Big Mac Becomes an Alicorn
The hulking stallion tossed another bale of hay onto the wagon, muscles rippling, mane glistening with the sweat that signified yet another day of dutiful work. He wiped his brow. Unassuming green eyes scanned the orchard that encircled him, bathed in swathes of golden sunlight, which struck the trees and cast long, dark shadows across the short green grass. He took a whiff of the indulgent scent that permeated the sweet air, an aromatic concoction of succulent apples and fresh greenery.
And so completed another day of arduous work for Big Macintosh. The last bale of hay had been loaded onto the wagon, and all that was left for him to do was to buckle himself in and trudge on back to the barn with it in tow. After the sun had beat down on it all day, the steel saddle was burning white hot. But Mac shrugged off the pain and strapped himself in in spite of it.
In a nonchalant way, Mac chewed on his piece of hay. He pulled the wagon down the dirt path that snaked its way through the grass, the wheels sinking into the ruts that had formed after frequented trips in and out of the orchard. The surly stallion lugged the load along; it was never a long trip back to the barn.
A warm and friendly breeze rustled the leaves, creating a natural symphony that swam through the orchard to perfectly complement its crisp colors. Mac smirked a smirk that he normally wore after the realization of a long day’s end kicked in. He whistled to himself, a melody that harmonized well with the dancing leaves. The normally uncharismatic stallion appeared contented to be headed home, and why not? Working himself to the bone could only be remedied by a comfortable chair and a glass of cider. He continued his whistling.
Suddenly, Big Mac’s wagon struck a hump in the road, and rocked the wagon. The bump was subtle, but enough to send one of the bales of hay tumbling over the side. Mac came to a reluctant stop and sighed deeply.
He unstrapped himself from the wagon’s restraint. With a frown he swung around the outside of the wagon to the spot where the bale had fallen... or where he figured it to have.
There, he took pause. His frown deepened. Where... had the bale of hay gone?
Certain it had fallen, Mac performed a quick check of the wagon. He looked under it, behind it, and on the other side. Uncertain, he checked under it once more.
Eenope.
It had disappeared into thin air, like a magic trick without the magician. Perhaps it had fallen through the plane of existence, just exited through the landscape. But Mac had a head that was fixed firmly to his neck. Things don’t just disappear. He was a rational stallion, and nothing out of the ordinary ever fazed or perplexed him, save the occasional spider in the bathroom which scared him shitless.
And so, sensing that he had been mistaken, Mac shrugged his shoulders and moved on.
But as he trotted back around the wagon once more, something halted him, and left him disconcerted. There in front of him, something that he could not have missed on the first trip around, was the bale of hay that had fallen.
Mac’s brow furrowed. He was certain that this bale had not been there before... he would have tripped over it. Perhaps it was another that had fallen just now. Strange that the occurrence had been inaudible, but it was still plausible.
Mac moved to haul the thing back onto the wagon. He bent down to bite hold of the rope that held the bale together and toss it back on. But curiously, as if by some supernatural force, something stopped him from doing so. He stayed leaned over the bale of hay, isolated in thought, set adrift by some unseen power. Then, timidly, warily, he backed away from the bale, and looked to it from a good ten hoofsteps out.
What he saw had perhaps been an event unforeseen. The bale of hay had, inexplicably, and don’t freak out here... sprouted eyes.
Big Mac went wide eyed, and visibly trembled as he came to terms with the now sentient being in his midst. Only, he didn’t really come to terms. One... couldn’t really come to terms with a living bale of hay.
“Eeyup,” Mac uttered shakily, for what do words truly provide in an extraordinary situation such as this?
His hooves were shackled to the earth. All that the poor, positively floored stallion could do was watch in abject horror as what was once a normal pile of hay turned into a, well, normal pile of hay with a face screwed wrongly into it. This was far worse than finding spiders in the bathroom.
By some unwarranted miracle, a hay bale had sprung to life here in the orchard. And after a strenuous and complicated process of getting the design of its face correct (the mouth goes under the eyes)... it cleared the throat it didn’t possess.
Then, calmly, assertively, and in a manner that you perhaps wouldn’t expect from a bale of hay... it spoke to him.
“Hey there,” it said in a dark, cool voice that could very well make any a conceited mare swoon over it. That is, if the thing weren’t a hay bale. “You must be Big Macintosh?”
Mac could only nod his head in the manner of an old and dysfunctional rocking chair.
“Well, you certainly live up to your namesake,” said the hay bale. “Um... either you put the thing away or you move me to a higher location, if you could.”
Embarrassed, well, proud but embarrassed, Mac agreed to lift the hay bale up onto the wagon. Awkwardly, he crossed over to where it lay on the ground, bit hold of the rope and turned to, gently, set it down on the back of the wagon.
“Wonderful,” the hay bale said, apparently contented to be rested atop the wagon. “Now, let’s cut right to the chase, because I bet you’re wondering how this whole situation came to be, hm?”
Mac again nodded his head in a crooked fashion.
“Right, well, let’s not beat around the bush then. I’m a demon, and I’ve come to put a curse on you.”
Hm.
Mac had a sort of thousand yard stare, an intense and focused stare that peered straight through the hay bale, the wagon, the dirt beneath it. His eyes appeared to be fixated on something that simply wasn’t there.
“Hey, buddy.” The hay bale performed a strange, unproductive hop to grab Mac’s attention. “Hey, you don’t have to worry, friend. This is a fun curse, not one of those weird one’s that witches do. Witches are bitches, remember that.”
Mac shook his head strongly and returned to a conscious state.
“Yeah. We don’t have a rhyme for demons yet, but so long as you know the difference, we’ll be just fine.”
There came no response.
“You aren’t a very talkative fellow, are you?” asked the hay bale.
“Eenope,” Mac replied.
If a hay bale could frown, it did. “Is... is there a reason for that?” it asked.
Mac, expressionless, shook his head side to side.
“Hm,” the hay bale said in a thought-provoking manner. “Well, if you wanna talk about it, I’m here for you man. Demons are fairly effective listeners.”
Mac only gazed through the thing once more.
“Right. The curse. What I came for,” the hay bale said. “Do you like curses?”
Mac shrugged his shoulders. How the hell should he know?
“Okay, okay. That was a silly question. I’d just like to assure you that the process is totally safe, really. There is no cause for alarm.”
Mac had his head cocked to the side and gave a look of confusion. A curse... set on him... for reasons unexplained. Just because the demon could do it. He wondered if it actually did hurt when casted. What would it feel like? What was going to happen to him?
“And, if you must know,” the demon continued. “I’ve already casted it. You might have felt a sensation similar to a pinprick, or maybe a chilled feeling when you lifted me from the ground.” The hay bale smile endearingly, which was a feature unbefitting of it. “That was it!”
Upon hearing the news, Mac looked around him to see if he noticed anything irregular or abnormal about himself or the world he stood in. Nothing struck him as obscene; in fact, nothing appeared to have changed at all.
“Oh, uh, don’t worry. It set in,” the hay bale assured him. “It simply takes a while to heat up. It’s sort of like your off-brand allergy medication. You know, doesn’t work for hours on end.”
Mac sort of had a sudden realization of the fact that this isn’t how he imagined a demon to behave or appear at all. It had simply caught him entirely off guard. The demon was... at first glance, a pleasant demon. It was strangely euphoric, to know that even demons, a word associated with treachery and evil, could play nice.
Mac was aloof in thought. Nothing between the two was said for a good minute. As he pondered, Mac hadn’t the slightest clue that he had been rudely staring at the demon through the entirety of their one-sided conversation.
“Well, this has been... awkward,” said the hay bale finally. “Okay, listen. Let’s just head on back to the barn. I suggest you have a glass of water before you go to bed, and then make sure you sleep. Otherwise the transformation will be horrifically and unbearably painful. Got it?”
Mac’s euphoric feeling was suddenly and uncomfortably replaced by a feeling of unabated fear. Transformation? An inexorable transformation sounded quite the opposite to that of a “fun curse”.
“Hey, buddy? Can you take us back now?”
Mac, shaken, only nodded his head. There was nothing he could do about it now.
The trembling stallion strapped himself into the restraint jutting out from the front of the wagon. Without looking back, but with a demeanor full of uncertainty, he pulled the wagon through the orchard, back to the barn. This time, his wagon did not strike any stray rocks or humps in the road.
That night, Big Mac did not go to bed satiated by a tall glass of water. Instead, he tucked himself in with a few warm shots of hard cider, and it regrettably churned in his belly.
Incredibly, but with good judgement, he did wind up falling fast asleep. His eyelids slipped down over his emerald green eyes like many a night before. It was by choice, as he could not remedy his predicament in any other way. He would have to survey the damages and make the appropriate reparations tomorrow, a day he both fretted and anxiously awaited.
This... would be chaos.
And in his sleep, a slumber that was forced upon him, something invisible to him, something dark and twisted watched in anticipation.
Outside his window, while he slept, a pair of unnatural eyes peered in. They drifted in the darkness disturbingly, appeared to smile radically into the room. They flitted there in the dark for a good while. Then, unsettlingly, a maniacal and ill-minded chortle bled through the thin window pane. The eyes dissipated, and a snake-like beast with wings and a dragon’s tail fled into the eerie blackness.
Author's Note
Want to find out what Big Mac's extraordinary day is like tomorrow? Of course you do! Rate and favorite to find out!
This will be FUNTASTIC.
