Reader Beware - You're in For a Fat Mare
The unicorn let out a quiet yawn into her hoof, her eyes not leaving the magazine she was perusing. The study was eerily quiet as usual, moonlight glowing through the window where the candle couldn’t reach. A deathly cold breeze tickled her mulberry-furred neck, making her instinctively rub it with a hoof. With the windows closed to protect her against the autumn chill, no wind should have gotten to her at all.
On the shelf, a book to her left rattled ever so slightly. Then one on the right. Then a few more at once, all around her. Her ears twitched at the sounds, but she kept on reading. She felt some strands of her dark blue mane bob around behind her head, as if somepony were playing with them. But still she kept on.
Another freezing wind passed her. A stronger one that caused the candle at her side to go out. That was the final straw. She released the magazine from her magic and looked up.
“There are less annoying ways to get my attention, guys,” she announced. Her horn glowed, and the flame returned to the candle.
“You’re no fun, Spirit,” a voice droned in the air.
And they appeared. Ponies faded into view or crept through the walls, all bathed in a translucent, ghostly green. They floated around her, wearing faces of irritation almost matching her own.
Deep in the White Tail Woods was a mansion, once belonging to a family of ancient Equestrian aristocracy. By recent times, the house had been claimed by nature, moss and vines growing around its outer walls and its garden and topiary wildly overgrown. Any attempt to salvage the land, whether for renovations or demolition, were foiled by the ghosts of the family left behind. Everypony from Royal Guards to exorcists to specialist hunters were all driven out by the spectres’ incessant torment.
That was, everypony except Spirit Trail. A paranormal investigator from Manehattan who wasn’t exactly frightened when she realised the mansion was truly haunted. In fact, her reaction was to eagerly buy the estate for a song and move in, much to the ghosts’ chagrin. Since then, she’s had furnishings lobbed at her, the words “Get out” whispered at her more times than she can count, scary faces popped up in front of her, and even possessed a couple of times. She had grown more than accustomed to the attention by then, thanks to her natural ability to speak to the beyond. Her cutie mark, an open eye inside a ghostly blue flame, represented that skill.
“At least the other fleshies scream and run around when we mess with them,” a mare in a ballgown grumbled. “You just sit there and roll your eyes.”
“At least pretend to have a panic attack,” a younger stallion added.
“Hey, I’m doing you guys enough favours as is, keeping most of the lights off and all the cobwebs up,” the unicorn shot back. “Least you can do is let me do my research in peace.”
“Your refreshment, madam.” A ghostly stallion in a tuxedo floated through the open door, a can of apple soda on a tray balanced on his hoof.
“Thanks, Swift,” she said, lifting the can in her magic. Swift Service had been the family’s devoted butler when he was alive, and turned that duty towards Spirit now that she was the mansion’s new owner. Therefore, he was the one who tried the least to annoy her.
“What are you researching?” an older stallion, the patriarch of the family, asked as he floated below to read the magazine cover. “Ectoquestria Monthly, hm?”
“Oh please,” the ballgown mare, his wife, groaned. “Not that rag. At least read something tasteful in our study, dear.”
“Hey, this is informative,” Spirit argued. “It’s how I found this place, after all.”
“I know,” she said, rolling her eyes. “That’s why I don’t like it.”
“What are you researching?” a younger mare asked, peering over her shoulder. “Found another haunted place?”
“Think so,” said Spirit, tapping the page she had been reading. “There’s a restaurant in Canterlot that’s been closed down for a while. Normally they’ll just get somepony else to take the building over, but this one? It’s been left to itself for almost a decade. Nopony’s even made an attempt to spruce it up.”
“So ponies think it’s haunted?” the younger stallion asked.
“Exactly,” Spirit nodded. “So I’m gonna go over tomorrow night and have a look for myself.”
“Could be the ghost of a food critic who died from how bad the food was,” a colt snickered as he floated over her head upside down.
“Could be,” she said, tapping her hoof on her chin. “I’ll see for myself soon. I’m going to book a hotel in Canterlot for a few days so I can investigate closely.”
“Watch out for salmonella or whatever,” a teenage filly muttered, adjusting her long ethereal mane. “Or don’t, I don’t care.”
With the eateries closed for some hours, Restaurant Row was deathly quiet that night. Spirit Trail’s hooves almost echoed as she walked down the empty street. She had arrived in Canterlot that afternoon and checked in at Hotel Cadenza, and whiled away some time by sightseeing until nightfall. As much as she knew ghosts didn't necessarily work on a schedule, she couldn't resist tradition.
It didn't take her long to find the location she was searching for. At the end of the street was a building set further apart from the other restaurants than the rest were from each other. Like it was trying to escape from the street, or the street was trying to distance itself from this place. The windows were boarded up and the paint on the walls was chipped and worn. The sign on top was so worn Spirit could barely make out the words "Engorgia's."
During her whiling away the daylight hours, Spirit collected some information about the restaurant from both locals and perusing history archives at the library. The restaurant was named for its founder and head chef, who was considered one of the greatest cooks in Equestria in her time. Everycreature came to Canterlot just to eat her meals, to the point tables were booked months in advance. She was becoming the fastest rising star in the culinary world. That was, until an overly inquisitive critic accused her of enchanting her food to make it irresistible to her customers, which was the biggest taboo in Canterlot's culinary scene. And after an investigation proved that to be the case, Engorgia's was forced to close its doors for good.
Spirit deduced that the space had since become haunted by the chef's vengeful soul, protecting her livelihood with a white-hot fury. Her aim was, if that were the case, to quell the ghost's rage and allow her to pass on in peace. She prided herself in being above just mindlessly sucking ghosts into a high-tech vacuum cleaner or some such nonsense.
Still, she had to get inside the property first. The front door bore an ugly sign reading "CONDEMNED BY CANTERLOT CULINARY SOCIETY" and a comically large padlock, and she doubted anyone in a high enough political position would lend her the key. Not that she would speak to an official if she could help it, given her last outing when the mayor of Dodge City called her a "snake oil salespony," even after she'd dealt with that legion of ghost cattle drivers haunting the town. Turned out his grandfather had built his mayoral estate on their land that he forced them off of, so Spirit didn't feel so bad when she let them run rampant in there for a bit while she rushed to catch the late train home with her money.
Luckily, she had her own way in. After making sure no guards were patrolling by, her horn glowed, and a stream of dark blue magic flowed through the keyhole, quickly making the padlock click open. The door opened with a long creak, and she slipped inside.
The air inside the dark restaurant was stale, and Spirit could practically smell the cobwebs. No one had even gone through the door in a long time, it seemed. Spirit’s horn glowed softly, creating a dark blue hue that illuminated a small area around her. Enough for her to see where she was walking. Oddly, the tables were still set, with silverware and napkins placed methodically in front of every chair. She ran a hoof along the backrest of a chair, and was curious to find she didn’t pick up any dust.
“Ah, a customer!” she heard behind her, making her swivel around. Nothing behind her. Sparks of flame flickered in the sconces on the walls and the candelabras on the tables, quickly extinguishing the darkness. “Welcome to Engorgia’s!”
A figure faded into translucence in front of her. A barrel-bodied unicorn mare, the strap of her apron bulging slightly against her stomach. She wore a more welcoming smile on her round face than Spirit expected, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to know why this ghost was giving her the bedroom eyes.
“My name is Engorgia, your head chef tonight. Just one this evening, dear?” she asked.
“Uh, yes,” said Spirit. “But I’m not here to eat. I’m an investigator.”
Bad choice of words. Engorgia’s smile dissolved into scowl even more foul than the block of cheese Spirit found in the manor’s pantry. “Oh, are you? Did you know that a culinary investigator ruined my life?”
“Oh, not that kind,” Spirit said, holding up a hoof. “I’m a paranormal investigator. I’m here for you, actually.”
Engorgia’s eyebrow raised. “Is that so? And what does a paranormal investigator want with me?”
“Simply put, I want to help you move on. Don’t you think your building should be allowed to flourish again? Let a new rising chef open their own dream restaurant here?”
That seemed to get through to her. Her gaze lost its rage and became more sullen. “This restaurant was my life. My legacy. Everything was absolutely heavenly until that nosy critic poked his nose in too much. I was ruined. Nopony would want anything to do with me, and I died of grief. Full of rage. I admit I added something I shouldn’t have, but it was in the name of seeing my customers happy! Was that really cause to shut down my life’s work?”
Spirit bit her lip. “I understand, truly I do, but surely you don’t want to stay angry for eternity? What can I do to help you be at peace?”
“There is one thing I must do before I pass on,” Engorgia said, “but every creature who comes here runs away screaming before I get the chance. Honestly, it’s rude.”
“What is it you want to do?” asked Spirit.
“I want to cook up and serve one last meal,” said Engorgia, “like I did in better times. I want to satisfy at least one more customer. Put a smile on one more face before I rest.”
Spirit was hesitant to nominate herself for said customer. She had heard of the effects Engorgia’s additions had on her customers. The local boutique had special tailoring jobs on backorder with how much fabric they went through. Sure, Spirit didn’t wear clothes, but the implications gave her pause for thought all the same. Still, if that’s what it would take to help this soul find peace…
“Well, now that you mention it,” she said, “I am feeling pretty peckish.”
Engorgia’s gasp echoed and her ethereal eyes sparkled with joy. “You are?! Well, allow me to show you to our special VIP table!”
The chef floated ahead of Spirit, who trotted behind her to a large table in the centre of the dining room. She hovered behind the chair and pulled it back, allowing the living unicorn to settle in. Once Engorgia pushed her chair in, her horn glowed a ghostly turquoise, and a menu appeared in front of her customer.
“Take your time browsing, my dear,” she purred. “Can I get you a drink in the meantime?”
“Too late for a soda,” Spirit mused, skimming the menu’s drink section. Her eyes bulged when she looked at the prices next to each item. “These are how much?”
“I always prided myself on my cooking being affordable to all,” smiled Engorgia. “But don’t you worry, honey. This one’s on the house.”
That made sense. What would a ghost need with money, anyway? “Guess I’ll have a little apple cider, then.”
“Excellent choice,” said Engorgia, and Spirit watched as the phantom disappeared behind some double doors.
While she waited, she perused the menu closer. She had to admit, the wide selection of dishes sounded tantalising. Hay burgers and fries, daisy sandwiches, straw steaks, vegetable lasagnes and more, all boasting to be made from scratch. She blushed as a gurgle sounded from her middle.
Engorgia soon returned with a glass filled with fizzing apple cider, setting it on the table. “Here you go, my dear.”
“Thanks,” said Spirit, lifting the glass to her lips with her magic. She was surprised with how fresh and tangy the cider was. “Honestly, I can’t decide what to order. It all sounds so good.”
Engorgia’s incorporeal form almost let out a warm glow of pride. “You know what? I like you, so I’ll make you something special.”
“Really?” asked Spirit. “What’s what?”
“Oh, what’s that word?” Engorgia mulled as she floated back toward the kitchen. “I think it’s a griffon word. Oh, yes - a smorgasbord!”
“A smor–hey!” Spirit yelped, watching helplessly as the ghost vanished back through the doors. She looked down at her stomach. “Oh, I’m in trouble…”
Spirit Trail soon saw that Engorgia wasn’t exaggerating when she called it a smorgasbord. In far less time than it should have taken, an absolute feast of food was spread out before her. Pyramids of hay burgers, stacks of daisy sandwiches, lasagnes with more layers than wedding cakes, piles of fries and much more awaited her. Her jaw dropped, and she could feel a pool of saliva forming inside it. Despite how much food loomed over her, far too much for a slim unicorn like her, she could almost hear it call out to her. Begging her to eat. And she was tempted to obey her stomach's matching whims.
"Hungry, sweetheart?" asked Engorgia, an almost deviant smile on her spectral face. "Please, eat to your heart's content."
Spirit used her magic to lift a burger from the top of the pyramid, floating it to her face. She couldn't believe how real it was. How did a ghost cook so much food so quickly? And how did she make it so real?
She took the smallest nibble, and her eyes shot wide open. The burger was prepared by a ghost, with her own see-through hooves, and yet it was the best burger she'd ever tasted! She took a larger bite, and another, though trying to remember her table manners. She was a professional, after all.
"Oh, don't worry about impressing anypony," Engorgia assured her. "Please, enjoy yourself."
She didn't need to be told twice. As if a switch was flipped inside her, she started cramming the rest of the burger in her mouth, the sauce covering her lips and cheeks. Without thinking, she lifted two more in her magic and began alternating bites.
“Mmff,” she moaned blissfully. “Sho good…!”
Engorgia pushed the cider toward Spirit, who grabbed it in her magic and chugged it to wash down a few mouthfuls. “There’s a good girl…”
Spirit took a break from the burgers and moved onto the fries, lifting the basket toward her and grabbing a bunch to cram into her awaiting mouth. The crispy, salty texture felt just right on her taste buds, making her wiggle on her seat. Engorgia didn’t even object to her use of ketchup - she believed that the method of enjoying food depended on the individual. She was just pleased with how Spirit was stuffing her face either way.
And of course, the chef had invoked her infamous modus operandi - the enchantment that caused her food to become addictively delicious to the eater. Something that had hooked Spirit just as well as her customers of old. The investigator looked almost manic, her eyes pulsing with colours as the spell took hold. Like a manticore that hadn't eaten in a week, she pounced the table, cramming into her mouth as much as she could fit.
But there was one part that didn't cross Spirit's mind, before or after she lost it. A part of the enchantment included fast digestion, leaving the eater's stomach with always enough room for more. Naturally, all those calories had to go somewhere.
Her purple stomach pooched out little by little, and not exactly from how much it was being stuffed. Her flanks swelled up just as consistently, her cutie marks stretching to fill the new space and her thickening legs being pushed off the seat. Shortly, beneath her chin appeared the slightest hint of a developing double-chin.
But still she ate, gleefully oblivious to how much she was ballooning. She licked her lips and plates clean and poured glass after glass of cider down her throat. A hiccup made her seat's wooden frame creak, like it was warning her to take it easy. Not that she would listen, giggling and moaning softly as she enjoyed a seemingly endless feast.
She ate and ate, and grew and grew. The fatter she became, the more she ate. And the more she ate, the fatter she became. A dangerous cycle that Engorgia built her fortune on, and so the spectral chef was more than happy to watch.
The fat in Spirit’s flanks rippled as she kicked her chunky legs, chewing the last bit of food left on the table - a mouthful of straw steak. She hadn't yet noticed that the edge of the table looked higher than when she began, due to her chair's legs bending and groaning ominously from her sudden weight gain. Her massive backside bulged out of every space it could as it spilled over the cushion.
With one final gulp, she sat back in the chair, resting her hooves on her stomach. "Aahh…"
CRUNCH! THUMP!!
All of a sudden, she was staring up at the ceiling. She blinked quizzically, feeling her limbs sprawl out like a bloated starfish. She started trying to roll herself upright, gritting her teeth and wiggling her front hooves to no avail.
"Nnngh…!" she moaned, her chipmunk cheeks flushing red from the effort.
“Oh, you poor dear,” giggled Engorgia. She dived beneath the floor, and Spirit grunted as she felt a sudden force pushing against her back. “Come now, up you get.”
In minutes, Spirit was sitting upright, with all the poise of a small elephant. The sudden impact was enough to snap her back to her senses, and she looked over her thick shoulder to find her chair was now a mess of broken wood and crushed dignity.
"Mother of Luna," she breathed, finally getting a look at herself, "what happened to me?!"
"Why, you simply enjoyed a fine meal, of course," Engorgia said, her hoof squashing her guest's thick double-chin. "And if you ask me, you're better for it."
"But now I can barely move!" Spirit groaned and wiggled her legs before awkwardly rolling onto her hooves, looking more akin to an overfed hippopotamus than a pony. "I hope you're happy now."
"Oh, who said we were done?" Engorgia floated in front of her, rubbing her own hooves together. "After all, what meal is complete without dessert?"
A ring of colour pulsed from Spirit's pupils, and her cheeks dimpled as an eager smile crossed her round face.
"Dessert…?"
The sounds of howling winds or melancholy groans were often heard around the abandoned manor in the White Tail Woods, to drive away invaders from its haunted grounds.
That night, however, the air was filled with loud, mocking laughter.
In the manor's foyer was a gigantic grape sporting a few features belonging to a pony named Spirit Trail. Her enormously flabby body squashed out onto the floor, with her legs sunk into it so much her hooves were just barely visible as they hung uselessly in the air. Her cutie marks were almost difficult to make out with how badly they stretched out to fit her gigantic flanks. Her tail was ridiculously small in comparison, hanging limp on her rump. Her massive facial cheeks forced her into a permanent squint, making her scowl look all the cuter.
"What happened to you?" the teenage filly ghost cackled, her normal indifference replaced with amusement.
"Granted a lasht requesht," grumbled Spirit, having developed a lisp from her lips being forcibly puckered up.
"She's so soft and bouncy!" giggled the ghost colt, Spirit's form quaking softly from his bouncing on her many thick back rolls.
The matriarch gently pressed a hoof into her cheek, trying her best to hide a smirk of her own. "You poor dear. Such… overindulgence is unbecoming of a young mare like you."
"Wash doing my job," Spirit muttered. "Ghosht finally moved on."
"Speaking of moving," the patriarch spoke up, "I hope you're planning to do some yourself. Imagine if some intruders came across you like this - they'd run out of here laughing instead of screaming."
As much as she didn't care what anyone thought of her looks right then, Spirit had to admit that tracking down other paranormal leads would be difficult if she needed a crane to get her around Equestria.
"Hey, Shwift," she grunted, "thish plashe got a gym anywhere?"
"Yes, milady," said the butler, who looked as neutral as ever during the whole debacle. "The former master had one installed some time ago."
"Get it all dushted for me, would you?" she asked. "And shomepony roll me down there.
Grrruuuuurrrrrgle…
"And maybe bring me a shandwich."
