Mad applesby BabycordChaptersMask of normalcyThe harvestFinal batchMask of normalcyThe moon hung heavy in the night sky, casting a cold, silver light over the fields of Sweet Apple Acres. The wind howled through the branches of the apple trees, which groaned and creaked like the bodies of old, dying creatures. The once-prosperous orchard now seemed an eerie, lifeless place, its fruit long spoiled, the ground soaked with something far darker than the usual morning dew. A faint, coppery stench clung to the air, sharp and pungent, like iron and rot, and it made the traveler’s throat tighten with unease. He had been wandering for hours, having lost his way in the dense forest surrounding the farm. Every step seemed to drag him deeper into the shadows, the trees closing in around him as if nature itself were conspiring to keep him here. He could feel his hooves sinking into the soft, wet soil, the mud pulling at him like it was trying to swallow him whole. His heart raced, and panic began to creep up his spine. His only hope of escape was the faint glow of a lantern up ahead—an oasis in the oppressive dark. As he neared the light, the sharp, metallic scent grew stronger. He squinted through the gloom, spotting a farmhouse in the distance. The silhouette of the barn loomed large, its weathered wood leaning to one side, crooked and unnatural. Despite the growing dread gnawing at his insides, the traveler felt an overwhelming sense of relief. It was shelter. It was warmth. But as he drew closer, the scent of decay mixed with something more rancid—a deathly sweetness that made his stomach churn. The door of the farmhouse creaked open, and an old, frail figure stepped out onto the porch. Granny Smith stood there, her gnarled hooves gripping the edge of the doorframe as her yellowed eyes locked onto the traveler. Her smile stretched too wide, far too wide, like something that had been stitched together. It was a grin that didn't belong to a kindly old mare but to something far darker. “Well, what do we have here?” she rasped, her voice like the croak of a crow. “Lost your way, sugarcube?” The traveler hesitated, but exhaustion forced him forward. "I... I got lost in the woods," he stammered, his voice quivering. “I didn’t know where else to go. Can you help me?” Granny Smith’s eyes gleamed with something sharp, like a predator watching its prey. She stepped aside, her wrinkled face still locked in that unnerving smile. "Of course, of course. Come in, come in. No need to stand out there in the cold." The traveler entered, feeling the warmth hit him like a wave. The interior of the house was dimly lit, the flickering glow of oil lamps casting long, grotesque shadows on the walls. At first glance, it looked like any old farmhouse—old furniture, a fireplace crackling softly in the corner—but something was off. The air was thick, heavy with the scent of old blood, mildew, and decay. The walls seemed to pulse, as though they were alive, breathing. Granny Smith motioned to an old rocking chair by the fire. “Sit down, sugarcube. I’ll get you somethin’ to eat. You look like you could use a little nourishment.” As the traveler took a seat, his eyes were drawn to a series of framed photos on the wall. Each picture depicted the Apple family—Granny Smith, Big Mac, Applejack, and Apple Bloom—all smiling and cheerful, standing proudly next to their crops. But there was something wrong with each photo. The smiles were too wide, their eyes too hollow, as if the ponies in the pictures weren’t truly alive. And the background, once bright and vibrant, was now a distorted blur, as if something had been edited out, something too horrible to be seen. He tried to shake the feeling gnawing at him, but his unease only grew. A noise came from the back of the house—a strange, wet sound, like something being dragged across the floor. The traveler’s ears perked up, and he turned to see Applejack appear from the shadows, her once-sweet face now twisted into something far more sinister. Her eyes were wide, almost bulging, and her mane was matted with what appeared to be… blood. There was a cleaver in her hoof, its edge glinting darkly in the firelight. It was stained red, and as she stepped forward, the scent of iron became overpowering. Her grin was sickening, more predatory than welcoming. "Well, look who finally decided to join the party," Applejack purred, her voice low and laced with malice. "You’re gonna love what we’ve got for you, sugarcube." The traveler’s blood ran cold. He tried to stand, but his legs felt heavy, as though something had locked him into place. His breath quickened, and he looked around for an escape, but the door had already been closed. “Don’t bother tryin’ to run,” Applejack whispered, as if reading his thoughts. “You’ll never make it outta here alive.” Before the traveler could react, a large shape appeared in the doorway. Big Mac. He was massive, his muscles rippling under his coat, but his face was vacant, like he was no longer even human. His eyes were dull, lifeless, like those of an animal. In one hoof, he gripped a bloody knife, and in the other, a rope. Apple Bloom emerged next, her small form stepping into the room with an unsettling air of innocence. But her eyes—those wide, unblinking eyes—held nothing but malice. “Granny says it's time for dinner,” she said sweetly, her voice high-pitched and twisted. “We’ve been waitin’ for you.” The traveler’s heart hammered in his chest, and the world around him seemed to warp. Desperation clawed at him, and he shot to his hooves, backing away from the Apple family. But Granny Smith’s voice was like a snake’s hiss, cold and cruel. “Where do you think you’re goin’, sugarcube? You don’t get to leave once you’ve stepped onto our land.” In the blink of an eye, Applejack was on him, her cleaver raised high. The traveler barely had time to react before she swung it down, slicing through his shoulder with brutal precision. The pain was immediate and excruciating, but it was nothing compared to the horror that followed. The traveler screamed, but the sound was muffled by Granny Smith’s hand over their mouth. “Shh, it’s okay. It’ll be over soon,” she cooed, her breath rank and suffocating. Big Mac’s massive hooves pressed down on the traveler’s legs, pinning them to the floor. The sharp sting of the cleaver in their shoulder was only the beginning. Applejack’s grin widened as she raised the cleaver again, and this time, it came down faster, cutting deep into the traveler’s side. Blood poured from the wound, splattering onto the floor in thick, wet rivulets. “Don’t bother screamin’,” Applejack sneered, her voice dripping with venom. “No one’s gonna come to save you. You’re ours now.” The Apple family descended on the traveler like a pack of starving wolves. Big Mac hacked at the traveler’s limbs, severing them one by one with brutal, methodical strokes of his knife. The room was a blur of red—blood soaked the floor, splattered the walls, and even the flickering flames in the hearth danced in the crimson light. As the traveler’s vision blurred and their life ebbed away, Apple Bloom’s soft, childlike voice echoed in their ears. “Don’t worry, we’ll make sure you’re part of the family, too. Just like all the others.” And then, as the life drained from their body, the world went dark. The harvestThe stench of blood and death hung thick in the air, clinging to the walls of Sweet Apple Acres like a shroud. The once-vibrant farmhouse, now drenched in crimson, felt suffocating, as if the very structure had absorbed the horrors that had unfolded within it. The walls groaned, as if protesting the violence that had transpired, but the house stood strong, a silent witness to the gruesome ritual. The fire in the hearth crackled, casting grotesque shadows over the disfigured body of the traveler, who lay in a twisted heap near the center of the room, their limbs hacked apart and their blood pooling in dark, spreading puddles. Granny Smith stood in front of the body, her yellowed eyes gleaming in the dim light as she wiped the blood from her hooves. Her smile never faltered, a look of sick satisfaction twisted into her weathered features. “Well, ain’t that just a fine meal?” she croaked, her voice raspy and low. “The freshest one we’ve had in weeks.” Applejack stood over the body, her cleaver gleaming darkly in the firelight, covered in the blood of the traveler. Her eyes burned with a sick, predatory hunger as she cleaned the blade with a rag, wiping away the evidence of her latest kill. “You always get the best cuts, Granny,” she said, her voice dripping with pride. “I reckon we’ve got enough for the next few days. Maybe even a week or two.” Big Mac, towering in the doorway, stared blankly at the scene, his face a mask of emptiness. The bloodstains on his hooves and coat were fresh, and yet there was no sign of remorse in his vacant eyes. His hands tightened around the rope in his grasp, and the cold, mechanical motions of his actions seemed almost practiced. He moved in a trance-like state, his body an extension of the grotesque ritual they had come to know all too well. Apple Bloom, the youngest of the family, hummed a tune as she crouched beside the body, her tiny hooves tracing the outlines of the bloodstains on the floor. Her eyes were wide, but there was no fear in them, only the twisted fascination of one who had known this kind of violence all their life. “This one had a good fight in ‘em,” she whispered, her voice high-pitched and eerily calm. “Didn’t want to go down easy. Makes ‘em taste all the better.” Granny Smith chuckled, her gnarled hooves reaching down to grab a knife from the table. She began to carve into the traveler’s remains, expertly separating the flesh from the bone with practiced, precise movements. “It’s a shame they had to be so tasty. But we can’t have them getting too used to fightin’ back. They’re not meant for that kind of thing.” She looked up at her family, her eyes twinkling with a dark, knowing gleam. “They’re meant to be our sustenance, our strength.” Applejack raised an eyebrow, her expression both proud and detached. “You always said the land gives back what it’s been given. We just take what’s ours, just like the old days.” Granny Smith nodded slowly, her gaze turning to the blood-streaked windows. “The land… it always provides. But it takes too. It takes in ways most ponies could never imagine.” Her voice dropped lower, the words almost a whisper. “And when the harvest is ready, we reap.” The wind howled outside, rattling the windows, and the shadows seemed to stretch longer, darker. The farmhouse was silent except for the occasional crackle of the fire. The air felt thick, oppressive, as though something darker was coming—something far more dangerous than anything they had done before. Applejack set the cleaver down with a final, heavy thud and wiped her hooves clean on the rag. “We need to prepare for the next one,” she said flatly, her voice void of emotion. “Ain’t no telling when the next traveler’ll come through.” Big Mac grunted, his gaze still distant. He walked over to the body, his movements sluggish, almost as if he were in a daze. Without a word, he began to drag the remains to the back door, his hooves scraping against the floor like the sound of a shovel cutting through dirt. The door opened with a creak, and the night swallowed the body whole, the cold wind rushing in as Big Mac disappeared into the darkness beyond. Granny Smith turned to Applejack and Apple Bloom. “We’ve got to be ready for anything,” she muttered, her voice turning dark. “The land’s been real quiet lately, but that don’t mean it’s forgotten us. It’s always watchin’, always hungry. We can’t afford to get sloppy.” Applejack nodded, a flicker of unease crossing her features. “What about the others? The ones that might be lookin’ for this one?” Granny’s smile widened, an expression of twisted delight. “Let ‘em come. We’ll welcome ‘em like we always do. No one leaves this place. No one ever leaves Sweet Apple Acres. They think they’re safe out there, but they’re wrong.” Apple Bloom giggled, her tiny voice high and sing-song. “They’ll be so sweet when we’re done with ‘em.” Granny Smith’s eyes glinted with cruel satisfaction as she watched her family prepare for the next phase of their grim harvest. “Let ‘em think they have a chance. It makes the hunt all the more fun.” Elsewhere, far from the twisted farm, a lone pony stumbled through the dark woods, his breath shallow and rapid. His heart pounded in his chest as he fought against the choking fear that threatened to overtake him. His name was Blue, and he had barely escaped the horrors of Sweet Apple Acres with his life. The family… the Apple family… they were monsters. He had seen it with his own eyes—the bloody ritual, the gory remains, the horrifying, unfeeling hunger in their eyes. He had barely managed to slip away, the ropes that had been meant to bind him now lying discarded on the ground. But there was no sense of safety in the night. No sense of relief. The world outside the farmhouse felt empty, colder. The forest stretched on endlessly, an uninviting labyrinth of twisted trees and dark shadows. He could still smell the coppery scent of blood in the air, could still hear the echoes of Granny Smith’s laughter in his mind. Suddenly, there was a rustling from the trees behind him, and his body tensed. He wasn’t alone. A shadow darted between the trunks of the trees, and Blue’s blood ran cold. He froze, his eyes darting in every direction. The forest seemed alive now, its movements deliberate and menacing. And then he saw her—Apple Bloom, her eyes wide with dark amusement as she skipped toward him, a knife glinting in the moonlight. “Well now,” she said, her voice soft and sweet, “I thought we lost you for a moment. But don’t worry… you’re right where you belong.” With a shriek of terror, Blue turned and ran, but the ground beneath his hooves was slick with blood and wet leaves. He stumbled, his heart racing faster than his legs could carry him. The forest closed in on him as Apple Bloom’s laughter echoed in the night. And just beyond her, like phantoms in the shadows, her family followed. No one ever escaped Sweet Apple Acres. Final batchThe cold, unrelenting wind whipped through the trees as Blue stumbled deeper into the dark forest. His breaths came in ragged gasps, the adrenaline coursing through his veins, driving him forward despite the terror gnawing at his insides. The sickening memory of the Apple family’s gruesome slaughter haunted him—Granny Smith’s blood-soaked hooves, Applejack’s cruel, calculated precision with her cleaver, and the twisted, innocent amusement in Apple Bloom’s eyes. The nightmare of Sweet Apple Acres had only just begun, and Blue knew he could not outrun it forever. His hooves pounded the dirt, and his ears twitched at every creak of a branch or rustle in the underbrush. He could feel their presence behind him, the weight of their hunger, their eyes tracking him through the darkness like predators circling their prey. The sound of hooves following him, getting closer and closer, was the only thing that kept him running. He was losing his strength. Every breath was a struggle, every step a slow descent into exhaustion. But still, he pushed forward, his mind racing. He had to survive. He had to warn others. The Apple family was a danger, a curse on the land that had to be eradicated. He had seen their true nature, and he wasn’t about to let them get away with it. A snapping sound broke through his thoughts, sharp and loud, followed by a high-pitched giggle that made his blood run cold. Blue whipped his head around, his eyes darting through the trees. There, standing on a low branch, was Apple Bloom—her twisted smile gleaming in the moonlight. “You really thought you could run, didn’t you?” Her voice was sing-song, mocking. “You’re not getting away from us.” Blue’s heart sank as the sound of more hooves on the ground reached his ears. Applejack’s heavy steps. The ominous silence of Big Mac. And then Granny Smith’s gurgling laugh, her voice like a sickly rasp. They were closing in, surrounding him. There was nowhere to go. Blue turned and ran harder, desperation flooding his limbs, but it was futile. The forest had become their hunting ground, and no amount of frantic scrambling would save him now. The moonlight filtered through the twisted branches above as Blue’s hooves stumbled on the uneven ground. His mind was fractured, his body screaming in pain, but there was no time to slow down. He had to find a way to fight back, to survive. But the overwhelming sense of dread, the cold grip of inevitability, clung to him. No matter how fast he ran, no matter how far he pushed himself, he couldn’t escape them. A shadow emerged ahead, tall and looming. Blue’s heart skipped a beat. He skidded to a halt just as Big Mac’s massive form stepped into his path, blocking the way. The stallion’s eyes were dark, empty—nothing but cold, unfeeling hollows. His hooves moved with slow deliberation as he took a step toward Blue, a single, chilling grunt escaping his throat. There was no mercy in his eyes. There was no compassion. Blue’s pulse raced as he backed away, his mind desperately searching for a way out. Behind him, Applejack’s voice cut through the silence, cold and predatory. “You’ve got nowhere to run, Blue. We’re everywhere. This is our land. And no one leaves.” From the trees, Granny Smith’s raspy voice joined in, like a low whisper through the wind. “You should’ve known better than to come here. Sweet Apple Acres don’t take kindly to strangers.” Blue spun to the side, looking for an escape. His eyes caught sight of a small ravine a few yards away, but before he could make a move, Apple Bloom’s high-pitched voice rang out again, her taunting laugh echoing through the trees. “You can’t hide forever, Blue! We’ll find you, and when we do, it’ll be so much worse.” He glanced back at Big Mac, who was advancing toward him with the slow, methodical steps of a predator. His massive hooves scraped against the forest floor, each movement deliberate, like he had all the time in the world. The stallion was so calm, so composed—almost mechanical in his movements. It was terrifying. Blue’s breath came in sharp, frantic gasps. He had to act. Had to do something—anything—to survive. His mind raced, calculating, searching for a way out of this nightmare. But before he could make a move, he heard a sound—a faint crack from above. He looked up just in time to see a large net falling toward him, an intricate web of rope and twine that was too fast to dodge. It caught him in mid-stride, wrapping around his legs and hooves, pulling him to the ground with a brutal yank. His body slammed into the earth, the wind knocked from his lungs. Pain shot through his ribs as he struggled against the tight binding, his movements frantic, desperate. But the more he fought, the more the net tightened, the ropes digging into his skin. He couldn’t breathe. His muscles burned. “Gotcha.” Applejack’s voice was cold and triumphant, stepping into view as she circled him like a vulture. “Told you, you ain’t going nowhere.” He could see her clearly now, standing above him, the cleaver glinting in her hooves, her expression one of sick satisfaction. She leaned in close, her eyes gleaming with malice as she sneered down at him. “You’re the last one, Blue. The last to make it this far. But you won’t be the last to die.” The forest fell silent as the family closed in around him. Big Mac stood still, his blank gaze focused on Blue as he knelt beside him. Granny Smith’s twisted grin only widened as she observed, her eyes reflecting a hunger that had only grown stronger. And Apple Bloom, who now stood next to Applejack, had an almost gleeful expression, her tiny hooves clutching a jagged piece of metal. “W-Why?” Blue’s voice came out in a rasp, barely above a whisper. “Why are you doing this?” Applejack crouched down, her face inches from his. “It’s the way it’s always been,” she said, her voice dark, almost maternal. “You don’t understand, do you? We do what we have to. We survive. And this? This is how we survive. We take what we need. We’ve been doing it for generations.” “You’re nothing but monsters,” Blue spat, though the words came out weak and ragged. Applejack’s eyes flickered with a brief flash of rage before she quickly masked it with a tight, cruel smile. “I reckon you could call us that. But that don’t change anything.” She motioned for Big Mac to move forward, and he began to wrap his massive hooves around Blue’s neck, his grip like iron. The air began to suffocate him. And then the blade came down. It was fast. Too fast. Blue barely had time to scream as Applejack’s cleaver sank deep into his chest, cutting through flesh with terrifying ease. Blood poured from the wound, staining the forest floor as his body went limp in Big Mac’s grasp. The pain was unimaginable, but it didn’t last long. His world was swallowed by darkness. The Apple family stood over him, unshaken by the brutal finality of their actions. Granny Smith’s dry laughter echoed in the night, a final, chilling note in the air. “Well, I reckon that’s the last of ‘em,” Granny Smith said, her voice almost content. Applejack wiped the blood from her cleaver, turning away as if the kill were nothing more than an ordinary task. “The harvest is done for now. But there’ll be more. There always are.” And as the wind howled through the trees, the silence returned, broken only by the sounds of the family moving deeper into the forest, their hunger unsated, their legacy of violence, bloodshed, and death continuing unabated.
Mask of normalcyThe moon hung heavy in the night sky, casting a cold, silver light over the fields of Sweet Apple Acres. The wind howled through the branches of the apple trees, which groaned and creaked like the bodies of old, dying creatures. The once-prosperous orchard now seemed an eerie, lifeless place, its fruit long spoiled, the ground soaked with something far darker than the usual morning dew. A faint, coppery stench clung to the air, sharp and pungent, like iron and rot, and it made the traveler’s throat tighten with unease. He had been wandering for hours, having lost his way in the dense forest surrounding the farm. Every step seemed to drag him deeper into the shadows, the trees closing in around him as if nature itself were conspiring to keep him here. He could feel his hooves sinking into the soft, wet soil, the mud pulling at him like it was trying to swallow him whole. His heart raced, and panic began to creep up his spine. His only hope of escape was the faint glow of a lantern up ahead—an oasis in the oppressive dark. As he neared the light, the sharp, metallic scent grew stronger. He squinted through the gloom, spotting a farmhouse in the distance. The silhouette of the barn loomed large, its weathered wood leaning to one side, crooked and unnatural. Despite the growing dread gnawing at his insides, the traveler felt an overwhelming sense of relief. It was shelter. It was warmth. But as he drew closer, the scent of decay mixed with something more rancid—a deathly sweetness that made his stomach churn. The door of the farmhouse creaked open, and an old, frail figure stepped out onto the porch. Granny Smith stood there, her gnarled hooves gripping the edge of the doorframe as her yellowed eyes locked onto the traveler. Her smile stretched too wide, far too wide, like something that had been stitched together. It was a grin that didn't belong to a kindly old mare but to something far darker. “Well, what do we have here?” she rasped, her voice like the croak of a crow. “Lost your way, sugarcube?” The traveler hesitated, but exhaustion forced him forward. "I... I got lost in the woods," he stammered, his voice quivering. “I didn’t know where else to go. Can you help me?” Granny Smith’s eyes gleamed with something sharp, like a predator watching its prey. She stepped aside, her wrinkled face still locked in that unnerving smile. "Of course, of course. Come in, come in. No need to stand out there in the cold." The traveler entered, feeling the warmth hit him like a wave. The interior of the house was dimly lit, the flickering glow of oil lamps casting long, grotesque shadows on the walls. At first glance, it looked like any old farmhouse—old furniture, a fireplace crackling softly in the corner—but something was off. The air was thick, heavy with the scent of old blood, mildew, and decay. The walls seemed to pulse, as though they were alive, breathing. Granny Smith motioned to an old rocking chair by the fire. “Sit down, sugarcube. I’ll get you somethin’ to eat. You look like you could use a little nourishment.” As the traveler took a seat, his eyes were drawn to a series of framed photos on the wall. Each picture depicted the Apple family—Granny Smith, Big Mac, Applejack, and Apple Bloom—all smiling and cheerful, standing proudly next to their crops. But there was something wrong with each photo. The smiles were too wide, their eyes too hollow, as if the ponies in the pictures weren’t truly alive. And the background, once bright and vibrant, was now a distorted blur, as if something had been edited out, something too horrible to be seen. He tried to shake the feeling gnawing at him, but his unease only grew. A noise came from the back of the house—a strange, wet sound, like something being dragged across the floor. The traveler’s ears perked up, and he turned to see Applejack appear from the shadows, her once-sweet face now twisted into something far more sinister. Her eyes were wide, almost bulging, and her mane was matted with what appeared to be… blood. There was a cleaver in her hoof, its edge glinting darkly in the firelight. It was stained red, and as she stepped forward, the scent of iron became overpowering. Her grin was sickening, more predatory than welcoming. "Well, look who finally decided to join the party," Applejack purred, her voice low and laced with malice. "You’re gonna love what we’ve got for you, sugarcube." The traveler’s blood ran cold. He tried to stand, but his legs felt heavy, as though something had locked him into place. His breath quickened, and he looked around for an escape, but the door had already been closed. “Don’t bother tryin’ to run,” Applejack whispered, as if reading his thoughts. “You’ll never make it outta here alive.” Before the traveler could react, a large shape appeared in the doorway. Big Mac. He was massive, his muscles rippling under his coat, but his face was vacant, like he was no longer even human. His eyes were dull, lifeless, like those of an animal. In one hoof, he gripped a bloody knife, and in the other, a rope. Apple Bloom emerged next, her small form stepping into the room with an unsettling air of innocence. But her eyes—those wide, unblinking eyes—held nothing but malice. “Granny says it's time for dinner,” she said sweetly, her voice high-pitched and twisted. “We’ve been waitin’ for you.” The traveler’s heart hammered in his chest, and the world around him seemed to warp. Desperation clawed at him, and he shot to his hooves, backing away from the Apple family. But Granny Smith’s voice was like a snake’s hiss, cold and cruel. “Where do you think you’re goin’, sugarcube? You don’t get to leave once you’ve stepped onto our land.” In the blink of an eye, Applejack was on him, her cleaver raised high. The traveler barely had time to react before she swung it down, slicing through his shoulder with brutal precision. The pain was immediate and excruciating, but it was nothing compared to the horror that followed. The traveler screamed, but the sound was muffled by Granny Smith’s hand over their mouth. “Shh, it’s okay. It’ll be over soon,” she cooed, her breath rank and suffocating. Big Mac’s massive hooves pressed down on the traveler’s legs, pinning them to the floor. The sharp sting of the cleaver in their shoulder was only the beginning. Applejack’s grin widened as she raised the cleaver again, and this time, it came down faster, cutting deep into the traveler’s side. Blood poured from the wound, splattering onto the floor in thick, wet rivulets. “Don’t bother screamin’,” Applejack sneered, her voice dripping with venom. “No one’s gonna come to save you. You’re ours now.” The Apple family descended on the traveler like a pack of starving wolves. Big Mac hacked at the traveler’s limbs, severing them one by one with brutal, methodical strokes of his knife. The room was a blur of red—blood soaked the floor, splattered the walls, and even the flickering flames in the hearth danced in the crimson light. As the traveler’s vision blurred and their life ebbed away, Apple Bloom’s soft, childlike voice echoed in their ears. “Don’t worry, we’ll make sure you’re part of the family, too. Just like all the others.” And then, as the life drained from their body, the world went dark.
The harvestThe stench of blood and death hung thick in the air, clinging to the walls of Sweet Apple Acres like a shroud. The once-vibrant farmhouse, now drenched in crimson, felt suffocating, as if the very structure had absorbed the horrors that had unfolded within it. The walls groaned, as if protesting the violence that had transpired, but the house stood strong, a silent witness to the gruesome ritual. The fire in the hearth crackled, casting grotesque shadows over the disfigured body of the traveler, who lay in a twisted heap near the center of the room, their limbs hacked apart and their blood pooling in dark, spreading puddles. Granny Smith stood in front of the body, her yellowed eyes gleaming in the dim light as she wiped the blood from her hooves. Her smile never faltered, a look of sick satisfaction twisted into her weathered features. “Well, ain’t that just a fine meal?” she croaked, her voice raspy and low. “The freshest one we’ve had in weeks.” Applejack stood over the body, her cleaver gleaming darkly in the firelight, covered in the blood of the traveler. Her eyes burned with a sick, predatory hunger as she cleaned the blade with a rag, wiping away the evidence of her latest kill. “You always get the best cuts, Granny,” she said, her voice dripping with pride. “I reckon we’ve got enough for the next few days. Maybe even a week or two.” Big Mac, towering in the doorway, stared blankly at the scene, his face a mask of emptiness. The bloodstains on his hooves and coat were fresh, and yet there was no sign of remorse in his vacant eyes. His hands tightened around the rope in his grasp, and the cold, mechanical motions of his actions seemed almost practiced. He moved in a trance-like state, his body an extension of the grotesque ritual they had come to know all too well. Apple Bloom, the youngest of the family, hummed a tune as she crouched beside the body, her tiny hooves tracing the outlines of the bloodstains on the floor. Her eyes were wide, but there was no fear in them, only the twisted fascination of one who had known this kind of violence all their life. “This one had a good fight in ‘em,” she whispered, her voice high-pitched and eerily calm. “Didn’t want to go down easy. Makes ‘em taste all the better.” Granny Smith chuckled, her gnarled hooves reaching down to grab a knife from the table. She began to carve into the traveler’s remains, expertly separating the flesh from the bone with practiced, precise movements. “It’s a shame they had to be so tasty. But we can’t have them getting too used to fightin’ back. They’re not meant for that kind of thing.” She looked up at her family, her eyes twinkling with a dark, knowing gleam. “They’re meant to be our sustenance, our strength.” Applejack raised an eyebrow, her expression both proud and detached. “You always said the land gives back what it’s been given. We just take what’s ours, just like the old days.” Granny Smith nodded slowly, her gaze turning to the blood-streaked windows. “The land… it always provides. But it takes too. It takes in ways most ponies could never imagine.” Her voice dropped lower, the words almost a whisper. “And when the harvest is ready, we reap.” The wind howled outside, rattling the windows, and the shadows seemed to stretch longer, darker. The farmhouse was silent except for the occasional crackle of the fire. The air felt thick, oppressive, as though something darker was coming—something far more dangerous than anything they had done before. Applejack set the cleaver down with a final, heavy thud and wiped her hooves clean on the rag. “We need to prepare for the next one,” she said flatly, her voice void of emotion. “Ain’t no telling when the next traveler’ll come through.” Big Mac grunted, his gaze still distant. He walked over to the body, his movements sluggish, almost as if he were in a daze. Without a word, he began to drag the remains to the back door, his hooves scraping against the floor like the sound of a shovel cutting through dirt. The door opened with a creak, and the night swallowed the body whole, the cold wind rushing in as Big Mac disappeared into the darkness beyond. Granny Smith turned to Applejack and Apple Bloom. “We’ve got to be ready for anything,” she muttered, her voice turning dark. “The land’s been real quiet lately, but that don’t mean it’s forgotten us. It’s always watchin’, always hungry. We can’t afford to get sloppy.” Applejack nodded, a flicker of unease crossing her features. “What about the others? The ones that might be lookin’ for this one?” Granny’s smile widened, an expression of twisted delight. “Let ‘em come. We’ll welcome ‘em like we always do. No one leaves this place. No one ever leaves Sweet Apple Acres. They think they’re safe out there, but they’re wrong.” Apple Bloom giggled, her tiny voice high and sing-song. “They’ll be so sweet when we’re done with ‘em.” Granny Smith’s eyes glinted with cruel satisfaction as she watched her family prepare for the next phase of their grim harvest. “Let ‘em think they have a chance. It makes the hunt all the more fun.” Elsewhere, far from the twisted farm, a lone pony stumbled through the dark woods, his breath shallow and rapid. His heart pounded in his chest as he fought against the choking fear that threatened to overtake him. His name was Blue, and he had barely escaped the horrors of Sweet Apple Acres with his life. The family… the Apple family… they were monsters. He had seen it with his own eyes—the bloody ritual, the gory remains, the horrifying, unfeeling hunger in their eyes. He had barely managed to slip away, the ropes that had been meant to bind him now lying discarded on the ground. But there was no sense of safety in the night. No sense of relief. The world outside the farmhouse felt empty, colder. The forest stretched on endlessly, an uninviting labyrinth of twisted trees and dark shadows. He could still smell the coppery scent of blood in the air, could still hear the echoes of Granny Smith’s laughter in his mind. Suddenly, there was a rustling from the trees behind him, and his body tensed. He wasn’t alone. A shadow darted between the trunks of the trees, and Blue’s blood ran cold. He froze, his eyes darting in every direction. The forest seemed alive now, its movements deliberate and menacing. And then he saw her—Apple Bloom, her eyes wide with dark amusement as she skipped toward him, a knife glinting in the moonlight. “Well now,” she said, her voice soft and sweet, “I thought we lost you for a moment. But don’t worry… you’re right where you belong.” With a shriek of terror, Blue turned and ran, but the ground beneath his hooves was slick with blood and wet leaves. He stumbled, his heart racing faster than his legs could carry him. The forest closed in on him as Apple Bloom’s laughter echoed in the night. And just beyond her, like phantoms in the shadows, her family followed. No one ever escaped Sweet Apple Acres.
Final batchThe cold, unrelenting wind whipped through the trees as Blue stumbled deeper into the dark forest. His breaths came in ragged gasps, the adrenaline coursing through his veins, driving him forward despite the terror gnawing at his insides. The sickening memory of the Apple family’s gruesome slaughter haunted him—Granny Smith’s blood-soaked hooves, Applejack’s cruel, calculated precision with her cleaver, and the twisted, innocent amusement in Apple Bloom’s eyes. The nightmare of Sweet Apple Acres had only just begun, and Blue knew he could not outrun it forever. His hooves pounded the dirt, and his ears twitched at every creak of a branch or rustle in the underbrush. He could feel their presence behind him, the weight of their hunger, their eyes tracking him through the darkness like predators circling their prey. The sound of hooves following him, getting closer and closer, was the only thing that kept him running. He was losing his strength. Every breath was a struggle, every step a slow descent into exhaustion. But still, he pushed forward, his mind racing. He had to survive. He had to warn others. The Apple family was a danger, a curse on the land that had to be eradicated. He had seen their true nature, and he wasn’t about to let them get away with it. A snapping sound broke through his thoughts, sharp and loud, followed by a high-pitched giggle that made his blood run cold. Blue whipped his head around, his eyes darting through the trees. There, standing on a low branch, was Apple Bloom—her twisted smile gleaming in the moonlight. “You really thought you could run, didn’t you?” Her voice was sing-song, mocking. “You’re not getting away from us.” Blue’s heart sank as the sound of more hooves on the ground reached his ears. Applejack’s heavy steps. The ominous silence of Big Mac. And then Granny Smith’s gurgling laugh, her voice like a sickly rasp. They were closing in, surrounding him. There was nowhere to go. Blue turned and ran harder, desperation flooding his limbs, but it was futile. The forest had become their hunting ground, and no amount of frantic scrambling would save him now. The moonlight filtered through the twisted branches above as Blue’s hooves stumbled on the uneven ground. His mind was fractured, his body screaming in pain, but there was no time to slow down. He had to find a way to fight back, to survive. But the overwhelming sense of dread, the cold grip of inevitability, clung to him. No matter how fast he ran, no matter how far he pushed himself, he couldn’t escape them. A shadow emerged ahead, tall and looming. Blue’s heart skipped a beat. He skidded to a halt just as Big Mac’s massive form stepped into his path, blocking the way. The stallion’s eyes were dark, empty—nothing but cold, unfeeling hollows. His hooves moved with slow deliberation as he took a step toward Blue, a single, chilling grunt escaping his throat. There was no mercy in his eyes. There was no compassion. Blue’s pulse raced as he backed away, his mind desperately searching for a way out. Behind him, Applejack’s voice cut through the silence, cold and predatory. “You’ve got nowhere to run, Blue. We’re everywhere. This is our land. And no one leaves.” From the trees, Granny Smith’s raspy voice joined in, like a low whisper through the wind. “You should’ve known better than to come here. Sweet Apple Acres don’t take kindly to strangers.” Blue spun to the side, looking for an escape. His eyes caught sight of a small ravine a few yards away, but before he could make a move, Apple Bloom’s high-pitched voice rang out again, her taunting laugh echoing through the trees. “You can’t hide forever, Blue! We’ll find you, and when we do, it’ll be so much worse.” He glanced back at Big Mac, who was advancing toward him with the slow, methodical steps of a predator. His massive hooves scraped against the forest floor, each movement deliberate, like he had all the time in the world. The stallion was so calm, so composed—almost mechanical in his movements. It was terrifying. Blue’s breath came in sharp, frantic gasps. He had to act. Had to do something—anything—to survive. His mind raced, calculating, searching for a way out of this nightmare. But before he could make a move, he heard a sound—a faint crack from above. He looked up just in time to see a large net falling toward him, an intricate web of rope and twine that was too fast to dodge. It caught him in mid-stride, wrapping around his legs and hooves, pulling him to the ground with a brutal yank. His body slammed into the earth, the wind knocked from his lungs. Pain shot through his ribs as he struggled against the tight binding, his movements frantic, desperate. But the more he fought, the more the net tightened, the ropes digging into his skin. He couldn’t breathe. His muscles burned. “Gotcha.” Applejack’s voice was cold and triumphant, stepping into view as she circled him like a vulture. “Told you, you ain’t going nowhere.” He could see her clearly now, standing above him, the cleaver glinting in her hooves, her expression one of sick satisfaction. She leaned in close, her eyes gleaming with malice as she sneered down at him. “You’re the last one, Blue. The last to make it this far. But you won’t be the last to die.” The forest fell silent as the family closed in around him. Big Mac stood still, his blank gaze focused on Blue as he knelt beside him. Granny Smith’s twisted grin only widened as she observed, her eyes reflecting a hunger that had only grown stronger. And Apple Bloom, who now stood next to Applejack, had an almost gleeful expression, her tiny hooves clutching a jagged piece of metal. “W-Why?” Blue’s voice came out in a rasp, barely above a whisper. “Why are you doing this?” Applejack crouched down, her face inches from his. “It’s the way it’s always been,” she said, her voice dark, almost maternal. “You don’t understand, do you? We do what we have to. We survive. And this? This is how we survive. We take what we need. We’ve been doing it for generations.” “You’re nothing but monsters,” Blue spat, though the words came out weak and ragged. Applejack’s eyes flickered with a brief flash of rage before she quickly masked it with a tight, cruel smile. “I reckon you could call us that. But that don’t change anything.” She motioned for Big Mac to move forward, and he began to wrap his massive hooves around Blue’s neck, his grip like iron. The air began to suffocate him. And then the blade came down. It was fast. Too fast. Blue barely had time to scream as Applejack’s cleaver sank deep into his chest, cutting through flesh with terrifying ease. Blood poured from the wound, staining the forest floor as his body went limp in Big Mac’s grasp. The pain was unimaginable, but it didn’t last long. His world was swallowed by darkness. The Apple family stood over him, unshaken by the brutal finality of their actions. Granny Smith’s dry laughter echoed in the night, a final, chilling note in the air. “Well, I reckon that’s the last of ‘em,” Granny Smith said, her voice almost content. Applejack wiped the blood from her cleaver, turning away as if the kill were nothing more than an ordinary task. “The harvest is done for now. But there’ll be more. There always are.” And as the wind howled through the trees, the silence returned, broken only by the sounds of the family moving deeper into the forest, their hunger unsated, their legacy of violence, bloodshed, and death continuing unabated.
