There Are Ponies on the Moon

Silence.

Dead silence.

It was strange that it was so silent. Mere hours before, the screams of ponies and the panicked smattering of hooves stung in your ears as you and many others were sent fleeing into the pitch of night after the conclusion of the Summer Sun Celebration—which, strangely enough, involved no sun. A dull throbbing assaulted your head, pounding against your skull and rattling your thoughts as you peered through the space in-between slats of wood you'd hammered across the window overlooking your lawn in a hurried panic after getting home. The suffocating lack of noise was broken up only by the infernal ticking of the hundred-pound grandfather clock ticking away in the corner of the room.

Nothing.

In the inky darkness, you couldn't be sure if you were looking out over the green grass you'd carefully tended to each and every day or a swirling chasm that dropped nine-hundred feet down a fissure that cracked the earth in front of your home. There was a smidgen of scattered lantern light that dotted the distant landscape in an eerie orange glow, which broke apart the darkness in uneven clumps of awkwardly-facing shadows, but nothing else disturbed the still of the darkness.

Why did this happen?

You couldn't help but ask yourself that very question over and over as you gently rocked your foal, a colt of four years, into a fitful slumber. He'd been beside you when the commotion started, and in the panic you'd lost your wife. Her name was Sunflower Seed, a golden-furred mare with a vivid brown mane and the prettiest pony you'd ever seen—lost somewhere in the creeping darkness that threatened to overtake the dimly-lit living room you'd barricaded yourself into. Tears had long dried on both your and your colt's faces as you had screamed at him that there was no time to look for his mother, and that getting back home was the safest thing for the both of you, and that she was an adult pony who could look after herself.

It took a while before you could believe that yourself.

Gently, you laid your son down on the small loveseat that sat beneath the front window, next to his favorite cushion, before quietly trotting further into the home, grabbing a nearby candle with your magic. In your panic, you'd only managed to get a few dingy candles lit before you set about boarding up your home amid the cacophony of terrified wails that could be heard echoing up and down the normally busy Ponyville streets. You compulsively checked each room in the home: the bathroom, your bedroom, your son's bedroom, the dining room, the attic, and even the basement, where you stored most of your important childhood memorabilia. There was nothing in your home out of the ordinary, of course, and you could scarcely explain why you kept checking your home for some nasty monster, or some devilish changeling ready to impersonate your loved ones and suck you dry of your hushed reassurance. There was nothing of interest, though, and after you cleared the house you crept back into the living room, where your son still lay, fidgeting about in the grasp of what might have been a nightmare. A frown graced your muzzle, but as you stood in the precipice to your spacious living room, glowing softly with the light of your candle, you felt something was… off.

Something was wrong. There was something you couldn't place. It might not have been about the room itself, or your son, or the cackling shadows dancing along the walls, but there was something bugging you. Resisting the temptation to triple-check your home, you approached the boarded window yet again and peered outside. Nothing unusual there, but you could still feel that peculiar itch on the back of your neck whispering in your ear that something was off. Squinting in the darkness, you searched around your yard and the nearby street for anything unusual. Though your eyes had yet to adjust, there were faint swirls in the pitch black that indicated the side paneling on homes or the rough dirt paths that wove intricately between lopsided Ponyville residences. A quick glance above at the moon shining through the darkness indicated that it was still-

The moon. The moon was wrong.

It was the moon—your moon, the moon that you'd been watching yourself since you were a foal. There was no mistaking the familiar pale-white or the particular patterning of craters that you could still observe with your naked eye. No, what bothered you was that the moon was much, much larger than you remembered, taking up most of the normally starlit sky with its sheer size. You imagined that if it were to come crashing down into the atmosphere, it would likely fit the entirety of Ponyville in one of its many craters. There was also the chilling realization that the moon was emitting absolutely no light—it just hung dimly over your town, a shadowy celestial presence threatening to be cut from its string and flatten Ponyville in mere seconds.

You gazed at the moon for a few more moments, noting some more peculiarities that you hadn't noticed before. There were figures that danced on the moon's surface, acting out a sort of wordless play before your very eyes. You could see crowds of cheering ponies, their crazed faces filled with the sort of glee only truly captivating entertainment could provide. There were glittering moonstone cities that towered over rolling hills of stardust and moonrock spires with fragmented tips suspended in the silky flow of lesser gravity.

DING! DONG! DING! DONG!

The weighted crash of brass against brass brought you out of your stupor, and the stirring of your foal beneath you brought a frustrated breath from your nostrils. You could feel that your son, Ginger Snap, was prodding at your barrel, but something was bothering you: When you'd first gotten home, you'd noted that it was around six in the morning—judging by the toll of the bell audible from outside your front door—but you were sure that only around half an hour had passed since you'd gotten back. With your magic, it hadn't taken very long to board up your home, and you had only checked your house a few times. Why had time passed so quickly?

How long had you been staring at the moon?

"Dad? Dad, are you listening?"

You felt the urge to snap at your child for disturbing your thoughts, but then you realized just how strange it was that you'd felt that way. You loved your son, and your wife had always made it a point to emphasize loving correction rather than any kind of verbal or physical discipline. It was just… being torn away from the moon had made you so angry, and you couldn't fathom why.

"Ginger? What's up?" You sort of squeak out. It had been a while since you opened your mouth, and your throat was a little parched.

"I had a bad dream, dad… I saw mom, and she running from us… She jumped into the air and started running towards the moon… I tried to tell her to come back, and that I missed her, but she wouldn't look at me."

You frowned. It wasn't really as scary a dream as you'd expected, but it still bothered you a little that your wife's absence was taking such a toll on your son's psyche.

"Ginger, I promise you that your mother is fine. She's a big pony, and she's probably with her friends, safe and sound." Ginger Snap didn't exactly look convinced, but he didn't say anything else after that. He was such an intelligent and understanding colt for somepony his age, and you made sure to ruffle his mane with a hoof like you always did, hoping that the small comfort helped to assuage his fears. With a yawn, Ginger laid his head down again, but after a few moments he lifted his head back up and stared at you, tears beginning to form in the corners of his eyes. "Dad, I can't sleep… I'm so sleepy, but I can't fall asleep." Sitting up from his cushion, Ginger Snap hopped off of the couch and wiped his eyes with a foreleg before prodding you again.

"Daaaad, I can't sleep… I'm so tired…"

His words were spoken, disturbing the chilly silence that settled through the home.

"Dad, when is mom coming home?"

The vibrations were felt, causing your ears to flick and your eyes to twitch.

"..."

It was just so beautiful.

"..."

Why hadn't you noticed before?

"...Dad?"

There are ponies on the moon.

You blinked. Running your tongue over your lips and across your teeth, you recoil at the foul grime that coated your mouth. How long had you been standing there? Your muscles ached, and you hopped off of the loveseat and back onto the floor with an unceremonious clop. Stretching yourself longways across the dim stripes of your carpet, you take a look around the room. Nothing is out of the ordinary, you suppose, save for the boards that now lay in splinters across the back of the loveseat and your front door, which is wide open and shuddering in the cool morning breeze.

Where is your son?

A panic rises in the back of your throat like bile and you quickly race down the dismal halls of your once familiar, even comforting home.

"Ginger Snap?! Where are you?!"

Your uncoordinated hooves carry you through every room in the house (even the basement) as you search for your missing son, but it becomes very clear after the frenzied beating of your heart slows to a normal pace and you return to the living room that your son isn't inside.

The missing boards on the window and the wide-open front door grab your attention. He couldn't have… left, could he? You notice a familiar hammer lying beside the loveseat, and you note that it's the very same hammer you used to board your home up in the first place, though the tool is lying in a different position than it had previously. You're not sure how long you stared at that hammer, piecing together what must have happened during the lapse in your attention. The candle that had once hovered in your magical grip lay discarded at the foot of the loveseat, having gone cold and dark some time ago judging by the hardened wax dribbled down the side.

Your brain kicking into gear, you dash out of the open front door, intending to shout your son's name despite the claws of fear scratching at your underbelly that you would never find your son in the oppressive darkness, but you trip over something solid not even three feet in front of your door, which sends you into a forward tumble into the cool grass beneath you. Picking yourself up and nursing a bruised chin for a moment, you begin to whip around and glare angrily at whatever inanimate object caused your tumble, but your eyes begin to adjust and you notice something peculiar in front of you.

Despite the dark, you can make out nearly a group similar-looking shapes dotting the landscape in front of you, like tiny dominoes lined up and down the road leading away from your home and into Ponyville proper. Though you squint, it does nothing to help your sight. Having forgotten about looking for your son for the moment, you resolve to approach the shapes, albeit rather carefully. You've just about reached the road when you remember that, as a unicorn, creating light was hardly an impossible task, and with little effort your horn begins to glow, lighting up a row of maybe a hundred or so stark-still ponies as far as you can see, all staring up into the sky. You recognize a few familiar faces from the pavilion gathering a few hours earlier, and some others you can't exactly identify, and with a shock you realize that your wife is standing among them, her normally alluring neck bent awkwardly backwards to allow her a full, uninterrupted view of the starless atmosphere. Without thinking, you rush over to her, both happy to see her again and absolutely terrified at the display before you.

"...Sunflower?" You manage to get out as you slow your pace and creep up to where she stands, not even a hoof-length away from the next pony in line. She doesn't say a word to you, and you're not even sure if she was breathing. You gurgle out a cry of fear before slowly backing away from her, a sharp revulsion at this unresponsive and unsettling image of your beautiful wife sending you reeling back to the relative safety of your lawn and home. You keep backing up until you reach the edge of your lawn, and when you turn around you realize that your son is standing in front of your house, stark still, with his eyes to the sky.

Ginger Snap. Your son. Your pride and joy. He was such a happy young colt, with an unquenchable thirst for information and adventure, stood before you, devoid of all the life and enthusiasm you'd seen him with only a day earlier. You can barely make out his ordinarily unmistakable features in the absence of light, but you're positive that it's your son. You wave a hoof out in front of him, but if he noticed he does nothing to show it. You step closer to him, intending to call out his name, but before you can reach him he just…

Disappears.

In a puff of black smoke, he's gone. Vanished. There was no trace of him left. The growl of fear in your belly is a full-blown scream, and you circle the area, wailing his name into the stillness of the night, hoping that whatever devilish force had spirited away your son would return him, and return the normalcy to your mundane, almost forgettable, but also comfortable life.

Your cries echo into the night as you gallop from your home in a panic, colliding with the line of statuesque ponies that litter the Ponyville streets. One by one, they begin to vanish, forming into wispy black smoke that funnels into the still air and travels further into the sky. You look to the moon, and with a look of dread you realize that there are thousands of these inky black streams of dust glittering in the moonlight, which now shimmers with such vivid brightness that the entirety of Ponyville is lit up like a hoofball field under the scrutiny of a thousand fluorescent stage bulbs. The sound is deafening, a raucous grinding that fills your ears with the sounds of thousands of ponies, either screaming in fear or laughing in uproar. You can't move, your mouth left agape but disallowed the desperate scream you're dying to express. Still, you turn your eyes moonward. There is no sky; there are no stars; the nebulous system of celestial bodies and mysterious cosmic swirls are drowned out by the magnificent radiance of the moon, which is an expanse spread the horizon and back, encircled by the fragmented, dusty souls of the entire populace of Ponyville.

Your heart beats loudly in your chest for only a second longer, and you're whisked away on the current of life that flows directly into the heart of the moon.

There are so many ponies spread out before you. Radiant gold tables span miles across the dusty surface of the rock beneath your hooves, and before you many are bathed in extravagant blues and royal purple garments laden with gold trim and pearls and gleaming gemstones of every source. Nearby, a couple speaks of their golden days as young ponies, laughing all the while; their drinks, once empty, now are overflowing with wine, spilling out onto the glowing white surface of the moon.

There is a lavish banquet of fruits, nuts, expensive wines and confections topping silver platters that spread across a wide mahogany table, draped in purple and gold silk cloth. Ponies, seated down the length of the table, dig in to their meals, gorging themselves on splendor and choking back laughter with the coarse liquid from their cups. Suits become stained, and dressed become tangled, but the laughing never stops. A very tall, black mare stands apart from the crowd, her crystalline eyes piercing through the unusual black mist seeping up from the cracks in the glowing white stone beneath you. She surveys the crowd, seeming to approve of the various festivities and laughter heard throughout the gathering of jovial ponies. Suddenly, her serpentine eyes narrow at a particular pony in the distance, and with a hiss her sharp horn flares with powerful magic and she yanks a pony from their seat and snorts before them, mocking laughter seeping out from between her fanged lips. Her wings flare, and she cackles even louder, prompting the nearby ponies to join in with their own brand of merry bellowing.

A single scream rings out from the now sullied pony laying on the ground like a foal caught by their mother, and there sits your wife, petrified. Her panicked gaze flicks across the crowd of well-dressed ponies, and her eyes lock with yours. She dashes over to where you stand, flanked on either side by groups of frolicking and laughing in company of good friends. Before she reaches you, her legs are kicked out from under her and she's pushed to the ground. Several ponies begin to crowd around her, smiles wide on their faces as they lash her back with gold-tipped canes and stain her beautiful golden fur with blood let loose by ice picks with wooden handles. Her gurgling wails clash with the smooth sounds of the band playing a contemporary jazz somewhere in the distant crowd, and the dull whacks of wood against coat grow in intensity. Desperate, she pleads with you to stop them, to help her, to return home, to find your son, and to end this nightmare.

You laugh. Your horn lights with an earthly green as you pick up a nearby cane and land a blow right on her forehead, smashing her horn to bits.