The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde VS. MLP

Story of the Corner:

Ms. Sparkle the librarian was a mare of bright countenance which was usually lighted by a smile of sorts; precise, practical, and optimistic in discourse; at friendly meetings, or when the cider was to her taste, something eminently beautiful, if not magical, beaconed from her eye; something indeed which always found its way into her talk, and, more often and loudly, in the acts of her life. She was indeed plain with herself; read books when she was alone, to quench a taste for knowledge. But she had an approved tolerance for others; sometimes wondering at the reasoning involved in their misdeeds; and in any case extremely inclined to help rather than to reprove. “I’m inclined to Luna’s heresy,” she used to say quaintly “Everypony should be loved and noticed for all deeds and misdeeds.” In this character, it was frequently her fortune to be the last reputable acquaintance and the last good influence in the lives of down-going ponies. And to such as these, so long as they came about her chamber, she never marked a shade of change in her demeanor.

Her friendships seemed to be founded in a similar catholicity of good-nature. It is the mark of a modest pony to accept her friendly circle already made from the hands of opportunity; and that was the librarian’s way. Her friends were those whom she had known for the longest; hence, no doubt, the bond that united her to Ms. Applejack, the well-known mare about town and the first pony Twilight Sparkle could call her friend in first moving to Ponyville. It was an enigma for many, what these two could see in each other, or what subject they could find in common. However, it was reported by those who encountered them in their Sunday walks, that they bantered back and forth the whole length of their trip, only to halt their conversations at the appearance of a friend. Both friends held their weekly stroll through town in high esteem. The two friends not only set aside occasions of pleasure, but even resisted calls of business, so that they might enjoy their excursion uninterrupted.

It chanced on one of these rambles that their way led them down a by-street in a busy quarter of Ponyville. The street was small and what some might call quiet, but it drove a thriving trade on the weekdays. The inhabiting ponies were all doing well, it seemed, and all emulously hoping to do better still, and laying out the surplus of their goods flirtatiously; so that the shop fronts stood along that thoroughfare with an air of invitation, like rows of smiling salesponies. Even on Sunday, when it veiled its more florid charms and lay comparatively empty of passage, the street shone out in contrast to its neighborhood, like a fire in a forest; and with its colorful buildings and general cleanliness, instantly caught and pleased the eye of the passenger.

A certain block of building thrust forward its gable on the street. It was at least two stories high; showed many windows, a magenta door stood out against the crème-coloured lower story of the building and chocolate-colored fixtures lined with frosting-like decorations littered the upper; and bore in every feature, the marks of some sweet delicacy. A sign precariously hanging from a protruding chocolate-colored pole said nothing, and was only graced with the symbol of a pink-frosting cupcake. Occasionally, many a pony could be seen entering or exiting its premises.

Ms. Applejack and the librarian were on the other side of the by-street; but when they came within sight of the entrance, the former lifted up her hoof and pointed.

“Hey Twi, did ya ever notice that buildin’ there?” she asked; and when her companion had replied in the affirmative, “It’s been on my mind for a while now,” added she, “cuz of somethin’ weird that happened to me a while back.”

“Really?” said Ms. Sparkle, with a slight change of voice, “what happened?”

“Well, it happened like this,” returned Ms. Applejack; “I was comin’ home from some place on the other side of town, bout three in the morning last winter. I swear Twi, the street I was walkin’ on was scary silent; I saw nothin’ but lamp posts. The whole time, I was secretly wishin’ I’d run into a police-pony or somethin’. Anywho, as I was walkin’, I saw two ponies; one was a greyish-pink colored mare, walkin’ at a mighty fast pace, and the other a lil’ orange-colored pegasus filly with a purple mane, runnin’ as fast as her lil’ legs could take her down the street (Now that I think ‘bout it, I’m pretty sure she was one of Applebloom’s lil’ friends). Well, sure enough, the two ran into each other at the corner of the street, but this is where it gets weird. The mare just trampled the poor lil’ filly, and just calmly kept on walkin’, leavin’ her screaming for help on the ground. It sounds like nothin’ when I tell it, but I swear, it was the most gruesome thing I ever saw, Twi. It wasn’t like anypony I’d ever seen before; it was like some abomination without any heart or compassion. Why, as soon as I saw it, I ran at top speed and caught up to the varmint, grabbin’ her by the tail, and brought her back to the screaming filly. A small group had already formed around the poor thing. The mare was as cool as a cucumber and didn’t fight back in the slightest, but the way she stared at me I’ll never forget: so cold it sent sweat down the back of my neck. Anyway, turns out the people surroundin’ the filly were her own family, and later a doctor too. The filly wasn’t badly injured, only shook up a bit. You woulda thought that would be the end of it, but there was one other thing I couldn’t help but notice: as soon as I saw the mare, I could tell somethin’ was vile bout her, and the filly’s family saw nothin’ but evil at first glance of her, which is only natural. But the doctor’s reaction caught me off guard. He was like the rest of us, seein’ nothin’ but grim evil in the eyes of our prisoner, his beige coat turnin’ just a lil’ whiter every time he glanced at her. We told the mare that we could and would make such a scandal out of this, it would make her name stink from one end of Ponyville to the other, and if she had any friends, they’d be gone before sunrise. While we were stickin’ it to her, we also were doin’ our best to hold back the filly’s mother; boy, she was madder than a snowpony on a summer’s day. I’ll tell you, I’d never seen such a circle of hateful faces; and there was the pony in the middle, sneering and actin’ all cool, calm, and collected. I could see she was frightened too, but she was carryin’ it off, almost remindin’ me of Nightmare Moon. ‘If you want to make money off of this,’ she said, ‘I guess I’ll have to give in. Nopony wants to make a scene,’ she said. ‘Name your price.’ Well, after some hagglin’ we worked her up to a hundred bits for the filly’s family. So next, we had to get the money; and where do ya think she brought us, Twi? Right into that same buildin’ there. She whipped out a key, went in, and came back with ten bits and a check for the rest. But the check wasn’t signed by her. It was actually signed by… a name I really have no business namin’ right now, but the name’s well known, I’ll tell ya that. I thought that whole mess sounded fishy; I made sure to bring it out, sayin’ that ponies don’t go into a cellar door at four in the mornin’ and come out with another pony’s check worth almost a hundred bits. She just looked at us, all sneering. ‘Calm down,’ she said, ‘I’ll stay with you guys until morning and cash it myself.’ So we all set off, the doctor, the filly’s father, our new ‘acquaintance’ and myself, back to Sweet Apple Acres ‘till mornin’ (Of course, I made her sleep in the barn; wasn’t allowin’ that thing into my house). In the mornin’ we all set off to the bank. I gave the dang check myself, almost certain it was a fake. Turns out, it was as real as can be.”

“Ohh wow,” said Ms. Sparkle.

“Glad we feel the same way ‘bout it,” said Ms. Applejack. “I’m tellin’ ya Twi, in all my years here in Ponyville, I’ve never seen a mare so… so cold; the worst of it is that the pony whose name was on that check is the very pink of the town; everyone loves her, and she is one of our good dear friends. I’d betcha anythin’ it’s blackmail: our poor friend bein’ forced to pay tribute to that horrible varmint. Black Mail Corner is what I call that place, Twilight, and I bet there’s much more to it than that,” she added; the words fell into a vein of musing.

From her thoughts she was recalled by Ms. Sparkle asking rather suddenly: “Do you know if the pony who wrote the check lives there?”

“A likely place, isn’t it?” returned Ms. Applejack. “I looked into our friend’s address, and yes, I reckon she does.”

“And you never asked our friend about the… situation you were in?” asked Ms. Sparkle.

No, I haven’t: I got my own rule for that,” was the reply. “I feel it ain’t right to ask too many questions. Ya ask a question, and it’s like rolling an apple down a hill. You’re sittin’ at the top o’ the hill, and away yer apple goes. Soon it bumps into other stray apples along the way, startin’ them rollin’, then next thing ya know, someone at the bottom of the hill is hurt by an apple avalanche, and yer the guilty one. It’s a rule of mine: the weirder the situation, the less I ask.”

“That is a good rule,” said the librarian.

“But I’ve been keepin’ an eye on that place lately,” continued Ms. Applejack. “Seems to be both a local business and a house of sorts. Many people go in and out of it, but I’ve seen the pony from my adventure go in or come out only once in a great while. “

The pair walked on again for a while in silence; and then “Applejack,” said Ms. Sparkle, “there’s one thing I want to ask: do you know the name of the mare that walked over the filly?”

“Well,” said Ms. Applejack, “I can’t see what harm it would do. It was a mare who I later figured out is known as Diane.”

“Hm,” said Ms. Sparkle. “What sort of pony is she?”

“She ain’t easy to describe. There was somethin’ downright wrong with her appearance; somethin’ displeasin’. I have never seen a pony I so disliked, and yet I really don’t know why. She is a pony who stands out, but at the same time there ain’t nothin’ special about her. I can’t describe her, save for her grey-pink coat and that icy stare, and a voice that sounded like she lost a whole winter’s harvest: far more dreadful than what we call depressed; but it ain’t that I can’t remember her; I could pick her out of a crowd right now.”

Ms. Sparkle again walked some way in silence and obviously under a weight of heavy thought. “And you are sure she used a key?” she asked at last.

“Twilight…” began Ms. Applejack, surprised Ms. Sparkle had doubted the word of the Element of Honesty.

“I know, I know,” said Ms. Sparkle; “But it’s all so strange. The reason I haven’t asked the name of the pony whose name was on the check is because I know who it is already. Applejack, your tale has really hit home. If you exaggerated any part of the story or made stories to fill the holes in your memory, please tell me.”

“By my Element,” returned Applejack sullenly, “I have told ya the absolute truth, Twi. The pony had a key; and still has it, for that matter. I saw her use it not a week ago.”

Ms. Sparkle sighed deeply but never said a word; and the orange pony presently resumed. “Here’s another lesson to say nothin’,” said she. “I’m ashamed of my blabbermouth. Let’s agree to never talk ‘bout it again.”

“I promise,” said the librarian. She proceeded to go through to motions of the infamous Pinkie-Pie Promise.