Pinkie the Homicidal Maniac

by AbsoluteAnonymous

Chapters

• Chapter 1: Traumatize Thy Neighbour
• Chapter 2: A Survey in Tartarus
• Chapter 3: Another 2 AM
• Chapter 4: Goblins
• Chapter 5: Things That Make Noise

Chapter 1: Traumatize Thy Neighbour

The truth was, Scootaloo's parents just didn't care about her. Everypony in Cloudsdale could see it - it was in the way they spoke (or didn't speak) to her, the way they were always forgetting her and leaving her places, and especially in the way they liked to tell all the neighbours that they didn't care about her.

But what happened in that family was nopony's business but their own, so although the blatant disinterest from her parents in their own daughter was a little alarming, nopony did anything about it. For the most part, the neighbours either assumed that somepony else would deal with it or that it would just work itself out somehow. As it was, they refrained from ever mentioning it out of a misguided sense of politeness, her mother and father continued to regret her birth and pretend she didn't exist, and Scootaloo herself never realized anything was wrong.

When her family finally left Cloudsdale and moved to Ponyville for some reason, nopony said anything: yet they all privately agreed that it was a relief. It would be much easier to ignore that nagging feeling that they should've done something about if it the family in question didn't actually live there anymore. Without the perpetual shadow of dysfunction hanging over their fair city, the pegasi of Cloudsdale could finally get on with their lives.

But Scootaloo was still just a filly, too young to understand the looks of hesitant sympathy she used to get from the neighbours back home. If she'd ever realized how wrong her upbringing had been, she might have sought help on her own or even run away. Instead, she stuck with her parents all throughout the move, convinced that all those times they'd forgotten to feed her or left her stranded on stray clouds were either simple accidents or gentle pushes towards self-sufficiency.

And so, when she was frightened, she turned to her parents for comfort, like any other filly.

-----

It was a cold night in early fall, shortly after they'd moved to Ponyville.

"Mom?" Scootaloo asked, peering through the shadowy doorway and into her parent's bedroom. Aside from the silvery moonlight pouring through a crack in the curtains, it was completely dark, and all she could see of her mother was the silhouette of a shapeless lump on the bed. "I heard a noise."

"Mommy's ignoring you, honey," came the dreamy response, partially muffled by the blankets her mother had piled on top of her. "Go bother your father. He's in his study."

Scootaloo knew better than to push her mother's patience when she was still in the throes of her antidepressants, and so, quietly slunk away.

The house seemed especially empty and silent that night, particularly because she was the only one still awake and wandering. Her every hoofstep seemed to echo throughout the seemingly-vast hallways. It felt like it would be a very easy thing indeed for her to make a wrong turn and get lost. She tried to ignore the little twinge of fear in her stomach, swallowing the sudden lump in her throat.

Scootaloo prided herself on being fearless, and if anypony ever found out that she was still scared of the dark, she'd be done for. So she refused to scream or cry out, even when a sudden crash came out of nowhere and made her jump. Instead, she tightened her grip on her stuffed Wonderbolts doll. Another secret that she prayed nopony else ever found out about.

"C'mon, Spitfire," Scootaloo whispered to her companion. "Dad'll help us."

The blank face of the doll offered no comfort, but she tried imagining Spitfire telling her "Yeah!" or "You rock, kid!" in encouragement all the same.

When she reached her father's study, the door was already cracked open. She slowly pushed it open. It gave a long, low creeeeak.

"Dad, I heard noises," she said, peeking in at him. "I'm scared."

Her father was seated at a desk that was completely bare of any tools or office supplies in a room that had no light to see by but what was offered by the flickering bulb of the desk lamp. He was resting his head on his hooves, breathing deeply. In, and out. In, and out. Slow and steady and ...

"Dad?"

"Scootaloo, we just moved here," he answered tersely, not looking up. "You're just not used to the sounds of our new home."

Suddenly, he slammed his hooves on the desk, lifting his head. She might have imagined it, but Scootaloo thought for a moment that she saw one of his ears twitch.

"I'm busy right now. Working." He spat, still not turning around. "That's all I do now. I have to work to keep you alive.To feed you. I haven't smiled once since you were born. Go to sleep."

"But I can't!" Scootaloo wailed, voice cracking shamefully high. "I don't have curtains on my windows and it feels like things are watching me! Please, dad, it's scary here, and I hear sounds!"

"Your presence tires me," he said abruptly, cutting her off. "Go to your room and stay quiet, or the things will hear you."

"But - "

"Go to sleep."

Scootaloo squeezed her Spitfire doll even closer. For a moment, she could feel her lips twitch while her eyes stung with the threat of imminent tears,  but she didn't say anything. She only bowed her head, mumbling "okay" before leaving.

It felt like it took hours to make it back to her room. When she finally did, she kicked the door open with a frustrated sigh.

"Here we are, Spitfire," she mumbled. Maybe she was too old to be talking to her foalhood toys, but on nights like this, it offered a tiny bit of the comfort that she couldn't find elsewhere.

Then she froze.

The window in her room had been broken. Hundreds of shards of glass littered the floor, glinting softly in the moonlight. The hole was huge and jagged, as though something had come crashing through and hadn't had time to stop; the draft coming through made her shiver.

For a moment, Scootaloo was silent.

"Mommy," she squeaked.

And then, there was an enormous smashing sound - like rattling, breaking glass - and Scootaloo shrieked, her tiny wings flapping furiously in panic.

"The bathroom!" Scootaloo whispered to her toy once she'd regained some semblance of self-control. She glanced down the dimly lit corridor the sounds were coming from, trying to see if she could catch a glimpse of whatever was making the noise. "There's something in the bathroom!"

As she drew nearer, the sounds of rattling and clanking grew louder. Her entire body shook in fear as her tail swished back and forth nervously.

"I gotta be brave!" she hissed, looking down at Spitfire for encouragement. "I gotta protect mom and dad!"

You can do it, kid! she imagined Spitfire saying in response. You're awesome! I've got your back!

"Yeah, I can totally do this," Scootaloo answered, nodding fiercely. "You're right! ... huh?"

Spitfire was saying something else now.

"What? No, you're wrong. They're not bad ponies. They love me. They don't really mean it when they tell me to get kidnapped."

Spitfire only stared on straight ahead, nothing but judgement reflected in her plastic goggles. Scootaloo frowned at her sternly before a sudden crash jolted her back into reality, and she squeaked in surprise.

But she had to be brave. A hero.

Taking a deep breath, she mustered all of her strength and bucked the door as hard as she could. Maybe the robber or whatever would be so afraid of this terrifying show of strength that he'd have already started running and would be gone before Scootaloo had to say a single word.

The sounds continued uninterrupted.

Scootaloo swallowed her fear and peeked inside.

Her breath hitched.

Sitting amongst the ruins of their brand-new bathroom was a bright pink pony, rummaging through the cabinet over the sink with a noisy clatter. The cabinet doors hung on their hinges, having apparently been swung open with great gusto, and piles of discarded bottles and boxes were scattered on the ground all around her.

When she heard Scootaloo enter, she whipped her head around, revealing a face framed in masses of curly pink hair and contorted in fury.

"WHERE THE BUCK IS THE BACTINE?!" she screeched.

Scootaloo yelped and leapt back, dropping Spitfire. The toy bounced on the ground with a little plastic squeak.

Although the pink pony was breathing as heavily as an enraged bull, she seemed to collect herself the moment her eyes fell on the cowering filly. "Oh, hi, there!" she cried, face breaking out in an enormous smile. In a flash she was at Scootaloo's side, grinning maniacally, blue eyes shining. "My name's Pinkamena Diane Pie, but you can call me Pinkie! What's your name?"  

"S-Scoot-" Scootaloo stammered, now backed up against the wall by the pink pony's enormous, staring eyes.

"Scoots, huh? That's a funny name. Like a scooter! Do you have a scooter? I don't, but I have a unicycle, which is almost the same thing. Have you ever been to a circus? Oh, yeah, where do you keep the Bactine? Some of this blood's mine, y'know - oh, wait, here it is!"

The older pony skipped to the cupboard and dug through the shelves for a moment before pulling her head out, bottle balanced on her nose, and hummed happily as she began to tip the contents all over herself. Stunned into silence, Scootaloo could only watch. Pinkie's pretty pink coat and mane were covered in rust-coloured stains, cuts, and bruises, and yet she had such energy in her voice when she spoke - as though she didn't even feel them.

"Wowie-zowie!" Pinkie cried after the bottle was empty. It fell to the ground, forgotten. Her hair was soaked, causing it to hang limply around her face, and little drops of the antiseptic began to gather in a puddle around her hooves. "That last one really put up a fight! Scraped me up like a big ol' ... scrapy thing! Or maybe a cat, after the cat had, like, a million tons of sugar!" she giggled. "You take it from your Auntie Pinkie Pie here, though, kiddo. Nothing brings out the zest for life in a pony like the thought of their impending death!"

Scootaloo's eyes widened in horror. Pinkie had seemingly materialized a knife out of thing air, which she was now precariously balancing by the handle on her snout.

"Looks like you know what I'm talking about!" Pinkie continued conversationally, grinning, oblivious to Scootaloo's fear. With a little upward flick off her nose, the knife was tossed gracefully in the air, spinning once before she caught it neatly between her teeth: and then it was gone, vanished into some pocket of hammerspace.

Pinkie whipped around to smile at Scootaloo, eyes huge and happy, when her eyes fell on the Spitfire toy lying abandoned on the ground. "Hey!" she cried, springing forward to examine it. "Who's your friend here?"

"Um, that's my Wonderbolts toy, Spitfire." Scootaloo answered hesitantly, gesturing nervously with a hoof.

"Why, hello there, Spitfire!" Pinkie Pie bubbled, nosing the doll on the ground. "Nice to meet you! I'm Pinkie Pie! So, you're Scoots little friend, huh? Wow, I can see why she likes you! You must be pret-t-ty cool to have a friend like her! You have that awesome uniform and wings and everything! Pegasi are so cool!"

Scootaloo was still backed against the wall when Pinkie began to chat with the doll,  yet she felt her mouth curve upwards into a smile all the same. Not because Pinkie was making her feel especially at ease, but because of how surreal the whole scene was. Even though she was covered in blood and wounds, Pinkie still managed to come across as almost bizarrely sweet and happy, rendered incoherent in her eagerness, and Scootaloo couldn't help but begin to feel her earlier fear subside.

"Huh? What's that, Spitfire?" Pinkie asked curiously, cocking her head as though listening carefully to something the doll was telling her. "Mm, hmmm, yeeess. Hmm? Yeah, really? Uh huh, okaaay. What? Hmm. Well, BUCK YOU, PEGASUS! YOU'RE LYING! LYING!"

And suddenly she was screeching and stomping the toy, face once again twisted from pure, unbridled anger. Scootaloo looked on in shocked silence as Pinkie Pie once more whipped a knife out of nowhere.

"Stuffied with pure nastiness, you mean, lint-infested LOSER!" Pinkie spat, glaring at the toy with utter hatred in her eyes, Scootaloo completely forgotten. Her mane was beginning to dry, but any signs of her former curls were gone, leaving only two razor-sharp sheets of hair framing her face. "How many more like you are there?! How many more?! You can't even imagine the things I've endured, and always at the hooves of jerks like you! YOU DON'T KNOW THE TRUTH!"

In a swift motion she brought down the knife, piercing the soft cloth body, then again and again and again and again, until nothing remained of the doll but the shredded remains of fabric and stuffing.

"Oh!" Pinkie Pie cried as realization dawned over her. She slowly pulled away. Her hair began to wave almost imperceptibly, as if it had been waiting for this shift in mood to use as permission to change again. "Um ... I should probably go home now. It's getting late. But come on, you can come with me! Let's go!"

A spring in her step, Pinkie literally hopped out the door, knife once again nowhere to be seen. Casting one last glance behind her at the ruined toy and destroyed bathroom, Scootaloo reluctantly followed.

"Sorry about the window!" Pinkie Pie called, shooting Sctooaloo an apologetic grin once they were back in her bedroom. "I noticed it was locked. You probably shouldn't do that anymore. Thanks for the disinfectant! I bet that I'll get all better really quick thanks to that stuff!"

She tensed to spring, preparing to leap through the broken window back the way she'd presumably arrived.

Then she slowly swivelled her neck to give Scootaloo once last smile, this one with a hint of menace in it.

"Don't worry," Pinkie said sweetly. "We'll see each other again soon. I still have to throw you a welcoming party - after all, we're neighbours now!"

And then, with surprising grace for a pony of her plump build, she leapt out the hole.

Scootaloo flew to the window and watched Pinkie trot away, her pink hooves clopping against the cobblestone street as she headed for the bakery in the distance before disappearing completely in the night.

Scootaloo blinked.

It took a moment for the shock to wear off. And when it did, the reality of what had just happened hit her all at once, finally sinking in.

"MOMMY! DADDY!" she howled.

"I don't hear you, honey," came her mother's sleepy, drug-addled voice.

"You ruined my life!" her father bellowed.

Scootaloo did not sleep well that night.

Chapter 2: A Survey in Tartarus

"Such a nice girl," the neighbours said about her, and it was true. Pinkie Pie was very nice. She was sweet and bubbly, with a wonderful zest for life and a love for making others smile. One simply couldn't help but get caught up in her contagious enthusiasm whenever she was around. She was like a brightly coloured rocket of pure joy.

One that you couldn't escape, no matter how much or how far you ran.

Only a very lucky few ever got to catch a glimpse of the darkness that lay beneath the surface. But of course, dead ponies told no tales.

-----

"Hello, ma'am! I'm conducting a survey for the Ponyville Crime Council. As you may know, the people of our village have recently been subject to a massive increase in hideously brutal mutilations. Now, I'd just like to ask you a few questions, if you have the time." The survey conductor, a cream-coloured unicorn stallion with a waving golden mane and checkbox cutie mark, beamed as he telekinetically floated over his clipboard for the questionee to look over.

The questionee in question, a plum-coloured earth pony with a mulberry mane, stood in the doorway and swatted it away irritably before hiccupping. It was only ten in the morning, and already she stank of alcohol. Maybe her cutie mark, a bunch of grapes and a strawberry, had something to do with it. A small pink unicorn filly peeked out from behind her mother's wobbling legs. Apparently the mother was having trouble standing, instead swaying slightly in place.

"Well, I'm kinda bushy right now," the earth pony slurred, glancing affectionately down at a stray bottle on the ground by her hooves. "But thish whole mutilation thing ish pretty - hic - upshetting, sho ashk away."

"Okeedoo! So ... what do you think about murder?"

"Hmm."

Berry Punch squinted as though deep in thought, but her flushed-red face somewhat spoiled the effect. She didn't even seem to notice the way her daughter was crawling onto her back, even as Ruby Pinch kicked and scrambled to pull herself up. "Well, jusht lasht week, I found my boyfriend'sh headlesh body nailed to the wall, with hish - hic - open chesht cavity shtuffed with equine shkulls. Sho, I'd - hic - excushe me - sho I'd have to shay that it'sh ... umm ... baaaad."

"Mm-hmm!" said the surveyor, nodding eagerly as his quill scratched away across the board. "Now, what do - oh."

When he looked up, he saw that Berry Punch had passed out propped up against the door frame, booze forgotten on the floor.

-----

It was a beautiful day in autumn. The sky was clear and blue, the trees a magnificent array of orange and red and gold. The air tasted crisp and sweet, like the perfect apple.

As the surveyor unicorn approached Sugarcube Corner, the faint smokiness in the air was gradually replaced with the smell of chocolate and fresh bread. Stopping on the doorstep, he paused to take a deep breath, inhaling the delicious smell of baked goods before knocking.

The door swung open almost instantly, revealing a bouncing pink pony decked out in a ruffled white apron and covered in splotches of flour. "Oh, a guest!" she cried. "Welcome to Sugarcube Corner, how can I help you? The Cakes aren't here right now, but I bet I can totally be the bestest customer service pony ever!"

"Ah ... I'm from the Ponyville Crime Council," he replied, stammering slightly. After all, when confronted with the full force of Pinkie's energy, anypony would be a little taken aback. Remembering himself, he floated the survey towards her so that she could read it. "It's a survey on the recent wave of violent crimes. So I'd just like to -"

He was so busy fumbling to gather his thoughts that he didn't notice the gradual change coming over Pinkie as she read, eyes quickly skimming over the sheet. She looked up sharply, a hard glint in her blue eyes.

"Get in here!" she hissed, jumping forward and yanking him inside. She tossed him roughly to the ground before whipping around to lock the doors, then lunged towards him.

"Two nights ago, I was taking a walk at night, and this little bunny started following me!" Pinkie snarled. "It knew! I ran, and finally lost it and made it home, but it knew! IT KNEW!"

"What is this?!" the unicorn cried. The sudden shift in her personality was unbelievable, and he was cowering on the floor as she leered over him.

"DID THE BUNNY SEND YOU?!" she roared, and then she was on top of him, their muzzles pressed together, breathing heavily as she glared.

"No! I'm just doing a survey, honest!"

"Oh," Pinkie said, blinking. Then she released him and pulled away, her face all smiles once again. "Okie dokie lokie, then! Whaddya wanna know?"

"Umm ... " the stallion stammered, struggling to get back on all fours. Suddenly, the only thing he could think of was getting the heck out of there. From a distance Sugarcube Corner had always seemed safe, and the pink pony working there had always seemed amiable, but he'd never actually been close to either, and now neither of them seemed very welcoming anymore. "You know, this really isn't that important. I should leave! Yes! Right now! Sorry to have disturbed ... er ... bothered you!"

"Oh, no, that's okay!" Pinkie chirped. She was already untying the apron, already drawing the curtains over the windows shut, and sealing out any excess light. She skipped over to a chair pushed against the wall and settled in before looking up at him eagerly. "I need a break anyway! I was baking cupcakes - they're reeeeally popular around town. Everypony likes my cupcakes! Want some? Oh, no, I can't get you any, we have questions to do! Go ahead, ask me, ask me, ask me!"

She was practically vibrating with excitement.

"Alright, err, okay," he mumbled, glancing down at the clipboard. "So - "

"'Murder, what's with that'?" Pinkie interrupted. "I dunno ... it's kooky, isn't it? 'Do I kill ponies?' Well, why don't you go look in my basement and see how many bodies you find? Teehee! 'Pain, good?' Mmmm, nah, I don't like it very much, actually. I like tickling better, but I guess some ponies might like it. And 'have I ever been murdered?' Well, that's a silly question, thank you very much! How could you be talking to me if somepony murdered me once? You silly pony!"

His jaw dropped. Somehow, she'd memorized half the survey from the split second she'd been looking at it earlier ... but for some reason, the questions seemed a lot stupider when they were coming from her mouth in such a disdainful tone.

"Um, what are your views on this current surge of violent crimes?" he finally asked, choosing to ignore the unexpected surge of intelligence she'd just displayed and instead focus on completing the list so that he could get out of there. "And what can be done to protect the ponies?"

When he lifted his head, he saw that Pinkie had adopted a professional air and a thoughtful pose; when she spoke, it was with a curious amount of lucidity, as if the question he'd just asked was one she thought about often and took very seriously.

"The violent crimes? All perfectly natural in a society whose advances are limited to its technology. The basic behavior of the modern equine is hardly different from that of its primitive ancestors. The only noticeable changes are trends." The corners of her mouth lifted into the faintest of smirks. She was sitting in an odd way, her forelegs crossed over her chest and chin propped up with a hoof. "Whether in a suit or nothing at all, ponies are ignorant little thorns, cutting into one another. They seem incapable of advancing beyond the violent tendencies which, at one time, were necessary for survival."

Dear Celestia, please let me live through this day, the unicorn wrote on the clipboard. He tried to keep a straight face, so that Pinkie couldn't see how horribly unnerved he was by these constant mood swings; but she didn't seem to notice, too absorbed in her answer.

"As for protecting ponies, well, that's a bit of a paradox - at least from what I know. I'm sure that if you searched into the lives of some of these victims, you would find out that they themselves were the cause of their very deaths. In those cases, the so called 'victim' at some earlier time played some part in the creation of their 'killer.' I believe that the life ended was ended for the fact that it was wasted on something that never evolved beyond the childish cruelty so many never cast off."

She stopped speaking, and when the surveyor looked up from his writing, he saw her looking at him expectantly, a smug grin on a face that he'd never before known to have worn one.

"Okaay ... " he said slowly.

"Now, ask another one," Pinkie challenged almost playfully, but still with that strange seriousness that had overtaken her normally lighthearted attitude.

"Sure. Mm ... so what do you think of the idea that violence in books and other media have a negative effect on foals and other impressionable minds?"

"Ooh!" she cried, suddenly sitting upright and looking excited, as though this had been the question she'd been waiting for. "Any filly or colt so silly that they can't even tell that entertainment is just that and nothing more deserves to wind up in some dank cell somewhere forever for being so ... so silly! Books and music are just for fun, not guidebooks for making a mess of your life!" She was waving her hooves around eagerly, voice rising in determination with every word she spoke, and the surveyor found himself almost admiring the passion with which she spoke.

"These are some fantastic answers!" he cried, hurrying to catch what she'd said on the page. "I'm sorry I was so nervous before! But don't worry now, I'd be glad to go on with the questions!"

He looked down once more at his sheet; there was only one left. He chuckled.

"I've got one, but it's pretty weird," he said almost apologetically. "You might remember the mare found behind the library. Very strange; she was drained of all her blood. Police think that maybe the killer had some sort of vampirism thing - like he drank his victims' blood. What do you think?"

"I NEVER DRANK HER BLOOD!" Pinkie Pie suddenly shrieked, leaping onto the couch on her hindlegs. "NEVER! BUT I NEEDED IT!"

She turned and threw herself forward, slamming herself into the Wall.

"You see!" she hissed, rubbing her hooves over the rust-coloured wall before her. "It changes colour when it dries! It never stays! I have to keep the wall wet!"

"Wall?!"

Pinkie was still pressed up against the Wall as if trying to embrace it, and sighed heavily.

"Yes," she answered in a dreamy voice. "The Wall. Nopony else believes me, but ... it's there. The Wall keeps us safe from the things that are out there ... and if it ever breaks, then everything else will collapse, too. Because then the things will reach us. Since I'm the only one that can see it, it's up to me to keep everypony safe. I need to protect the Wall. If it breaks, then everything else will fall apart."

"What wall?!"

Pinkie Pie turned to him, her eyes filled with unspeakable sadness.

"You don't see it, either?" she asked quietly.

To the stallion, it looked as though Pinkie was miming hugging an invisible box, the way performers in the park sometimes did.

Only Pinkie could see the Wall.

Baffled, the surveyor made no response except for a string stammering, incoherent babbling that sounded suspiciously like "Bluh huh buh wuh."

"I need to keep the wall wet!" Pinkie abruptly screamed, and she lunged forward, a knife appearing out of nowhere.

Anypony outside the bakery at that point would've heard an enormous crash and the sound of shattering glass right about then as the corpse of a handsome stallion was thrown violently through the window. Luckily, nopony was there to notice except for one particular orange filly.

Scootaloo was quietly rolling along on her scooter outside when he landed in the yard, body a mangled heap of twisted, bloody limbs, his eyes wide open and frozen in horror. It looked like somepony had taken an axe, only to start randomly hacking away, tearing off entire patches of skin and baring the white of bone underneath. His stomach had been slashed open and his quill and clipboard had been shoved into his head with such force that they had somehow cracked his skull.

With a scream, Scootaloo leapt off her scooter and ran away.

Anypony who had been watching (or anypony who would have cared, at least( would have realized then and there that she was definitely going to have problems later in life. As it was, nopony else even seemed to notice the corpse, let alone the fleeing pegasus filly.

Inside the bakery, fresh blood had just been splattered all over the floor, but that wasn't all it had hit. It had also painted the Wall a brilliant scarlet - the invisible Wall that nopony else could see, that Pinkie herself didn't even know how to begin to describe, but that she was ever aware of.

The Wall.  

Life was an orchestra, ponies the instruments, her knife the conductor's wand, and once again she had played a beautiful symphony. But blood really was everywhere. It was kind of disgusting, actually, and the Cakes would be home soon, and then they'd demand an explanation for the all of the mysterious red stains that always seemed to appear whenever she was alone for more than an hour.

She didn't have any bleach left, though. She'd used it all up last time.

Oh well, Pinkie Pie thought happily. I can pick up some sugar while I'm at the market getting more, and then I can make cookies!

It was as if the surveyor had been completely forgotten.

At least, he had been, until Pinkie found herself glancing out the window only to see his corpse still in the yard.

"Ask a different question!" she shouted at him.

He didn't answer, and she frowned. She hadn't intended to kill him. She'd just needed the blood. But still, she tended to lose control sometimes.

Pinkie would have to work on that.

Chapter 3: Another 2 AM

The stars are so bright, Pinkie thought with a sigh.

For some reason, she was finding herself falling into a fit of melancholy despite the beauty of the night, and her hair reflected her mood, sticking straight to the side of her head. Even her ears were folded down. Normally her bouncy mane and spastic puff of a tail indicated her vibrancy and energy, but when she found herself spiralling into that old, familiar depression, her hair grew flat and dull to match the way she felt.

She felt so out-of-character. Normally Pinkie had such pep and enthusiasm for everything she did, but then when she got this way, she became so morose instead.

She was alone again. The Cakes had gone home for the night, for although she rented the room over the bakery, they themselves had an actual house in the village.

The idea of maybe inviting her friends over for another impromptu party had crossed her mind at one point, but although the idea had it's appeal, Pinkie Pie just wasn't up for it. She was too grouchy.

Besides, she'd already had some ponies over earlier that afternoon. They were now buried out in the garden. The stench of blood was still strong, even though she'd tried masking it with bleach and a cake that she'd put in the oven a little while ago. Oddly enough, the scent of baked goods was surprisingly effective at covering up the smell of some of her other hobbies.

Pinkie rarely slept anymore.

Most of the time it was because she was so fit to bursting with energy that she just couldn't calm down enough to get to sleep - but, occasionally she fell into a mood like this that kept her awake for different reasons.

Like the need to get the bloodstains out of the furniture before the Cakes came home. Normally she was more careful. Unless she really lost her temper, she usually managed to restrict her blood collecting to the basement.

I must be slipping.

Insomnia wasn't any fun. There were few sensations more unbearable than the desperate need for sleep that just wouldn't come, eyelids drooping and body practically collapsing in exhaustion but never quite getting that far.  

It was now two in the morning and Pinkie Pie was wide awake, sitting by the window in her bedroom and surveying Luna's night.

Not only was she unable to sleep, but she was bored and lonely, with nopony for company except Gummy.

And then, a flash of inspiration.

I think I'll kill myself! Pinkie thought. She at once began to visibly perk up, her attitude brightening considerably as she slid off the window seat and began to trot downstairs.

"Yeah, who needs life anyway?" the party pony said aloud, speaking only to herself. "Pfffft! Living's overrated!"

Pinkie giggled. Her hair was slowly beginning to wave again. Paradoxically, the thought of being so depressed that she had no option left but suicide herself was actually cheering her up.

"I mean, what else is there to do? And I don't really wanna be alone right now anyway ... "

When she reached the kitchen, Pinkie began to rummage through the drawers busily. Now that she had a purpose in mind, she could feel a sudden burst of that old familiar energy.

For some reason, the Cakes had a surprisingly large knife collection. Since customers typically didn't see the kitchen, nopony knew or questioned them about it, least of all Pinkie. After all, she'd gotten plenty of use out of these babies over the past few years. Now, she eyed them all carefully as she determined which would be best.

At last she selected an enormous butcher knife, the biggest and shiniest she could find, casually gripping the handle with her teeth and unsheathing it from the knife rack like a sword. The blade glinted in the moonlight.

"Another one of those lonely nights," Pinkie sighed. "Well, this time, I'll make sure this is the last one. Forever!"

If anypony had been there to hear her soliliquoy, they might have wondered how she managed to speak so clearly through the knife still carried in her mouth; but as she was alone, there was nopony to question her apparent warping of reality, and she herself was completely unfazed by it.

"No more dreaming of real friends!" she cried dramatically, taking great care to pose in such a way that she cast a theatrical shadow across the kitchen floor and made for an elegant silhouette against the window. "No more stars for me to be alone under! No more! I'm blowing through that lid! I'm going ... over the stars!"

But then, Pinkie Pie deflated slightly.

When she'd first taken the knife, she'd decided to make a speech for purely dramatic effect before actually doing the deed. But the more she spoke, the more Pinkie realized how much the words rang true.

"Something's gone wrong with me," she whispered. To herself, since there was nopony there to hear her. Nopony there to offer comfort. "I know that. This place made me sick. All I can see is a reality riddled with disease."

Still clenching the knife in her teeth somehow, Pinkie Pie cried, "It's time for something new!" before rearing up on her hind legs, yanking her head back with a flourish, preparing to plunge the weapon into her chest.

But then she paused. Maybe it was just a trick of the light, but her eyes almost seemed to shine with tears.

"Over the stars," Pinkie whispered, to give herself the last little bit of courage she needed to follow through.

"WAAAAAAAAAAIT! DON'T DO IT!"

Startled, Pinkie Pie dropped the knife. It fell on the ground with a clatter.

"Killing yourself isn't the answer!" Mr. Turnips cried from his place in the corner and propped up against a wall. His turnips were old and moldy by now, but his voice was as clear and strong as ever.

"Like hay it isn't!" Pinkie yelped, glaring daggers at him. "You don't know what it's like! You just sit there being all judgy, judging me! You Judgy McJudgerson!"

"Just listen to me!"

"Buck you! You lie! You just want to keep me here, writhing in the frying pan, because you know they'll throw you out if I wasn't here to stop them!"

"Oui! Zat is correct, madame!"

Pinkie Pie swivelled around, eyes huge, startled by the new voice. She found herself face to face with the speaker; a sack of flour propped up in a corner, much the same way Mr. Turnips was.

"Zat filthy bucket of old vegetables iz lying! Ze only way out of ze pain is a hole in your stomach! Your body eez an anchor keeping you from flying over ze stars!" Madame LeFleur cried in her flutey, French-accented voice.

"Yes ... " Pinkie answered. She glanced down at the knife. Madame LeFleur was right.

"No, Pinkie, she's the liar!" Mr. Turnips shouted. "You can get help! Don't do anything crazy!"

"Don't say that!" Pinkie shrieked, hooves flying to clutch her head, bowing over in agony from his words.

"Stupid, then. Don't do anything stupid." The bucket of turnips corrected.

"I hate that word so much!" Pinkie snarled. All semblance of good cheer and excitement were gone. Her ever-changing moods had shifted once more, and now she was fully consumed by despair, eyes reflecting nothing but anger and sadness. "Do you know what happened to me today?! I was at some stupid cafe and I heard somepony giggle about how I'm just being Pinkie Pie. Do you know how much I hate that? The way everypony just assumes I'm crazy? I mean ... " she quickly backtracked. "I guess maybe I am, but still, the assumptions bother me!" She stomped her hoof for emphasis.

Gummy watched the entire spectacle from his corner, eyes enormous and glassy as always, wearing a blank expression. He was utterly undisturbed by the sight of his mistress screeching to the inanimate objects around her. It had happened often enough for him to be used to it by now.

"There have to be ponies out there somewhere who can help you!" Mr. Turnips pleaded. "Different from the jerks who hurt you! Yes!"

"NO!" Pinkie Pie screamed. "NO! IT'S TOO LATE! SHUT UP!"

"Despicable Monsieur Turnips!" Madame LeFleur hissed. If she'd had a face, it might've been contorted in frustration right about then. "You misguide her! She needs a cure, and it must be taken through ze skin! Let her use ze knife!"

"You're not crazy, Pinkie!" Mr. Turnips insisted. If he'd had a face, it would've been painted with an expression of overwhelming sadness, reflecting the broken spirit of the wearer, understanding fully how futile his task of keeping Pinkie Pie as stable as possible was proving to be. But still he plugged on, ever the stoic. "You're not! Look! You and I, we're having a perfectly sane discussion, yes?"

"Well ... " Pinkie said slowly, cocking her head in thought. She turned to him, frowning slightly, and sighed before trotting over before her friend. The knife still lay on the floor, forgotten in the heat of the argument between the bag of flour and the old turnips. "I guess so. I mean, you've always been pretty straight with me through the years. Maybe you're right. Maybe I can get help."

"PINKIE PIE!" Madame LeFleur suddenly roared. In a movie her proclamation would have been announced with a crash of thunder, but as it was, it was a fairly still, quiet night, all things considered. "YOUR MADNESS DELUDES YOU! YOU CAN WASH AWAY EVERY LAST DROP OF BLOOD FROM ZESE WALLS, BUT ZE WALLS OF YOUR MIND REMAIN FOREVER STAINED! YOU ARE BEYOND REDEMPTION!"

It's true!

"NO! THAT'S IT! NO MORE!" Pinkie screamed.

Before, she'd been hamming it up for the sake of a dramatic exit, not even one hundred percent convinced that she'd actually b able to go through with it, but now the emotion was completely genuine. She whipped around, her smile one of utter madness as she eyed the knife and lunged for it hungrily.

"HEY!" a third voice roared.

They all paused; Pinkie, Madame LeFleur, and Mr. Turnips.

It was Sir Lints-a-Lot from his place on the kitchen table.

"The cake's done!" He cried excitedly.

And sure enough, as soon as he finished speaking, there was the little ding of the oven timer going off.

Pinkie blinked.

She'd completely forgotten that she'd had a cake in the oven, but now the sweet smell of vanilla was enveloping her with its delicious, golden warmth.

Ten minutes later her hair was back in its normal spastic state and she was using the knife only to spread icing on the cake, giggling to herself and singing a song she was making up on the spot about decorating cakes as Mr. Turnips stood by and watched.

If he'd had a mouth he would've been smiling. Crisis averted.

-----

After Pinkie had devoured the entire cake on her own and finally managed to get the stains out of the carpet, she was overcome with sleepiness, much to her surprise. She'd gotten so used to the insomnia plaguing her that it hadn't occurred to her it would ever spontaneously cure itself.

When she finally got to bed, Gummy was waiting for her on her pillow like always. She smiled at him, planting an affectionate kiss on the top of his head. He blinked somberly in response, and she slipped between the covers, snuggling under her blankets.

Her eyelids were growing heavier by the minute. He stared at her, wide-eyed but expressionless as always.

"Today I stuffed some dolls full of dead rats I put in the blender," Pinkie confessed to him in a low whisper. "I'm wondering if maybe there really is something wrong with me."

He made no sound, passed no judgement, and somehow this reassured her. Gummy was her constant. The one figure in this life that she could always depend on.  

"G'night, Gummy," Pinkie Pie said, yawning as she drifted off to sleep.

Chapter 4: Goblins

“Why are ponies such … jerks?”

“I don’t know,” the pegasus answered humbly.

They were in the surprisingly well-lit basement of Sugarcube Corner; surprising, because if it he’d ever stopped to imagine what it would be like to be taken prisoner by a deranged serial killer, he would’ve expected to wake up somewhere dank and cramped. Instead he was somewhere spacious and tidy. Somepony had obviously gone to great pains to keep this room in order.  

He was in some sort of elaborate torture device, the machinations of which he couldn’t even begin to understand. A complicated system of taut leather straps and braces around his chest and limbs held him firmly in place, his legs held splayed wide apart by the manacles around his hooves. Even his wings were fastened. They restraints were so tight that he wondered if they themselves constituted as a viable torture, but the enormous hooks, spikes, and spears aimed at him simultaneously from the machine made him suspect that his captor intended otherwise.

He couldn’t struggle; he could barely move at all. But even if he could, his pride would have had him stay unmoving and resigned despite the immediate danger he was in. After all, he was a member of Princess Celestia’s royal guard and was nothing if not stoic. It was his duty to stay firm at all times, despite the waves of panic that he would never admit were washing over him at the moment.

He was alone with a maniac. All he could do was remain calm and try his very best to reason with her.

The pony sitting in front of him certainly didn’t look like a killer, but appearances could obviously be deceiving. How else could you explain his imprisonment in this machine? Why did she even have something like this if she didn’t fully intend to use it?

And then there was the drain, poised directly beneath him to collect the blood that was sure to flow.

All he could do was play along.

She sat on her haunches before him, eyeing him thoughtfully. Even though she was presumably sitting still, she almost appeared to be bouncing slightly, like she was trembling from the pure energy contained within her being. It was unnerving, but then, so was everything else about her. She seemed so innocent, with such a lovely shade of pink for her coat and mane and such huge, happy blue eyes. Everything about her seemed so childish and naïve, even her cutie mark. A bunch of cheerful balloons.

But although she was smiling at him, her smile seemed off. It didn’t completely reach her eyes.

Like she didn’t fully understand the implications of what she was doing. Like she knew it was bad and she was a bad pony for doing it, but didn’t really know how bad.

She was either utterly insane or an idiot. Either was a very real possibility.

While the pegasus, who was indeed a royal guard in the service of the princess herself, surveyed his captor, Pinkie Pie was thinking only of the cupcake she was eating. She’d made them earlier in the day in celebration of getting a chance to collect more blood, and this was the last of the batch. Gummy sat beside her, graciously allowing her to affectionately stroke his rough scales while he stared ahead with an empty look in his eyes.

When she finished eating, she licked her hooves greedily to get the last few dabs of frosting before wiping them off on the frilly white apron she wore.  It was traditional of her to wear this apron before collecting blood; for some reason, it never got splattered. It seemed lucky.

“Seriously!”Pinkie continued. “It’s really hard to care about anything else that’s going on when I don’t even have the answers to some really important questions, y’know? I need to know! I mean, the world’s full of silly ponies doing silly things and not thinking about how it makes anypony else feel. They don’t even care.”

“That’s a very general statement.” The guard replied evenly, taking great care to avoid looking at any of the enormous spikes that were primed to gorge him any second now. “Not all ponies are the way you describe them to be.”

“Well, I guess so, but you should know that I’m totally cuckoo!” Pinkie laughed. Her giggling was sharp and hysterical, nothing like the infectious laughter that normally touched her voice. Her eyes seemed to grow even wider with her mania. “And would a totally cuckoo, loco in the coco pony even know she was a crackup? Oooh, maybe she just sees things nopony else sees and knows things nopony else knows! The world that everypony else sees is secretly all twisty, topsy-turvy and upside-downy, and she’s the only one who even notices! Isn’t that cool?”

“Yes.” The pegasus said. “Yes it is.” He winced. The strain of speaking with the bands around his chest was painful, as it was difficult to take very deep breaths. “But I don’t suppose that your current reality would allow you to let me go, would it?”

“Hmmm … ” Pinkie tapped her chin with a hoof, pouting adorably in an elaborate pantomime of consideration. “Nope!”

“I see.” He winced again before continuing gruffly. “Well, could you at least loosen these restraints a bit? This hurts quite a lot. Very painful.”

“Oh, nononononono!” Pinkie cried, quickly shaking her head and sending her masses of curls whipping around her face. “If it hurts, it means you’re still alive, since you can still feel! I could never take that away from you like some kinda big ol’ meanie-pants!”

“That’s very nice of you. But could you tell me what it was, exactly, that I did to you? Until I woke up here, I’d never even met you.”

“Um, you didn’t do anything, really. I’m just a Grouchy Pinkie today 'cuz I heard somepony say I was crazy and I hate that. And you are a pony, and I can’t say I like that very much. Ponies are why it’s so hard for me to just smile all the time, y’know?”

She almost shrugged, giving him an apologetic smile as if to say you understand, don’t you?

And then a change fell over her. Her eyes narrowed, and her smile became a smirk.

“You get to be the effigy I burn, infused with all the traits of those detestable little goblins that infect this world.” She spat, grinning. "But you won’t really burn, of course,” she was quick to correct herself. “Torn to shreds is more accurate.”

That final remark was delivered with frightening lucidity, as if she suddenly knew exactly what she was doing.

“But you’re a pony,” he ventured. “Why don’t you kill yourself?”

“Oh, I tried!” she answered immediately in a merry, singsong way. “I’ve tried a lot, actually, but it never really works for some reason. But whatcha gonna do, right?”

“But what if I’m not one of those goblins?” he pressed. He could see from the way her brow furrowed that she was at least considering his words. “You just randomly picked me out of a crowd when you could’ve taken somepony more deserving, like those annoying DJ PON-3 groupies with their incessant shrieking and obsessive fanbrat behavior.”

“Well, I thought of that,” Pinkie said slowly, not seeming to notice how Gummy had latched onto her tail with his toothless jaws. “But I wasn’t in the mood to go look for one. I just wanted to get home and eat cupcakes so that I could finish up before the Cakes came back. But I probably could’ve done better, since you seem very nice. I’m sorry.”

“Thank you. That’s very kind. My name is West, by the way; a soldier in the service of Her Royal Highness Princess Celestia.”

“Yay! It’s sooooo nice to meet you!” Pinkie cried, hopping even closer and beaming. “I love making new friends! If I wasn’t gonna kill you I’d totally throw a party for you! Maybe I can throw a party for you afterwards? Oh well. Anyway, my name’s Pinkamena Diane Pie, but you can call me Pinkie!”

“Pinkie?” he repeated with a small smile. “How … apt.”

Pinkie giggled yet again. “I know, right? It’s such a coinkidink, being a Pinkie that’s pinkie!”

“Well, then!” West cried with finality, struggling to ignore the pain. He could practically taste his freedom. “Does that mean I can go now? Because, and I mean no offense by this, I would like to go.”

“Oh.”

Pinkie almost seemed to deflate, hair going limp and ears flopping down.

“Oh, no, I’m still going to kill you, though you are my bestest, bestest friend in the room right now. But I kind of have to kill you because I don’t have time to find anypony else and I really need more blood.”

“Blood?” West cried in shock. Maybe he should’ve guessed from the drain, but he’d never thought that the killer would actually have an aim as specific as that. “You need my blood?!”

“Well, not yours specifically,” Pinkie amended, eyeing the drain as well. “But yeah, I kind of really need blood right now. Not for myself, though. Blood's icky, so I avoid it if I can. But … there’s the Wall.”

Her eyes took on a faraway look.

“The Wall?”

“The Wall.” Pinkie Pie repeated. “A Wall that nopony else sees. At least, I don’t think so. But it’s there, it’s definitely there. I can’t really tell you where it is, because it’s … it’s hard to describe. But it’s everywhere, all the time.”

She swept a hoof around the room in an all-encompassing gesture, indicating their surroundings.

“The Cakes don’t know about any of these underground rooms, and they don’t know about my hobbies either, 'cuz I usually only get blood down here. I found the rooms by accident one night. They were just there. Hundreds and hundreds of levels of rooms like this, going miles underground and full of machines like the one you’re in. I don’t know where they came from, but I need them, so I use them."

She paused.

“I don’t know why, but the Wall needs blood. And if I don’t keep it painted, it starts to go soft and the Things from the other side start to … push through. These things … I don’t know what they are, exactly, but they’re horrible and disgusting and evil, and they’re always, always watching us, every single thing everypony does! And since I’m the only one that can see it,  I’m the only one that can keep it safe. The only way I can protect our world from the Things on the other side is if I keep the Wall painted.”

When her eyes found his again, they were filled with such incredible despair that West felt a pang in spite of himself. A tiny part of him actually felt sorry for her and the inexpressible sadness behind those blue eyes.

“I ask you, once again, to please reconsider,” he quietly demanded. “You can let me go, and I … ”

“NO!” Pinkie screamed, suddenly doubling over and grabbing her head with her hooves, gritting her teeth and rocking fiercely as though to hold back some tremendous wail of anguish. “NO! NO! NO! STOP IT! JUST SHUT UP! I HAVE NO CHOICE! SAVE YOUR NOISE FOR LATER!”

“I see.”

A silence fell over the two of them Pinkie continued rocking ferociously, and West made his decision.

“You know,” she finally spoke up, voice cracking slightly. It was like she was trying to hold back tears. “You’re not exactly acting like most ponies do when I bring them down here. Usually they get really scared and start screaming and telling me I’m c-crazy.”

“I’d rather not die.” West said firmly, with new resolve. “But I don’t seem to have much say in the matter. But I’m also not like you. I’m not clouded. I have no family, no friends, nothing but my duty to the princess, and I've spent many long years in her service, so I see that I have fulfilled that duty; and I have faith that I will be rewarded for my loyalty in the afterlife. So buck fear.”

He closed his eyes.

“I have nothing to fear.”

Pinkie watched him as West took a deep, steadying breath, preparing himself for what was about to come, and the expression on her face was one of confusion.

She'd never before met a pony who didn’t fear her. Even her friends, the ones she strived so hard to keep safe from what she needed to do to keep the Wall secure, occasionally seemed to be afraid of her. Total strangers avoided her. Those closest to her questioned her sanity.

Never before had she met somepony, let alone somepony she needed the blood of, who remained strong in the face of imminent death.

He was right, Celestia would almost certainly see that he was rewarded for his loyalty upon his death. But what was waiting for her?

“I envy your conviction,” she finally whispered.

And Pinkie Pie bucked the lever that worked the machine. With a small click, it kicked into gear.

There was a sound like a cat going through a paper shredder.

West did not scream, even though a part of Pinkie had hoped he would, retreating instead into silent acceptance even as he was torn apart, ripped to strips by the blades of the device. Whatever it was.

Blood poured like rain, spraying everywhere and coating everything except for her lucky apron, pooling on the floor and running into the drain like it was meant to.

She had her blood. She could paint the Wall. But usually, Pinkie Pie at least got a tiny bit of enjoyment from killing the ponies she took the blood of. She tended to avoid outright killing if she could, and even if she had to, Pinkie tended to kill ponies she didn’t know or didn’t like. As a result, she often actually got a tiny bit of pleasure from the act, using it as a way to vent the frustrations or anger she usually hid deep inside.

But now she just felt numb.

She waited for a moment to see if it would wear off, but it didn't. She just felt empty.

“Well, that did nothing for me.” Pinkie muttered.

She left the room.

Chapter 5: Things That Make Noise

Days passed, and still Pinkie thought back to the pegasus. The silent, noble way he'd held himself, free of fear even when confronted with death, resonated within her. Their final conversation and his unwavering faith was burned into her memory, and even during the day, when she put on a show of being "happy Pinkie," she found her mind going back to the basement. Again and again and again.

There had been nothing remarkable about that night, save for his stoicism in his final moments, but she couldn't forget him or the fierce pride and grim determination in his eyes. That in itself was remarkable enough, in a way.

Pinkie had rarely dwelled on her hobbies in the past. She only did what she needed to do to keep the Wall sturdy. If she'd ever thought to stop and question her more questionable actions, Pinkie Pie would've gone even more insane than she already was by now.

Yet for some reason, she just couldn't let it go.

Ponies whom nopony would miss. Nasty, bitter individuals, who damaged the world with their very presence. Who only served to add to the buildup up decay that was rotting the planet and causing it to slowly collapse on itself. These were the ponies that Pinkie collected blood from. Ponies who had wronged her or her few friends, or were at least guaranteed to do so at some point in the future.

Scum of the earth.

There were very few exceptions.

But West, the royal guard, had been one of them. Somepony taken out of desperate need rather than out of a personal desire for vindication, and now she couldn't relax. It wasn't guilt, exactly, but Pinkie Pie was restless anyway.

"So buck fear."

Life would have been so much simpler if Pinkie could've just said the same.

-----

"Please don't do this. Don't kill me," a unicorn in chains pleaded, a steady stream of tears trailing down her face. Her voice was thick with crying, her speech interrupted with little hiccupping sobs, punctuated by the occasional sniff. "I don't wanna die, I'm too young. I'm too attractive! There's still so many lamos out there I haven't made fun of yet! Please, let me go, I'll do anything, I swear. I'll even be nice to you! Please?"

This was a unicorn Pinkie Pie had seen cutting in line at Sugarcube Corner, rudely shoving others out of her way with her magic and giggling in a nasty way when she'd been called out on it. Pinkie hated linecutters, so she'd cut her. The unicorn's pleading had done little to aid her cause, and Pinkie had buried her remains out in a ditch by Sweet Apple Acres.

"You little foal!" an earth pony stallion hanging upside down from the ceiling screamed. "As soon as I get outta this straight jacket, pull the nails outta my hooves, and get down from the ceiling, I'm gonna kick your flank bloody, you stupid little fillyfooler! You're gonna die!"

This was a stallion who'd come to her welcome party for Scootaloo, only to spend the entire time loudly cracking jokes about the quality of the 'assets' of the mares in attendance. Not only had it been rude and exceptionally innappropriate at a party for a little filly, it had been a total buzzkill. Pinkie hated it when jerks and meanies ruined parties for no good reason, and now his remains were scattered about the garden. She'd wanted to see if decaying flesh made for a good fertilizer, and come spring, she'd find out.

"Oh, Celestia!" the pegasus colt sobbed insincerely. "Let me out of here! I'll be different! I'll be good to ponies. I can make things better. I admit, I was a jerk. I'm sorry for everything!"

And then, sotto voce, "Oh, please let this crazy bitch buy that load of horseapples."

Pinkie had thrown the crate into the lake after filling it with spare rats. She'd wanted to see if it would sink due to the added weight, and although she wasn't entirely sure what had happened to it, it sure hadn't floated. He was probably dead now. If he wasn't, he'd probably learned his lesson about being more careful about what he said out loud and what he kept to himself. That's why she'd taken him in the first place. He had a habit of being extremely rude in public, never seeming to realize that people heard what he said to himself.

Everypony she took had some sort of story to tell, some excuse to make, some convoluted explanation for their actions, but she never took anypony without a reason. The explanations were never enough.

If they really wanted to live, they wouldn't been more careful, Pinkie would think. Even a total foal knows how easy it is to die! Especially when you make the wrong ponies angry!

They didn't regret doing what they did, they regretted doing it to her face.

They got so loud.

They made so much noise.

Everypony liked a good laugh, and Pinkie liked to take it upon herself to make sure everypony got one before they died. So before she ripped them apart, before she cut them to pieces, she liked to smile and crack jokes, try and maybe cheer them up a bit before they faded away.

She liked to imagine that she occasionally caught a glimpse of a smile on her victims. But even so, she knew better than anypony else that nothing was worse then getting laughed at. So when they began their pathetic stories of why they deserved to live, she would always try and excuse herself before she burst out laughing.

It was nothing more than a blur.

"Nooo! Nooo! Nooo!

A blur of sweating ...

"I promise! I promise!"

Screaming ...

"C'mon, then! Do it! Yeah! Ya coward! You won't! You can't! I know you won't! AAAAGH! GET AWAY FROM ME!"

Crying ...

"Nnng ... why? I was only playing ...

... equine drama.

She'd had everypony down here at some point. Pegasi and unicorns and earth ponies, mares and stallions, fillies and colts, clowns and musicians and athletes and workhorses.

"You can't do this!"

She'd heard it all. They had a family. They had children. They had a job. There was so much left they wanted to do. They hadn't seen Manehatten yet. Screaming and crying, fighting and tears.

Pinkie Pie had grown numb to it all. It was funny, now.

How did that saying go?

The first time, it's a tragedy; the hundredth, a comedy.

It didn't affect her anymore when they begged her to let them go, because Pinkie  had a need, and the only way to meet that need was to make a few sacrifices. Sacrifices nopony would miss.

"Please ... "

West had been the first pony she'd ever brought into the basement that didn't even try. He'd attempted to reason with her, to use logic, but he hadn't made excuses. He'd freely admitted that he had nothing to stay behind for, and he'd welcomed his fate, even though both of them knew he didn't truly deserve it the way others did. So different from those she was used to dealing with.

"Please! Let me go! Oh, Celestia! Please, just let me go! I promise I won't call the police...! Why are you doing this? I don't even know you, I just want to go home!"

"Whaaaaaat? You're crazy, we totally know each other! Remember? You were at the bakery and I heard you and your friends giggle at me about what a crazy Pinkie Pie I am. You must know me pretty well if you can laugh at me...it's funny, though, cuz I don't think I've ever met you before. Isn't that weird? It's totally weird!"

They weren't real anymore. The ponies she brought down to harvest the blood from, they were just...figments. Not even illusions. When they screamed, she couldn't hear them, because they were just air.

"How can such a cutie wutie be so ugly and yucky inside? It wouldn't take very much to make your outside match your inside, ya know. I could just chop your brain out, maybe! It doesn't deserve such a pretty coat and cutie mark! But ... nah, I probably won't. I'm better than that. I might not be as pretty or fancy or sophisticated as youg, but on the inside, I'm ... uh ...

The swing of a blade, and a horrible grinding "Hnngkk" sound as it was driven through the mare's throat.

"Wow, Gummy. I guess I'm not very pretty on the inside, either."

But every once in a while, they would say things. That was when it got loud. That was when she began to realize how noisy it could be. Noise that almost sounded like words. That made her think about what she was doing. Words like the ones she'd exchanged with West.

So much meaningless noise, so much wasted sound that the few words, the few coherent thoughts they could form together, were almost completely lost in a sea of nonsense that she had no use for. But every once in a while she managed to catch something, and she would hear it. The air would speak.

It made her uncomfortable.

There were diversions, though - distractions from the discomfort. An axe thrown in a magnificent arc, severing head from torso. A knife plunged with expert precision directly into the heart. A hammer gamely swung, pounding the corpses into a pile of unrecognizable mangled limbs. A buzzaw, a cleaver, the wonderous and fantastical torture devices in the cellar. So many tools of the trade, all of them perfect for silencing these things that made the noise that was so hard to listen to.

But in the end, as Pinkie Pie bleached the carpet and disposed of the remains and gathered the blood, her mind would always return to that single probing question.

Why don't I just get myself a pair of earplugs?