Six Mad Mares

I stand anxiously at the front door, my knuckles a bit sore from knocking a little too hard a few seconds ago.

“One moment!” a mare calls from inside, immediately followed by the sound of hooves coming down stairs. The door swings open and I’m greeted by a mare that’s slightly taller than me, dressed in a black skirt and a white blouse with the top three buttons undone. She has a two-tone pink mane, paired nicely with her fuchsia coat. “Are you the writer?” she asks with a bright smile.

I’m speechless for a moment, before I remember myself. I tug lightly on the neck of my sweater, trying to return her warm expression. “Y-yes ma’am,” I manage to choke out. “Gigi Foalivetti, Ma’am.”

“Well, then, come right on in!” She steps aside and gestures for me to come in.

“Thank you for taking time out of your busy schedule to meet with me, Miss Cheerilee,” I say to her as she leads me into her small house. It isn’t much of a house, but she’s a teacher in a small town, so I can’t really say much about it.

“Oh, it’s not that big of a deal,” she answers sweetly, stopping and gesturing towards a large couch in her living room. “To be honest, I’m a little surprised you even know about the incident. How old did you say you were, Mister Foalivetti?”

“I didn’t, but I’m twenty four, just out of Canterlot U,” I tell her with an awkward scratch of my head. It’s apparent to anyone looking at me that I’m extremely nervous. To think, it’s so early in my career and I’m getting such a huge story as this! It’s mind blowing!

She flashes another sweet smile at me as we both take a seat. She sits in an armchair across from the couch and puts her knees together in a demure fashion. She seems so polite and cheerful… She can’t really be the mare I’d read about… can she?

“So, what’s first?” she asks as I pull my recording equipment out of my satchel. Thankfully, it’s newer, so it’s not quite as heavy as the one I learned to operate in school. It’s a meager five pounds; very portable.

“Well, you may not have any experience with these, but this is an auditory recording device. A lot of ponies use these in inter–” She holds up a hand and cuts me off. Still smiling, she narrows her eyes and gives me a glare so chilling, it makes my skin crawl.

“I know how to use a tape recorder, Mister Foalivetti,” she says, her voice sweet like poisoned candy. Any doubt I’d had about her has completely evaporated. I can feel the icy cold steel of her will cutting through the air as she speaks her next words. “I’m not so old that I haven’t used modern technology. In fact, I’m quite offended you would even entertain that thought.”

“My apologies, Miss Cheerilee,” I say, bowing my head slightly in respect as I hand her a simple microphone, not unlike those used by singers. “If you’ll hold that for me, I can start getting the recorder set up.”

She nods and takes the mic as I put the recoding tape in the machine. A minute later, a whimper from Miss Cheerilee causes me to look up and see that she’s staring down at the microphone is utter horror.

“Just… like then…” she whispers, her face twisting further as her distress visibly deepens. She lets the mic slip from her hand and fall to the floor, then crosses her arms over her chest and grabs her shoulders. “But… no… coat.”

I hear the door open, and a new voice echoes throughout the house. “Cheer, honey, I’m home!” the voice calls as its owner strides into the living room. Both mine and my subject’s eyes snap to the mare. She’s a bit taller than Miss Cheerilee and has a pale white coat, paired with a light pink mane and tail. She’s wearing a skirted nurse’s uniform. “I stopped and…”

She takes a single look at the mare across from me and the grocery bags in her hands fall to the floor with a resounding thump. There’s the sound of hooves on the hardwood floor as Cheerilee bolts from her chair and wraps her arms around the new mare’s neck.

“Red… your uniform is white…” she says frantically into the white mare’s neck. “Your uniform is white and I don’t have a coat…”

“That’s right, dear,” the other mare says, wrapping her arms tight around Miss Cheerilee’s torso. “My uniform is white, your lab coat is gone, and we live in Ponyville now.”

“He’s gone, right? Tell me he’s gone,” Miss Cheerilee whimpers, her arms visibly tightening around her… Marefriend? Wife? Partner’s neck. “For the love of fucking Celestia, Redheart, tell me the bastard is gone!”

“Should I…” I never finish as Redheart strokes the back of Miss Cheerilee’s head and shushes her softly.

“That’s right. We live in Ponyville now and the Director is gone and we are happy.”

“Tell me he isn't coming back…”

“Never. He’s never coming back. We're safe from him.”

Miss Cheerilee’s arms relax and she falls to her knees, clutching handfuls of the nurse’s skirt on her way down. “Thank you,” she mutters, her voice shaking, but no longer strained in panic.

Miss Redheart helps Miss Cheerilee up and guides her back to the armchair. There’s a look on her face I’ve seen before.

It’s pity.

As Miss Cheerilee takes a several deep breaths to calm down, Miss Redheart gives me a brief glare before trotting into the kitchen.

“So,” Miss Cheerilee says, knocking me out of my daze. “Where were we?”

“Um…” I trail off, uncertain whether or not I should tell her that her microphone is disconnected. “Your, uh, microphone…”

“Oh!” she says softly, grabbing the mic from the floor and resting it in her lap. I can tell that she’s blatantly keeping her eyes away from it and the machine it’s connected to. “Silly me. Red will be back momentarily with some tea. I’m sorry, but all we have is black tea.”

“Um, that’s fine. Are… Are you okay?” I ask cautiously as Miss Redheart sits a cup of tea on the coffee table in front of me.

“Oh, yes!” she says, giving me the same smile I received when she answered her door. “It’s just a bit of post-traumatic stress, that’s all.”

“Uh… huh… Well, why don’t we get started,” I blurt out, hitting the 'record' button on my machine. This immediately earns another glare from Miss Redheart, who I realize may not have wanted to be present for this. “Interview with Doctor–”

“Miss.”

“–Cheerilee, conducted by Gigi Foalivetti. Miss Cheerilee, why don’t you start us off? Tell me a few basic things about yourself.”

“Hello, my name is Cheerilee, age forty two, born in Ponyville. I graduated from the University of Trottingham with top marks, and I immediately went to work as a psychiatrist for the San Palomino Asylum after my residency in Ponyville.”

“How did you get the job?”

“I was actually approached with the offer, believe it or not. It came with living quarters, access to a personal telephone, a chauffer to and from nearby Las Pegasus, and a six figure salary to boot. Who, in their right mind, would refuse?”

“Nopony, I suppose. And that was that? You left Ponyville and went to work at the asylum?”

“Well, there was a good bit of paperwork to be done, but yes, that’s the gist of it.”

“All right, then, why don’t you tell me about the asylum? Let’s start with your first day, arriving there.”

“Of… Of course, Mister Foalivetti. I’d… be happy to.”