Health & Dental Care

Atticus Q. Redghost, villain and shapeshifter, spends most of his time traveling the Netherworld to heal sick and wounded monsters. A generalist by nature, Atticus often calls upon the help for large problems (or large monsters).


The skeleton sat motionless, sullenly staring at the floor and counting the tiles over and over. It did not move when the necrophysician walked in, reading a chart.

“Hello, hello! My name is Doctor Frizz… so, what do we have here?”

“His name is Algonquin,” came the clipped reply of a previously unseen necromancer. Whether she had always been there, since Creation, or appeared with her words, is impossible to say. All that can be safely conveyed is a simmering, quiet annoyance. “And this is the third time this week he has glued himself silly with toothpaste.”

“At least he is minty fresh!” the doctor pipped helpfully. Despite her irritation, laughed. The skeleton, immobilized in the crud most often seen around bathroom sinks, wheezed a bit.

General Zombie Noise

The necrophysician felt the zombie’s throat and pressed gently. The undead monster made a noise. “That hurts or general zombie noise?” the doctor asked.

“…general zombie moan,” the creature replied sheepishly. The physician smiled and continued the exam. She took the creature’s temperature, recording it as below room temperature. They discussed diet and activity.

“I am going to prescribe a nightshade extract to raise your temperature. And I need you to take your ectoplasm.”

The zombie hesitated and looked away. “I’m scared.” The doctor put her hand onto the creature’s shoulder. “I know,” she said tenderly. They sat for about an hour and talked.


“I am scared, Atticus,” the dragon’s voice echoed hollowly. As strong as the mountains it lived in, and nearly as old, the great beast closed eyes as large as dreams and growled with pain. Fetid breath suffocated the air, causing all gathered to hold their breath until the next breeze came.

Atticus rubbed the dragon’s nose, unsure if it could even feel the gesture through the centuries-old and inches-thick scale. “Hush your tiny baby face,” the villain said reassuringly, using the dragon’s favorite expression. “I will be here when you wake up. I promise, I promise.”

“Sing us a song, Atty.”

“I sound like a garbage disposal full of marbles and you know this.”

“Redghost! I am dying here!”

“…you have a bit of plaque because you refuse to brush, and so with a bit of dental spellwork–” the villain sighed deeply.

“Sing us the song, Atty. You know the one.”

“Yo, I’ll tell you what I want, what I really, really want…”

The ancient beast rumbled a deep, tired chuckle and drifted off to sleep at long last. Atticus nodded to the dentist, who, with quivering hands, stepped into the dragon’s cave-like maw.

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