The man walked back to the shed, the leader’s currently drying blood still all over his clothes. He had considered changing, but felt it would be best if he didn’t. Sure enough, he returned to the shed, threw the top half of the door open again, and the herd squeaked in surprise like always. Then they saw his clothes, and went deathly still.
“So.” He said. “Does anybody want to give up their leggies?”
The herd were silent. They had probably heard the chainsaw, maybe even heard their leader screaming, the garage wasn’t far from the shed after all.
“Good.” The man said to the herd. “I’m glad you’re all staying here. Now, is anybody hungry?”
The herd momentarily lit up with joy… then went quiet again. They remembered what hunger meant. Hunger meant needing to get food. Getting food meant a trade.
“Nobody?” The man asked, watching their silent, still, fearful faces. What would hold out longer? Their fear? Or their hunger? Either way it was a war of their survival instincts.
Then, from the back of the herd, he heard a sound. A quiet chirping. A baby, he assumed.
“Ssh, babbeh!” A mare squeaked. “Am hungwy too! Buh… buh nu nummies hewe…”
“What’s that?” The man asked loudly, snapping the mare to attention. She looked up from within the herd.
“Uhm… bestest babbeh hungwy… nee’ miwkies…” She said timidly.
“Then you should feed it, shouldn’t you?” The man said.
“Uh… mummah nu hab miwkies… nee’ nummies…”
“So you are hungry?” The man said, in mock surprise. “Well why didn’t you say so?! You know you can ask for food any time you want!”
The herd remained still and scared, looking nervously at the man, wondering what new demand he would make of them.
“O-otay…” Mama said quietly. “Den… mummmah hab nummies? Pwease?”
“Of course…” The man said, smirking. “…in exchange for a foal.”
“NU-HU-HU!!!” One of the herd shrieked, falling to the ground in a sobbing, wailing heap. The tension had finally broken and the herd were no longer quiet, they were just miserable.
“Nu mowe babbehs! Nee’ babbehs! Pwease nu!”
“Pwease mistah, gib nummies fow fwee? Hewd su hungwy!”
“Nu faiw! Nu wan gib babbehs! NU FAIW!!!”
All of the herd were clamouring and jabbering… all except for the mama who had spoken up. She looked deep in thought (well, for a fluffy pony at least). The man let the herd settle down… then the mama spoke again.
“…otay. Mummah gib babbeh fow nummies.” She said.
She ducked down into the herd, then trudged forwards to the front, carrying a foal in her mouth. The foal was an ugly, runtish little thing, with a dark brown coat and a malnourished frame.
Mama carried it out of the herd, then dropped it on the ground, looking disgusted to have had it in her mouth at all.
“Dewe. Take poopie babbeh.” The mare muttered, before jabbing the foal with her hoof, causing it to start chirping in fear.
The man looked at the foal, and grimaced. He’d heard about these things before. The internet called it ‘bitch mare syndrome’, when mothers would reject foals for any number of pathetic, shallow reasons, classifying their babies as ‘bestest’, ‘poopie’, and then everything else in between.
Apparently this mare had a poopie baby… but she’d also mentioned a bestest baby.
“No.” The man said.
“WHA?! Buh… buh mistah say wan bab-”
“I don’t want that baby.” He said. In truth he felt sorry for it, but that was overriden by his desire to hurt the herd itself even more.
“Buh… buh mistah wan bab-”
“That’s a poopie baby. I don’t want it.”
“…WEWW MUMMAH DON’ WAN’ NEIBAH!!!”
“Too bad. I don’t want it. It’s ugly and smelly and worthless to me. I don’t want it at all. I won’t give you any food for that baby.”
Mama was in a pickle. She looked at her poopie baby… then glanced back into the depths of the herd.
“Don’t you have some other babies?” The man asked. Mama looked at him in fear, and audibly gulped.
“Nuh… nu…?” She lied poorly. “Nu, onwy poopie babbeh!”
“Oh, that’s a shame.” The man said, boredly. “If only you had a bestest baby instead… I’d love to see it”
That did it.
The desire to show off the ‘bestest’ baby overrode the mare’s protective instincts. Her need for praise and love from her owner outweighed her maternal nature. She had forgotten all about the proposed trade. She only wanted to show off her pride and joy.
She darted back into the herd, and emerged again a moment later, carrying with her another foal in her mouth, her head held high with naive pride.
The foal was… something. It had probably started out as a brightly coloured animal, the man could see slivers of cyan fur and a purple mane, but the bulk of it’s body was covered in a variety of shitstains, probably from having spent it’s time in the shed dragging itself around on the filthy floor.
Despite this, mama still carried it proudly, gently placing it on the floor at the front of the herd for the man to see. The fat lump mewled and wriggled around, it’s sightless eyes scrunched up in anger as it began chirping again.
“S’otay babbeh! Mummah hewe!” Mama said to it, but the fat baby kept chirping angrily. “Mummah sowwy babbeh, wiww gib miwkies when mistah gib num-”
She froze.
She suddenly remembered the conditions of the trade.
“I’ll take that one.” The man said, snatching up the ‘bestest’ baby while the mama was still processing her mistake.
“NU! NU TAKE BESTEST BABBEH! TAKE POOPIE BABBEH! PWEASE!” Mama squeaked and pleaded and begged, but the man wasn’t listening. The fat foal in his hand was wriggling pathetically, furious at being touched and also still demanding food with every hostile little chirp. The man ignored it.
“No. I said I wanted a foal. I’ll get to decide which one I take. And I’m taking this one.” He said, giving the bestest foal a quick squeeze. It didn’t produce any shit, which was disappointing. It really must have been some time since it ate, the man figured.
But ultimately it didn’t matter.
“What do you say, mama? Give up your bestest baby for food?”
Mama was about to reply, but then the herd spoke up.
“Dummeh mawe, gib babbeh to mistah!”
“Fwuffeh tummy huwties! Nee’ nummies!”
Even her own poopie baby was chirping on the floor where it had been left behind, it’s own belly aching with hunger.
“C’mon mama.” The man said. “Time’s a-wasting, what do you pick? Give up your bestest baby for food? Or let the entire herd starve for the day?”
It was going just as the man had intended. With only one meal a day, the herd were hardly ‘eating well’. They were getting by, sure, but they were still left hungry more often than not. Meaning the moment food was offered to them, they would be too desperate to really think about the consequences of the trade.
Mama, on the other hand, was torn.
She needed food to feed her best baby… but if she gave up her baby for food, then she could hardly feed him, now could she?! So there was no point! But, also… she was still hungry, and so were the rest of the herd…
“Nu…” Mama whispered. “Nu wiww gib… bestest babbeh too impowtant… too speciaw… pwease gib back…”
“Fine.” The man said, letting go of the fat, squeaking foal, letting it fall to the hard wooden floor of the shed where it began shrieking in pain and fear. Mama immediately snatched up her bestest in her mouth and began to waddle away… but as soon as she turned, she found the entire herd glaring at her.
“Gib babbeh to mistah.” One of them snarled, desperate, starving fury in it’s eyes. “Gib babbeh NAO!”
“Nu!” The mare said, gently placing her bestest on the floor. “Babbeh bestest! Wowth mowe than nummies!”
“SHADDUP!” Another fluffy yelled. “Just a dummeh babbeh! Gib babbeh fow nummies! DAT A FAIW TWADE!”
“NU! BABBEH BESTEST! BABBEH SPECIA-”
“BABBEH NU ‘SPECIAW’! BABBEH JUS A BABBEH! SAME AS POOPIE BABBEH!”
That tore it. The mare let out a shriek and charged at the offender, head-butting the other fluffy in the face and knocking them to the floor.
“YU NU SAY DAT! BESTEST BABBEH SPECIAW! BETTAH DAN DUMMEH POOPIE BABBEH!” She shrieked at the herd.
“Nu cawe!” Another of the herd said. “Hewd hungwy! Nee’ nummies! Gib mistah AWW dummeh babbehs!”
“NU! NU GIB BESTEST BABBEH!” The mare yelled back, stomping her hooves on the floor in fury.
Suddenly, something hit her from her side, knocking the air from her body as she tumbled to the side. As she fell, she saw one of the herd had circled around to her left and tackle her suddenly.
The mare hit the floor, and before she could begin to get her breath back, another fluffy came and lay horizontally across her, weighing down where she was. She was trapped, with a perfect view of the rest of the shed, including her cyan-coloured bestest baby.
She watched in horror as one of the herd picked up her bestest in it’s mouth and carried it over to the door, where the man was still watching. Then, with a ‘ptooie!’, the fluffy spat her baby onto the floor, where it landed with a ‘whack’ and began loudly crying.
“Babbeh fow nummies. Twade?” The fluffy asked bluntly.
“Sure, that was the deal.” The man said, scooping up the saliva-covered baby while it’s mother continued to watch in terror.
The man then vanished, with the baby in his hands, closing the door again and plunging the shed into darkness once more.
Twenty minutes later he returned with his usual burden of several plates of steaming spaghetti, which he placed on the ground outside the shed.
“I’ve brought your food.” The man said. “But before I give it to you, I want to show you all something.”
He held up something they couldn’t see clearly and placed it on the ground inside the shed.
It was a clear glass jar, the sort of thing that had maybe once contained pickles, with a lid screwed on tight. The lid had an airhole drilled through it, and inside the jar, feebling pawing it’s way around the smooth base, was the bestest baby.
“BABBEH!” It’s mother screamed, still pinned down by another fluffy. The bestest baby heard her shout, and began crying, slapping it’s stubby hooves a gainst the glass floor of the jar, evidently attempting to demand ‘milkies’.
“Let this be a lesson to all of you.” The man said. “If you go against your herd, your herd might just go against you.”
He then placed the plates of spaghetti in the shed, one on either side of the jar, and let the herd eat. One by one the herd made thier way to the plates, including the one pinning down the mother. As soon as she was free she bolted to the jar containing her beloved child, but it was no use. No fluffy pony possessed the physical articulation, nor even the intelligence, to know how to properly open a jar. Smashing it never even came to mind.
Eventually all the fluffies had eaten and the herd returned to quietly milling around the shed, but the mother remained with the jar, cuddling it to herself as her imprisoned baby screamed and cried, it’s voice quiet and tinny from within the jar, demanding it’s mother do release it… while mama could do nothing but cry and hug and cry and hug and cry.
The man reached in to remove the plates, and mama immediately caught sight of his arm, reaching for it with her stubby limbs.
“Mistah! Mistah pwease! Pwease hewp mummah! Babbeh twapped in meanie fingy!”
The man looked down at her.
“…nah, I don’t want to help.”
“Buh… buh mistah, pwease! Mummah nu can hewp babbeh awone! Nee’ hewp! Wiww gib, uh… huggies! And oddah ugwy babbeh! AND MUMMAH! MUMMAH GIB MUMMAH TO MISTAH TO HEWP SABE BESTEST BABBEH!”
Her pathetic begging fell on deaf ears, as the man silently collected the plates and closed the shed door again.
The herd eventually fell asleep in the oppressive darkness of the shed, and soon the only sounds that could be heard were quiet snores from the herd, an occasional fart… and sobbing. Quiet, muted sobbing, from a mama and her tiny baby trapped in a jar.