Pinkie Pie 0rigins: A Family Recipe

by Knackerman

Rating: teen
Tags: Other, Horror, Pinkie Pie, Gore, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark
Length: 5198

Not all is as it seems with Pinkie, but she'd be happy to tell you why she giggles at the ghosties

There was no talking, there was no smiling, there were only rocks. But how then did Pinkie Pie first learn about parties? How did she learn to be such a great baker working on a farm full of rocks? Why did she leave her happy family?
Not everything is as it seems with Pinkie Pie, but she'd be happy to tell you in her own words how she came to be in Sugarcube Corner...why she loves cupcakes...and why she giggles at the ghosties. Pinkie Pie 0rigins is secretly a prequel to the story 'Cupcakes' and deals with her relationship with her family and how Pinkie changed from being a depressed little filly to one who's happy and full of smiles.

Published 2012-05-29 13:04:02 UTC
Last updated 2012-05-29 13:04:02 UTC

Chapter 1

When I was a little filly and the sun was going down, I’d always curl up beneath the blankets and shiver with my sisters through the night until the first light of dawn. My sisters would go to bed at dusk because they were tired from working all day in the fields. I went to bed because the shadows cast by those lumps of rock in the twilight were terrifying to me. I can laugh about it now, but back then every night was full of terrors for me. The wind whistling and whispering over the stones, the soft sigh of dust brushing against their cold surfaces sounded like the mumbling of menacing monsters to me. I was just a little filly though.

What made it worse, I think, was growing up in the country. I knew for a fact that if anything ever did go wrong on the farm it was a good ten miles up the road to the nearest neighbor, and that was my Granny Pie. Even so, thinking about Granny always comforted me a little and helped me snatch a few hours of sleep from the long cold nights. She was so brave and strong and kind, my Granny was. Not like my mother who always scolded me and accused me of slacking when I should be doing chores or my father who was so distant and, frankly, terrifying. I could never really relate to them though I loved them as any dutiful daughter would.

I might have been better off had my sisters not teased me so mercilessly when the sun was up. They’d hide from me in the woods at the edge of the farm and make scary noises to frighten me and they’d push the rocks together to make frightening faces to scare me.They said I should have been born yellow instead of pink. When I was little I thought they must be right and even tried to scrub the pink off once when my mother told me that I’d be grey like her one day. I wanted to be grey then, that way maybe my mother wouldn’t scold me so much and my sisters wouldn’t tease me so cruelly. Maybe then my father might actually smile when he looked at me, instead of always having that glare of grave indifference and barely concealed anger. I scrubbed until my flesh was raw and bleeding underneath my fur and all that managed to do was stain me a darker pink for a few days.

How did I ever get over all my little fears and phobias you might ask? I remember it like it was only yesterday. The summer had been a long and hot one. We’d spend the days under an unrelenting sun, blazing high over our heads as we rotated the rocks. I’d asked my father once why we had to keep moving rocks around even though it was clear we were killing ourselves with the effort. He told me that winged ponies tended the skies, horned ponies tended magic, and it was up to us earth ponies to tend the land. Looking back it wasn’t much of an answer, but when you’re a little filly being told something like that in such a deep, grave voice was enough to send me on my way and as far out of my fathers condescending gaze as I could get.

I remember how long those summer days were. There was still daylight when I’d normally be going to bed, so my sisters and I would relax on the porch with ma and pa after we were done with our chores. Father would haul out his old phonograph player then and dust off the one record he owned. It was a cheerful polka song, almost a marching song. But that wasn’t his idea of entertainment. There were these bugs, cute little critters called parasprites. They looked harmless enough, but if you left them to their own devices they’d soon multiply to the point they’d swarm the land and eat everything in sight. They were attracted to the music. I remember spending many an evening listening to that polka music, punctuated by the wet pops of Pa swatting parasprites. Their tiny bodies left bloody green streaks on the wall and Ma would scold him, but he’d just look at her with that dour stare of his and keep smashing them as they came. I think it was the only thing he ever really enjoyed, but I’m not sure now if it made him happy or not. He never smiled or laughed in those days.

As the summer wound down the work load would ease. Unlike most farms, the coming autumn was not really a busy time for us. Father would be taking inventory before the leaves started falling and mother was busy finding out when she could expect the snows and what kind of help she could expect for the winter wrap up. So while they were busy with that, they’d send my sisters and I to help out our Granny Pie. The road to her house was little more than a dusty tree lined trail, deeply rutted by farmers carts going to and from market. Even so, the country side always seemed a pleasant change to me from the farm. At least, that is, in the light of day. We’d always arrive at granny’s house early in the day and try to be home before sunset, but it was so easy to lose track of time helping Granny Pie.

My sisters actually hated helping her. They told me she was a witch and that if I wasn’t careful she’d bake me into a little pink pony pie. I didn’t believe it for a moment, Granny was always kind to me. She’d have fresh baked cupcakes waiting for us when she knew we were coming. Thinking back, I was the only one who ever ate them, my sisters never seemed to care that much for sweets. Despite their grumpiness, those are some of the happiest memories from my fillyhood. Granny Pie always had a story for us as we helped her with her chores, so while we were cleaning out her attic or weeding her garden, or helping her clean up her kitchen she’d tell us all kinds of stories about Equestria, it’s history and its people. I learned a lot from Granny Pie, more than I ever would have on the farm, and what she told me about her time living in Ponyville never failed to fill me with excitement. Of course granny was a very old pony, not really even my real grandmother, and her mind would wonder sometimes so some of her stories didn’t make a lot of sense. She was actually my great grandmother, but she still called me her little granddaughter. It made me so happy that I wouldn’t even notice when my sisters had long since left granny’s house and the sun was dipping treacherously close to the horizon.

One day, I’d helped Granny Pie put the frosting on a huge batch of cupcakes. By the time they were all done, I heard the calls of owls and the chirps of crickets outside. I thought that was odd, but when I went to look, the long afternoon had already turned to night. Everything was so dark and scary, I just wanted to curl up in a ball. When granny asked me what was the matter, I started to cry. I told her how my sisters must have already gone home, but I had to walk all the way back by myself in the pitch dark! I was shivering, I was so frightened. Granny Pie just smiled, her wrinkly lips pulling back in a toothless grin. She told me, Pinkie, you’ve got to stand up tall and face your fears. She said you’ll see that they can’t hurt you, if you can laugh at them they’ll disappear. That seemed silly to me and I would’ve said so, but then Granny did something I didn’t expect. Grabbing her shawl and wrapping it tight around her neck, Granny Pie opened the front door and looked back at me and asked if I was coming!

If my frail old Granny Pie could face the shadows and the darkness, well I’d look like a silly little pony if I couldn’t too. Walking home with my Granny Pie was possibly one of the most magical experiences I ever had. She was right, of course, there was nothing about the darkness itself that was so scary. Every time I pointed out what I thought to be a monster, Granny would just laugh and show me that it was an old fence or a crooked tree. One time we both got a scare when a stray dog crossed our path, but we both laughed when the puppy bounded up to us and licked our hooves. He seemed almost as relieved as we were! Walking home with Granny, even in the dark, didn’t seem to take anytime at all and before too long the farm came into sight. That’s when the magic ran out. Mother and father were both furious that I’d bring Granny out in the chill night air just because I was scared of the dark. They asked me what I thought I was doing, didn’t I know she was prone to illness in her old age, wasn’t I ashamed for being so cowardly and putting her at risk? I had never really thought of it like that and their anger terrified me far more than the darkness ever could. Granny Pie tried to shush them but Father wouldn’t hear that and, glaring at me, he left to see Granny home safely after telling me I was to wait on the porch until he came home.

My mother sat in her rocking chair the whole time, scolding me in hushed tones while I waited. I guess she thought my sisters were asleep, but I could hear them whispering and giggling through the front door. They’d heard the whole thing and I could tell by their voices that even if my parents were to forgive and forget what I’d done they’d never let me live it down. When father finally made it home, the moon was already high in the sky and I was very tired, even if my terror at what punishment might await me kept me wide awake. When he came into the yard, stomping the dust of the road off his hooves, Pa told me to come to him. As I walked slowly towards him on shaky legs, he yelled at me to hurry up, that stalling would only make him angrier. When I finally stood trembling in front of him, he didn’t say a word, but swatted me hard on my flank with the same casual indifference as if I were a parasprite. I started to cry again but he told me to hush, that it was time to go to bed, and for my punishment I had to sleep out in the old silo by myself.

Never had I spent a more anxious, lonely night than that one. I kept telling Granny Pie’s words to myself over and over as the wind howled outside and made the old silo creak and echo. There were rats living in the silo, my sisters had told me, and I was terrified that if I went to sleep they’d crawl out and eat me. I tried to laugh at that idea but I was just too tired and scared. I dosed off once, only for a bit, and woke up screaming when I felt one of the tiny rats nip at one of my hooves. Honestly it was probably more afraid of me than I was of it, but I still didn’t catch a wink of sleep the rest of that night. When my Father came for me in the morning I had double chores waiting for me. I think it was later that day, when I was falling down tired from all the work and the sleepless night, that I began to realize this wasn’t the life I wanted. When I was finally allowed to sleep that night I dreamed of the big town’s Granny Pie had told me about that were lit up so brightly at night they made the stars pale in the sky. I dreamed of living there and making cupcakes for hundreds of smiling ponies and never having to move rocks around in the hot sun again.

After that I’d spend more and more time at Granny’s. I’d sneak off on my own to visit her, even when we were not supposed to be helping her with chores, just to visit. She was always happy to see me and would only scold me gently for abandoning my parents and remind me that though she loved seeing me, I had a duty on the farm and I mustn’t shirk it. Even so, we’d spend all kinds of time together whenever I had the chance and she would smile even when she was scolding me. She’d tell me stories about what life was like in town, all the sights and sounds. One of the most interesting things she told me about were the parties. I’d never heard of anything so magical in my life! A gathering of friends and family where the entire point was to have a good time and be happy. Not to have to work, or do chores, or be scolded, or anything...just to smile and enjoy yourself and eat sweets! I told Granny coming to her house was like having a party all the time. She just laughed, a twinkle in her old eyes.

It was around this time I got my cutie mark, though that’s a story for another time. Suffice to say all that smiling and laughing I’d learned from my Granny Pie was a big part of the joy I found that day when I shared a party with my parents and sisters. After that, things were a lot more bearable on the farm. Everyone laughed more easily and smiled, even Father had seemed to forgive me for all my shirking and my sisters didn’t tease me quiet so much. I wish it could have been like that forever...but summer doesn’t last. Autumn came on that year and we were all busy again. Now that I was mostly over my fears of the dark we’d work late into the night making sure everything was ready for winter.

One night, after a long days work and everypony had gone to bed, I heard the familiar noises of the night. Even though I knew it couldn’t really be monsters come to eat us, for some reason it was harder to giggle at the ghosts of my fears with all of my family asleep. I hunkered down beneath the covers and was about to hide under my pillow when I realized I was just doing what I’d always done before. Giving in to my fears was no way for me to behave. I had to face my fears. So in the dead of night, pulling on a cloak to keep me warm against the midnight chill, I left the comfort of the homestead and went outside to confront the shadows I so feared.

So cold was that night, you could see the frost glistening on the stones around the farm. My breath came in puffs of steam as I looked out over the fields. It must have been well past midnight, but the moon was high and bright with the mare in the moon brooding darkly in the star strewn sky. Yet there was another glow not very far away, I could see a fire light flickering in the distance between the trees. I realized that this was the source of the sounds I had heard, not the calm wind nor the settling of the stones. At first I was afraid, but it occurred to me that anyone stuck outside on such a chilly night might need help. Putting on my bravest smile I walked into the forest heading towards the distant light of the flames. It was much further away than I had thought, what I had taken to be a little campfire not far off turned out to be a huge blazing bonfire a good long way from the homestead. As I drew closer to that flickering orange light, the whispers grew louder. The woods played tricks with the sound, echoing it back and forth through the trees, but some of the shouts were plain enough. Someone was talking about the harvest and the old ways. Someone else was talking about the earth and the soil beneath their hooves. Other voices rose and fell, sometimes clear, other times talking one over the other so that they were a cacophony, impossible to understand. It seemed as though there were many voices in the forest and I almost went home when I heard something like a half strangled scream. Would that I had.

The clearing I finally came to was crowded with grown ups. Ponies of all shapes and sizes, all ages and types, huddled around flames that leapt high into the night sky. Each wore a rough mask over their face, but many of them were painted in bright colors or had vibrant wigs or feathers. They all seemed dressed in raggedy cloths, checkered dresses and suits almost like quilts, that hid the marks on their flanks. I thought it so strange how the fabric swirled around their frames, like tattered rags. It was only then I noticed the music that had been grinding away slowly from the old phonograph player near the fire, a familiar song. There were streamers hanging from the trees and what looked like a table strewn with all kinds of cakes and pies and food. I had stumbled on a party out in the middle of the woods! I was so amazed by the sight that I must have given a little gasp, for each of the ponies gathered there turned and just stared at me as the phonographs needle slipped its groove and the polka music went silent. It was pretty unnerving, but I laughed and smiled and greeted everypony and apologized for interrupting their party. I don’t really know why, maybe I was just remembering how well my last party had gone, but I asked if I could join them.

Their eyeless stares from the black hollows of their masks, speechless with anger or simply perplexed, chilled me to the bone. Then one voice rose up saying, "Of course child, come eat and warm yourself by the fire." The voice was familiar, but I couldn’t tell who had spoken. The crowd made way for me as somepony put the needle back in its groove and wound the player up again, the music floating hauntingly through the air once more. The cakes and pies were the tastiest I’d ever had, baked fresh from the autumn harvest it seemed. The warmth of the fire was indeed welcome, and after awhile the grown ups didn’t seem quiet as scary as they had when I first walked up to their feast. Many of them whispered instead of speaking aloud, but if I spoke to them they’d answer back. We danced and played games, turning round and round the fire, laughing and shouting. Each of the ponies there danced with me in turn, spinning me around and around until we all collapsed giggling.

It seemed like such a fun party, it really did, however I just couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t quite right. It was the masks I guess. Each on was different from the other, but they all seemed to be made from the same material as their costumes. When one of the ponies leaned down to ask me if I wanted more cupcakes, I couldn’t help but notice that where the others masks were wrinkled and twisted, hers was smooth and flawless. It was also slightly dripping a substance that was black in the firelight. The eyes behind that false face were so familiar, her words were so kind, and her cupcakes were so good. I probably would never have noticed except I heard the strangled moaning again, just on the other side of the banquet table. More curious than afraid, I walked away from the party.

I didn’t even realize he was a pony at first. Spread eagle and stretched upon the cold stone as if he’d been splattered there falling from a great height, he was flayed open so that everything from crotch to his throat was exposed to the cold night air. The bones of his skull shown wetly from the ruins of his face where someone had cut away the skin, and in the process popped out many of his teeth. He was still alive. Even so the ponies that stood over him with knifes and tongs, methodically removing his innards one by one, didn’t so much as blink as he moaned and twitched. When they noticed my eyes resting on them in terror, however, they each looked up at me...and started to laugh. I backed away, terrified and sickened. They all seemed to be laughing now, their leather masks jumping up and down on their faces as they howled in the night. Their masks made from the faces of other ponies.

My blood turned cold as I realized the streamers strewn among the tree branches were intestines, the table cloth covering the banquet table were stitched hides, and the logs of the campfire were actually the misshapen bodies of the dead, curled in on themselves by the flames, a true bone fire. Even the reverlers cloths were made from the sown together remains of ponies, feathers and all. I ran, with no idea which direction I was going and not caring, just wanting to get as far away from that nightmare as I possibly could. I could hear their laughter echoing behind me as I fled through the midnight woods with only the light of the moon to guide me. I can’t tell you how many trees I ran into in the dark, how many times I was turned around so that I ran back towards that fiendish glow in the darkness. The laughter was all around me, behind me and in front of me, I couldn’t see for the tears in my eyes and I thought my heart would surely burst in my chest.

You can imagine the relief that flooded through me when I finally came upon open fields and a house at the edge of those terrible woods. Not a single light shown from within, but I recognized the house instantly as being my Granny Pie’s. I hammered at the back door, my little hooves aching from all the running I had done. To my surprise, the door opened on its own. It had been left unlocked. Hearing what I took for laughter drifting from the trees I let myself in. It was warm and dark in the kitchen with the ghosts of pastries and sweets still haunting the air. I locked the door behind me and stayed there shivering until I caught my breath and gathered my wits. Someone had to be told what I had seen. I had to let someone know so that they could put a stop to it. But who? I couldn’t drag Granny out into the woods to be murdered by those insane ponies and my mother and father were miles away, still blissfully oblivious in their sleep.

Getting a hold of myself, I realized I at least had to warn my Granny in case I had been followed. I found an old oil lamp and after a few attempts, got it alight. I didn’t want to scare my granny, so I called out to her as I wondered through her home from room to room. I tried upstairs first, thinking her asleep, but neither her rooms nor the guest rooms were occupied. Her bed didn’t even look as if it had been slept in. Fearing the worst I checked her house from top to bottom, my voice tremoring worse and worse with each passing moment, the puny flame of my oil lamp offering little comfort. Finally there were no rooms to check but the cellar. Granny never let me or my sisters go down there. She said it was where she kept all her special ingredients for her cooking and she didn’t want us upsetting her delicate inventory or telling anyone what the secret to her delicious cooking was.

I thought to myself, well, maybe Granny had gotten up early and was in her cellar taking inventory. Winter was just around the corner and how could she hear a trembling filly calling her name all the way down those dark steps? Opening the heavy oak door with a long, tortured creak, I walked down the steps, my tiny light swallowed by the darkness. I called out to my Granny Pie, but heard no answer. A sudden wave of guilt struck me then, I was in a place I shouldn’t be, and I had seen things no filly should see. It might not make logical sense, but a feeling of profound shame welled up inside me then and I just wanted to run away and hide under my blankets in my nice warm bed at home. Then I heard what I thought was an answer to my call, but it was weak. Could my Granny be hurt? I called to her again and let her know I was coming. I moved so fast down those stairs I tripped and nearly fell the rest of the way. I was able to save myself but not my lamp, which shattered on the cellar floor, the last of the oil going up in a whoosh of flame that illuminated the entire dank room. That’s when I saw Granny Pie’s special ingredients.

The room was caked floor to ceiling with blood. The stench...unimaginable. Row after row of shelves filled that place stretching into the shadows just beyond my vision. There were...parts...peices of ponies as far as the eye could see just sitting, mixed in with sacks of flour and sugar. Some were pickled and floating in jars, others dried like jerky, and still others hung from hooks like freshly butchered meat. Soiled tools and chains were cluttered around a gore caked basin set in the middle of the floor. There was a creak as the door at the top of the cellar stairs opened again, light flooding down the steps just as the last of the flames from the burning oil died away. It was one of the ponies from the woods, the one who had been wearing the face of the pony I had seen spread upon their alter of sacrifice.

She moved slowly down the steps, her voice croaking my name as I shivered in the darkness. I was trapped. Even if I could find the cellar doors that opened onto the back yard, even if it was unlocked, how could a little filly like me hope to budge them? I looked up at the pony I knew to be my killer and could only weep piteously, hunched in on myself like a baby bunny waiting for the sharp, stabbing talons of an owl. But when the masked pony finally took hold of me, it wasn’t to rip me apart as I had thought, but instead it was to hug me. She slid the damp mask off her face and in the light coming from the open door I could see that the face underneath was my Granny Pie’s. I couldn’t help myself...I laughed. I laughed long and loud and well, going completely limp in my Granny’s arms, from relief, fear, or resignation I couldn’t tell you. All I remember was my Granny whispering how sorry she was, cold gore dripping from her face along with hot tears, splattering gently on my face. She’d make it all up to me she said, with a nice fresh, hot batch of cupcakes.

When my parents found me the next day I was still laughing. I laughed so hard I had made myself sick, tears in my eyes and pink and red vomit dribbling from my mouth. I’d eaten an entire tray of cupcakes by myself but most of them had ended up regurgitated on my Granny Pie’s floor. That was okay though, that was nothing compared to the mess my Granny had made of herself. They found her body, or what was left of it, still holding the empty tray of cupcakes and a toothless rictus spread on her face. Those were the best cupcakes I’d ever had. Granny always made the most delicious sweets, so it shouldn’t have been surprising that she was deliciously sweet herself.

My parents were disturbed, of course, but they didn’t seem particularly frightened...just angry. I remembered the phonograph player at the bonfire, and I remembered two grown ups who had laughed with the others and were the first to give chase when I fled. The realization didn’t surprise me in the least, nor was I one bit afraid. After all Granny had done to comfort me what could possibly scare me now? That was the moment when I took everything Granny Pie had taught me truly to heart. I smiled brightly at them, bloody dripping from my face and cloths, and laughed them right out of Granny Pie’s house. Of course my parents could never truly understand, nor could my sweet sisters. I think that I may have ended up scaring them a little bit myself. They sent me away to live in a much cheerier place here in Ponyville, and here I’ve been at Sugarcube Corner ever since. I guess they thought it might help me forget everything I’d seen, everything they’d done, if I had a change of scenery. I must admit, Mr. and Mrs. Cake have been very kind and a big help in introducing me to so many new friends here.

Friends like you.

I’m so glad we could have this little talk. You know it means so much to me that you’ve listened so attentively! Though, thinking about it, I guess you don’t really have much of a choice being all tied up and having no place to go. Well, your numbers up, but when this is all over we’ll share a nice tray of fresh cupcakes, won’t that be great!? I can just taste them now! Granny pie taught me all her recipes and even showed me how to harvest the special ingredients herself! Well, she showed me on herself, but I think I got the gist of it. Now, where did I put that hacksaw? Oh, don’t cry, Granny Pie said you have to crack up at the creepy! Come on, give me a nice big smile...that’s right, laugh! There’s no reason to scream like that! Life’s a party! And we’re going to party hard!