Blue Frosting

Before he found his cutie mark, Mr. Carrot Cake loved making things out of wood. He prayed for his cutie mark to be a saw and hammer. But life doesn't alway turn out the way you want, so the three slices of carrot cake on his haunches meant that he would spend his days standing behind counters rather than building them.

But this day Mr. Cake had decided to find a saw and hammer and relive his favorite part of childhood. The twins were almost tall enough to reach the sink, and they had been standing on boxes and pails or anything handy for the extra height. Mr. Cake knew that with a little time, wood, and hoof grease he could make a functional, decorative hoofstool that the whole family could be proud of.

Mr. Cake made his way across the back field toward the cellar. It was so old and structurally unsound that Mrs. Cake had forbidden him ever to go near it; in fact she had demanded it be razed before the twins could walk so they didn't accidentally kill themselves in it. She saw Pinkie playing near it and scolded her so severely she didn't tell a joke for two days.

It had been decades since he had been in the old cellar, but he was pretty sure there was a box of woodworking tools in there. It didn't hurt that today was Mrs. Cake's once-a-year day at the Spa, and so there was no one to stop him from sneaking out a few tools. Pinkie had taken Pound Cake and Pumpkin Cake to the park, so he had the entire house to himself for his big carpentry adventure.

The stench met him about ten feet away. Some unfortunate creature must have gotten trapped in the cellar and died. He was going to have to get the dead whatever out of there. Building this simple hoofstool was becoming less simple.

He went back to the house and returned with a lantern and a washcloth soaked in vanilla tied over his nose to mask the smell. As he descended the cellar stairs it was obvious someone had been here recently; the dust on the floor and furniture had been disturbed and things that should have been on the shelves were strewn around the floor. An old couch had been pushed into the center of the room and the area was littered by what looked like blue paint rags.

The back wall of the cellar was lined with old crates, which was the most likely spot for the tools. He lit a lantern and tried to read the faded labels in the flickering light. As he walked along he stumbled, almost dropping the lantern. He swore, and saw that he had tripped over a chain stretched across the floor. Now what the heck was that doing there?

He followed the chain back to its source, and his discovery made him gag, even with the rag over his mouth. Behind two of the roof supports lay the decomposing corpses of two small ponies, obviously the source of the unbearable odor. He raised the lantern. Blackened and shriveled by decay, there wasn't much recognizeable except a horn and mass of faded purple and pink hair near one of the heads. Mr. Cake stared at the bodies for a long time, trying to make sense of the gruesome scene.

A noise from the other end of the chain startled him. He swung the lantern around, and he could see something crouching on the ground behind the couch. He approached and to his horror he found a small, emaciated filly lying on the ground. It was a pitiful and disgusting creature; its coat was matted with chips of paint, as if somepony had tried to literally paint the pony. But the coloring had caused her sensitive skin to break out in open sores. The poor thing was breathing erratically and trembling. It was obvious she was deathly ill.

"What's your name, filly?"

"Party Pony," she whispered

"No. I mean your real name."

"Party Pony," she repeated. She tried to lift herself up by her front legs but collapsed back to the ground.

This was getting stranger and more uncomfortable by the minute. "C'mon, let's get you out of here."

As he leaned over her he discovered this end of the chain was connected to a metal collar fitted around her throat. Mr. Cake was speechless. He immediately found a pair of pliers and undid the clasp that held it in place. He pulled it off of her neck and threw it angrily against the wall, a loud clang ringing out through the room. "What animal would do something like this?" he muttered under his breath. He stroked her mane, working around the clumps of dried, cracked paint. Who was this Earth pony, and why was she here?

He stood up and looked around the cellar. Mr. Cake stared at the dead bodies for a long time, then he turned and stared into the eyes of the found pony. "By Celestia's horn! You're Apple Bloom! Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle must be over there. No wonder nopony found you. You've been you chained up in this cellar for months. What kind of monster could do something like that?" He cradled the limp Apple Bloom. "It's okay Apple Bloom, you're safe now. Everything will be okay." He worked her up onto his back so he could carry her out. "We're going to get you to a doctor. Hang on tight."

She buried her muzzle against his neck and tried to thank him, but nothing came out.

He was out of the dim, foul-smelling cellar in three steps and galloping at top speed for the house without looking behind him. He was yelling at the top of his lungs for somepony, anypony to come help. As Mr. Cake raced across the lawn, Apple Bloom opened her eyes for the last time and saw an apple tree gently swaying in the wind. A gust dislodged a cluster of blossoms, and one of them landed on the filly's muzzle. The last Crusader smiled at the tree, closed her eyes, and never opened them again.

***

A meeting was held at town hall to discuss the crime and how to find the evil pony who had kidnapped the children. An investigation party was sent to Sugarcube Corner to investigate the old cellar. By the time they got there, however, they were shocked to find the cellar engulfed in flames. A few heroic individuals tried to form a bucket brigade, but it was hopeless. Within a few hours the structure was completely destroyed, leaving nothing but a pile of smoldering timber.

In the middle of the discussions of what to do next, Pinkie Pie rudely interrupted to ask Mr. Cake if she could borrow the lantern, mentioning loud enough for the assemblage to hear that she had seen him take it into the cellar. Suddenly he realized that although he had left the lantern in the middle of the room on the dirt floor, somehow it must have fallen over and lit the cellar on fire. He never forgave himself for accidentally destroying the only chance to find the truth of what had really happened to the Cutie Mark Crusaders.

The next day Pinkie Pie held a big party to cheer everyone up.