Apparition Amphitheater Presents: Mr. Killjoy

The howling of the hallowed wind signified yet another night of ominous theatrics. The darkened amphitheater, with dulled-out dead leaves and shimmering cobwebs, suddenly throbbed to life as the lights grew to contest with the moon’s silvery presence. Insects and rodents remained wise and steadfast, sticking to the harsh shadows cast, remaining unseen, and petrified by the sudden presence of phantom commotion. The musty smell of the old forest wafted in as tattered cloth gently fluttered in the breeze, giving the place a much richer aroma than the dead, abandoned wood that made up the entirety of the building and its furnishings. Sounds of rustling and scuttling died down as the wind began to subside, leaving only the light alive in this lonely moment.

Ever so slightly and slowly did the lights turn to the torn curtain that remained closed upon the stage, only resting to shine dead center in anticipation. Not a moment later, the drapery was tossed aside by the master of the theater, clad in a grey hoodie and a darker grey set of jeans. His wild, light brown hair gently swayed from the gust of his movements, while the harsh light illuminated his half skull mask, though it did no favors for the rusted nail that protruded from the forehead. With his sharp, three-pronged, cloven hands opened wide as his barbwire-wrapped arms stretched out, he gave a lengthy yawn as if he just arose from a deathless sleep.

Oh, my sincerest apologies. How terribly rude of me to behave in such a way. I have been quite busy in the last year. Believe it or not, I do have other obligations aside from my humble little theater. Other jobs, other projects, other hobbies. Perhaps one day, a few brave souls will finally answer the call to assist with conducting this ghost opera. In the meantime, I’ll keep marching forward. But, oh, how I could use a little break. A nice little moment of fun for all the hard work I’ve done, and share in the festivities with those closest to me. Perhaps with a touch of my favorite poisonous color: Pink.

The wind whistled for a moment as the figure scratched his chin while deep in thought, or perhaps reminiscence. He gave a light sigh, before he coughed briefly to shift into a more relevant topic.

Anyway, enough of my woes and wishes. I believe it would be more apt to talk about our next story on the list. A story about a young pony with grand aspirations to be the best at what they do. A story about the merits of celebration. A story of diligence and sacrifice. And one young pony is going to learn that no matter the goals you have in life, there will ALWAYS be someone out there to spoil the fun. There is ALWAYS someone to crash the shindig. Then again, every party needs a pooper, and that’s no less true in a little story I like to call:

MR. KILLJOY

-o-v-o-v-o-v-o-v-o-

Equestria’s nightly air was quite harrowing tonight, despite how still it was. Among the trees, not a single creature stirred from the shadows, sensing the malevolence that was approaching along the tracks, hitching a ride on the midnight train. As the great metal locomotive sped along its rails, an unremarkable, gray-coated, brown-maned unicorn stallion hung from the doorway of one of the boxcars, breathing in the air with reverie. The pure euphoria he was feeling right now could only be comparable to a truly grand celebration, only this was much more lasting. Yes, the late night air was crisp and clean with that slight bite of the night’s chill, but that was the least potent part of what he was feeling now.

Far behind him, a great orange light and smoke could JUST be seen in the distance, signifying what would normally be the Burning Mare Festival coming to a head in Vanhoover. However, the fire’s light was so much brighter and the smoke was so much blacker this time around. Looking back, the stallion couldn't help but revel in his handy work as he could still hear the cries of phantom wails nearly an hour after completing his task. After all, replacing the sprinkler system's water mains with an oil line and setting it off just as the wicker figure was to be lit aflame was an act he could only describe as utter genius.

Mr. Killjoy: That’s what they called him in the papers. An unknown pony in the eyes of the public that, for many years in many cities, had appeared at many celebrations, galas, festivals and other congregations to bring the party to a screeching halt. Oh, what a wonderful title to hold, as it struck fear into the hearts of the party goers across the country, though not enough to stop all parties from ever starting, and that’s just how he wanted it. His attacks were rare and specific. He targeted only the best of the best, the most notorious of any party animals that he could find after his very first attempt: Dancer Crash, a professional party crasher and rave enthusiast in the city of Manehatten, died to a steep fall after a railing conveniently broke over the top of a roof starlit rave. The condition she was found in was exquisite: with large planks of broken wood piercing her body upon the harsh impact she made on a parked carriage. He always mused that she partied so hard that she lost control and came crashing back down to earth.

Then there was Joy Belle, a much more intimate and regal execution. She was a professional wedding and gala planner in Las Pegasus, and at the time was getting ready to attend her own marriage. Mere minutes before she was to be called to walk the aisle, he crept into the bride’s room, disguised as an usher, strangled her with her own wedding dress, and hung her from the rafters with it. Such a tragically beautiful end to such a well known and artistic soul that brought so much happiness to many couples over the years. It simply brought a tear to his icy blue eyes.

Oh, and how could he ever forget about the caterer Sweet Delights, whom started parties on a whim to share his absolutely brilliant treats and desserts to the public. Flash mobs were guaranteed when he was in the area, which included rival and aspiring bakers and snack makers. Thankfully, Mr. Delights was such a good sportsman, that he tried every treat that was presented to him. Especially that cyanide-laced cupcake with the blue frosting he switched out with an aspiring baker. The look on the young confectionery artist’s face as Sweet Delight enjoyed his last treat was heartwarming, up until the utterly extraordinary shift into horror when the caterer choked violently and passed out dead in front of him. That was the last flash mob Appleoosa has seen in months.

No matter where he went and who his victim was, he always made sure to inject that sense of danger and get those lovely reactions out of ponies before he disappeared. Every now and then, however, he would become a little bit too enthusiastic, and end up exposing his cover or intentions to an uninvolved victim. They had to be silenced, of course, and thankfully that wasn’t a normal action. The Burning Mare Massacre, as he has decided to call it, was the outlying exception, as he didn’t intend to burn everyone alive initially, but he absolutely NEEDED to correct this situation in the most efficient way possible, while still making it the talk of the year.

Originally, the plan was to rig the stage so that the designer and operator of the festival would trigger the mechanism he’d set, and the stage would blow up with him on it. It would have been a fantastic firework show, but alas, the best laid plans don’t always come to fruition. His gear was taken by a thief that had intended to rob everyone at the festival. He couldn’t let him get away, but a thief has a way of disappearing into the crowd and out of sight. If he tried to actively search for the leech, he would miss his opportunity, so he decided to just expand his horizon. That’s when he realized there was a gas line set up for the pyrotechnics that would be used for the show. With a little bit of Jerry-rigging, he managed to use the sprinkler system to his advantage and, before the main event could begin, set everything in motion.

Honestly, the outcome was so much more grand than his initial expectation, but he couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for all of the ponies that got caught. At least the thief was roasted along with the other victims.

Which brought his attention to now. After such a laundry list of victims, and with such a grandiose and complex display of his latest activities, it was time to tackle some of the more desired targets: Vinyl Scratch, Cheese Sandwich, and Pinkamena Diane Pie.

Considering the three, while he wanted to save Pinkie for last for her legendary planning and carefree activities, he had to confess that it may not be in the cards for him. Cheese Sandwich, party designer extraordinaire was a the most likely candidate, but he was a wandering party maker. Finding him conveniently would be improbable, and his train was only going in one direction tonight, which left the two girls on his list. Vinyl Scratch, rave master and musician, however had to be ignored for the time being, as while she lived in Ponyville, she was on a concert tour to promote a new album. Unlike Cheese, Mr. Killjoy could at least predict where she would be going next. After the Canterlot concert tomorrow, she’d be heading to Baltimare for the next three days, which he could take a train to after he finished his job in Ponyville.

Oh, what a lovely specimen Pinkie was. He had heard of her exploits as both a legendary partier in all styles, and as a quick thinker to develop impromptu celebrations for any situation. He had also heard rumors that the great Cheese Sandwich gained inspiration to do what he did from her. A legend begetting another legend. He too would become one after this, snuffing out the greatest of all, but that was the furthest from his desires. Honestly, all he wanted from her was her grandest of reactions, her final screams, and to witness what is decidedly a living party coming to an end. It got him giddy just thinking about it.

But, how would he pull it off? He can’t repeat himself, no question, but he can’t top his previous exploits either, otherwise it would just look ridiculous. Looking back, while it was a work of impromptu genius, he had to admit that he set the bar a bit too high. It can’t be some grand explosion again. Once was enough for a while. He sat back inside the boxcar and thought for a little while as his eyes gazed out into the trees that zoomed by every second.

No matter what it would be, it would have to be fitting, and he’d have to choose soon, as the train was now fast approaching Ponyville, seemingly already in full swing with a new celebration.

“Perfect,” he uttered with a stretched smile. Pinkie Pie parties are known for having an open invitation, where anyone can join, provided they know about it. No waiting and no invitation meant fewer problems he needed to adjust for. It also, however, meant he needed to improvise depending on how far into the celebration it would be by the time he arrived, which was something he was thankfully good at pulling off over the years.

The minutes flew by as the train finally began to slow down more and more until it reached a stopping point. Peeking out, he made sure train yard security wasn’t paying attention, and when the coast was clear, he leapt out of the train’s car he rode in and dashed through the brush under the cover of darkness, making a beeline for the town. Trees whipped as leaves crackled under his hooves, signalling his presence, but not a soul could hear him over the loud music that managed to cover the town square.

Intense eyes melted away to serene orbs of wonder and a genuine smile of joy as he stepped out of the darkness and approached the ongoing party and merry townsfolk, madly dancing, singing, and drinking the night away under crude but endearing decorations. Bounties of food and drink stretched upon tables and tables off to the side, and no matter how many treats were taken, they would always be replaced. The music, as loud as it was, never sounded too loud and retained a proper energy that was rhythmic and peppy, but not so sugary that it sounded childish. It was a partier’s heaven.

Before he could react, a pink blur zoomed up to him, weaving through the crowd like a shark in the water, and appeared before him with the widest, toothiest grin he had ever seen in his life. A smile so full of joy and elation, he couldn’t help but smile back. Furthermore, her pink coat seemed to shimmer in the atmospheric light as her cotton candy pink mane bounced at her every move, giving off this aura of fun to couple with her grin.

“Well, HELLO THERE! My name’s Pinkie! Welcome to Ponyville and the Pre-Nightmare Night Nightmare Night Celebration Extraviganza!” she announced with the same attitude it was rumored she’d have. “Please, make yourself comfy and PARTY THE NIGHT AWAY, Mr... uh, I don’t think I caught your name.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said with a practiced blush, “My name is...”