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The Bad Seed

   It stood there in a dark, secluded part of the farm, towering over the other trees like a fat old vulture. To Apple Bloom, it looked more like a squash that had been left outside to decay through the winter rather than a tree. Its base was twice as thick as its curving top, which stretched up to the sky with defying, gnarled branches that resembled claws. No fruit had ever grown from it, or would ever grow from it, judging by the look of things. It looked so out of place with its environment. It stood at the center of a small clearing, surrounded by large and plentiful apple trees, their vibrant green leaves silhouetted against a setting sun, apples a bright red that caught and reflected the sunlight. It was like this all over the farm, except for this one tree. It was as though it was...infected.

   Apple Bloom stared up at it as a strong wind came up from the south, making all the trees around her sway and roll like a noisy green ocean. The black tree in the center did not move, seeming to ignore and even rebel against the gust. It just stood there, a dark, poisonous thorn sticking up out of the Earth.

   The air that brushed through her fur and mane was warm, but she felt a chill trace a cold finger down her small back. The tree didn't belong here in Sweet Apple Acres. It was like a piece of some other world that had invaded her own, bringing with it an unexplainable fear that made her shiver in the late spring afternoon. It was hypnotic; the way its decrepit trunk curled upward and its decrepit branches twisted away from its hideous frame. It was awful, and as much as Apple Bloom wanted to look away, it held her eyes in a sickening trance.

   From somewhere far away, the little filly heard her older sister calling her for supper. She slowly pushed herself up off the ground and walked away, still keeping a wary eye on the black tree as though it would suddenly grab her with those sick-looking branches while her back was turned. The further she walked, the more she became aware of a certain presence that the tree had, a chilling force that made her hooves pound harder and faster at the grass beneath her. She broke into a run, fearing that something would break out of the ground and chase after her with snarling teeth and grasping claws. Her heart pounded loudly in her head like a hammer striking an anvil, and when she finally got back to the house, her chest heaved up and down, tears streamed down her tired eyes, and her cheeks were flushed and burning, but the feeling that something was behind her, hungering for her never left.

   She told her sister Applejack, her brother Big Macintosh, and she told Granny Smith, but they all smiled and waved it away or laughed it off, exclaiming loudly at her wild imagination. Apple Bloom ate her supper in silence, wanting for them to believe her about the tree, but they wouldn't listen. She knew they wouldn't because she was just a filly. When fillies talk to grown-ups about monsters, it's always chalked up to a "wild imagination." She felt sick. She pushed her plate away, excused herself away from the table, and walked up to her room, hoping that some sleep would make her feel better.

   But the night gave her no comfort. It was a long time before the shrill screaming outside her window turned out to be nothing more than the wind, and the tapping outside her window was nothing more than a few twigs and leaves torn off the little apple tree outside her window. She began to see the shadows all around her with a new, fearful outlook, as though they could be harboring something with long teeth and red eyes inside of them. Every sound that reverberated inside the house--a sudden creak of the steps, the quick tapping of mouse feet against the floor, Granny Smith standing up out of her rocking chair to go get something and then forgetting what it was she wanted--took on a new and terrifying quality in the night, and it was a long time before Apple Bloom pulled the covers over her head and finally fell asleep, slipping down into a dark and terrifying dream.

   In the dream, Apple Bloom was sitting on the ground somewhere in Sweet Apple Acre, facing a cleared spot in the Earth. It was a black, cold night, and there was no wind. She breathed lightly, watching the white mist that poured from her mouth spiral up into the air. It was very quiet, a silence which seemed to conjure up images of darkened morgues and vaporous marshes.

   Then, without warning, all the apple trees around her began to stir. Their branches swayed to and fro in a lilting rhythm, and their trunks groaned as though in pain. Thick brownish roots exploded up out of the ground, spraying the small filly with dirt and sediment. She jumped up, watching with wide eyes as all the trees around her started to slowly move away from a spot on the ground, making a wide clearing. They sidled and swayed, seeming to waddle, using their weight as propulsion. Apple Bloom heard the moans and wails of the trees, the apple trees she and her family worked tirelessly year after year to nuture to health, and with each pained, petulant cry of despair she felt a piece of herself die with them. A tear slipped down her cold, soft cheek.

   The ground in front of her rose up, forming a massive boil in the face of the Earth. It rose with such rapidity and force that Apple Bloom feared an explosion, and she took several terrified steps back. The ground continued to rise until it reached half the height of the apple trees, at that point a large crack formed in the center of the boil. It split open, and a small, black sprout rose up. Apple Bloom saw it grow slowly, fibers twisting violently around each other, forming rough black bark and whip-like roots that stabbed into the ground like daggers. A wailing chorus of horror was brought up by all the apple trees at the sight of this intruder, and Apple Bloom felt like joining them.

   She took another step back, and her back hoof struck something cold and hard. She turned and saw a pair of pruning clippers with red rubber handles. She blinked confusedly for a moment, and in an instant she knew what she had to do; she had to protect the apples. She grabbed the clippers with her mouth and ran quickly to the dark sprout.

   The clippers were familiar to her; Big Macintosh and Applejack didn't like the idea of her using the big, heavy saws that they always used for cutting down bad trees, so they gave her the clippers as compensation. She wouldn't be pruning away withered branches this time; she wanted this tree to die and never come back again.

   Placing the clippers between her hooves, she attacked the dark sprout as forcefully as she could, stabbing at the bark and softer insides, feeling it give way under the small metal blades. The tree protested by spraying a jet of inky black liquid into her face. Apple Bloom gasped in surprise, but continued to relentlessly savage the thing, which was now twice as tall as her. She stabbed and jabbed, pierced and cut into the fleshy insides, disregarding the burning sensation that was flaring up in the spots where the liquid touched her face. She grunted each time her forelegs flew up and drove the clippers hard, feeling confident, knowing that she was winning; she was killing the monster.

   After a little while, she stepped back, the yellow fur on her face matted with the viscous black ichor. It smelled terrible, like an entire garden filled with decaying vegetables. She stared down at what was left of the tree, a small stump with frayed bits of wood splintered all around it in a fairy-circle. She saw its base twitch and bend angrily, but she smiled. She even allowed herself a light chuckle; the monster was gone, and she was the one who stopped it. Filled with pride and self-confidence, she picked the clippers up in her teeth and started trudging back home.

   Suddenly the apple trees howled again, their wails rising to a horrid crescendo of terror. Apple Bloom felt her blood go cold at that sound; she lay her ears flat against her head and cringed as the trees screamed.

   A fierce growl broke through the pained moans, and as Apple Bloom turned to face the sound, she shivered and dropped the clippers as the trunk of the dark tree split apart. A powerful roar that seemed to come up from the very bowels of the Earth laid low the apple trees, and a mass of liquid blackness bubbled up out of the stump. It flowed over the top and sputtered into the night sky, and Apple Bloom watched in petrified awe as the black ichor rose up and began to make a shape, to form itself into some indistinct thing. The little filly wanted to scream, but her throat felt like it was locked up tight. In a few moments, the liquid took on a more definite shape, though it seemed confused at the same time.

   At one point, it looked like a tall and imposing pony with large, raven-like wings and cold blue eyes. At another, it took the shape of a clown, with a mass of balloons in its hooves and a row of small orange pom-poms running down its chest. At yet another, it took the visage of a decaying corpse, its lower jaw twisted and hanging off to the side at an impossible angle, a pirate's tricorn fixed atop its misshapen head. Apple Bloom felt her stomach rise up into her esophagus with each new form the creature took.

   The writhing mass shook and jittered, hissing and sputtering menacingly. It pushed itself out of the stump with two thick limbs that had virtually no endings, landing on the grass with a sickening squelchy sound. A head rose up out of its dark recesses, and two bright orange eyes glinted eerily with a light that could only be described as supernatural. It began crawling toward Apple Bloom, its two trunks pounding into the ground as it hoisted itself forward, making noises of varying descriptions too numerous to identify. It crawled closer, and Apple Bloom tried to scream as it reached toward her with one of its limbs, long sharp claws forming at its end.

   She woke up just as the knife-like tip of the monster's claw was poised over her snout. She sat up straight in her bed like a sword, inhaling a deep, deep breath. She let it all out in a long, piercing scream. It was a familiar scream that rose up out of her young heart, one that anyone who has ever had a nightmare would recognize and sympathize with. It was the terror-stricken sound of a child, and it rang off the walls of the Apple house and cut through the open windows out into the air, sounding out over every square inch of Sweet Apple Acre and hanging in the air over the farm.

   Her family rushed in and checked on her, making sure if she was alright or not. She wasn't, and she explained to them her nightmare and its cause. She told them that there really was something out there, hiding and waiting for something, surrounded by terrified apple trees. She cried, feeling her tears stream down her face, but she didn't feel any shame.  As old as she made herself out to be, the tears and the fear was justified. Applejack sat down on the bed beside her, cradling her in her arms. Apple Bloom pushed herself against her sister, not wanting to let go in case the nightmare wasn't over and it wanted to take her back to the dark clearing where the trees cried and the monster rested.

   Apple Bloom didn't see the worried look that her older siblings exchanged toward one another. She heard Granny mutter something under breath, but it was indiscernible to her as she kept her face buried in Applejack's arms. Still weeping, she felt her sister push her gently away, and a soft cloth was applied to her damp cheeks. She looked up at Applejack, wanting to tell her that it all wasn't just a bad dream, that this was more than just a piece of wild imagination, but she didn't know the right words to precisely describe her feelings.

   They smiled warmly at her and told her that in the morning they would go with her to the clearing where the dark, not-quite-so-dead tree stood and they would all help to chop it down. Apple Bloom asked them if they promised, and they all promised, and Apple Bloom knew this to be true.

   Applejack promised to stay with her for the rest of the night, while Big Macintosh and Granny walked out of her room and turned off the lights. She hugged her sister as she slept, and there were no nightmares.

   In the morning, they woke up early to the call of the rooster and had a hearty breakfast. At the table, nobody spoke of her nightmare, and she was afraid that they were untruthful in regards to their promises, but Applejack stepped out of the house momentarily, only to come back with a large saw strapped to her waist, asking if everyone was ready. After grabbing a few more necessary implements, they were ready, and turned expectantly to Apple Bloom who led the way through the apple trees they knew so well.

   When they got to the decrepit, bent thing in the clearing, Applejack whistled and commented on how ugly it was, with Big Macintosh agreeing quietly beside her. Granny harrumphed and began to berate the tree for crimes it allegedly committed. Apple Bloom stood off to one side as her siblings took out a large, two-pony saw and walked over to the tree. She fiddled with the big red bow she wore, nervous of what would happen. She thought of her dream, of what happened when she herself cut it to pieces with the pruning blades, and a cold air washed over her. When Applejack and Big Macintosh took up position with the handles of the big saw placed between their hooves, Apple Bloom imagined the black liquid to begin seeping out in protest. The two older ponies nodded to each other and began sawing with long, powerful strokes.

   Apple Bloom cringed each time the teeth of the saw ran through the bark of the tree; to her it sounded like what she imagined a bone being sawn in two would sound like. She half-expected the tree to cry out, to growl like a violent animal, to roar and spring to life in order to protect itself, but it never did. Applejack and Big Macintosh dragged the saw back and forth, back and forth, grunting with each stroke as beads of sweat began to stand out on their foreheads.

   Soon, the metal teeth cut through the center of the trunk--Apple Bloom's eyes were wide; she expected the black, liquid monster to erupt out of the stump and begin massacring her family, maybe in the form of a zombie pirate, or the creepy clown with the balloons and orange pom-poms. She had to place a hoof over her mouth in case a cry of warning was to come out.

   The saw ripped through the soft insides of the tree until about an inch remained. It swayed dangerously in the wind, and Applejack took up a loud cry of "Timber!" as a large portion of the tree tipped over and fell onto the ground, rolling onto one side where branches kept it in place like the kickstand of a bicycle. Apple Bloom stared with large round eyes as she stepped forward, curious and still a little bit terrified. Applejack and Big Macintosh put the saw down, laying it against the remaining stump, which was still quite thick. They were staring oddly at it, and Apple Bloom felt another chill brush through her fur and mane.

   "Hey, sis!" Applejack called to her. "I think you should come look at this!"

   Apple Bloom shivered as she walked over to the stump, placing her hooves on the edge as she stood beside her brother. There was a large black hole in the exact center of the stump, seeming to go down and down into a never-ending abyss that trailed down into some unknown world. Apple Bloom was scared, but she felt drawn forward, as though a force were pulling her in. With the black hole, the whole stump actually seemed to look like an eye. She moved closer, eyes widening and heart pounding loudly in her ears. With slight, ginger movements, she shifted herself closer, moving forward until her nose was touching the rim of the hole--

   And out hopped a bunch of three white, fluffy little bunnies.