Might I have a bit of earth?
We don't go past the garden wall.
It was a mantra repeated ad nauseam by the family for years. Granny Smith had said it to their mother, who said it to Applejack, who now said it to Apple Bloom.
But she didn't just say it. She yelled it.
Tears were welling up in Apple Bloom's eyes. Her muddy hooves were rapidly drying, leaving crusty blotches on the carpet. "But why sis?"
"Because you don't!" Applejack shouted. "You! Just! DON'T!"
The tears spilled freely now, and a whimper started at Apple Bloom's throat.
It tugged at her her heartstrings.
She tried to stay firm, but after a moment Applejack's face softened. Kneeling down, she hugged her sister. "It's okay," she said, softer. "I'm not mad. I mean, I am, but…" She sighed. "I'm trying to keep you safe. There's things you need to stay out of. Someday you'll understand but for now you need to just listen to me, okay?"
Apple Bloom bit her lip and nodded, downcast.
Sometimes it was hard to tell when a lesson had truly sunk in, or if the forbidding would only serve to foster yet more curiousity. But Applejack knew her sister well enough to know that it had stuck, at least for now.
It helped that she rarely yelled.
"Come on sugarcube. Let's get you cleaned up for dinner."
Deep in the thicket, black moss and thorny vines lay in thick tangles. Beneath the prickly barrier, a tall stone wall stood in decay, hasty construction worn and bending under decades of neglect.
Applejack stared at the wall. It had been years since the first day she'd gone over; the stones had been straighter then, the vines thinner, but she still remembered it like yesterday. She didn't fully understand it. How it had started, how it still persisted. Just that one day, she was part of it.
Against her better judgment she wandered around the perimeter of the garden. Apple Bloom's hoofprints were still fresh. Her trademark scarf had come off in the attempt to scale the vines, lying stained and muddy.
"Why'd you go lookin?" she muttered. "Now I gotta take care of it."
She scrubbed hoofprints out with her own and picked up the scarf, then continued around the perimeter. The garden wall was circular, ten withers high and two hundred paces around. Built to last, though not long enough.
Reaching the far side she pushed aside a bundle of vines and stared at the ironclad wooden door. It was newer than the rest of the wall, probably only a few decades old, but starting to rot. The lock was even newer, still not rusted from the elements.
She'd had to replace it a few years ago. Ponies still talked about that night, but less often now.
Leaning her head forward, she tipped her hat into one hoof. With her muzzle she nudged aside the hidden flap and pulled a key out with her teeth. Replacing her hat she bent down and put the key in the lock.
It clicked innocently and the door swung open.
"It's not fair," Apple Bloom groused, picking at her dinner. "How come she gets to know and I just have to wonder?"
Big Mac chewed another bite of grain cake. "Eeyup."
"An' she keeps telling me I can know when I'm older, but she's been sayin' that my whole life! An' now I'm older, but she still won't tell me."
Big Mac sighed. It was the same every year around this time. The curiosity, the snooping and sneaking. It was like an invisible force, pulling the filly to places she shouldn't be.
Places that only led to pain, so little as he knew.
He thought for a moment before opening his mouth. "Look here little sis: It chews me up too, but your sister and granny know best. So you just listen to them until they say otherwise, ya hear?"
Apple Bloom looked at her brother in silence. He was a pony of few words, so she knew the ones he did utter were important. And the ones he didn't say, even moreso. "You don't… you don't know, do you?" she asked, after a moment.
"Nope."
"She hasn't told you?"
"Nope."
Now that made her head spin. At a loss for words, she turned her attention back to her half-eaten dinner; Buttered grain cakes and mashed potatoes, with thick slices of juicy apples on the side.
On the far side of the table, Applejack's own plate lay untouched.
Applejack stared into the hollowed-out darkness of the ancient tree trunk. Sitting in the middle of the circular garden, it was short and stout, but at least four pony-lengths wide.
Thump.
"No, it's just me."
Thump.
"Look, you gotta stop with this. I know things have been good for us. But I'm more than willin' to just cut loose and take our chances, if you don't behave."
Thump.
She sighed and glanced up at the moon, shrouded in clouds. "I know, I know!" Her voice raised in pitch and volume. "But a deal's a deal! You had Granny, an' now you got me, but she's off limits, ya hear!?"
Silence.
"Alright."
Suppressing a shudder, Applejack walked into the hollow. It took her eyes a minute to adjust, though she would have preferred to keep them closed.
THUMP.
The withered black heart in the center of the bleached-white ribcage pulsed again. Angry.
Applejack glanced around the interior of the empty trunk. Tried not to look at a rotted pastel shape, deep in the shadows. Quickly she found a blade on the makeshift table. With barely a wince she opened a small vein and held her hoof out.
One drop. Two. Five. A steady dribble now. The heart spasmed and throbbed, growing red and full.
"Alright, that's enough for now," Applejack said. She found the roll of bandages and closed the wound efficiently, then set them back on the table.
Thump-thump.
Feeling a little faint, she stumbled out of the hollow tree. It took a moment to catch her breath. She'd have to hide the wound. Make an excuse for the fresh hollows under her eyes. Visit Rarity for yet more makeup to hide the fact that she somehow looked years beyond her age.
It didn't want the stallions for some reason. Just the mares. Just like Granny. Just like her mother, who hadn't been careful enough. Just like that random filly who'd wandered off into the Everfree one day and never come back.
Coincidentally one of their best years.
Sometimes she wondered if it was worth it. Then she looked up, and watched a bushel of perfect, beautiful apples sprout from the dead branches.
Author's Note
My first speedwrite for Quills & Sofas, Spookfest 2023. Allotted time was 1 hour, with 15 minutes to edit. Prompts used were "hollowed out" and "garden wall".
Polished up for publication but no significant structural or story changes.
