The Muffin Man

Mother Daughter Time

     I use the term “experiments” quite loosely…but then again I am a sociopath. I recognized this about myself during an abnormal psychology class years ago. I’m not entirely devoid of emotions, but when it comes to things like blowing out a coworker’s brains in a bathroom stall, I feel nothing. As a scientist, being a monster is somewhat of an asset in many cases; I can remain completely objective and empirical most of the time without regard for the plight of test subjects (oh you wouldn’t believe what the government lets us do to people). I can ruthlessly take whatever I want. That’s how I got my career to the point it is today: by screwing over countless colleagues, destroying their dreams to advance my own.

     At this point in time, however, I was full of emotion – rage to be precise. That bloody foal had almost cost me my career and, if anyone had seen me kill Tina, my freedom. I decided that Dinky was disposable…I could work with Derpy alone.

     As soon as the wall-eyed mare and her filly were restrained in my lab, I went and found the janitor. If ever an odd fellow I’d met! The janitor had a PhD in astrophysics and a medical doctorate, yet he chose to work for ten dollars an hour. I’d once asked him about it, and he said to me in a Shakespearian accent “I giveth not one fuck.” I respected that. I was also happy that he demanded no explanation when I asked to borrow his sledge-axe. He just chuckled, “Another experiment Carmichael?”

     “Oh yes…do you want to join me?,” I asked, “I could use someone well versed in medicine.”

     “Carmichael, knowing you, I want nothing to do with it” he laughed, “Just bring that hammer back to me when you’re done doing whatever the fuck it is you’re doing.”

     “Absolutely.”

     “Muffin Man?”

     “Yes…?”

     “Is Dinky gonna be okay?” Derpy was finally showing signs of real worry insofar as her simple mind could comprehend the circumstances.

     “She’ll be fine!” I lied, “we just have to wait for her to wake up. Have a muffin!” I crammed another blueberry muffin in the idiot mare’s mouth. She smiled as she chewed and then swallowed.

     “Mmm,” Derpy emitted a hearty noise of satisfaction. “Sorry for being a worry wart, Muffin Man, but I love little Dinky and I get scared for her.” As if on some cosmic sort of cue, dinky slowly came to. The ponies were trussed up on two dissection tables, facing eachother.

     My first experiment was to be a psychological one. Though I’m not a psychologist, I am fascinated by what people – or in this case ponies – do in desperate situations. Do they maintain their dignity like the band that played on the Titanic while it was sinking, or do they die kicking and screaming?

     “Mommy? MOMMY!” Dinky started bawling the instant she woke up, “he’s not the Muffin Man mommy! He’s a bad man! We have to run away! I want to run away! I’m scared mommy!”

     Derpy looked at me, concern slowly contorting her features. “Are you a bad man?”

     “Nope!” I laughed

     “See, Dinky? He’s not a bad man!”

     “He’s lying! He killed Miss Lyra and Miss Bonbon and the nice lady!”

     “Did you do that?!” Derpy was aghast.

     “Nope! Your daughter is lying to you. She’s being a bad filly. The Muffin Man would never lie.”

     “He’s right!” Derpy was angry now, “He’s the Muffin Man! He wouldn’t lie! Bad Dinky!” she raised her voice at her daughter, who let out a frightened, frustrated whine.

     “Mommy you don’t understand…”

     “Shush!” I clapped my hand over her mouth, “or you’ll end up like ‘Miss Lyra’.” Her eyes widened and a fresh wave of tears cascaded down her cheeks, but she was silent. Now I could begin my experiments. I undid Derpy’s restraints…all but one: a cuff attached to her hind leg which connected to a wire. I explained very carefully to Derpy the gravity of the situation.

     “See that?” I pointed to the cuff.

     “Yup!”

     “It triggers a bomb if you pull on it. Can you guess where the bomb is?” She began to look genuinely frightened now, as if her brain was finally saying “this doesn’t add up…”

     “Where?”

     “In Dinky!” I smiled, pointing to a crudely stitched up incision in the little filly’s belly. “If you try to run or fight, you’ll pull the cord and she will die. We all will.”

     Derpy’s tears were pooling on the floor at this point. “Why?! Why hurt Dinky? Dinky is a good filly!” I just laughed and began undoing the foal’s restraints. I’d decided she was too smart and I had no intention of keeping her, so it was only natural that I have a bit of fun while disposing of her. I was also dying to know what Derpy would do to save her little one.

     I unzipped my pants and pulled out my throbbing member, lowering Dinky onto it like a sex toy. Hell, she was about the same size as one. I didn’t aim for a particular hole, I just jammed myself into her rear. Her perineum tore like wet paper, leaving one gaping hole for me to pound. She squealed and kicked. I laughed. Her little filly hoovsies were softer than pillows. I felt like I was getting a free massage! I continued to plow her, watching the blood squirt out her tight hole every time I jammed it.

     “Dinky! DINKY!” Derpy had finally caught on to the fact that bad things were happening. She tried to run to her daughter, but stopped short when the restraint around her ankle went taught.

     “Remember what happens if you pull that wire out?” I grinned. Derpy let out a mournful howl, reaching out to her screaming little foal. Her terror was palpable, yet she did nothing but sob. Clearly I had to do something more drastic.

     I threw Dinky on the floor, a pool of blood quickly accumulating around her as her anus bled profusely. I intended on stomping her to death, but despite being in excruciating pain, she got up and tried to run. Not this again. I hit the emergency shutters before she was even half way to the door. She was moving so fast that she plowed into the steel gate at full speed, shattering her tiny horn. The long, guttural howl that followed could’ve woken the dead. She fell to the ground, kicking and hollering, clutching her splintered horn. I simply watched in fascination. To my surprise she eventually got up again pounding her hooves on the door and screaming. “Mommy! Mommy we have to go! Mommy!”

     The expression on Derpy’s face was one of horror and helplessness. Her little Dinky was but ten feet away, yet if she ran to the unicorn it would trip the bomb and kill the mangled filly instantly. What I saw next amazed me. Derpy began biting at her own leg…no, not biting, chomping. She was trying to sever the restrained hoof that she might save Dinky. I grabbed the foal and threw her into the center of the lab. She got up to run again, but this time I was prepared. I brought the janitor’s sledge-axe down on her head as hard as I could. Her skull caved in like a ripe cantaloupe.

     Though I’d hit Dinky hard enough to kill her instantaneously, she wasn’t dead because I’d missed the mark by a bit. Only one side of her head was smashed, the axe pinning her to the floor. Her back legs whipped about frantically for a minute. I could see a faint, faint glow around the axe as she tried to magick it away with her destroyed horn, yet it would not budge. Her little front hoovsies were sliding about in the pool of blood around her head as she desperately tried to pull herself out from under the massive sledge-axe. I wasn’t sure if it was consciousness or reflexive reaction to trauma, but she pushed and pulled trying to free her crushed skull. As the blood pool reached her back legs, she slipped, now flat on her stomach. At that point she lost all composure and her legs began flailing again. Gradually but surely her movements slowed down and disintegrated into twitching. A soft wheeze of a death rattle and a release of the bowels told me she was gone…

     “Dinky! DINKYYYYYY!” Her mother cried. She ran to her foal, and the wire attached to her leg went taught and then disengaged. Derpy closed her eyes, but nothing happened. “Your bomb didn’t work Muffin Man!” She glared at me, cradling Dinky’s broken body and sobbing.

     “What bomb?” I posed the question, “you think I know how to build a bomb? There wasn’t one, you were just dumb enough to believe me when I said there was. You could’ve saved little Dinky at any time…”

I wish I’d had a camera with me so I could show you the look on Derpy’s face.