“Bye, Mom! Bye, Dad!” the Cake twins yelled in unison.
With their parents out of the bakery at last, Pound Cake closed the door.
“Phew,” Pumpkin Cake sighed. “Took them long enough.”
“C’mon!” said Pound.
Pumpkin flipped the “closed” sign around in the storefront window before scampering after her brother into the kitchen.
“We only have a couple hours to prepare a surprise party for Granny!” said Pound as he hefted a bag of flour onto his back.
Pumpkin cocked an eyebrow. “A couple hours? A surprise party? I thought we were just baking her a cake?”
“And it’s gonna be the greatest cake ever!” added Pound.
“But the train station is only a couple of blocks away!”
Pound blew a raspberry. “Please, at the speed Granny moves at? We’ll be lucky if she’s here by nightfall. Besides, you know how old ponies are. She’ll probably want to stop at every store along the way looking for some goofy knick-knacks to send us in the mail.”
That was true enough. Pumpkin nodded in agreement.
“Alright, so what do we need?” asked Pumpkin.
“Well, most of what we need is here already. Flour, butter, eggs, milk,” Pound replied, before holding up a measuring cup filled to the brim with white granules. “And sugar!”
“Yeesh,” Pumpkin reeled at the ludicrous serving, rating it somewhere between ‘terminal illness’ and ‘the blood of Aunt Pinkie’. “Don’t you think that’s a little much?”
Pound shook his head. “It’s for a senior citizen, sis’. Sugar is energy, and they need all the energy they can get so they can keep playing bingo and shuffleboard and stuff.”
“Oh, right. I guess that makes sense,” said Pumpkin.
Pound dumped the sugar into the mixing bowl, along with the other ingredients. He pursued its contents, tapping his chin. “Something is missing...oh, yeah!”
Pound cracked open and poured a can of Minotaur energy drink into the mix. “Sugar isn’t nearly enough. It needs more energy.”
Pumpkin mulled over the logic of dumping of one—now two; no, three—whole cans of energy drink into the cake batter.
She shrugged. “Can’t see anything wrong with that.”
Pound dropped a hooffull of batteries into the mix, a healthy variety of AA and AAA. Pumpkin contributed with one of Mom’s disgusting health beverages she took from the fridge—the one with “electrolytes” stencilled in bold lettering on its label.
“Alright, what else do we got?” asked Pumpkin.
“We don’t want it to taste too sweet, or else it’s going to counteract all the awesomeness,” replied Pound. “We need something sour to balance it out.”
Fortunately, Pumpkin knew exactly where to look. She went to the fridge again and loaded up on limes.
“What about these? They’re the most sour thing there is! And I see Mom put them in those fancy drinks she makes all the time, so they must be good!” said Pumpkin.
She dumped the limes straight into the bowl. “What else?”
Pound pursed his lips. “It doesn’t feel complete yet.”
“We need to think outside the box a little,” said Pumpkin. “What would an old lady put in a cake?”
The thought of it made Pound’s skin crawl. “Eugh. Probably something boring like vitamins and minerals.”
“But the cake is for her, right?” asked Pumpkin.
“Mrff, yeah,” Pound relented. “But we don’t want to make it too boring. It’s got to be, like, Rainbow Dash-levels of radical wickedness.”
A few moments of silence passed between them. Then, they looked at one another, smiles twisting their lips.
“Two genuine Rainbow Dash feathers!” exclaimed Pound, letting them float down into the mix. “One would be too few, and three would just be excessive. Four would probably set the bakery on fire.”
“You’re sure she won’t mind?”
“Of course I’m sure! A few feathers out of place never hurt anypony,” said Pound, reassuringly. “You said you were going to get a few things while I got the feathers, right?”
“You bet I did!”
Pumpkin rummaged through her saddlebags beneath her, tossing in each ingredient as they surfaced.
“Some soil from Sweet Apple Acres, for the rich and fulfilling taste of nature’s bounty—”
Pumpkin retrieved an ancient, virtually priceless tome and calmly tore out a page.
“—a touch of wisdom from Starswirl the Bearded’s Grand Theories of the Arcane—”
A string of firecrackers were then added in.
“—some Griffonstone Screechers from Trixie’s weird back-alley firework shop for pizzaz, and—”
Pumpkin levitated a dark red crystal over the bowl. It glowed with a dull, vaguely sinister light.
“A gemstone, to symbolize an opulent, fulfilling life, the abundant beauty in all things, and as a token of eternal youth, or something.”
Pound gawked at it for a few moments, so absorbed in its glistening splendor that he couldn’t hear its faint whispering.
“There!” exclaimed Pumpkin gleefully after dropping it into the mix. She began to stir. “It’s perfect! Go find of Aunt Pinkie’s streamers. We need to set up before—”
There was a noise. The door chimes ringing in the dining area.
“Kids, we’re home!” cried the voices of their parents.
The pair stared at one another, calmly, quietly, holding back their panicked screams. Pound ran for the kitchen door and slammed it shut, pressing his back into it as Pumpkin’s magic flicked the lock into place.
“Kids? Where are you?” Mom called out inquisitively.
Pumpkin flung the oven door open and hurled their magnum opus inside.
“Kids? You in there?” It was Dad. He knocked thrice, then tried the door handle. Nothing.
“Bake it faster, sis’!” yelled Pound in a hushed tone.
“Did I just hear ‘baking’?” asked Mom. They knocked again. Pound Cake’s heart was pounding in his ears. “What are you two doing in there? Open up!”
“Just a minute!” Pound cried. He motioned to his sister. “Bake it faster!”
Pumpkin cranked the temperature dial as far as it would go. The oven glowed brighter and brighter, as it bathed their creation in heat that would make a dragon blush.
“That’s it, I’m counting to three,” said Mom, sternly. “One...”
Pumpkin rushed to the door with her brother.
“Two...”
They looked at one another worriedly, dreading the thought of getting grounded for baking something without their parent’s permission.
Pound nodded. Pumpkin nodded. They silently agreed on their next move.
“Two and a half...”
In the blink of an eye, the pair slipped out from the kitchen door, slamming it shut behind them.
“Hi, Mom! Hi, Dad!” They cheerfully greeted them in unison, but Mom looked anything but cheerful. She lowered herself to her haunches, crossing her forelegs.
“What’s going on in there, you two?” Mom demanded. “Who told you you could bake while your Dad and I were gone, and don’t say Aunt Pinkie.”
“N-Nobody,” said Pumpkin, lowering her head.
“We kinda wanted it to be a surprise for Granny,” added Pound.
However, right as he spoke, the bakery door swung open, and in stepped a very familiar old lady. Her poofy head of hair was as white as a cloud, and the dress she wore was speckled with little sewn depictions of pastries.
“What’s this about a surprise for little ol’ me?” asked the old lady, her smile as wide as it was toothless.
Pound and Pumpkin visibly brightened. “Granny Fruitcake!” they shouted, scampering across the bakery, throwing themselves into her big, wrinkly hug.
“Just look at you two!” Granny chuckled, rustling Pumpkin’s hair. “You’ve grown up so fast! You’re almost ready to take over the family business, aintcha?”
Mom and Dad rolled their eyes, but couldn’t help but quietly laugh along with her.
That’s when she smelled it. Mom froze, dipping her nose into the air above her.
“But c’mon and tell me now,” said Granny. “What’s this surprise you two got cookin’ up for me?”
Immediately, the kitchen door—the whole wall, in fact—exploded. A chorus of guttural groans and roars heralded the arrival of an amorphous monstrosity, born of foul magic and amateur baking gone awry. It oozed from the freshly made opening, smelling of equal parts fresh pastry and utter terror. What could only be described as its mouth was filled with a wicked line of fangs, dripping with saliva.
Everypony screamed and ran for cover.
Everypony except Granny Fruitcake. The monster stared her down, parting its cavernous maw far and wide in preparation to engulf its first sinful meal, but Granny just stood there with a smile so big it made her face look twenty years younger.
“Granny, get away from there!” screamed Pumpkin from behind a table.
“What is that thing!?” shouted Dad, cowering in a nearby corner.
“It’s the surprise...” answered Pound, swallowing a hard lump down his throat.
Granny laughed. “I thought you two weren’t interested in the family’s history?”
“What does this thing have to do with the family history?!” shouted Pound.
“We’re all about to be history if we don’t get out of here!” exclaimed Pumpkin.
“And leave a chance to show you two what a champion dough wrastler looks like?”
Granny reached into her dress and pulled out a red bandana, tying it around her forehead. She snapped into an imposing stance that completely betrayed her arthritis. Old bones that hadn’t seen use since her wedding night snapped into place.
She pounced straight out of her dress, landing on the beast’s back and grappling with its jiggling doughy mass. It kicked and bucked like a riding bull, desperate to hurl this Herculean old lady off and away, but Granny was ready to deliver the pain.
She climbed down its side and clung to its neck before spinning and throwing herself forward. Her momentum hurled the half-baked behemoth onto its back in the nastiest suplex not seen since poker night in the cafeteria.
Before the beast could retaliate, Granny caught a glint of something embedded in its neck. She thrust her hoof inside as it thrashed about, and ripped out Pumpkin’s cursed gem. It’s light faded as the beast’s violent tremors came to a halt; dead.
Granny climbed down from the steaming mess she had just made, flecks of gooey dough dripping onto the floor. She slipped her dress back on and dusted off her hooves.
“Now that’s how you wrastle some dough!”
The family was so at odds with what they had just witnessed they had to physically pick up their jaws from the floor.
Mrs. Cake calmly stepped forward.
“Mother?” she started, laying a hoof on Granny’s shoulder. “Would you kindly explain to the rest of us what the bu—” She paused, taking a quick breath. “What that was all about?”
“Don’t you remember?” asked Granny. “Us Cakes used to be champion dough wrastlers!”
Mrs. Cake gave her a flat look. “No we weren’t.”
“Are you questionin’ the authenticity of our good family’s history? Back in my day, you used to have to walk twenty miles in the snow just to buy a cup of flour from the general store, unless you preferred to catch it yourself, and from the dat’ gom’ Everfree Forest too.”
Mrs. Cake could only stand there and listen silently hoping Granny had packed her dementia medication.
Pound and Pumpkin, however, were dazzled by her heroics. They looked at each other, then ran to Granny’s side. “Whoa!” They cooed together.
Granny chuckled. “Pappy and I got good at it. Them suckers were a hundred hooves tall. There was a contest each year to see who could wrangle the biggest one. I remember the look on ol’ Mrs. Smith’s face when we beat her every time. She thought she was goin’ to bake the world’s biggest apple pie before us? Fat chance!”
Granny turned and heaved up the monster’s remains, slowly rolling its amorphous mass back toward the kitchen. “C’mon, everypony. We got us a cake to bake!”
