A carrot's shape is its loveliest attribute. Though more suited for going into the ground than out, there is something divine about that orange wedge.

"Hello, dear!"

Another long, plump orange beauty into my saddlebags, the row nearly finished.

"Goodness, aren't we healthy?"

The top is nearly as big around as my hoof. I tug; it stays.

"Time to get serious! No carrot gets the best of Carrot Top!"

I grab the stalks in my teeth, plant my hooves firmly, and use a little of granny's secret "earth pony magic". With a loud crack, the beast comes free. "Beast" is quite appropriate.

"I've never seen a carrot so gnarled and splitty!"

Splits are good luck, so I feel extra lucky as I deposit it in my saddlebag.

Derpy says I should put it on the mantel, and I can't help but feel like it deserves a place of honor. To just eat it seems a waste. I'll keep it in the fridge until last. It'll make a lovely batch of muffins.

That night, I hear it.

Golden Harvest...

Nopony calls me Golden Harvest!

"Derpy, is that you?"

No...

"D-D-Dinky?"

I shall whisper secrets hidden in the earth...

A million images flash through my mind. Lost pony civilizations buried by their own arrogance, worms still crawling through their skulls. The buried remains of horrid rites performed for old gods, blood pouring onto the soil. A cleaver swings at me. I scream.

"That musta been one doozy of a nightmare!"

I glare at Derpy and sip my coffee. It was only a nightmare, right? When she goes to work and Dinky to school, I cannot help feeling I am being watched.

It's the second row today. Halfway down, my trowel hits something hard. There's blood everywhere. Laughter darkens the back of my mind. No! The ritual!

No, I've only cut myself. Carrot Top, focus! It was only a dream!

Yet in the confines of my house, there is an oppressing darkness, like dirt being thrown over a grave. I hear the laughter again, patient, demanding.

I open the refrigerator.

It writhes at me from the vegetable drawer, green eyes pulsing with eldritch energies, mouth filled with horrible orange teeth, every fibrous root tendril curling, twisting, reaching.

I scream and slam the door.

"What's the ruckus?"

"Derpy!" I can't breathe. "You scared me half to death!"

"Hope it wasn't the half that makes muffins." A grin, then concern. "You okay?"

I'm not okay. "Yes."

In night's clutches, I see the images of howling beasts rent apart by cosmic forces, helpless against the invasion of beings beyond mortal ken. They enslaved ponies, showed them things unimaginable, fell when the oppressed rose against their masters.

Why me?

"Stop!"

Never!

I know what I must do.

To the kitchen, down through the turning, yearning shadows of the night thing camped in my fridge. It lies still. But a ruse.

I don't even wash it off, dirt crunching like bones between my teeth. The laughter comes again as I bite into it. It only fires my determination. The voice fades as I chew and chew, breaking off large hunks and nearly choking myself in my haste to consume them.

Lovely...

Only too late do I realize my mistake. Now it's in me, growling like a fetus awaiting profane birth. I collapse to the floor, tears in my eyes. The light switches on.

"Boy," says Derpy giddily, "you musta really had the munchies! I thought I was the only one who liked midnight snacks! Looks like you ate too fast, though."

Within me, the voice cackles. I scream.