Dogs in the Attic!

A sunset lowered against the backdrop of Sweet Apple Acres. Maroon rays licked between withering branches, raking the orchard in its hue. The day’s sweat had just begun to dry on Applejack’s forehead when she locked up the barn for the night and headed to the house.

Applejack entered the kitchen. Walking past Winona, who was furiously licking the inside of her food bowl, she was excited to see that Granny Smith had dinner prepared. A sight soothing for her sore muscles. Granny, Big Mac, and Applebloom sat at the table, hunched over and ready to dig into the mouthwatering mounds of food.

“Finally!” Applebloom complained. “I’m starvin’!”

Applejack walked over to the sink. Squirting some soap onto her hooves and flipping the tap on, she slapped water over her face. “Ah don’t see you”—mainly due to the soap stabbing her eyes— “buckin’ trees all day an’ takin’ care of the animals. Things will change when yer runnin’ the farm.”

“Pffft.” Applebloom shoved a Brussel sprout in her mouth. “Aye think aye can manath tha farm an’ come tho dinna on thime.” swallowing, her eyes widened in realization as the piping hot Brussel screamed down her throat.

“Careful there!” Applejack chuckled. “Don’t want ta burn yer tongue. Bad enough if a cat gets it—even worse if the cat’s on fire also.”

Applebloom gulped down her glass of water, the cool liquid putting out the fire that started.

“Ya were saying somethin’ ‘bout ‘dinna’ bein’ cold?”

Applebloom threw an annoyed glare toward Applejack’s clever smile.

“Fine… Welcome ta dinner.”

Applejack stepped toward the table, ready to eat a good hearty meal. She had just begun to pull her chair—

Drip

Her ears perked toward the sound, and it didn’t take a Twilight to figure out where the noise was coming from.

Drip, drip, drip, drip

Opening the cabinet below the sink, Applejack ducked her head inside and felt something cold land on the bridge of her nose.

“Pipe’s busted.”

“Seal it with some duct tape,” Granny declared.

“It’s already leakin’ through the previous five rolls we wrapped around it.” She pulled her head out, closing the cabinet. Finding her spot at the table, she sat down and mashed her face in a pile of green peas. “Gonna nee tha pith upf ah new parth thumorrow.”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full, Applejack,” Granny said.

“Why don’t we have silverware?” Applebloom butted in. “Ah think it’d make eating a whole lot easier.”

“Because forks are a griffon delicacy.”

“What about spoons?”

“We don’t discuss the Third Reich.” Granny turned back to Applejack. “Take Winona to get groomed while you’re at it. She’s starting to shed.”

Winona, finished scrubbing the bowl with her tongue and now sitting beneath the table where Applebloom was sitting, perked her head up at the mention of her name. When no one called her over, she pawed at Applebloom’s leg and whined. “Gimme some of whatever you’re having.” her eyes tried to communicate.

“Why we gotta use things out until they’re all rusty-like, Granny?” Applejack continued. “We could’ve had a new pipe installed a year ago. Heck, our stove is nearing its twenties! The igniters are about rusted shut.”

“We don’t need none of that fancy mumble-jumble. We can make do with what we have. Right, Big Mac?”

“Eeyup,” Big Mac said, flipping through a new edition of Applewood Furniture and Appliances with a red 20% off! glaring at Applejack’s gaze.

“See, even Big Mac agrees.” Granny continued. “When you get older you begin to realize how valuable everything is to you. So you got to take those things you value and appreciate them until they’re all tuckered out.”

“Is that why we don’t have parents?” Applebloom asked.

“No sweety, it’s because you’re adopted.”

“Oh.” Applebloom sadly hooved at another Brussel sprout.

“Granny, Ah appreciate the thoughtfulness for aging household appliances and whatnot, but we really gotta get a new stove. Why, Ah used it the other day, and Ah could smell gas from the livin’ room!”

Granny waved a hoof. “We’ll just make Big Mac sleep in the barn from now on.”

“Ee-what?”

“It ain’t Big Mac, Granny! Ah swear! Just one spark and the entire house could burn up in flames!”

“Oh, shush now, ya hear! Old Rusty has gotten the Apple Family through many excursions. She’ll last till the end of time. Or at least till she explodes. Preferably the first one.”

Applebloom raised a gingerbrow. “Old Rusty’s a she? And has a name?”

“Granny, really, Ah don’t know much about cookin’. Ah don’t know much about anythin’ that doesn’t have to do with apples. And darn tootin’—what in tarnation is all that rumblin’ about?”

Applejack stared up at the ceiling with an annoyed gaze, the others following. There was a rumbling, like a skittering of something heavy moving quickly. After a few seconds of silence, it happened again. The pit-patter of occasional rumbles continued every-so-often.

“Dangit! Ah thought we got rid of those mice midsummer! Don’t tell me more are movin’ in. Winter isn’t another two months from now!”

“Now Applejack, don’t go jumping to any conclusions. It could just be Old Zester coming to visit his summertime attic.”

“It’s fall.”

“Everyday is summer when you’re homeless, Applejack.”

Old Zester is the Apple Family’s long-distant uncle who lives in Manehatten on This Side Up↑, Big Apple Avenue. Being here meant that he somehow scrounged up enough money in time to make it to the Apple Family Thanksgiving. The problem is that it isn’t for another month. That, and he was banned two Thanksgivings ago for stealing and marrying the peach cobbler. The two were now happily wed, but some would say stabbing Apple Sherry in the kidney and jumping out the window screaming, “For the Motherland!” wasn’t necessary.

The rumbling continued, and Applejack was tempted to go investigate it, but the day’s weight pressed her back into her seat.

“Aw, shucks. Ah’ll go into town tomorrow mornin’ when Ah pick up the pipe and get some pesticide.”

“And take Winona to get groomed.”

“That too.”

Dinner carried on, the Apple Family not knowing what lurked above them. Winona had become bemused with how nopony paid her any attention, so she busied herself with a squeaky toy.

Rubber bone in her maw, one paw overlapping the other. By now she had learned that it wasn’t a real bone, but something about the squeak-squeak, squeak-squeak satisfied her. Winona was so distracted by the toy that she barely caught a glimpse at something in the window from the corner of her vision.

Her head perked up, toy between her forelegs. What did she see? It was a white blob, that Winona could tell. But it had moved so quickly she barely had to time to register. She felt vulnerable. Like two glowing dots had been watching her.

Nonetheless, her meaty mind forgot about it too quickly, and Winona went back to the chew toy. Unaware of the evil that lurked outside, unaware of the evil that lurked above, and unaware of the evil that is Granny Smith's Brussel sprouts when drizzled with cheese.

After a long, hearty dinner, Apple Family said their goodnights and went their rooms. The white blob watched silently as Winona curled up in her bed and snuggled into sleep.