Author's Note
Okay, please note that this is a dark, depressing sequel to The Laughter is Dead.
No, seriously. It'll ruin that weird feeling of happiness you get from reading that story.
Giggling At Ghosts
Giggling at Ghosts
BloodinMyenam
My greatest fear is myself.
Control is not absolute; a constant struggle to maintain
it drains my strength.
I am always tired: I never get enough sleep.
Events beyond my control happen around me: I do
things that scare me. If I'm confused or angry or tired,
I slip up and my body takes over.
Watching your life like a void is scary. It takes an
effort of will to take control again and not just let it
happen.
I'm afraid of what I feel. Emotion weakens my control,
making its grip easier to break.
When I think, I sometimes think of letting go, just
letting it all slip away. It hurts fighting all the time.
I just want peace and rest.
Daniel Woodhouse
The oven stopped, with a ding not unlike the sound of a gunshot in such a deep, unnatural silence.
"Cupcakes are done," the mare announced to no one in particular. She bit a potholder, wrenching it from its nail in the wall, and carried it to the massive appliance.
Positioning the potholder carefully, she opened her mouth and bit down on the handle of that massive black door, and pulled down and away.
A searing heat buffeted her, forcing her to close her eyes. Opening them, she leaned in, gripping the metal sheet between her jaws.
She placed the tray on the counter, her face flustered, her pink mane singed at the edges. "Well, then! Seems like every year Mr.Stove gets more n' more grouchy, or I've got a death wish!"
She laughed then, a mirthless sound that did little to belie her previous statement.
The mare reared up and placed her front hooves on the counter, looking down on the five cupcakes, each decorated a different way, to represent a certain mare who held a special place in her memory.
Or do they? I mean, how is a mare my age supposed to remember all THAT?
She sighed, moving to her nearby bedstand, in which she kept several valuable possessions.
"Let's seee...maybe if I listen to it again, I'll be able to remember. Hmmm..."
She began pulling out items that seemed to belong in the nightstand drawer of a demented pony, which was quite appropriate, actually.
First came a rubber chicken, whose name elicited a fit of giggles.
"Boneless! Hah! So, what happens when you try to stand and walk? I mean, do you just flop around, knocking into things? And what happens if you do? Do your organs just go flippity-floppity and start crushing each other? And then blood starts getting everywhere, coming out of your eyes, mouth, EARS? And how do you get it all cleaned up before I wake u...HEEEY! You don't have ears!"
This obvious fact threw the mare into yet another fit of hysterics. After the subsequent hacking subsided, and the red, sticky mass responsible had been heaved onto the floorboards, she stared doubtfully at the toy, which was, perfectly round black eyeballs and all, sitting on her bed. How did he walk? She knew he did, because every night she would wake up right before dawn, and see his glowing eyes staring at her from behind the glass in her master oven, locked in a wide-eyed , screaming impression, as if he were begging for the oven to be turned on, freeing him from the wretched existence he was sharing with his owner.
She immediately set out to figure out how this thing walked, and then shook herself from mane to tail, thinking Nope,nope, nope, not listeniiing! Lalalalalalalala...
This continued for several minutes, until the mare realized she was singing aloud. It had gotten so loud, her voice, and so high, that she could hear it even through her hooves. She let them fall.
Of course, it was all the fault of Her. She twisted the old mare's mind, causing hallucinations on a regular basis.
Some were amazingly convincing, like that horribly deformed doppelganger that seemed to follow the her around everywhere she went, giving the mare occasional glimpses out of the corner of her bloodshot eyes.
Others, like the fresh corpse of a changeling trussed up, gagged, hung by its feet from a fifty-foot high branch, and covered in cobwebs, with several giant tarantulas just barely visible under the grim blanket and egg sacs in the place of long-gone eyeballs, were obviously fake.
Still, she shivered at the memory.
What a way to preserve yourself. Or-what a way to go, she thought, trembling with repulsion at the thought that the spiders might not have been a circumstance of the pony's death, but a cause of it.
The changeling struggled violently against the ropes binding him. He could not BELIEVE they had left him to die! He stopped struggling, for a moment, as he felt something crawling down his leg. He looked up, his eyes widening in horror, and began thrashing all the more violently, but it was no use, as this only drew more of the six-inch creatures towards him, looking for a source of life for their soon-to-be kin. His screams of terror and appealing for rescue did not travel far, nor did they last long.
Below, his tears of panic hit the grass. They were followed by something much thicker.
She shook herself again, ridding herself of such thoughts, and returned to perusing the drawer. "Ah, here it is!"
The mare pulled out the letter, which had been augmented with a powerful piece of alicorn magic, allowing it to be listened to as well as read.
As soon as she opened the sepia envelope, the message started. She didn't bother pulling out the letter itself. After all, extra tears don't fill a reservoir.
The first voice, that of another mare, but deeper than hers, and smoother. Pinkie, listen. There's not much time left, and I'm not even sure if you'll get this letter. He's in control now, and there's a definite filter on postal items. However, if I send this to you directly, and by magic, there is a much smaller chance of it being intercepted. Look, Pinkie Pie, you ran away, you claimed, to protect us, but it's not like that matters much anymore. For all I know, the royal guard is waiting just outside the door, ready to capture us. I've already posted my final letter to Celestia, and I can only hope that she receives it. With hope, she can stop this all. In any case, consider this a final goodbye, since I doubt you'll ever come back. Now, despite my role as a princess of dictation, I've never been very good with words. At least, not in personal cases. So I'll let the others take over.
Next came a harsh drawl that Pinkie knew all too well. Now, you listen here, Pinkie Pie. Ah' don't know what you were thinkin' , just leavin' us all behind, but Ah' reckon it's too late for apologies now. She sighed, and continued. They got Apple Bloom today. N-not that they killed her, or nothin'! We...we honestly dunno what happens when fillies are...taken. We had a short goodbye party. W-woulda' made ya proud. I-I-by this point, Applejack was clearly sobbing-aw, shucks, I can't do this! You next, sugah cube! There were sounds of a thick peice of parchment-presumably the envelope-being passed from hoof to hoof, before yet another voice began speaking, and it broke her heart, because Fluttershy notwithstanding, she had been closer to this mare than any of the others. What were you THINKING? Just up and leaving us? Listen, Pinkie, I don't know what went through your head, but you need to get your plot back here! Between him in charge and you, I'm ready to fly into the sky and let myself drop! Her voice softened, which only made it worse, as Dash's sad voice was heartbreaking. Please, Pinkie Pie, come back. I don't care how many sides you have, as long as at least one of them is my friend. With that, the envelope was passed from hoof to hoof again, and the tantamount part of the letter began. Well, than, Pinkie, I don't really know what to say. I think the others summarized it quite sufficiently. The only thing left to say is that I miss you. And we all miss Fluttershy, believe me, - Pinkie knew this coming from Rarity, as her closeness with the late pegasus had rivalled her own, - but please, come back. We can't live long without you, and I'm not sure we're going to, anyway.
The original voice returned, but with an unmistakable catch in the throat of its owner.
Well, there you have it. We all miss you, and there's nothing left to say. It's up to you. Best wishes, Twilight Sparkle.
Pinkie Pie sighed then, a world-weary sigh, and placed everything in the drawer before shutting it once again.
She returned to the counter, where the cupcake tray was cool enough to grab with her teeth. Carrying it to the table, she set it down, sitting in the solitary chair.
She then partook in each one, muttering an oath before devouring it.
"To Loyalty. I am sorry I expressed mine in such a way."
"To Honesty. Perhaps I was too honest for your own good."
"To Generosity. I should have had more before I left."
"To Magic. The magic of friendship is gone, but I will always remember you."
She picked up the final one, holding it in her hoof, and walked outside. She had to do this right, just as she had for the past eighty-four years.
As Pinkie Pie traversed the seldom-walked trail, she was beset upon by a crowd of parasprites, whose appetite was little sated by the long-leafless trees.
One landed on the final cupcake, which the pink pony had carefully balanced on her hoof, and begin to burrow into the fluffy yellow frosting.
Without even blinking, she leaned forward, gripped the annoying little plothole in her teeth, and bit down as hard as she could. If the parasprite wasn't already red, it would have been now. She swallowed in one gulp, and enjoyed the warmth sliding down her throat.
Finally, she reached the Hill, and began her ritual ascent.
Upon reaching the top, she paused. In front of her sat the large slab of stone, a large spinel butterfly set into it.
Pinkie raised her hoof, and sat back on her haunches. Raising a scalpel in her other hoof, she inhaled deeply, and brought it sharply across a patch of hide exactly two inches above the bottom of her hoof.
She immediately moved her hoof over the cupcake, allowing the gash to drain freely over the pastry in her other hoof, its secretions mixing with those of the recently devoured parasprite. And through her tear-blurred vision, the small, blood-covered, pink-and-yellow shape in her hooves was all too familiar.
"To kindness," she choked out. "May I feel your embrace again one day."
With that, she devoured the pastry in one bite, savoring the taste of the lovingly baked cupcake . But, more than anything, She enjoyed the taste of the puddle of red covering it now, the invigorating, orgasmic taste of pony and parasprite combined.
She shivered.
She turned to leave. At which point, an incredible sight met her eyes.
First came the lavender librarian, her long, purple mane glimmering in the sunshine, her slanted eyes full of wisdom gained from a lifetime of seeing things nopony should have to see.
Next the orange farmer, her blond mane tied in a simple bob, the grief on her face hidden under that large brown hat.
Next the pearl-white dressmaker, her head held high, as always, belying her grief at the death of her late friend.
And finally, a streak of blue in the air, hurtling towards the Hill, as valiant and graceful as always.
They all stopped in front of her, their bodies a sight for extremely sore eyes, just as she remembered them.
A wave of joy filled Pinkie Pie's long-absent heart. Here they were, her long-gone sisters, standing strong before her.
Wait..standing strong? Are-are they...
She passed her eyes over each of her tall, lean friends, and examined her own stooped, frail self.
She knew what this meant.
She closed her eyes and stepped forward, feeling her friends' forms surround her, and stood still, enjoying the presence of her friends-no, parts of herself, the true ones,the ones that didn't fill her head with nightmares, surrounding her.
Pinkie Pie relaxed as much as she could, and simply...stopped trying.
After a few seconds, she felt her legs gave way, and her body fall sideways, directly into Twilight's flank.
The beautiful purple alicorn did not falter at all. Rather, she lowered herself, along with the withered Earth pony, to the slight grassy slope in one smooth,practiced motion, laying her head over Pinkie's neck. She had done this countless times before, with countless mares and stallions, each of them oppressed to the point of no return under this horrible new era in Equestrian history.
Pinkie Pie, feeling the heavy, warm weight on top of her shrunken, withered self, tried to shift her body, but found that she could not. In her death throes, pinned to the grassy hillside, she panicked, struggling to free herself.
Twilight's only response was to press harder into Pinkie's body, nuzzling her ear. The Earth pony continued to struggle, but stopped when she felt a wing wrap around her shoulder, and a voice sing softly in her ear.
"Drifting off to sleep,
Leave exciting day behind you,
Drifting off to sleep,
Let the joys of daylight find you."
At this she smiled, and stopped struggling, the voice one she knew all too well, one of softness understanding.
She felt a white-hot heat spreading through her body, but not an uncomfortable one. Rather, she felt as though she was fading, joining a great entity, bigger, more graceful and kinder than herself. Her friends.
Just as it should have been, throughout those eighty-four lonely years, spent with only her own hallucinations for company.
