Pinkie Pie was losing her mind.
The nightmares had been coming more and more often, and they kept getting worse and worse. For the past three months, they had visited her in her sleep like unwelcome guests, gnawing at her mind and tearing down her sanity. She had no idea how much longer she could take this.
In the first nightmares, she had watched herself murder countless ponies that she barely knew, but recognized from around town. It was as if she were bound and gagged in a corner of the room, forced to watch somepony who looked exactly like her do these terrible things. Those nightmares had frightened her, but once the daylight came, they were relatively easy to forget…or at least, to shove to the back of her mind.
And then came the night when the nightmares began to grow much, much worse. Instead of looking upon a grisly scene like some hidden watcher, this time she was the killer. And instead of some random pony, the victim was her best friend, Rainbow Dash. She watched through a murderer's eyes as Rainbow Dash was dismembered, butchered and skinned, powerless to do anything. Pinkie Pie would wake up at some particularly terrifying moment and sit in bed, shaking and crying to herself, knowing that when she went back to sleep the nightmare would begin again exactly where it had left off.
Even when she finally killed Rainbow Dash in her dreams, the nightmares wouldn't leave her alone. Like some unknown, sadistic tormentor, the nightmares forced her to kill again and again while she was in the dreamworld. Rainbow Dash's death was followed immediately by Rarity's, which was even more gruesome and horrifying. When Pinkie heard the dream-Rarity plead for her to spare Sweetie Belle, she had woken up wanting to scream, but unable to because of the need to vomit.
It brought Pinkie Pie little comfort to know that her friends were still alive and well. No matter how many times she saw and heard them every day, she could still hear their cries of agony and terror in her mind. She barely even ate anything these days. Every time she took a bite of anything, her stomach erupted into open rebellion; no matter what she tried to eat, it always tasted like blood.
Tonight was just another installment in the same mind-shattering series of nightmares that had plagued her for the past three months. Just like every previous night this week, she woke up screaming. This time though, she thought for one horrible moment that the nightmares had finally escaped into reality. Then she realized that it was her own blood and not Fluttershy's that she was tasting; she had bitten her tongue in her sleep, while she lay in the grip of the nightmare.
On the one hoof, Pinkie Pie was glad that Mr. and Mrs. Cake had moved to Fillydelphia a few years back; she didn't know how she would have explained to the kindly couple what was happening to her. But on the other hoof, she wished desperately for somepony to be there when she woke up, to tell her that it was alright, that it had just been a bad dream.
Pinkie reached for the bucket that she'd recently taken to keeping by her bedside, then bent over it and spat out a mouthful of blood. For a moment she just sat there, cradling the bucket as if it were a newborn foal and hiccupping in fear. Then she suddenly decided that enough was enough. It was time to prove to herself once and for all that these nightmares were just figments of her imagination.
Her bucket in hoof, Pinkie crept warily down to the main floor of the bakery, and then walked with growing anxiety towards the door that led to the bakery's storage cellar. Ever since the nightmares had begun, she had avoided that door like the plague; every time she came close to it, she imagined that she could smell the horrid reek of bleach and antiseptic. This time was no different. Pinkie spat into the bucket again, then set it down on the floor and steeled herself for what she was about to do. With a deep breath, she slowly opened the door and began to walk down the rickety wooden staircase to the basement.
It was completely dark inside, not a single ray of light penetrated down here. Heart thudding frantically in her chest and the stench of industrial bleach filling her nostrils, Pinkie fumbled for the light switch. After what seemed like years, she finally made contact and flipped it on. Then she screamed louder than she ever had before and fell back against the stairs.
Illuminated in the pale fluorescent glow of the ceiling lights was a scene taken exactly from her nightmares. Tables covered in bones and scraps of flesh lined the walls. A rack of crimson-stained tools hung from the wall to her left, while something that looked like an operating table was shoved against the wall to her right. Entrails hung from the ceiling like party streamers. But the part that most terrified Pinkie was the wall directly facing her. Smeared across it in what could only be blood was the message "Life is a Party", while a revolting garment stitched together out of what looked like patches of skin hung from a hook directly under the grisly message. As she looked closer, Pinkie realized that the "dress" really was made out of skin; she could make out the cutie marks of ponies that she knew on several of the ragged patches.
No…no…nonononono, NO! This isn't real! This CAN'T be real!!!
Suddenly the ceiling lights flickered and went out. Pinkie almost screamed again, but before she could make a sound, the lights burst back into life. The basement was completely empty. The only things in the room were a few sacks of flour and shelves of assorted spices lining the walls. The horrible smell of chemicals was gone, replaced by a faint scent of cinnamon. Stomach roiling and hooves shaking uncontrollably, Pinkie climbed back up the stairs. She made it to her bucket just in time.
Afterwards, Pinkie sat curled up in her shower with the water as hot as it would go. Every light in the bakery was on; she knew that somepony might think it was strange, but she just didn't care. There was no way that she was going back to sleep tonight. She huddled in the fetal position, feeling the nearly scalding-hot water burn away the sweat and puke that the past half-hour had covered her in, finally admitting to herself that she was going insane. After a while, she reached out a trembling hoof and turned off the water, then slowly crawled out of the shower and dried herself off.
As Pinkie hung the towel back on its hook, she looked herself over in the mirror. She barely recognized herself. Her eyes were bloodshot from too many dreams gone wrong, while under her eyes rested nearly ink-black circles. Her once-poofy and wild mane hung limply from her head. She could have passed that part off as her mane just being wet from her recent shower, but she knew otherwise. It had been exactly the same before she had gotten into the shower.
Oh, Celestia…what's happening to me…why is this happening to me?...What did I do to deserve this?…
Pinkie Pie was ridiculously tired and she could almost hear her bed calling to her…but she could hear the nightmares calling to her as well. She went back downstairs and carelessly fixed herself a cup of coffee, gulped it down (this time at least, it didn't taste like blood), then walked out into the night air. She had no idea where she was going, but to be blunt, she didn't give a damn. Anywhere but that bakery was fine by her.
Eventually, her hooves took her to the park near the center of Ponyville. By now, she was struggling to keep her eyes open, but she was not going back to that bakery. With a small sigh, she lay down by one of the park's trees, rested her head on her hooves and closed her eyes. For a moment, she got the feeling that she was being watched, but before she could decide whether she cared, she fell asleep.
For the first time in months, Pinkie Pie slept without nightmares. She did dream though, of a strange, dark-grey unicorn with a long purple mane. In her dream, she sat motionless as he came nearer. It wasn't that she couldn't move, but more that she felt no need to. Even when he came close enough for her to see his blood-red eyes, even when he smiled and revealed a mouth full of gleaming fangs, Pinkie wasn't afraid. His smile held no malice, and the only thing in his eyes was the same look of buried pain that she had been wearing for months now.
"Who are you?" she asked the stranger as he stopped, less than a foot from her.
He laughed softly, his voice full of bitterness. "Call me…Answer."
Then the dream faded into blackness and Pinkie fell into the first true, peaceful sleep that she had known for months. When she finally awoke, she didn't feel like her old self, but at least she felt slightly better. She noticed that the grass next to where she had been lying was flattened, as if somepony else had been lying next to her while she slept, but then she decided that it made no difference and began to walk home. The faintest trace of a smile crept across her face. Maybe today would be a good day, after all.
