Applebloom turned in her bed and pulled her blanket over, trying to sink back into the haze of sleep. A quiet scratching noise came from the window, just irregular enough to irritate. She sighed and scrunched her eyes shut, but something about the noise continued to nag at her.

She opened her eyes and stared at the blank wall beside her bed. The brightly colored paint was muddy brown in the darkness, and the shadows brought out every little warp and bend in the wooden planks. Her ears twitched as the scratching continued. It didn't sound like a tree branch or a bird's beak at all, and it wasn't coming from the window either. She swallowed a lump in her throat and turned over again. Her eyes flicked to the glass panes, but there was nothing on the other side.

Where've I heard that sound before?

She lifted up her pillow and looked at the little felt pouch she'd laid there. It was in the shape of an apple with a bite mark, with the words 'an apple a day' clumsily sewn on the front. She'd made it herself, with constant guidance from Granny. She looked inside the pouch and saw the baby tooth she'd placed within.

Guess the tooth fairy hasn't shown up yet. Maybe that's her right now?

She stared at the door to her closet as the scratching continued. These days, the closet was just a place to keep all the old toys she never played with and the papers she'd long ago brought home from kindergarten. She never kept new things in there. Just a bunch of old horseshoes and one or two sunday dresses that didn't fit her anymore. Nothing but cobwebs and old things, now.

She thought back to when she was younger, when the closet had been a part of her daily routine. She'd been so proud to finally have a real bedroom of her very own with a whole closet all to herself. The memories came rushing back all at once: the time she'd set up a little painter's easel and used it as a makeshift studio, and the time she'd camped out there all night, pretending it was a cabin. Then she remembered why she'd stopped using the closet.

The sounds stopped, and Applebloom sat up and stared at the door. She flinched as something in the closet fell over and spilled something on the floor—her box of old craft beads, probably. The shuffling and scratching resumed a little louder than before.

What if I'm wrong? What if it’s just a bird or a mouse or something?

She reached under the bed and snatched up her fluffy slippers, hoping they would muffle her hoofsteps. It took her a long time to find the courage to climb out of bed, and she never actually approached the closet.

I should look inside and make sure it’s really him. I don’t want Applejack to think I’m telling fibs.

Even from a distance she could tell it wasn't scratching against the door. It was just shuffling in place, scratching and thumping against the floor.

You know what? Maybe I can just go for help right now. I can live with being wrong. I dunno if I’ll live if I’m right.

Applebloom walked across her room as slowly as she could and opened the door, taking special care to lift the latch quietly. The hallway was longer than usual, and the floorboards creaked ever so quietly as she walked to Applejack's room. It was a farmhouse, so of course everything creaked. Sometimes, walls and doors creaked for no reason at all—especially in the morning, as if the house was stretching its back as it woke.

She reached up to knock on the door, but paused to look back at her own room. She'd left the door open. What if it heard her? Applebloom pulled on the latch and walked into her big sister's bedroom. The room was just as dark as her own, and the only sound was faint snoring.

She went next to the large bed and tugged on the edge of the quilt. "Sis?"

The faint snoring continued unabated. Applebloom tugged on the quilt a little harder.

"Wake up, sis. I need yer help with somethin'."

The snoring came to an end with one final snort. "Whuh... whuzza?"

"I need help with somethin'. Grown-up help."

"Izzuh... what time izzit?" Applejack rolled over and looked at her, bleary-eyed. "Applebloom? What're you doin' up so late? Or... is it early?"

She peered at her over the edge of the bed. "Mister Jiggles is back."

Applejack propped herself up and squinted at her. "Say again, there?"

"It's Mister Jiggles. He's back."

"Who?"

"He used to live in my closet,” Applebloom whispered. “I dunno why he went away, but he's back now. You're a grownup. Can you get rid of 'em for me?"

"S'jest a bad dream. Go back to sleep."

Applebloom tugged on the quilt, this time out of frustration. "It’s not a dream. I can hear 'em walking around in there."

"Now just hold on a minute. Is this the same imaginary friend of yours from way back?"

She shook her head quickly. "He ain't no friend of mine. He ain't nopony's friend."

"But you stopped havin’ those nightmares years ago. How'd you even remember any of that?"

"I woulda been fine and dandy not remembering,” she said. “It's not my fault he decided to come a-knockin' again."

Applejack closed her eyes and rubbed the bridge of her nose. "Didja see him?"

"No, but I heard'em."

"You put your baby tooth under your pillow, right? Well maybe this Mister Giggles is really just the tooth fairy."

"It's Mister Jiggles," said Applebloom with a frown. "He don't giggle cause he ain't got no mouth. And anyhow, I know it's him from the scratchin' noises: He hobbles around on those pointy little pokers of his, and it sounds like pins'n needles."

"Are you sayin' he's got needles... for legs?"

"I'm talkin' about the pins'n needles you get when you bang yer knee and it feels all numb and prickly. Whenever he walks around, it sounds the way pins'n needles feels."

“What does that even...” Applejack stared down at her, wide-eyed. "Applebloom, that's awful!"

"I know! That's what I've been tryin' to tell you!"

"No, I mean—" Applejack tossed her quilt aside with a sigh and climbed out of bed, slipping into her own set of fluffy slippers. "Never mind. It was just a terrible dream you had, that's all. Now let’s get you back to bed and tuck you right in."

Applebloom stuck out her bottom lip and hopped in place. "Can't I just sleep in here with you? Pretty please?"

"Yer too old for that now, Applebloom.” She opened the door and walked down the hallway without even making a token attempt at stealth. “Don't you remember all that fuss you put up last year about wanting your own room? Well this is part and parcel of finally gettin' what you want. When you get older, you gotta have the courage to accept big changes."

They walked into her bedroom side by side. Applejack lit a lamp on the dresser and carried it to it to the closet door. The flickering amber light sent shadows dancing across the walls.

"All right then. You're absolutely certain that Mister Giggles—

"Jiggles. He’s made of jelly."

—is in your closet right now? And if I open it up, we'll see him for sure?"

"I dunno,” said Applebloom, peering at the door. “I never got a real good look at 'em before, ’cause he's real good at not being seen. I don’t hear anything now, but he was in there a minute ago for sure."

"Well either he's in there or he ain't. It's not like there's any other way for him to get in and out of the closet."

"But he does!" hissed Applebloom. "I remember once I locked the door with a padlock all day and night and he still found a way to get in and out. I don't know how, but he does!"

Applejack rolled her eyes. "Let's settle this once and for all, then."

"I dunno," said Applebloom. "Maybe we should just leave 'em alone and see if he goes away on his own. That’s what happened last time."

"There's no such thing as Mister Jiggles," Applejack said, scolding and impatient, "and as soon as we open this door you'll see it's the truth. You got nothin’ at all to worry about."

Applejack set her hoof on the latch and opened the door.