Nostalgia

by TrebleBass

Rating: mature
Tags: Gore, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Original Character, Tragedy
Length: 2074

Into the mind of Equestria's worst serial killer.

Before the power of Princess Celestia and Luna took charge, the world was dark and filled with horrors beyond imagining, One of which being Bucky the Butcher, the deadliest serial killer in all of Equestrian history... along with the only serial killer to never be caught.

WARNING! BLOOD AND GORE IS IN HERE ALOT! AND EXPECT MORE OF IT TO COME!

It is currently only started, and it will get much more bloody.
There will even be chapters with absolutely no plot development.

Published 2012-04-08 05:24:02 UTC
Last updated 2012-05-13 02:24:27 UTC

Introductory

In the years before the Princess Sisters Celestia and Luna, crime was something found everywhere. There were killings, muggings, robberies, rape, and the like.

However, there was one killer that provoked fear in earth ponies everywhere. The Butcher. In all of the Earth Pony kingdom, ponies were found mutilated, with bashed in skulls. The same MO, the same missing parts, and the same destruction of the body as if it were wrapping paper. Eighty-four killings over the course of two years, with no large time gaps in between them.

During these two years, Earth Ponies locked themselves in their homes in fear.

Never, other than the rise of Nightmare Moon, had ponies been in such a state.

Number Forty-Seven

He looked down at his work. On the floor were skewed and sliced pieces of flesh soaked in blood dripping from the table. He was sure to keep the interesting parts on a separate desk, as not to get logged with blood. His first few times, he had forgotten to do this, leaving him with a very soggy birthday present. Never again! With a simple purchase of a wheely table, he could keep these parts safe from harms way; Oh how excited he was on his first day back with his new table, he damn-near killed the mare right away, simply to try the new table! But, thanks to his conscience, he showed self-control. Now, several weeks after its breaking in, the table kept strong as he dropped them on it. First, he dug the eyes out their sockets with a scalpel- Not as difficult as one thought, just a few 'strings' to cut, as it were. Before placing each one separately on the table, he would examine them in his hoof, assuring they were of quality for his meals-he had a very fine tongue, and no garbage would due him good. There weren't many parts he praised that were too difficult to cut out from the inside, other than the brain; but that was his favorite part! After tearing the marks from their flanks, and tearing off the mane with his prized hatchet; This time he was sure, however, to get the scalp as well to keep the hair together. This one's hair was pretty special, and he wanted to keep it, maybe for a Christmas present to himself? Next, he would practically tear apart the rest to get to the skull. His hooves would get bloody and covered in fuzz, but that just gave him something to lick afterwards, just like licking the spoon that mixed the cupcake batter. Oh, getting the brain was the 3rd best part! He laid the body against the wall and backed up. OOH boy I hope this one splatters! He lined up his shot, and sprinted towards the wall, turned at the last minute to deliver a powerful buck to the skull. He fell the spray against his back, and got excited; It was indeed, a splatter. This was why they called him "The Bucker Butcher" in the papers of Canterlot. However, he grew fond of a name thought up by those out west near Apploosa; Bucky the Butcher. He hadn't had much of a name, and he thought Bucky was nice and simple. He had gotten this name by the way in which he acquired the most delicious part; the brain. The only way to get to the brain, without any expensive power-tools (which would end up cutting him), was a strong buck to the skull. But, he preferred this to any power-tool; it was much too fun and made such a nice mess! It's wasn't like he had to clean it, the police had their own fun with that.

Eventually, he bottled up the brain and all the blood he thought he would need until the next time, which was usually only a week. He had gotten quite used to his routine, he had been doing this for a whole year now. Next, he packed up all of his tools, making extra care to be sure he had his hatchet. He licked his hooves and turned to leave the house. He smiled. It's raining outside, looks like I won't need to take a shower again!

The backdoor opened and shut, leaving the house in darkness. From the outside, all it was now was an old, abandoned hut at the corner of a dark forest called the Ever-free. Nopony knew of what it contained, not for another 2 weeks anyway.

As he walked with blood-colored water washing off of him, he began reminiscing.

This one didn't scream too much. Shame, he loved that. The screams of a pony is the music of nature, its tune so sweet it could made him come to tears. And noponies scream was more beautiful than that of his younger brother. His younger brother had been his first, and what a first it was. Each cut, each buck, and each beautiful scream that came from his "victims" were in attempt to re-live that first time. In the past year he had, or at-least he thought he had, perfected his techniques. He learned where a cut would inflict the most pain with the least blood-loss, how to cut someponies mane without killing them, and of course where to buck a ponies skull for the largest burst possible with minimal damage to the brain. But, the beautiful screams were never the same. They were screams of panic and fear, not of emotion pain; the one cut he had not perfected, was the cutting of a ponies psyche.

Maybe.... it was the bond?

AHA! that was it! The bond that him and his brother shared! That was what produced the scream! With not a single pony had he shared a relationship with, in fact many of them were pulled of the street and immediately worked on. It was decided then! His next work be with somepony who had emotion for him! He must make somepony fall in love with him! This one work may take time, but no doubt it would be worth it. Plus, he could always work during this time, it was no need to stop completely.

Bucky skipped in the puddles as the last of the blood was cleaned from his coat.
He squinted his eyes, and made a large grin;

Time to prepare!

Number Forty-Eight

A buzzing noise came past his ear; he had been taking a little too long on this one. But... how could he not, with such a fine specimen? Each muscle of this stallion was finely tuned to the job of working in the field, and each cut sent a wave of movement throughout them. He didn't scream... the stallions rarely did, but today he had a reason. It had been long since his last public appearance, and a lack of a mane would seem out of place among the workers which would often had long manes, uncut for years at a time. So, today, he had to go wig shopping. He found the stallion working at the edge of a farm, away from anypony else to see. I well-placed hit to the head left him unconscious for the entire drag back.

Before proceeding with removing the hair-piece from its current owner, he was sure to have his fun. Skinning off the stallions cutie-mark was his first act, leaving only bloody muscle visible on the flanks. Each cut made them tense and each time blood would spurt out from underneath the skin, adding a little reward for each of his acts. After the marks came base of the hooves, made hard from decades of walking through dirt and gravel. Though they were hard, they were comfy too; a few weeks early, he had started to make a pillow for himself made from the stitched together pieces. He was happy that he was one step closer to using most of their bodies; he hated wasting things.

Sadly, time was running out for him, so he started removing his new mane. He held the hatchet steadily, sure only to cut with its tip. Starting from the tip of the stallions forehead, he cut an outline to peel from. He slid all the way to the base of the mane, and the tip of the spine. Blood trickled out of the cuts, leaving a stream heading from the top of the stallions back, down to the floor. After cutting a clean outline of the mane, he turned the hatchet to its edge. Slowly, he slipped it into the cut. A smile crept over his face as blood slipped down the hatchet and to his hoof. Time for a scream.

The echoes lasted but a moment inside of the poorly made hut. Shame, he had to find a nice large building one day, the echoes overlapping the scream was a beautiful harmony. The swing had ripped the mane, and now a large white streak was visible, soaked in blood. All of that would have to be wasted, and he might run out by weeks end; but it was worth it for the new look. Adorning the piece over his head, he felt a warm feeling creep over his head; he could almost sleep like this. A new brown head of hair would fit his tone nicely, and maybe a few mares will give him a few passing glances. Tomorrow would be filled with the rest of the preparations, but for now that was all. He turned and narrowed his eyes at the panting stallion, letting his grin grow even more and expose teeth. He crept towards the opposite corner of the room. He turned and crouched; The Best Part.

Each time his heart sped, and each time he shook with joy. No matter how long it took, no matter how much they screamed; this one part would never change. He loved it when things were unvaried. Yet, ponies weren't unvaried... they were the opposite, they were well... varied. Exploring something new gave some excitement, but he loved to see the same old splat, the same old squirts of blood, and the same old tensing.

The dirt kicked up as he sped off, running straight at the stallion. He saw the blood squirt out from both the head, and the flanks. His own muscles tensed as he twisted around, planting his front hooves down, and pushing off with them. His back hooves connected, and the audible crack relaxed him. No more echoes, and no more squirting; just dripping. He was sure to catch some of it in his mouth, he loved samples. He picked the matter off the wall, and dropped it into a leather bag. Inside, blobs of purple and pink packed together soaked in a red broth; That would be enough,but he was sure to get a couple more jars of blood. He would have to make his next time earlier than usual if he wanted to have enough supplies, it would be a trying couple weeks for him. Licking the blood off his left hoof, he slipped his hatchet into its home and slung the holster over his back, followed by his bags. Finally, he folded up his table and slid it into the empty bag, opposite the bag of goodies.

He couldn't wait for his project to be complete. He wanted to hear that scream, that beautiful sound; a sound that resonates throughout the depths of his body; his spinal cord will dance and his eardrums shall tremble in delight. He couldn't wait to stick his hatchet in her, whomever she will be. The screams will echo, and the harmony shall be the greatest ecstasy in all of Equestria.

Soon... however, more preparations were necessary. He didn't know how long it would take to get a mare to love him, but however long, it would be worth it. He slipped out the door, giving a final admiration of his work in the form of a smirk. He trotted out into the mud. He was happy now, but how happy would he be after his project ends? He could only imagine, and imagine a fraction at that! The blood again soaked down through his fur, and down to the ground. He sucked on his hoof, trying to stop as much of it from being wasted as he possibly could. Again, his smile grew as he realized...

He was always happy.

And it always rained.