Author's Note

So, I decided that I will be adding more bonus chapters to expand on the lore and what not as the inspiration to do so strikes me. So, enjoy this little tidbit about what the Ghouls do when food is scarce in the caves.

Bonus Chapter: The Grave Digger

Transcript of the Royal Guard's interrogation of Rusty Picks for charges of grave robbing

Now, Mister Picks, you've already made your confession on your own accord, and things seem to match up. However, there's one thing that we would like to clear up here: why? Why did you come forward about this? We didn't have any leads saying it was you, you could have easily gone scot-free from this. So why go through the trouble of coming to get yourself locked up?

... I don't wanna talk about it... (Subject appears distressed.)

That's fine, that's fine. Let's start at the beginning then. Tell us why you got into this in the first place then. Why rob graves?

... Well you see... I always made sure to dig up the rich broads, ya know? The kind that bury themselves with their finest jewels and what not? I figure I dig 'em up, swipe 'em, bury 'em again, and hightail it. Maybe find some place on the other side of Equestria where I can sell 'em where they can't be traced to me, ya know? Sometimes, I sell the bodies to medical students who ain't askin' a lot of questions. I guess that's how you lot got word of what I was up to? Not my brightest move, but it put some good bits in my pocket, and I made sure those punks couldn't squeal on me.

Alright, alright. We get the picture. This just makes it all the more curious that you'd turn yourself in. Why do it? You had it made, it sounds like, so why give it all up? Why the change of heart?

(The subject stays silent and seems troubled again.)

Mister Picks, it might be possible to give you a lighter sentence if you comply and tell us the truth. Something made you come to us, and I doubt it was a guilty conscious. So, why don't you save us the trouble and tell us what happened to change your mind?

... I was doing a job... just the other night, same day I came in to confess. It was some trophy wife who'd kicked the bucket a week ago from some heart attack or whatever. I crashed her funeral to see what she was buried with, and oh boy did she have some good loot on her. I came in same way I always did, dark of the night with nothin' but my trusty shovel and a sack for the loot. So, I'm slippin' in, and...

(The subject falls silent and shakes slightly with a deep breath. He begins to speak again, in a shakier tone.)

... and... I notice somethin' off. Usually, there's all these bats and night birds and whatever, so there's at least a little noise and shit there. But that night it was dead fuckin' silent... and then I hear this sound... like a low moanin' sort of sound. And at first I says to myself, 'Rusty you ass, it's just some dumb drunk losin' his lunch,' but fuck if it didn't scare me. It... it didn't sound natural. Like... it just... it sounded almost like a pony barfin' or somethin', but kinda off, ya know?

No, I'm afraid I don't.

... Rrright then... so yeah... uh... so, I'm a bit shakier, but I tells myself to buck up and ignore it. Then there's another moan. And another. All comin' from different fuckin' parts of the grave yard. Now I'm a bit spooked, 'cause I can tell I ain't alone, and like I said that shit didn't sound right. But I wasn't leavin' without my loot, so I found the grave, and it was quiet all around. No more moans. I set to diggin', movin' quick-like and all that. I just focused all on the diggin' nothin' else. And then I hit the coffin and I pulled it out. And then a-...

(The subject has begun sweating and has grown more panicked as he continues.)

And then as I pried it open, I heard a bunch of fuckin' hellish soundin' moans from all around, and I look up and see all these tall things standin' around me, starin'. Just... just starin' with these fuckin' red as blood eyes that just stared at me like I was starin' into the eyes of the Reaper himself. And-...

I'm sorry sir... what exactly are you trying to say? You were surrounded by some sort of pack of monsters.

Did I fuckin' stammer?! Fuck yeah that's what I'm sayin'! Oh no, but they weren't just monsters, they were fuckin' monsters that looked like messed up ponies, like some zombie shit or whatever. They were all tall and skinny and had these things on their backs, and they all had four eyes that just stared and stared and stared at me like you wouldn't fuckin' believe and don't you dare say I'm lyin' about this because you weren't fuckin' there, you didn't fuckin' see those things start walkin' towards you with that stare, that Celestia-fuckin'-damned stare!

(The subject has begun to hyperventilate.)

I fuckin' ran, oh god did I run away from that fuckin' place, and while I was runnin' I tripped, and ya know what? I fell in a fuckin' grave they'd dug up and ripped open! I fell on a fuckin' ripped up corpse and when I climbed up out of that shit I saw those fuckers goin' to town on my mark, just eatin' that dead bitch up. I fuckin' ran out of that place and I didn't fuckin' dare look back. I came straight here because fuck it, I don't give a shit no more. As long as I never see those fuckin' things again, I don't care if you hang me for all I care. Just keep those hell things, those fuckin' Ghouls away from me!

Alright, Picks, calm down. I think we're about done here...

Subject created some elaborate fantasy story about grave-digging monsters that fed on corpses. We have no idea why he would come up with such a crazed tale, but we're setting him up with a psychiatrist to help in case it's some sort of delusional mental disorder or whatever. Honestly captain, I wouldn't give any merit to what he said. Sure, there were some dug up graves in the graveyard Mr. Picks was referring to, but there weren't any chewed up corpses. Not even so much as a speck of blood. Just empty, torn up graves, probably some punks, or more likely, associates of Mr. Picks who he's trying to protect with this monster story. Either way, I think we've gotten all the info out of him that we can. All we can say is that he seems genuinely afraid of cemeteries now. Keeps mumbling that he didn't want to have to deal with competition that vicious or something like that. In any case, that's my report. This is (Name Redacted) signing out.