My Final Confession: Relapse

Sugarcube Corner had seen better days. Though the building is shadowed by the deepest part of the night, it is apparent that time has not been kind to the abandoned structure. The building, long in disuse since the previous owners had attempted to sell it after relocating their business elsewhere, had largely spent time unprepared for the temperature shifts. What would have been minor repairs have turned into more significant undertakings. Many of the roof tiles have rotted or slid loose. The decorative trim resembling icing has all but disappeared. Faux peppermint sticks, once the delightful trim of the front door that thrilled ponies and served as the gateway to a delicious wonderland of sugary treats. Are cracked, discolored, and warped. The windows and front door have been boarded shut. The sign that used to hang out front designating this structure as a confectionist shop is long since gone; only a pair of chains, fused with rust, remain frozen in time.

“This place?” Cozy steadies the camera to frame the disused structure and then spins back to Pinkamena, who is wearing a traveling cloak to conceal her identity. Shadows obscure the area beneath the hood even with the gain turned up on the camcorder. Behind her the streets of Ponyville are barren.

“This is where it all started for me in Ponyville. It was the first place I ever truly called home.” The hooded figure of Pinkamena stares into the past, head up and tracing the dim frame. “I screwed that all up, though. This is where my life truly began and ended.”

“Oh! That makes sense. When I lived in Ponyville and attended the friendship school, this place was …” she struggles to recall the term, “faboo!”

“Taboo, Cozy.” Pinkamena corrects the filly as she tests the boards blocking the front door and finds them resilient despite their weathered appearance.

“Yeah. Taboo. Ponies used to dare each other to go inside. Everyone knew it was an evil place.” Cozy chuckles to herself.

“Places aren’t evil, Cozy. Ponies are.” Pinkamena looks the building over once more and grimaces. “Did you ever go inside?”

“Me? No, not myself. But, I did see some others go inside once.”

“How?”

“They pried the boards loose on the back door. Then, when they were inside, I slammed the door closed and propped a board against it so they couldn’t get out.” Cozy has a small, evil fit of laughter. “They screamed and I think one or two started crying.”

“Let’s check and see if it’s still open.” Pinkamena faces the filly, a blue glint shines beneath the hood. “Do you have to record everything, Cozy? Out of all the things for you to bring with you, you chose that camera?”

“I like it. We’re making memories, right? So it’s important to both of us.”

“They’ll likely just use it as evidence against us when the inquisitors come.” the cloaked mare chides. “We’re damned already but you are double damning us.”

“Does it matter? There will be no pity for us, Pinkie.” Cozy replies.

“I guess not.” The mare reaches a hoof out and presses it against the ruined Sugarcube Corner. She lets it linger and her head droops. “At some point memories are all we have.” A wind rustles the microphone as it tears down the empty street. Finally, she turns away and begins moving around the edge of the building. Cozy is silent as she follows.

Pinkamena pauses suddenly and turns to the camera, annoyance crossing her features. “Stop calling me Pinkie. Pinkie Pie died a long time ago. I hate when you call me that.”

Streets flank Sugarcube Corner on three sides, and the back is separated from the next building by a short backyard. A once-beloved fixture of Ponyville’s downtown, the local government ensures that the grass is neatly cut, and the tiny flower gardens residing at the edge of the street are refreshed weekly with new blooms. A single, large oak resides behind the building. Across the cobblestone street are a row of businesses, their windows dark and lifeless like a corpse’s eyes. They watch the pair enter the backyard and test the mettle of the damaged back door.

“I think I can kick it open but it’s going to make a lot of noise. You can see in the dark with that thing, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Watch for movement in the windows of those buildings across the street. The one over there,” Pinkamena indicates the lone building on the opposite street, “is a warehouse. I doubt anybody will be there at this time but most of the businesses here have homes upstairs for the business owner. Or they used to, at least. A lot of them are different from when I lived here.”

“Aye aye, Captain!” The filly is a little too loud and a small hoof salutes from the top of the camera. The frame turns and zooms to upstairs windows one at a time while a series of heavy blows echo out. The raking, tearing sound of splintering wood fills the microphone. It suddenly is replaced by a hollow rattling and the wail of a rusty hinge swinging open. The buildings remain lifeless as Cozy sweeps them.

“Okay, come on. Hurry!” The camera remains still. “Cozy! Get inside!” Pinkamena’s hushed voice still resonates with annoyance.

“Okay, okay! I was just making sure. Geez!” Cozy is ushered inside. The door, and what little light filtered from the outside, slam closed behind them. A wooden lock slides into place with the squeak of old wood.

The inside of the kitchen of the former confectionary has been gutted. All electrical appliances have been removed, leaving empty spaces of less-thickly gathered dust in their stead; ghosts of a time long past. Bits of wood and dirt decorate the floor.

The camera turns towards the wall where a lightswitch protrudes. Cozy reaches for it but her leg is swatted down by Pinkamena, her hood now thrown back and a pained grimace twisting her face. “Cozy, use your brain. Are you really just going to advertise that we are here like that?”

“It’s hard to see in here and I miss electricity. We’ve roughed it long enough. Candles, lanterns, and the world of a hundred and fifty years ago was your cottage.” The filly retorts, a stain of embarrassment in her voice.

“You want electric light? Flip that switch and see how long it takes to be under the burning spotlight of the statue garden again. Is that what you want?” Pinkamena stands awkwardly and though her words are annoyed, they lack anger. She begins to walk away but with a new, obvious limp as one of her back legs lag grotesquely at a strange angle. She visibly winces as weight comes down upon it.

“Point taken.” Cozy notices the troublesome gait. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

Pinkamena curses under her breath and exits the room slowly. She begins climbing a flight of aged stairs. Little clouds of dust puff and twirl as she drags herself up one step at a time. Cozy follows directly, waiting for the mare to take one labored step at a time. After the fourth, Pinkamena pauses and shakes her head with frustration.

“I can’t do it.” The mare grumbles, hot seething noises escape her gritted teeth and she collapses to one side on the stairs.

“What’s wrong?” Cozy sounds genuinely worried and places the camera down on a step. It faces the wall, where a patch of the drywall is broken and a black, hairy spider has made a home in the opening. It rests in the center of the net-like trap and watches silently. A pair of drained, cocooned victims decorate the web. Their corpses jiggle from the vibrations of the ponies’ hoofsteps.

“I can’t make it upstairs. I popped something loose when I was kicking the boards.”

“What, what can I do? Here, lean on me and I’ll…”

Pinkamena shrieks and grunts achingly. “Stop, stop! Just let me sit here. Just leave me alone. Don’t touch me”

“I only tried to help!”

“I know. Thanks, Cozy. I’m not mad at you. It just hurts a lot.” Her breathing is labored and mired in half-moans as she pivots onto her side.

“Ho-how can I help?” The filly asks.

“Just get away from me.”

“You’re just going to live here on the stairs?” Cozy folds her forelegs like a frustrated mother.

Pinkamena is silent except for the groans.

“I thought so. So why were you trying to go upstairs? I’ll go.”

“I had a room in the attic. There’s steps leading up to it down the hall on the second floor. If anything is left it will be there. I wouldn’t imagine the Cakes would want anything that reminded them of me ...” her voice trails at the end.

“I’ll go look. You just stay here.” Cozy’s hooves rattle on the stairs and begin to fade.

“Cozy!”

“Yeah?” the clacking of hooves pause distantly.

“There’s probably nothing there but … be careful.”

“I will.”

The spider watches from inside of the cracked wall nest. Vibrations continue to shake the web and the patient hunter seems content to bounce along. Pinkamena’s seething continues and the spider suddenly dashes deeper into the darkness and disappears. A pink leg eases in front of the camera but the view becomes warped and spins with many clacking noises. Step, wall, ceiling, and darkness wheel in in alternating frenzy finally halting on a rotated angle staring at the bottom of the dusty stairs. Pinkamena is lower on the stairs than before, scooting down them one at a time, her right leg protruding like a wayward oar. It hangs to one side and she presses a hoof against it with each seething motion until she comes to sit on the ground floor once more beside the camera. She moans and lays against the dirty hardwood. Crumbles of plaster and other unknown particles stick in her coat and mane. She breathes hard, each rasping respiration a labored dirge of pain. Her cutie-mark barren hip is estranged from her body; a deformed lump wobbles grotesquely and rhythmically with each breath. The leg hangs loose like a criminal from a noose.

Hooves on stairs rattles downward quickly and Cozy’s legs appear behind Pinkamena on the stairs. They titter nervously and shift her weight from one to the other. “The door was locked to the attic.”

“Okay. I used to have a spare key. I can’t recall where I hid it right now though. We can’t stay here in the open. If someone comes to check on the house we’ll be discovered too easily.” Her eyes are closed and she is very still as she speaks.

“We-we need to do something about your leg, Pinkamena. It … it looks really disturbing.” Cozy’s voice is discomforted. Though her head is outside of the frame, it is easy to imagine the disgust on her face and the shock in her eyes gazing at Pinkamena's hip.

Pinkamena groans and squeezes her eyes closed at the thought. “I know… I know. Get something: a piece of wood, an old rag, anything small enough to fit in my mouth.”

“What?” The word is thoroughly dripping with confusion.

“Find something!” Pinkamena growls and shakes her head to herself as the filly dashes back up the stairs.

Cozy returns a few moments later with a chunk of baluster from the bannister. She drops it before the injured mare and sits beside her. “This?”

“That’s fine. It’ll do. I need you to help me, Cozy. You aren’t going to like it, but I’m not going to be able to walk again without your help. Think you can do it?” Her blue eyes are already floating in tears as she looks helplessly to Cozy who can only nod and swallow a lump in her throat.

“Good. This has happened before,” Pinkamena explains slowly. “My leg is out of socket. I think I hurt my back too, but the leg is what’s keeping me from walking.”

“Why? Why did it come out?” Cozy asks softly.

“I’m old, honey.” Pinkamena attempts a laugh but the pain steals it. “I’ll help you get my leg in the right position and when I tell you to push, you will have to push and work the bone back into the joint, OK?”

A shiver runs down Cozy’s spine and she makes a dreadful, heaving noise. “No… I can’t.”

“Then you’ll need to leave right now. You can get far away from Ponyville before I’m found. Just leave me here.” Pinkamena lays her head back down to the floor and goes still. “I won’t be able to protect you if someone finds me.”

“I’m not leaving you. I wouldn’t leave you like this.” Cozy gently touches Pinkamena’s shoulder and rubs very softly.

“Then you’ll need to help me. I know you can do it, Cozy. You’re stronger than you look.” Pinkamena’s ear flattens at Cozy’s touch.

“Ok… I can do it. I’ll do it for you.” Another shiver runs through the filly but she stands and maneuvers behind the mare in preparation.

“We’ll lift my leg. You keep it up and I’ll guide it to the joint. When I tell you, you have to push down very hard. You may have to wiggle it back in.”

“Is it going to hurt you?” Worry troubles Cozy’s features and her mouth hangs open.

“Very, very much. Just don’t stop until you feel it pop back in no matter what. Ok?” She breathes harder, her trepidation mounting.

“Ok. I can do this. I can.” Cozy repeats this as a mantra and looks uneasy. Her hooves move to support Pinkamena’s flopping leg.

“Lift!” The word comes out as a moan ripping through clenched teeth. Pinkamena’s foreleg reaches to assist as Cozy tugs her leg up from the knee. Her long foreleg adjusts the free bone floating inside the muscles and guides it above the damaged socket. Pain hisses through the mare’s teeth and she does her best to muffle the scream that fights to be free. Cozy shakes and shudders as Pinkamena’s hoof fumbles back and forth searching for the socket.

Pinkamena takes the broken baluster into her mouth, her razored teeth splintering through the ancient wood. Tears roll down her cheeks and she casts a streaking eye to the pegasus. She growls through the wooden bit, “Now! Push it in, Cozy!”

Cozy jabs with all of her might and Pinkamena howls into the bit. Her cry is muffled but the pain in the shriek is very real. Her teeth crush the wood as Cozy puts all of her weight behind the attempt to re-socket Pinkamena’s leg.

Cozy’s wings thrum to life, adding force to her struggle to rotate the bone against the socket. The meat beneath the bone flows and rolls like water trapped in a bottle. Pinkamena’s forelegs clutch at nothing and shake from the pain devouring her lower half. Tears stream down her cheeks, and her throat bulges with the violence of the cries crashing against the bit like raucous tsunami waves on rocks. Her muscles tighten like iron and ripple beneath her coat.

“I can’t get it to go in!” Cozy cries, tears beginning to drip from her chin as she slams down against the stubborn joint.

The leg flops like a landbound fish as the pegasus works. Suddenly, it pops sickeningly and audibly with a suction like a lollipop being pulled from a mouth. Pinkamena kicks Cozy away with the injured leg. She rolls over onto her back and sobs painfully into the wooden bit. Magenta mane hair streams about as Cozy moves to hug Pinkamena.

Pinkamena shakes momentarily but the tremors ease away and she swallows Cozy into her forelegs, pulling the pegasus onto her so that their bellies rest against each other. She spits the baluster away, now sporting many new tooth-sized holes and a long line of viscous saliva. Pinkamena’s breathing returns to normal and she hugs Cozy. “Good job, Honey. Good job.” Her words betray her exhaustion,and she lays very still with the filly nuzzling into her neck.

The light in the kitchen has become softer and Pinkamena turns her head to look outside of the frame. “We’ll have to give up on tonight, Cozy. Come on. Get your camera. I hope it’s okay. I accidentally knocked it down the stairs. Let’s go down to the basement and try to get some sleep.”

Cozy rolls from Pinkamena and takes the camera. The video cuts off.