Mad apples

The 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.