> So Many Different Ways to Prey
>  by Loganberry
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> So Many Different Ways to Prey
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Now gather round me, children, and then you
Shall hear a story – no, not Daring Do.
More thrilling still than that intrepid mare;
More frightening than Fluttershy and bear.
For this, my little ponies, is the tale
Of how a colt went far beyond the pale.
What did he do? I'll tell you, by and by:
But first of all, please have some apple pie.
It's really rather tasty – thank Big Mac
For bringing it. Who baked it? Applejack.
Oh, do be careful, Southern Skies – watch out!
Stay on the ground, and don't give me that pout.
Behave, now, everypony, and be still.
I guarantee this story has a thrill
Or two in store for all of you – and fear...
For this colt lived in Ponyville: right here!

Well may you gasp at that; I swear it's true
The subject of this horror tale, like you
Was just a normal student at the school.
He never broke a really major rule.
Though little bits of mischief, I'd have thought
Were not above him, in the end he wrought
Disaster on his home town – yes, this place.
So deep and lasting was this colt's disgrace,
His name was nigh unspoken for a year
And even now it could not reappear
In normal days without a nasty fight,
So let's be thankful this is Nightmare Night
When strange and spooky stories may be told,
When hearts beat fast and ponies' blood runs cold,
When shiver spines and sweat may trickle down...
This colt brought Newborn Cuties to our town!

I see no great reaction... you, Fine Snow!
Please don't do that. It isn't nice, you know.
But clearly you're too young to realise
The utter shock, the horror and surprise
That Has-Been – yes, that really was his name;
Don't ask me why – brought to us when they came.
"What is a Newborn Cutie?" That, you see,
Was also what we asked back then when we
Thought Has-Been had invented them for fun:
We did not know that we would turn and run
In terror at these creatures – that's what I
Will call them, for... oh, hello, Pinkie Pie!
That turtle outfit suits you very well.
Oh, sorry, tortoise; thank you, Sweetie Belle.
These creatures, as I say, really cannot
Be reckoned ponies, not one single jot.

At first glance they may seem equine as us,
With hooves and manes and tails and suchlike, plus
They understand us well, and they can can speak;
Can talk to ponies – though their voices squeak.
However, young ones, should you ever dare
To chance upon a Cutie in her lair,
And summon up the courage for to gaze
Upon her countenance, then in a daze
And, surely, horrified you'd have to gawk:
Their mouths, they do not open when they talk!
Their lips are fixed; their tongues unmoving too,
A very scary thought to me or you.
Just why these creatures operate like this
Is quite unknown, though it would be remiss
Of me to pass on blithely and not say
That neither do they eat delicious hay!

I've frightened you, I see that, but in fact
What may have even greater an impact
Is that these Newborns live, not in the wilds,
But on their own, in houses! Though a child's
Appearance is their public face, it's thought
There must be something deeper; that there ought
To be an explanation. Can it be
Their habit of inviting ducks to tea?
Right! Who said "Pinkamena"? That's unkind;
Apologise, Blue Glint. I've half a mind
To stop this tale of woe right here and now,
And send you home – be thankful I'll allow
You all to stay here with me, but you must
Behave yourselves much better. Well, I trust
That's put an end to silliness. Now hark!
For this is where my tale becomes quite dark.

You see, Has-Been was playing on the plain
And galloping along after the train
To Canterlot, but day was almost done,
And with a jolt he realised he'd run
So far away that he was lost, because
He saw no friends; had no clue where he was!
Earth pony as he was, he could not fly
To have a look about him from the sky;
He had no magic spells to help him out,
And in his mind there grew a sickly doubt:
Perhaps his friends and parents did not know
Where he had gone! It was a bitter blow.
He stood alone and frightened, as the dark
Began to close about him. Then, a spark
Of hope coursed through him, like a blinding flash:
He called out for his hero: "Rainbow Dash!"

The pegasus was young then. As you know,
This story happened quite some years ago,
So some of you were barely even born,
But fame and glory were what she had sworn
Already to achieve before too long,
Determination had she, clear and strong
To gain admission to the Wonderbolts.
So it was not surprising that the colt's
Attention turned to Rainbow, even then
He hollered, "Help! Please help me!" once again.
And then, out of the corner of his eye
A flash of cyan did our Has-Been spy.
His joy was unconfined; it filled his heart,
But when he turned, he gave a sudden start.
"I'm Rainbow Dash!" he heard, but other things
Fell on deaf ears: this filly had no wings!

Not only that: her mane a pinkish hue,
Her eyes were multicoloured; staring, too. 
She could not be our Rainbow, that was clear,
The colt he shivered, in the grip of fear:
For when she'd spoken, he had had to flinch:
Her lips they'd stayed quite still; not moved an inch!
At last his muscles overruled his brain:
He turned and galloped out across the plain.
He knew not where he went, for good or ill:
By chance, he headed back to Ponyville!
The Rainbow Dash impostor crawled behind,
Her gait unnatural to ponykind.
When Has-Been risked a rapid backward look,
He almost froze with terror – and what shook
Him more than anything had done before
Was not one Newborn Cutie there, but four! 

Eventually the colt reached City Hall,
And, terrified, screamed for "Somepony! All
You clever ponies, brave ones, we need help!
These monsters! Stop them!" Then he gave a yelp
And hid behind a crate... look, Sunlit Plain,
Dirt's not to eat; I won't tell you again.
Celestia! I don't know why I try
To tell these tales. I won't turn a blind eye,
To such behaviour, let there be no doubt.
I will not hesitate to throw you out
If you don't wait and listen as you should.
Let's get back to the story, shall we? Good!
From Has-Been's hiding place he saw, quite clear
A little orange Cutie face appear:
A gasp he stifled, for quite well he knew
That Newborn based herself on Scootaloo!

Another looked a bit like Sweetie Belle,
Though with a manic grin dredged up from of hell –
Tartarus, as you call it, for its name
In your country and mine's not quite the same.
The final creature crawled in from the dunes,
Like Pinkie Pie her cutie mark, balloons...
But she was just a baby, so how could
Her mark be there? Let it be understood:
The pattern was not on her hide like mine,
But printed on her clothing! The design
Was just like Pinkie's, how I do not know,
Some terrible, strange magic maybe, though
Our ponies didn't have the time to pause
And think about such niceties. The flaws
Of such inaction surely all too clear
To you, though you weren't here that fateful year.

The one who looked like Scoot bounced up and down,
She shook her head and giggled like a clown,
And though we asked her what she meant by that,
She only answered, "Butterfly!" then sat
Unmoving by a duckpond, with a gaze
So vacant that she might have lingered days
Before somepony realised that she
Was not, in fact, a statue (or a tree,
As Fluttershy would doubtless understand)
But Newborn Cutie, featureless and bland.
Whatever could we do? There was no choice,
Though we were scared, we had to find a voice
And tell these mutants that they all must leave
Our town at once, for though we do believe
In welcoming and friendship, there are still
Some limits when we're actually made ill.

The Cuties were now roaming wild and free
All through the town. Then Pinkie, suddenly
Leapt up, now looking hopeful, clear and bright
And said, "A Newborn's like a Parasprite!"
I'll tell you of those later, when we're done.
Let's not get sidetracked, Cricket. There's just one
Last thing I have to tell you, which is how
We don't have Cuties with us here and now.
For Pinkie Pie's quick brainwave was unsound,
As there was not a tuba to be found!
It was in fact young Has-Been who espied
An old book on the ground. He looked inside,
And there was what we sought: a magic spell!
We cast it: Scoot, Dash, Pinkie Pie and Belle –
At least, their Newborn versions – with a crash,
They vanished in a poorly rendered Flash.