It was dark when the lights of Canterlot began to grow visible off in the distance like a swarm of lightning bugs.

The airship glided through the still air with hardly a sound, the only movement that could be seen were the blinking lights that had been mounted on the hull and sides in order to warn pegasi in flight.

Viktor sat at the helm, looking out at the ghostly waves of the clouds with a strange unease bubbling away in his gut. Usually the trips to Canterlot were events that he looked forward to, as the massive, opulent city provided his sharp eyes with a much-needed change from the simplistic, rambling streets of Hawke, the griffon capital.

But this night was different, he felt on edge, his hearing registering every bump and rattle louder than usual and his tongue weighing heavily in a dry mouth.

It’s those damned boxes. he thought, pulling a lever that caused the powerful craft to veer left. They had been a last-minute addition, those boxes, and Viktor hated having extra baggage thrust upon him unexpectedly. But the pony who had sprung the request on him, an alabaster unicorn whose name escaped him at the moment, had paid handsomely, and Viktor wanted to give his hard-working crew a bit extra for their services.

He was thoroughly regretting that decision now, though, if asked, he wouldn’t be able to say why.

There was just something….off about his extra cargo. The boxes themselves, 5 in total, were medium-sized, perfectly square and padlocked tightly, with the instructions given that they were to be handled with utmost care.

“They’re fragile.” the unicorn had said simply, shrugging his thin shoulders and not elaborating further, much to Viktor and the rest of the crew’s annoyance.

The boxes took up a space near the back of the cargo hold, but the pungent stink that they emitted encompassed the whole area and had probably made its way beyond by this point. The smell bothered them all, it was one that they were familiar with, a salty, metallic odor: it was the smell of raw meat.

Viktor was not one for transporting perishables and, given how strongly the boxes smelled, he wasn’t inclined to do so ever again; He really didn’t want to end up with a health code violation marring his otherwise-perfect flight record.

The aging griffon pushed away from his console and kneaded his temples. His doctor had told him that his blood pressure was getting...iffy at his age, and had, on more than one occasion, suggested that he retire.

But Viktor knew that he couldn’t do that, no matter the risks. He had been piloting the airship since he was 20, its lofty ceilings, gleaming steel corridors and steady, humming motors were a comfort to him that he couldn’t replicate anywhere else.

No, he’d stay onboard even after he got too old to drive, he’d grown too accustomed to the ship.

His revere was broken, suddenly, by the arrival of Gemma, his lieutenant, who was looking far less stoic than usual, with her bright yellow eyes gleaming with worry, and her blue-gray feathers ruffled as if she had run. All of these details came together and set off an immediate alarm in the old griffon’s brain, and he got to his paws.

“What is it, Gemma?” he asked, looking her in the eyes.

“It’s Rugan, sir.” she said, her eyes darting around widley.

“What about him?” asked Viktor, “Has he gotten into the sherry again?”

Gemma shook her head, “No, sir. He’s….he’s gone.”

Viktor blinked, he had been expecting trouble from the impulsive first-mate, Rugan being younger than either of them and far less composed, and he was honestly surprised that he had lasted even a single month, considering that an airship could be Hel for the impatient or claustrophobic.

Now he was gone.

But that was impossible, the airship was large, but it was easy to map out and there was no place that anyone could hide, not from Gemma, who knew every nook and cranny like the back of her talon.

Still he had to ask.

“Did you check all the guest rooms?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did you check the kitchens?”

“Yes, sir.”

“The ventilation ducts?”

“Yes….sir.”

Viktor sighed angrily and gritted his teeth as he felt the beginnings of a headache creep into his skull. He moved towards Gemma, then stopped as one more location came to his mind.

“Did you check the cargo hold?”

Gemma blushed and looked down, “Well….no….sir.”

Viktor flew upright and crossed his arms, “Gemma-” he started to say.

“I’m sorry, alright?” interrupted his lieutenant, looking thoroughly ashamed, “I just….I just don’t like that place. It’s smells….wrong, like there’s a butcher’s shop in there or….or a morgue.”

Viktor reached out and lifted her head so that he could meet her eyes, “I know, Gemma. None of us like those boxed, Hel, I get dragon-bumps when I go in there myself, but I do it anyway because I have a job to do. Now let’s go down and see if Rugan’s there, if not, then we can get worried.”

Gemma nodded and absentmindedly ran a talon through her plumage, straightening it out. “Alright, sir. Forgive me for my childishness, it won’t happen again.”

Viktor nodded, “I should hope so, now let’s find the slacker. Then you can go rest, we’re almost there and you definitely need to take nap.”

He passed her by and knew that she had rolled her eyes, but he didn’t comment. He was just doing what most captains do and exercising some of his rarely-used fatherly muscles, something that he knew Gemma didn’t mind, even if she didn’t openly state it.

The two advanced down the corridor, letting an amiable silence settle between them.

As Viktor and Gemma walked down the corridor, a distinct and unsettling chill reared its icy head and smothered the air, tinting it with their now misty breaths.

“What the Hel-?” said Viktor aloud, “Did that idiot turn the thermostat down? Why haven’t I fired him yet? I swear, sometimes I’m far too lenient towards that buffoon.”

Gemma snickered, “Maybe he’s going through the fridge again.”

It was a joke that lacked the usual barbs that she added to her tone, but it made Viktor chuckle all the same, even though he could hear the unease behind her words.

They turned to the right and passed the staff quarters, Viktor feeling a deep longing for his bed as he passed his room and Gemma letting out a tiny yawn as she passed hers.

They descended the steps that led down to the underbelly of the ship without a single thought, their keen vision slicing through the darkness that lurked at the bottom of the steps. Their paws echoed off the sturdy steel grating, sounding like cannon fire to their ears.

A door lay at the end of a shorter corridor, the thick iron door with an equally thick padlock, the door that led to the much-disliked cargo hold.

The door was ajar, and a soft light peaked around the edges.

Both griffons stopped and stared, feeling the unease grow within them. They exchanged nervous glances and Viktor placed a talon to his beak, indicating total silence; Gemma nodded and the two turned and crept closer.

As they drew nearer, a strange sound made itself known. A soft clinking of chains and soft, but still audible, breathing.

These sounds ignited a spark of primal fear in both griffon’s hearts. They couldn’t name why these sounds disturbed them, but they knew that something was very, very wrong just by listening to those sounds.

Viktor pulled ahead of Gemma and, steeling himself, threw the door open.

The breathing stopped, but the chains still rattled.

Viktor felt his blood go cold as he stared at the scene that lay before him.

The unicorn stood next of one of the boxes,surrounded by candles. The expensive-looking clothing cast aside, revealing his cutie mark as a black blotch with a bright red full moon at the center. His black mane was wild and greased with sweat, and there was a demented grin on his lips.

Viktor opened his beak to ask him what the Hel he was doing. Then his eyes traveled upwards and his throat went bone-dry.

The ceiling beaks that kept most of the ship’s infrastructure stable were low to the ground and sturdy, their large rivets gleamed in the candlelight, as did the thick chain that had been wrapped around the support that loomed above the box.

From the end of the chain was a massive hook, and, hung from the hook like a piece of meat, was Rugan. The griffon’s eyes were wide with fear and glassy with death. His brown crest was stained red with the blood that leaked from the massive gash in his throat into the opened top of the box.

Gemma came in behind him and he heard her gasp and go silent with sheer terror.

The unicorn turned to the two and smiled, and Viktor saw the fire of madness behind his green eyes as he placed the massive, gore splattered blade on the floor.

“Hello, captain,” he said, his soft voice tinged with the same stuff held in his eyes, “is there an issue?”

Viktor closed his beak and swallowed the bile that had risen in his throat with some effort, having decided to kill the psychotic unicorn before he could attack and hurt him or Gemma.

Then he saw the shadows in the box shift.

Sweet Maker, he thought, ashast, There’s something alive in there.

“Sorry for the mess.” continued the unicorn, his tone conversational, “But my bosses are rather hungry, they haven’t eaten in a very long time and I decided to wake them up with a nice midnight snack.”

Something smacked wetly on the side of the box and then a crimson-stained, wrinkled appendage that looked like a pony’s hoof extended out from the pitch dark and grasped onto the lip.

Then, slowly, steadily, something unfurled and stretched long, mummified limbs. On the shriveled mass that Viktor thought might have been a face, a raw gash opened up and he saw the gleam of hundreds of sharp, needle-like teeth.

The unicorn turned and let out a gasp, “Oh, my. I didn’t think that you were fully awake. Look-” he gestured towards the pair, “-I brought you seconds.”

Viktor whirled around and shouted, “Run, Gemma, run now!!”

The lieutenant looked at him as if he had lost his mind and started forwards as if to protest. Viktor felt a surge of pride at her courage, but he forced it down and glared at her worldlessly.

Then the creature let out a long, low, rasping hiss and Gemma turned and fled.

Viktor turned around, ready to fight and expecting the withered thing to be too weak to have gotten out of its box. He expected the unicorn to attack, for him to attempt to do to him what he had done to Rugan. He expected a quick fight with a weaker foe.

Then the creature in the box was out of the box, and was in the process of covering the distance with the speed of a cannonball.

Vikor saw the brown, dried skin and the rows of fangs heading for him, and he raised his talons in defense. But the creature slammed into him with far more force than he had anticipated, lifting him off the ground and throwing him into the wall.

The air that had started to leave his throat was blocked off by a fanged mouth closing around his throat, biting through it, shredding the muscles and crunching into the bone. Viktor didn’t even have time to scream and the last thing that he saw were two smaller slits opening up on the horrible face to reveal two pure-red eyes.

Starless Night watched as his master tore the old griffon’s head off with a powerful snap of its jaws and smiled.

He allowed himself a few moments to watch the beauty of the spectacle before he braced himself and went to stop his master.

“Excuse me.” he said, remembering to keep his manners as impeccable as his his posture, “But shouldn’t you let your brethren have some, too?”

His master looked at the mangled corpse at its hooves, then at him, then at the boxes. It turned and motioned for him to bring the other four to it. Starless Night obeyed without hesitation, knowing that it was weakened by lack of food and probably more than a little cranky at being woken up from its nap.

Once the remaining boxes had been lined up, the creature approached and let out a series of low clicks, hisses and strangled vowel sounds that composed its language.

There was a brief silence, then the sounds of sluggish movement came from within.

Starless Night moved to open the boxes, but the first one held out a bloodied hoof to halt him.

Then the first box cracked and splintered.

Starless Night’s smile grew even wider and he turned away from the others and addressed the First.

“We’re close to Canterlot, master.” he said, “The last griffon will most lively be trying to radio in, but I’ve cut the lines; She is yours for the taking….or the turning.”

The creature’s skull-like head swiveled and it fixed him with a cold, appraising gaze. The unicorn stood his ground and allowed his master to look him over. When it snorted wetly and turned back to the still-breaking boxes, he smiled and moved off to find the last griffon and bring her to them.

I wonder if she’ll be enough for them. he thought as he levitated the knife in his golden aura. I should ask….no, no that would be impolite. They told me that they had slower metabolisms. So I guess they’ll be able to take their fill and maybe even leave some for later.

He smiled and began to hum a tuneless song as he walked up the steps to the corridor.

Behind him the bloodsucking creatures closed in around the corpse of Viktor and began to feed, filling their withered bellies with still-warm blood.

They were glad to be awake, and even gladder to be coming to the biggest city in Equestria.

The hunt would be amazing in Canterlot, and the prey wouldn’t know what had hit them until it was too late.

Author's Note

Here begins a new story in the Pony Dreadful 'Verse.

You might have noticed that the genres change a bit with each story: With Seeing Monsters being Lovecraftian and Stitches being more gothic and Frankenstein-ish. This story is going to be Splatterpunk, plain and simple, hence its M rating.

I hope you all enjoy the story and that you sleep.....fitfully tonight.

Bye for now