quicken my pace, but the sudden appearance of a certain giant lollipop had blocked my path again. Annoyed, I turned my eyes back to the smiling fool of a pony. “Leave me alone!” I barked, “I have errands to run.” I tried to move past the obnoxious confectionary, but Cheese’s hoof on my shoulder stopped me. I swear, if he grabs me one more time…
“Listen…” He said, and ground his teeth when I turned my head away, “Would you listen to me!”
I jumped at the sudden bite of his tone and looked him straight in the eye. Cheese Sandwich tried to smile, but then sighed and scratched at the back of his neck. “Shucks, it was just a bit of fun. I meant no harm—honest.” He swung the lollipop back and forth as he looked to the ground, and said, “So… I’m sorry. There: I said it.” He dared a glance at my face and smiled again, “No hard feelings?”
I rolled my eyes; regretting what I was about to say. “Fine. Apology accepted—But!” I paused, giving his goofy face a disapproving once over. “If you so much as disturb me with your pandering buffoonery, I will yield the constable post–haste, and without second thought.” I cocked an eyebrow, daring him to test the depth of my threat, but the strange pony simply laughed; and removing his sombrero, bowed deeply to me in mock—or perhaps, genuine sincerity—I wasn’t sure which.
“If I may be so bold, my dear.” The fool pony began, replacing his hat upon his brow. “The crowd grows larger and more manic by the hour, and if it is errands to which you must attend, then by all means: allow me to accompany you on this quest. Surely my quick wit and fluent knowledge of this festival can be of some use to an out-of-towner such as yourself.”
“Out-of-towner?” I repeated, “What makes you think I am not local?”
Cheese Sandwich barked out a laugh and waved a hoof in front of my face. “Oh goodness No! Darling, you have all the trimmings of a fresh-from-the-farm filly, cut from the same cloth as that of a babe: innocent to the world around you, yet curious of its mystery.” His smile turned serpentine as he trudged onward, “And—while you lack the hostility born of large cites with little privacy, you also lack the sense born of careful concern. You trust too easily, and your faith in the faithless will be your undoing, my dear.”
I noticed something then; something in his eyes. The joy and frivolity that always twinkled within was suddenly sucked out, revealing my hallow reflection as I stared back into the empty black of his pupils.
A cough from Cheese Sandwich told me I had been caught staring and quickly looked away. “Well then, be that as it may, I have enough sense to not share discourse with strange and beguiling ponies. So, no sir—I will not be needing your aid for my ‘quest,’ as you call it. For I am not some heroine in a story sent into the dragon’s nest, but a simple farm filly, cut from the same cloth as a babe, and just as foolish for the company she keeps.” I said, and started walking down the alley again. “And, by-the-by good sir.” I reproached, and turned my head back to the dazed pony. “As I recall, it was you that demanded my attention, not the other way ‘round.” And with a flick of my tail I turned, rounded a corner, and walked back into the light and lively musings of the festival crowd. Leaving the pony known as “Cheese Sandwich” to wallow in darkness and filth.
Once back amongst the living, I walked to a nearby food cart and inspected its wears for any breads to which my grandmare would approve. Sadly sticky buns and sweet rolls were not what I was hoping for. When I asked the merchant if the bakery was still open, he shook his head and told me that all stores had closed early this night, save the pubs and eateries. “Iffyn' it’s bread you be wantin’, you’d best be waitin’ until tomorrow morn’ when the Baker is fresh from his evenin’ romps.” He laughed then; at some dark, personal joke of his. “But I’d still be waitin’ until mid morn’ at earliest… You see, the Baker likes the drink somethin’ fierce. And on holidays, he’s been known to stay late at the Alehouse, slapping mead and buttered buns, iffyn’ ya know what I mean.” The merchant winked at me and I could see the sly leer in his eyes as he gave me a once over. “Sweet pumpkin like yerself… Could probably use a bit of lovin’ from mead and pleasant company…” He raised a hoof to his plump face, giving it a lick, then slicking back the mats of his mangled mane. “I’m available iffyn’ ya need it… pumpkin.” He said, grinning again; and I barfed a little in my throat.
The stallion leaned over the edge of the cart, and I could smell ale on his breath. He wiggled his eyebrows at me, and I smiled faintly, turning my head away in faux coyness, as my eyes desperately searched for a possible exit out of this fresh Hell I had found myself in.
It was then that I noticed him… talking amongst several country stallions. He wore a straw hat, but his wheat-blonde hair, bleached by long days spent toiling under Celestia’s sun, shown like a halo under the shimmering embers of her dying light. I looked upon him and sighed. Big Macintosh.
I felt the blush before the merchant pony commented on the rosy color of my cheeks. Hastily, I mumbled an excuse, and pardoned myself as I trotted near by the group of farm ponies that buzzed around Big Mac like bees to honey.
“—And she was right smitten, I tell ya! Pretty young thing too. Thighs that could pop the corks off wine bottles! Too bad about the accident though… Otherwise I’d have bucked that one ‘till mother morn’!”
The group of ponies laughed, and behind the shade of my cloak, I peered to see if Big Mac had joined in the crude humor of his fellow stallions. He did not; and the thudding in my chest subsided some.
“Now hold on, Budwick. I reckon she’d be worth a lay, iffyn’ she could still squeeze them thighs of hers. Who cares about the face if the body’s doin’ all the work, amirite fellas?”
The stallions laughed again, and I had to bite my tongue from calling out to these pigs-in-pony-fur to be the swine they were. How dare they speak so horribly about some poor mare afflicted with a terrible fate!
“—Ey! Right you are, Daryl! What else ‘er mares for any-dang-way?”
“Well Billy, if they ain’t buckin’, they best be suckin’!”
I had heard enough. I marched up to the crowd, intending to teach these country bumpkins a lesson in manners of court, but just before I could open my mouth, Big Mac opened his instead.
“Daryl shut it. It ain’t funny the first time, and it ain’t funny now.” Big Mac said, and pushed past the other ponies with a disapproving glare. “Now I’ve got a fair share of chores to do before day’s end, and Faust knows’ I ain’t gonna finish postin’ these flyers with you lot talkin’ up my ear.”
The other stallions were quick to agree with Big Mac, calling out Daryl for his misogynist rhetoric. “Daryl,” the pony in question; was a dark grey stallion with greasy black hair and bags under his eyes. He sneered at Big Mac, revealing several large gaps between yellow teeth.
It was then I noticed Big Mac walking in my direction, and thinking fast, I quickly hid behind a nearby trash bin. As the gaggle of ponies trotted past me, Daryl was slow to follow; but as he straggled behind, I heard him mumble, “— and it’s you who should be shuttin' his mouth, Big Mac…” And I was left wondering to what he meant.
Big Mac pulled a hammer and some nails from the pockets of his overalls, and it was then that I recognized his costume for what it was: a scarecrow; and giggled at the little bits of hay that stuck out from his collar and sleeves.
“Ey… Did the trashcans just giggle?” Uh oh…
I was panicking. A cold, sweaty, nauseating sort of panic; when a mule-looking pony poked his big nose into the bins next to me. “Swear I heard somethin’…” He said, and nudged one of the bins aside. Meanwhile, I was trying in vain to flatten my body up against the wall behind me, praying to Faust that I wouldn’t be found.
“Billy-Jo, getch’yo head outta the trash!”
“Ey, Buddy!” The mule-faced pony called back, “I swear… somethin’ funny’s goin’ on ‘round ‘ere. I can smell it.”
Budwick rolled his eyes. “You sure you ain’t just smellin’ trash, Billy?” He droned, and laughed at his own joke. But the the mule-faced pony’s ears drooped at the insult. “Buddy, why you gotta be so mean to me, eh?” Billy asked as he walked back to the group; the trash bins momentarily forgotten.
Behind the bins I let out a breath I’d been holding, and sighed in relief when I realized, that between the group, Big Mac was the brains of the outfit. Feeling like I could finally relax, I stretched my legs out beneath me. However my moment of peace was short-lived when I felt my hoof make contact with something metal, knocking it over. Cursing my luck, I watched helplessly as a small tin can rolled out from my hiding spot, and into the light. Its echo was loud against my ears as it rolled to a stop in front of several hoofed feet.
“Ey… Now wait a moment… Where did this come from?” Billy asked, scratching the back of his head as he inspected the can.
“Rats, Billy. Pay it no mind.” Budwick replied, narrowing his eyes at the mule-pony’s idiocy.
“But Buddy, I see no rats.”
“Probably small ones then.”
“… Or one big one.” A new voice interjected, and the other ponies turned to see Daryl sneak up on the bins, and with a mighty shove of his hooves, pushed them all over in one swing.
“Well, well…what do we have ‘ere?”
I was stuck. I knew it. They knew it. And suddenly, I found myself looking down the business-end of three disgruntled stallions as they towered over me.
Oh Fluttershy… How do you get yourself into these situations?
“Fluttershy?”
I blinked and looked up into the curious green eyes of a ruby-coated pony dressed as a scarecrow. Big Mac had paused in his hammering, nails in mouth, and looked down at me like I had grown a third head. Oh dear.
Thoughts raced through my mind on what I should say or do. However, I had no talent in the art of deception, and knew that any lie I could conjure would sound false to the ears who heard it. I was left with one option then… the truth. I opened my mouth to explain myself, when for the second time that night, Big Mac had opened his instead.
“It is you… innit?” The large stallion asked. He smiled, then added, “Yes. It is. I can see that now.”
Big Mac nodded his head, and pocketing his hammer and nails, he pushed past Daryl’s seething visage, and offered a hoof to me. I gladly took the offered hoof, and marveled at the farm pony’s incredible strength as he effortlessly pulled me to my own hooves.
“Th-thank you, Big Mac.” I mumbled and smiled shyly at the larger pony. Big Mac smiled back and pulled his hat from his head, dipping his head low in a gentlecolt’s bow. “Now I don’t mean to intrude Fluttershy, but I gotta ask: why were you hiding in garbage?” Oh. That… “Well um…” I looked between Big Mac and the other stallions, noting their looks of confusion and mistrust. As my grandmare would say, ‘I was a ripe pickle itchin’ for the soak.’ And Daryl’s venomous stare wasn’t helping any… “I uh… well you see… My granny asked me on an errand and—”
“THAT’S WHERE I KNOW ‘ER FROM!”
All eyes turned to Billy-Jo, who’s mule face was alight with excitement. “I knew she looked familiar! I knew she did, Buddy—I knew she did!”
“Knew what, Jackass?!” Budwick shot back, indignation dripping from his rough features.
“—That she’s kin to that witch what lives over yonder!” Billy all but belted out, and smiled a bucktoothed grin at his own personal moment of self-enlightenment.
Daryl turned back to me with a snide grin on his sour face. “That so, little one? And what would that make you, eh? Other than a dirty little rat.” He laughed then; a hoarse, grating noise that caused me to wince from its sound. “And ‘ere I thought witches to be ugly and wrinkled. Innit that right boys?”
Billy and Budwick hollered their agreements, calling me lewd names and making gestures to my rump. Embarrassment then gripped me within it’s claws, and I hid my face behind my mane in shame. “—And, and–!” Billy-Jo continued, “I ‘ear that witch has a taste for pony-flesh! Ate her own daughter, she did!”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Is this what ponies thought of my grandmare?
“—I don’t care iffin she eats foals!” Daryl cut in, “What I want to know…” He leaned in to me, and with a mouth full of crooked teeth, replied, “…is why this lil’ filly was spyin’ on us?” His face was very close now, and I had to turn my head away from the smell of his rancid breath.
“That’s enough, Daryl.”
The sickly-looking pony turned from me with a raised eyebrow on his wrinkled face. “And what have you to say, Big Mac?”
“I don’t much like witnessin’ you intimidate this poor mare.” Big Mac said, and from where I stood I could see the growing embers of green fire that swelled behind his eyes. “And This…” Big Mac placed a hoof against the smaller stallion’s chest. “—Is what I’ve to say!” And with a push, Daryl was sent face first into the ground.
“Can’t ya’ll see she’s terrified?” Big Mac called out, “Ya’ll ‘ve scared her half to death!”
The other ponies fidgeted where they stood, looking awkward under the disapproving gaze of the larger stallion.
“But Big Mac…” Billy timidly began, “Them stories… about the witch castin’ curses and eating ponies…”
“Shush!”
Billy clammed up fast, looking to Budwick who just shook his head; equally bemused by their friend’s uncharacteristic outburst.
“Now ya’ll know better than to go on believin’ in fillytales.” Big Mac reprimanded, “And boys, this here ain’t no witch—” He said, and turned back to me with a smile on his handsome face. “—But a schoolfilly friend o’ mine by the name of Fluttershy.”
I blushed. Did Big Mac really know who I was? I had barely said five words to him during any of our classes together! But he obviously noticed YOU, my ego chided.
Big Mac opened his mouth again, but I found myself lost within his eyes. However, before he could utter a word, a sooty grey hoof came hurdling towards his jaw! I screamed. Big Mac dodged. And pulled his front legs around Daryl’s neck as the greasy pony sputtered drunken obscenities.
“Woo-wee! ’Fraid ol’ Daryl’s had one too many, ey?” Big Mac asked, and chuckled as the grey stallion thrashed behind his grasp.
“Boys, would you mind escortin’ our friend here home? Somethin’ tells me he ain’t in the right mind to make the trip ‘emself.” The other stallions agreed and helped Big Mac wrestle their drunken friend from his hold.
Silently, I watched the farm ponies drag their friend away; but not before I caught his seething glare. And although I knew a drunken lout like Daryl was no threat to me, it didn't stop the swell of doubt from climbing up my throat.
“Phew… Glad that’s over.”
I turned my attention back to Big Mac; he was smiling at me with that same lazy warmth within his eyes. Instantly I felt at ease.
“Thank you, again.” I say, “For… you know.” And lowered my eyes as a blush began to warm my cheeks.
“Oh, pay it no mind.” Big Mac replied, “Them ponies have all had one too many iffin’ya ask me.” And punctuated his point with a wink.
An awkward silence stretched between us then, and suddenly I felt the need to look for a distraction.
“So…” Big Mac begins, beating me to the punch. “How have you been enjoying the festival?”
Smiling sadly, I reply, “I haven't had a chance to sample it’s frivolity, I’m afraid. You see, I’m on an errand for my grandmare, and I cannot afford the time to sway from her request.”
“Beggin’ yer pardon?”
I look around at our surroundings and sigh. “I must return home by sundown or my grandmare will surely be cross.” I notice Big Mac’s face falling, and I quickly reply, “—But I am happy to experience the festival at all. Really, it is so whimsical and grand. How I have dreamed to be here this night for so long… Just being a part of such a magical experience is more than enough for me.” I tried to hide my disappointment behind a reassuring smile, but I could tell Big Mac wasn’t buying it.
“Well that’s no fun,” the farm horse replied, “No point in enjoying the festival if you ain’t enjoying the festival, ‘Shy.”
At the sound of the nickname, my little blush bloomed into full-on embarrassment. “W-What do you mean?”
Big Mac smiled again, and pulled something from his overalls. He showed me the flyer and I read it’s contents aloud. “Sweet Apple Acres presents: The 51st annual Haunted Corn Maze” I paused and looked up to Big Mac. “A corn maze? What’s that?”
Big Mac’s eyes practically bulged out of his skull, dropping the flyer from his mouth. “Ya don’ know what a Corn Maze is?!”
I swallowed and shook my head. Was I supposed to know what a Corn Maze was? Would he ridicule me for it? My face must have been the color of a tomato by now. Oh, why do I always freeze up like this?
Then suddenly, Big Mac laughed. And all my negative thoughts were blown away by the sound of his hardy guffaw.
I pouted and couldn’t help but ask, “What’s so funny?”
“You are, Shy!” He laughed some more, then wiped a tear from his eyes before saying, “Ya tell me you haven't never explored a Corn Maze before, and yer expectin' me to just explain it to ya? Ha–Ha!”
My pout must have soured, for Big Mac’s laughter finally died down. “Alright, well we better getta’ movin’, ey?” He smiled and winked at me again. I stared blankly at him. Moving? Where? But before I could utter a word, his strong hoof grasped my own and pulled me along beside him.
“Wait!” I yelped, struggling to keep pace. “Where are we going?”
I heard that strong bark of laughter again, followed by Big Mac’s southern accent as he replied, “—To the Corn Maze of course!”