//------------------------------//
// Small Town Doctor. 
// Story: Stitches 
// by Hopefullygoodgrammar 
//------------------------------//

Celestia’s sun was just creeping up over the horizon when the frantic knocking awoke Glorio Melkonis from his peaceful sleep.

Growling in annoyance, the thin griffon left the comforting warmth of his plush bed, slipped on his robe and went to answer the door.

Melkonis was not a morning griffon, not by a long shot, but his newest job often demanded that he wake up early. He loathed that part of the job, as well as the part in which he had to listen to a bunch of ponies and griffons whining about some ailment or some perceived ailment; Melkonis often wondered is ponies were naturally more prone to being hypochondriacs than his own people.

The knocking came again, sounding more frantic than before.

“I’m coming!” shouted Melkonis, his voice gravelly from sleep.

The griffon reached his door and threw it open, revealing a whimpering pegasus stallion whose tear-filled eyes and quick, shaky breaths told Melkonis that something very, very bad had happened.

“What is it?” he asked, his voice growing sharp as his higher mental faculties kicked into high gear, trying to predict what would be said.

He wasn’t wholly  unprepared for what the answer to his question turned out to be, but it disturbed him nonetheless.

“M-my b-b-boy….” the stallion sobbed, “He-he….”

“What is it?” asked Melkonis in his best soothing voice.

“He’s been murdered!!” wailed the stallion, abandoning himself to his misery.

Oh no. thought Melkonis, That pigeon-winged wimp is going to get snot all over my doormat! How disgusting!


Of course he didn’t say any of this aloud, instead he put on his best comforting face and gently pulled the weeping stallion into a hug. Allowing himself to grimace at the undesired physical contact, but it was necessary in order to keep up appearances. After all, everyone expected the town doctor to be a kind and caring individual, so Melkonis sucked it up and acted the part.

After a few minutes the stallion had cried himself out and managed to tell Melkonis some of what had happened, though it was obvious that he was expected to examine the body in person.

Melkonis held back a small smile: at least the town doctor job also came with the job of undertaker and made him the sole operator of the local morgue.

So it didn’t take much convincing to get the griffon doctor washed up and out of the house, though it took him a few minutes to get his medical supplies together and place them in his bag. 

Melkonis allowed the still-distraught stallion to take his time in leading him to the spot where the body had been found.

Which rested in the outlying woods.

The location immediately set of alarms in Melkonis’ head, but he knew that he had to see more evidence before jumping to conclusions.

Melkonis and the stallion arrived at the edge of the woods. There were several very sick-looking ponies and griffons in the garb of the local police who were standing around waiting for him. The knowledge that he was an important figure in the little community made him feel more than a bit self-righteous, though he hid those feelings well.

“Alright, where’s the body?” he asked in an authoritative tone, hefting his bag slightly. 

“This way.” said the griffon who acted as the Chief Inspector, leading Melkonis past the other officers. The father of the now-dead foal stayed behind, as was to be expected.

So much for the better, thought Melkonis, I hate having to listen to someone blubber like a hatchling whilst I am at work. It ruins my concentration.


His concentration was lost anyway when they came upon the crime scene and Melkonis saw the body.

The foal had been a pegasus colt, that much was obvious, even though the wings had been brutally wrenched from their sockets. But the rest of his physical characteristics were lost under the sheer volume of mutilation that had been inflicted upon the poor pony; Melkonis couldn’t even guess what the colt’s original fur color had been.

The griffon doctor knelt by the body, studying the bloody voids where the eyes had been, noting that there were already maggots in the wound. 

But there’s no smell. mused Melkonis, So that means that he can’t have been dead for more than a few days.


The griffon doctor reached into his bag, procured some gloves, put them on, and proceeded to gently examine the wounds, noting the clean incisions across the stomach, face and chest, as well as the more jagged tears around the legs and back.

It is her. he thought as cold dread settled in his gut.




The rest of the examination went by in a flash: he finished his examination, jotted down a few notes for posterity, and watched as the mangled body was lifted up and dumped dripping into a body bag.

When all that was finished Melkonis returned to his house and sat heavily on his overstuffed chair, feeling his age catch up to him.

She’s begun killing again. I thought that she would have died by now. he thought, remembering the night when She escaped: the torrents of rain, the clouds that obscured the full moon, the violent reaction that the corpse had had to the spell and the way that she had looked at him with her cold, unblinking eyes.

That Gilda griffon was far, far better than any of the others. he thought miserably.

No sooner had that thought formed in his mind then there came a loud bang from his basement.

Melkonis heaved an exasperated sigh and pinched the bridge of his beak, “Of all the worst possible times you have to do this now?” he asked nobody in particular. 

With a groan, Melkonis got up and shuffled into his kitchen. He opened his freezer and took out a package of frozen meat, which he warmed up and plopped on a grungy plate. He went to the door to his basement, which was locked with a heavy padlock.

Letting up another sigh, Melkonis took the key from off its place on a nearby jutting nail and unlocked the door. The instant that the door was opened a rush of fetid air hit the griffon doctor full in the face, making him wince instinctually. 

He padded down the stairs, stopping to flip the light switch at the bottom. The room was filled with dingy, but still serviceable, light which illuminated the stained concrete, the moldering boxes that had been there since he had moved in, the three rusty slabs that he had procured from the morgue along with several sturdy shelves and several pieces of medical equipment.

On the opposite end of the room stood another door which was made from solid carbon and locked with a series of thick chains. Melkonis casually undid them and then entered the room, flipping the light on and setting the plate on the floor as he moved to face the room’s occupant.

The creature snarled when it saw him, but didn’t move to attack him; it knew full well that the consequences of acting out would be unpleasant.

“Hello, Viktor.” said Melkonis with a smile.

The twisted thing snarled at him through a lipless maw, it’s rotten breath nearly making its creator gag.

Melkonis drew back and fanned the stench away from his nostrils, “I wish I hadn’t fed you that dead dog.” he said through his fingers.

Viktor merely snorted and shifted in his cocoon of thick chains.

Melkonis picked up the plate and set it down a few feet from Viktor’s misshapen head, then watched in disgusted awe as he stretched his neck out to an impossible length-almost three feet- and pulled the greasy meat into his maw with a loud slurping sound.

Well… it’s often said that necromancy yields many varied results, no one resurrectee is the same; they’re like snowflakes. thought Melkonis, smirking at the analogy.

“Sorry about the lack of food, Viktor, but dead animals have been scarce as of late. Probably your sister’s work.”

Viktor said nothing, he just drew his swollen, purple tongue across his yellowed teeth and returned to his previous position, all the while glaring at Melkonis.

How is he able to make his emotions so well known when he doesn’t have any eyes? wondered the griffon necromancer, stepping through the door and slamming it shut, leaving his monstrous creation in the darkness of his cell.  

Melkonis retreated back to his upstairs room, taking a tin of tuna and one of his grimoires with him.

A little late night reading never hurt anyone, after all.

As he lay, snuggled up in his blankets, Melkonis thought back to Gilda and the shining success that she had turned out to be.  

I’ll have to pay her another visit. he mused, licking the last of the tuna from the tin, I’d love to see how she’s been progressing; maybe she’s even able to read now.


He sighed and closed the grimoire, making sure to hide it underneath his bed. He fell asleep a moment later and dreamed of a world full of perfect, patchwork people, all of whom were bowing  to him.