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English_American t1_j5kzudf wrote

"Sign here, here, and..." blackened fingers traced down the page as I searched for the final signature. "Ah, yes, here."

As I looked back down to my own papers, shuffling through the patient's information and the woman's request, she hemmed and hawed.

"Is there a problem?" I asked, my eyes staying on my papers as I read through the request.

"It says here seventy-two hours, I thought we agreed on-"

"Yes, three days; twenty-four hours a day times three days is seventy-two hours." I reminded her, it was always apparent in my patient's families that wealth may buy happiness, but it could not buy them a brain. The woman remained silent as her pen glided along the lines, signing a significant sum of money over to me. When she clicked the pen, I reached out for the papers and nodded to my customer.

"I appreciate your business. The resurgere will take place tomorrow morning at eight seventeen exactly, no earlier, no later. Please have any who would like to witness the resurgere present no earlier than five minutes beforehand. Your..." I glanced down to the papers for a reminder, "husband will return for exactly seventy-two hours. It is highly recommended that he is present, here, by his regressus time. If he is not, please ensure he is in a place that is easily accessible, and as noted in the contract, an additional fee of 10% of your total will be incurred for an absentia fee." The woman nodded along as I spoke, her mind clearly elsewhere. Formailties.

I walked the woman out, and as she left, I waved. The least I could do for a woman paying me more than a year's average salary of a CEO.

The next morning, the resurgere was nearly ready. My garb, a black gown with subtle inlays of crimson Latin phrases, had been prepared the prior evening after my customer departed. The husband's body was placed on the large stone tablet in the middle of the room. The tablet was something to see, it was black. Not simply black, like soot, or smoke, but a void. Looking into the stone was almost as if looking into nothing.

Incense had been burned for the past half hour, giving the room an even more legitimate feel. I waited, hands clasped, as the family began to enter the room. My hood was down, I never liked putting it up unless the family was into the ornate, or the... eclectic arts.

This family was not. It was just the wife and who I could only assume were her children present. After they entered, and glanced uneasily over to me, I began my ritual.

"Confer nobis animam Johannis Aurifabri." I began, my words echoing through the chamber. An orange-red glow appeared around the black void of a tablet. "In loco illius sume per tres dies meam, et per tres dies ad tuum dominium redibit." The glow traveled through the stone, and into the body. As the body began to convulse, I uttered my final words. "Dum anima liberorum vagatur in regno, mea erit in tuo servitio, mi Domine."

I saw his eyes open as mine closed.

Three days later, at exactly eight seventeen in the morning, I awoke, standing just where I was when I departed in his place. His wife was there, holding onto a limp hand attached to a now lifeless corpse. She gasped in shock when I appeared in the cloud of black smoke.

When she regained her composure, she nodded and thanked me again.

After she left, I took a seat next to John. His was a life long lived, a life full of pain and suffering. Not his own, but inflicted upon others. For three long days, I took his place. For three long days, I labored, I suffered. It was worth it though... four hundred and fifty thousand dollars for three days in Hell.

It's always worth it.


chacham2 OP t1_j5l8acs wrote

Wow, well written. Thank you for that excellent reply!

> she hummed and hawed.

I thought it was hem and haw.

/me searches

Hum and haw is the British equivalent of hem and haw. Then again, i thought "English_American" meant American English, but i guess that isn't the case. :)


English_American t1_j5l8i6l wrote

Thanks for the correction, in all honesty I wrote that as my final class was finishing up for the day and I had students asking me a ton of questions so I was distracted! Fixed.

And thank you! Excellent prompt!


Benjii_44 t1_j5lkd74 wrote

Good to know that the teachers also spend thier time on reddit


English_American t1_j5lp16u wrote

Yep! Well, the students were finishing up a movie today so it’s not like I was ignoring them lol.


chacham2 OP t1_j5l8tt9 wrote

> I was distracted

Imagine if you weren't... I hope i see some of your replies again.


S4njay t1_j5msqlv wrote

Lmao what, I did not expect this response!


Omen224 t1_j5mdtyd wrote

I wonder if the narrator in question ever offers a refund for those who go to heaven instead. 3 day vacation and such. I would definitely offer at least a partial refund.


FlyMega t1_j5mjxzb wrote

No way for them to know, why not just pocket the cash? I mean, if you’re a necromancer no reason to give back the money… yknow


Omen224 t1_j5mkgcg wrote

As incentive to have more of my richer clients behave. Not only out of egotistic altruism, but also to improve the possibility of a repeat experience.


TheCreatorCrew t1_j5mlk40 wrote

Excellent writing! I didn’t even think about trading places, great use of the prompt. Does the Latin mean anything in particular?


English_American t1_j5mq4ti wrote

It does! Something along the lines of:

> Give us the soul of John the Goldsmith. In his place, take mine for three days, and in three days it will return to your possession. While the soul of the free wanders in the kingdom, mine will be in your service, my Lord.


Diptam t1_j5o1zdf wrote

I love how the Latin foreshadows the last abstract, well done!


QuirkAlchemist t1_j5mr5ws wrote

All the money in the world couldn't convince me to spend a second in hell


MechisX t1_j5nfpap wrote

That took a dark turn but it is nice to see even a necromancer understands there is always and exchange or price involved.


SamRivett t1_j5o13oz wrote

Very interesting! A good addiction (and side character) could be that his body remain unconscious and someone (like a secretary) that take of the body for the time he is away. In this way there would be possibilities to develop even relationships


SolidBiker3000 t1_j5v9r2a wrote

Good response

Does anyone know what the words mean


English_American t1_j5yr38p wrote

> Give us the soul of John the Goldsmith. In his place, take mine for three days, and in three days it will return to your possession. While the soul of the free wanders in the kingdom, mine will be in your service, my Lord.


prejackpot t1_j5lae00 wrote

“You’re the wizard?”

I don’t correct clients, as a rule, so I nodded. “Yes sir.”

“And this isn’t a scam?” he asked. He was looking at me, but the question was directed at his entourage. They took care of reassuring him; all I had to do was stand there and look ominous. I knew the type: he was drowning in grief, and desperately trying to keep it bottled inside with a sense of control.

“So you can bring my dad back?”

“Not forever,” I said. “Not even for a long time.”

“But long enough to say goodbye?”

I nodded again. And to my surprise, he grabbed me in a bear hug. “Thank you, man. Thank you. I’m Guy Redmond. My dad, he-” and then he was sobbing on my shoulder.

My assistant keeps a spreadsheet on potential clients: executives getting chemo; celebrities doing their own stunts; and of course, billionaires over 85. Julius Redmond had been at the top of the list for years; so long I’d wondered if he’d found some power even stronger than what I offered. But no, when it came down to it, Julius Redmond, billionaire media baron, just had healthy habits and excellent medical care.

A car had taken me to the Manhattan helipads; a Sikorsky charter took me all the way upstate, where another car had taken me from the helipad to the Redmond family home. Now, Guy himself walked me the last leg of the journey, down the hall to his father’s bedroom. He kept his hand on my arm the entire way; I could feel him sagging under the weight of the moment.

Julius – or at least the earthly vessel I would call him back to – reclined majestically on a large bed. Medical staff were already packing up the IV poles and monitors. “Leave that one,” Guy pointed at the heart-rate monitor that was showing a steady flat line. A nurse nodded and then withdrew, leaving us alone.

“Here,” Guy said to me, pulling a crumpled check out of his pocket and pushing it into my hands.

“Your people already paid-” I started to protest, but he cut me off.

“Nah, you’re gonna dig deeper. You’re gonna give me more time with my dad. Alright?”

The toughness was back; the need for control. But that check had quite a few zeroes on it.

“It can be overwhelming,” I warned him. “For you, I mean. It can help to have an agenda. To help you stay focused and cover everything you want to cover with him. This is your chance.”

Guy shook his head and blinked his eyes a few times. “I just want my dad to be proud of me.”

“Alright,” I said. And then I got to work.

I won’t bore you with the details of necromancy. Guy paced the room, fists balled, until the heart-rate monitor started to beep.

“Dad?” Guy rushed over to the bed. “Dad, it’s me.”

Julius’s eyes opened slowly. I put my hand against the wall, steadying myself as I channeled, slow and steady.

“Gaius, what happened?” Julius asked.

“You died, dad. And I brought you back,” Guy said, his voice trembling. “It’s not like you think. I don’t just let things happen. I can do things. And I wanted you to see.”

Guy took another deep breath. And then he brought his fist up, and punched his father. And then he did it again. And again.

Julius had been tough for his age, but he was an old man who had died once already. I felt the tether slip. The beep of the heart-rate monitor stopped.

Guy turned to look at me. His gaze was vacant, but he was breathing hard.

“Will that be all?” I asked. I was breathing hard with the strain of magic, but I don’t correct clients, as a rule.

“Oh no,” Guy said. “You promised me more time. I’m not done.” He balled up his fist, and turned to face the body. “Bring him back again."

(Thanks so much for reading! If you enjoyed this, you can find more of my stories at r/prejackpottery_barn )


Ishouldbeworking01 t1_j5lh708 wrote

Ha u/prejackpot, seems both you and I had ideas about bring fathers back to face the music...


prejackpot t1_j5lk9w4 wrote

rWP really is the 'real' writing world in miniature, including multiple people having the same ideas simultaneously all the time.

In mine, I was aiming to keep it ambiguous who exactly is the evil one here.


Ishouldbeworking01 t1_j5lovdt wrote

Thats very true,

Now that I've reread your story, my first read might have been influenced by my story still in my head, yours can go either way....

Good read! have a good one


ryry1237 t1_j5mujd7 wrote

I somehow never thought of using necromancy as a way to get post mortem revenge.


MechisX t1_j5nfvio wrote

Now I want to know what his dad did to him.


Jce_WritingPrompts t1_j5lurao wrote

    Elgar knew the family would soon enter his bare, but warm office. The weeping from the visitation room dwindling down always meant they were almost done. Four hundred and seventy three. That was how many children Elgar brought back to life, just to hear the sobs of their parents when they inevitably passed away again. He finished the paperwork for the family and stared at nothing in particular. Lost in the thought of all the children over the years and how much it cost the families for an extra hour of life. This was his sixtieth year in this business and he was tired of burying babies while he lived in excess.

    "Thank you, sir," said the man in his doorway--the father of the three year old boy he'd resurrected. Three years old, here long enough for his parents to know him. The woman standing next to the man--the mother--could only give a half-hearted bow, unable to talk in her grief.

    "Of course, of course. Please sit. Here are our options for burial," Elgar said and slid a sheet of paper towards them detailing coffin options and pricing.

    "I-Is there anything, cheaper?" the man flipped the sheet of paper over looking for more options, only to find it blank.

    "Well, there is an option to donate the body to the state, he will be laid to rest eventually," Elgar said quietly. The couple looked at each other and embraced, crying. After a moment, the man nodded.

    "Can we choose the plot? We lost his sister last year and want them to be together," the man said. Elgar knew the answer was no, but his heart couldn't take it. He took a deep breath and sighed.

    "Follow me," he said. He stood up with great effort--recent resurrection hadn't been kind to his old body--and led the couple back into the visitation room. He checked his breast pocket to make sure it was right where he always kept it. The letter. He handed it to the man, "Please open this." As the man opened the letter, Elgar laid his hands on the boy again and smiled. He felt the life drain out of him. He felt the world fade. He felt at peace.

    Elgar collapsed on the ground, pale and lifeless. The young boy coughed, sat up, and cried. The mother grabbed her son tight and cried with him. The man looked at the letter, which read:

What a precious thing a life is. I hope your child lives as full and long of a life as I've lived.


chacham2 OP t1_j5lvwpc wrote

Sad and sweet. Thank you for the reply!

> We lost his sister next year

I assume you meant last?


Pangolindrome t1_j5ndpjf wrote

If my baby girl wasn’t asleep, I’d have to give her a hug. This one hit deep. Well done.


Ishouldbeworking01 t1_j5l9pab wrote

"Welcome to Returns, your speaking with Jill, who can we bring back for you today?'

"Hello Jill its Bill Gregory"

"Mr Gregory- what a pleasure it is to hear from you again, has it really been a year already?"

"Please call me Bill and its that time again for sure"

"Ha I cant do that, you know how Mr Gorgon-the duke of the undead, ruler of the un-life- may his reign last for 10000 years feels about proper titles" Jill said with a chuckle

Bill Chuckled back at her, while she started typing on her computer.

"Let me just bring up your file - lets see here, ah look at this with this one you have almost filled out your resurrect 9- get the tenth free card. that's always a good deal for our frequent customers"

"so just the normal package again Mr Gregory, or would you like to upgrade for a longer stay?"

"no thank you- just the normal 24 hours, I don't think I could stand any longer"

"Not a problem, what do you have planned this time?" Jill asked as she tapped away on her computer

"Maybe something with fire or maybe take him out shooting?" Bill replied "most of the time I just make it up on the spot"

"Fair enough- that's all set for you I've booked in the time and updated Mr Gorgon-the duke of the undead, ruler of the un-life- may his reign last for 10000 years, calendar. just do the normal bank transfer and we are all set"

"Thank you Jill- you have a good one now"


I get the ping that a new job has been added, and I open my eyes, the gem in my forehead begins to glow bright green, the light spreads across my bones replacing the long dead flesh with new muscles, blood and skin, until I'm fully formed again and I step out of my upright coffin and look at the update.

Ah Mr Gregory, that time again.

I gather the darkness from the corners of the room and spin it into a robe for me to wear, as I'm walking I click my finger's and the skulls along my walls light up- fueled by their souls- sometimes I can hear a very faint screams but this just adds to the ambiance and people love a show.

Some think Necromancy is monstrous and goes against the natural order of life but I say, its just the same as capitalism or Influencers and everyone shuts up real quick.

I'm just offering a service which a lot of people pay a lot of money for.

But what everyone doesn't know is Necromancy takes a lot out of you and you always get some cross over form the dead your reviving, some thoughts and feelings, actions on how they lived life.

And this job for Mr Gregory to bring back his father always leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

After what his father did- I know what true evil is.


Zyrian150 t1_j5luqd5 wrote

Oh no. What'd he do


Ishouldbeworking01 t1_j5lvqsh wrote

He was the man that suggested adding the second un-skipable ad to Youtube-

I'm joking I will leave it open ended and you can fill in the blank with what ever unspeakable crime that would make a man that raises the dead recoil


TacoMagic t1_j5l9dqc wrote

Miranda nervously fidgeted at the sleeve of her long coat. It was her first day, she was waiting in a room with a large table and several chairs as office halogen lights hummed away. Smoothing the cloth over and over is something she's done often in school to the point it started to fray. The new patch sown on her shoulder felt a bit uncomfortable but she was proud to be part of "Lawrence & Reynolds & Gutgrob: Necromantic Services". LRG was one of the major players in Necromantic Services, ever since the 1996 Convention of Demons at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in Cleveland, Ohio. Part of those services allowed someone to come back from the dead almost as normal and continue living their life as if nothing happened except for the occasional memory lapse. How this happens is hidden behind NDAs, misinformation, disinformation, and some even say magic. Miranda had her ideas of course but today myth would become fact.

"You ready Mira?" a man wearing a fine dark suit and a red ornate goblin mask. It was turned into a extorted expression of pain and glee. This was her attendant. They wore masks to prevent demons from disturbing them too much. "Yes." she replied.

"What are you against the darkness?" the attendant asked.

"I am the stone, indifferent."

"What will you do when shadow swallows you?"

"I am unmoving. Lodged in the serpents throat."

"When the void is all you come to know?

"I will know nothing, unchanged and come to awaken."

The attendant using a pen with an elaborate ivory handle and golden feather scratched what looked to be blood on old parchment. The attendant broke the silence, "It's not lost on me how goofy this all looks in contrast to the savings management got on the building and location. Apologies it's not great but the job does have other benefits; casual Fridays for example, though I do have to wear the mask." Miranda forced a half laugh, "It's fine. I'm just nervous."

There was a knock on the door. The attendant stood up and opened the door to a person in a blue goblin mask with a blank expression who handed him a garment bag.

"Ah, your meeting robe, great." The attendant placed it on the back of a chair.

"Ok, last check list, be as specific as possible." The attendant pulled out another piece of paper, but this one seemingly normal white copy paper.

"Lawrence & Reynolds & Gutgrob hereto "LRG" is not responsible for any injuries or pacts made during "The Human Representative Miranda, hereto "THRM", time with your Partnered Spiritual Consultant, hereto "PSC". THRM will stay present with PSC for a period of 8 earth hours as designated by the 1996 Compact." The attendant paused for a moment, "Are these terms acceptable, Miranda?"


"Great, then by the 1996 Compact of Demons you are granted access to office 858 where you'll be working with PSC. Norl. Oh, he's a veteran so you'll be in great hands, good luck in there and hope to see you back tomorrow. Another attendant will conduct your exit interview for the day. You can leave your clothes here, someone will clean them and have them ready for when you leave, and you have a ten minute break before you head in. Need anything else?"

"No, the 8 series is last on the right, correct?" Miranda asked.

"You got it! Bye!" The attendant left Miranda alone in the room.

She was instructed not to bring anything in. She changed into the robe, upon exiting the blue masked goblin was waiting. Silently they motioned to the end of the hall. Following behind her quietly they walked past other doors and series of hallways. It was remarkably quiet.

Arriving at 858 the goblin attendant put their palm on a odd marking just below the door, opened it and motioned inside.

Miranda walked in with a bit of hesitation, it was pitch black but once she put her hand inside a light was reflecting off her. Taking a step into darkness her foot landed on something akin to concrete. She walked further in and the door to the hallway was surrounded in a void. Before being swallowed whole the attendant in the blue goblin mask stared in for a moment before slowly closing the door.

A distant voice from the darkness called out, "You're not supposed to be here, child."

Miranda stood silently. The voice spoke again closer. "You don't even know what your time is being exchanged for do you?"

A cruel gluttonous laughter erupted next to Miranda. Who jumped in response.

That same voice started to form in front of Miranda. "Got you..." it said playfully. The form it took had legs and hooves of a beast that transitioned mid belly into a humanish shape. Seven fingers on skin soaked like red wine. It's noseless face with three eyes and two mouths on each side of it's face loomed over Miranda. "What forms you give us," Norl remarked while looking over it's form curiously. "I like this though."

"It's my first day." Miranda stammered.

"You don't sayyy?" Norl remarked with sassy disdain. "I knew that child. I knew everything about you when you put those green painted toes on the feet of our domain. I will know everything about you now that we've met face to face, so no need."

"Then you know..." Miranda started, but Norl continued, "That your Grandmother was one of the first generations of the Relifed. That LRG made a contract for her with, me, for her time to continue. Of course." Norl looked at Miranda who seemed to be looking into Norl more than it was to her. Norl felt unsettled. "What is this, what are you?"

Norl didn't like these dealings with the humans, some were, unpredictable. Part of the pact gave them form in their domain, a necessary disadvantage to completing a pact. Demons can read the minds of those who enter in their domain but Mirandas mind was confusing and troubling to try and sort out.

"I know that confused look." Miranda said with a uncaring face that grew to rage. "It's the same one my Grandma used to give me. It's the reason why late at night, she would open my locked door, climb on to the ceiling and slowly press her face to mine, for hours, EVERY NIGHT. For so, so many nights and I would lay there frozen in terror. Then I watched her do it to my sister and my brother, and I was held still in rage. No one would believe me. They would disregard it. I would come to know this was an effect of your kind on ours. Part of the exchange to forget. I don't know why I remember, I don't know why you can't read my mind, but I know that confused look."

"You're not the STONE!"

"I am the spider. Calculating."

Miranda started to approach Norl.


"I am a prison. Unescapable."

Miranda placed her hand upon Norl's chest.


"I know your form has pain, and I will come to know you."

Norl screamed out both mouths as his body wretched.

"And we technically have seven hours and fifty five minutes until my shift is over and LRG is not responsible for injuries. I have a few questions for you." Miranda placed her other hand on Norl's head. Norl, breathing heavy, body shivering, about to speak before Miranda said, "Please. No. You remember don't you."

Norl nodded, defeated. "Seven hours, fifty four."

The End.


chacham2 OP t1_j5lbeyy wrote


Thank you for the reply!


PrayzM t1_j5ldv98 wrote

The door to the shop slammed open and Tazad, the necromancer, looked up from his work to see Cain, a local rogue, standing in the doorway.

"Good morning, my dear customer," Tazad began, but was interrupted by a cough. cough ", how can I help you?"

Cain strode into the shop, the dust settling around him as he made his way to the counter. "Good to see ya buddy, not feeling well are ya?" he asked with a smirk.

"Oh, it's you Cain, I'm just a little tired," Tazad replied with an annoyed look. "I can see, too much business lately?"

Cain nodded. "Yeah, just reanimated the son of a rich noble guy yesterday, he wanted to make amends."

"Hah, typical story I guess, father too busy to pay attention to his kid, so he wanders off to go on adventures by himself and due to unfortunate circumstances... dies, right?" Cain quipped.

"You know it," Tazad said, "but nevermind that, what brings you here?"

Cain grinned. "Hehe, you'll love this, I promise ya. I want you to bring back this guy!" he exclaimed, showing Tazad a photo of a suspicious-looking man.

Tazad examined the photo in silence. The man had a pale face, white hair, and sharp eyes that seemed to penetrate the soul. He was dressed elegantly in a black tuxedo on top of a white dress shirt.

"Fuck you, Cain, this guy's a vampire!!" Tazad exclaimed in anger. "I ain't going to resurrect a damned lord of the night."

"Wait, wait, my guy Tazad, let me explain... This is the ex-lover of the current princess, got killed by the current hero of the Empire, also known as the soon-to-be new fiancée of the princess. But here's the interesting part..."

"What?!? What's so fucking interesting about this?" Tazad asked.

"I knew you'd be curious. This dude here is the son of the most powerful count ever existed! And what's even crazier is that, the princess still loves him!!! You know what it means, my friend?!?" Cain said with excitement.

"Get to the point," Tazad said impatiently.

"We'll be rich! So fucking rich that we could buy a whole nation and even have our own army!" Cain exclaimed. "You'll be getting paid by the princess and the count too, so... are you down?"

Tazad thought for a moment. "I'll have to think about it," he said.

"You have until tomorrow, don't make me wait!" Cain said as he walked out of the shop.

He decided to close early that day and returned home. As he walked on the road home, he gazed at the moon, as if the answer to his dilemma would be given by it. "What should I do..." he thought to himself as he approached the door of his house.

The home was a modest dwelling, neither too large nor too small. From the outside, it appeared cozy and inviting. But upon entering, it was clear that this was the abode of a necromancer - vials, potions, books, and herbs were scattered about the interior. The most striking feature of the room, however, was a pod situated in the center, contaning a woman.

Tazad approached the pod, his gaze fixed upon it as he placed a hand upon it. "Dear Lya," he murmured softly, "I may have finally found a way to earn enough to bring you back... but what I might do could unleash a new war upon the world." He couldn't shake off the feeling that the decision would have far-reaching consequences, and he wasn't sure if he was ready to face them.

The next day arrived, and it was time to decide. The door to the shop burst open and Cain walked in. "I'm here, have you decided, Tazad?" he asked.

"Yes, let's do it," Tazad replied.

"Good, good, I knew I could count on you!" Cain said, and the two set about making the necessary preparations. Tazad gathered the ingredients and drew the summoning circles while Cain watched.

Finally, the time had come. Tazad began to chant the incantation, channeling all of his mana into the spell. The circle glowed brighter and brighter until it was almost too bright to look at. Strong currents of energy emanated from the circle, making it hard to stand.

But then, something unexpected happened. The circle collapsed onto itself, getting smaller and smaller by the second.

The black orb continued to crack and split, sending powerful light rays bursting out in all directions. Time seemed to freeze as the energy from the circle intensified, gravity multiplied, and the wind currents created by the energy sounded like the screeches of harpies.

"WE NEED TO GET AWAY! IT'S GOING TO EXPLODE!" Tazad shouted to Cain.

Tazad, using all of his strength, grabbed Cain and created a barrier around them. It barely withstood the impact and after what felt like an eternity to Tazad, but was actually just two seconds, everything was back to normal.

Both of them were exhausted, and as they collapsed on the ground, Tazad managed to see a glimpse of his creation - the son of the count and the one who would be known as the catalyst of the world's end. He was standing tall, his eyes glowing with an otherworldly power, and his hair was blowing wildly in the wind. Tazad knew, at that moment, that he had unleashed something truly dangerous and powerful into the world, and there was no telling what consequences his actions would bring.


ReblQueen t1_j5m4vh4 wrote

That was a bit confusing. Why did the necromancer need money to bring Lya back? Was Cain a go between for customers? It's got a good premise overall but could be clearer.


thewrytruth t1_j5nnq7t wrote

“I need him back, please! I have to have him back! I have to! I’m begging you, I’ll do anything, pay anything, please!” the woman’s tone was beginning to border on hysteria, rising in pitch and volume with every tearful exhortation. I rubbed my temples, desperately trying to stave off the migraine that was knocking insistently at the sides of my skull. Beelzebub, I just wanted silence and my bed. I sighed, resigning myself to one more resurrection before I could turn in for the evening.

Raising the woman’s very recently-deceased husband for a last goodbye shouldn’t be too terribly taxing. It wasn’t as if she was requesting afternoon tea with Jane Austen, or worse, an evening of romance with Casanova. The longer the deceased had been off this mortal coil, the more complex and demanding the raising, and the more it took out of me. The freshly dead were the simplest to call back from behind the veil, but even those simple spells left me jelly-limbed and exhausted.

“Fine. Fine!” I interrupted her latest strident plea with a wave of my hand. “I’ll raise your beloved husband…” I glanced down at the application on my desk, filled with the woman’s spidery scrawl. “Your beloved Harold. I see that he suffered a heart attack last night. I’m very sorry, that must have been difficult for you.” I tried to sound sympathetic, but I’m afraid my irritation broke through, and the woman looked at me sharply for a moment. What was her name? Ah, yes. Grace. Grace Hudson, newly-minted widow of the late Harold.

“I gather you have read through the contract, and are familiar with the process, Mrs. Hudson?” She nodded eagerly, peering at me intently through her old-fashioned spectacles. Hades, but she looked a shrew. All bony angles and buttoned-up propriety. I wondered for a moment whether Harold mightn’t be a bit displeased to have his newly-found freedom so rudely I interrupted. I suppressed a snort and pushed the contract across my desk to Mrs. Hudson. “Sign here, initial here, here, and here, please. Payment can be made with my secretary, Jim, in the front office. Once that is complete, Jim will show you to the resurrection room. I will see you there.” I watched as Mrs. Hudson nodded curtly, and stepped through the door into the front office.

I indulged in one final massage of my now-throbbing temples, and then made my way to the darkened resurrection room. I lit the candles and incense, and checked the pentagram chalked onto the floor. The lines were still solid, the runes still legible. At least I wouldn’t have to redo the markings, that would save some time. I pulled my hooded red velvet robe over my shoulders, checked the pockets for the two silver dollars, and sat down in the center of the pentagram to await the not-so-merry widow.

Soon the gloom was broken by Jim ushering Mrs. Hudson through the door. I directed her to sit opposite me on the floor, and warned her not to put so much as a pinky outside of the chalk lines until the ritual was concluded. She nodded eagerly, and I noticed a flush in her cheeks, illuminated by the glow of the many candles. “Close your eyes,” I instructed, and she obeyed, licking her thin lips in a way that brought to mind a lizard snapping a fly out of the air. I repressed a shudder at the thought, and began the ritual.

I won’t bore you with the minutiae of resurrection, it’s all common enough knowledge these days. Suffice to say, after a seemingly interminable stretch of time, the faint odor of sulfur bloomed in the close air of the room, and an outline began to take shape. At first insubstantial, the form solidified as I kept my chant steady and unwavering.

“Open your eyes, Mrs. Hudson,” I whispered at last. There he was, as solid and corporeal as myself or the widow. Mr. Hudson. I steeled myself for the sappy protestations of love that were soon to come, I was sure. It was always the same. They would fawn over each other, each tearfully proclaiming their inability to exist without the other, blah blah blah. Instead I was met with silence. I focused on Mr. Hudson, on his face. He didn’t look happy, or sorrowful, or even surprised. He looked, if anything, a cross between angry and fearful. I swiftly turned to Mrs. Hudson. She was staring, almost hungrily, at her late husband. A cold smile barely tugged at the corners of her thin mouth.

“Hello, dear”, she hissed. “Miss me yet? I’m so sorry I couldn’t be there when you died the first time. I simply wasn’t invited, you see!” She laughed, too loudly. “You just didn’t want your faithful wife to witness your pleasure-fueled coronary, did you? How ridiculous. A 59 year-old man cavorting with a hooker a third of his age. Only you would manage to end your life on such a pathetic note. God, I was so glad to be rid of you. But you see, I really felt it was my wifely duty to be there to see you to the other side! So here we are. And there you go!”

Two loud popping sounds ripped through the stillness of the room. I looked down at Mrs. Hudson’s hands in horror, just in time to see her slipping a revolver into her prim little handbag. Almost simultaneously, a thud! echoed against the walls as the body of Mr. Hudson slammed into the floorboards.

“What have you done!” I yelled, panic swiftly setting in. Black smoke had started to swirl through the room, and the faint smell of sulfur had begun to steadily intensify into a putrid odor. “You have no idea what you’ve just done, you stupid, stupid woman!” I scrambled to my feet. The coins jingled mockingly in my pocket. I hadn’t paid. I hadn’t had the chance. I hadn’t paid. I hadn’t paid him.

Mrs. Hudson’s bravado began to falter as she beheld the intensity of my fear. She spun around and grabbed the handle of the exit door, turning in in a futile attempt to leave the room.

“It’s too late, you harpy! Too late!” I collapsed in a heap on the floor, gripping the silver dollars in my sweaty fist like a drowning man holding the last life preserver. He was coming. The best I could hope for was to grovel, offer belated payment, and hopefully sweeten the deal with a sacrifice - albeit a dried-up and rather unappealing one. One thing was certain: if I managed to get out of this, I was going back into dragon-wrangling. This necro stuff was far too exhausting.


publiuscicero t1_j5n8p0r wrote

"It's okay, son. It'll be like I never left."

"I know, Dad. I know. Just... know that I love you. I love you so much."

I checked my watch. Nearly midnight. I gazed through the curtains, but all I could see was darkness. There was a city just beyond the glass, but on this night it was an empty void; it was as if the rest of the world decided to follow Mr. Brent Felix into oblivion. Rain was pounding. It sounded like an only television had lost its signal. Those, too, had been swept away with the years. Tonight Felix would join them. Before long, I would, too. Tonight I am grateful for the rain, because it counteracted the grim silence that had descended upon this scene of death, just as it had so many times before.

These are the deaths I hate the most. The long ones. The all-nighters. The sort of death that one sees coming from afar, and thus has time to ponder and to plan. Loved ones are given time to come to terms with losing someone close, which typically makes the deathbed less emotional and more solemn. Families who have retained my services will often convert the moment of loss into a ritual of revival, with myself at center stage; guest starring the dearly departed. Such a mockery of mortality is only possible when people lack appreciation for their finite existences and all of the potential accompanying such miracles. I do not lack such an appreciation. If I did, then I would not have been there that night.

I leave for a smoke. Families will usually want me to stay in the room, so that I can perform their miracle for them right after death. The fools; as if the poor bastards are less dead then than they would be later. But my presence, or lack thereof, will not be as pressing of a need tonight, because there will be no ritual. There will be no miracle.

"Where are you going? You can't leave yet!"

"Hello, Brenda," I said to my addressee, "Rain seems to have set in."

Brenda was the Head Nurse for this floor of the hospital; although we operated under separate jurisdictions, she liked to think she was my supervisor, and I had no qualms protesting; I learned long ago that I preferred diplomacy to animosity.

"You can't leave now! What if he-"

"He isn't going to die; not for some time yet. I'm stepping out for a while."

Brenda was not satisfied with this explanation; unsurprising, since Brenda seemed to be the physical embodiment of dissatisfaction. If I could resurrect lost traits, instead of bodies, I thought I might reunite Brenda with her sense of inner peace and tranquility. But such power was too much even for a necromancer.

Brenda employed her favorite tactic–speaking quietly but intensely, hoping to intimidate me into compliance–when she said, "William, how can you leave when you don't know when Mr. Felix will pass?"

"Because I do know, Brenda. It's my job to know."

I ignored Brenda's remaining protestations and take an empty elevator to the ground floor. She was actually a good looking woman–even more so when she's worked up–and she's always worked up. Maybe, if I still had any semblance of my old humanity, I would make an effort to know her in more intimate ways. Maybe if I still had my humanity, but I knew she saw me as a monster. And maybe she was right.

Fresh air filled my lungs before the smoke had a chance. The freezing air was stabbing, but I didn't mind it, because it reminded me that I was still capable of feeling sensations like other people. A click, and a small flame. I had my cigarette. But only for a fleeting moment.


publiuscicero t1_j5n8vw9 wrote

A gasp came from the shadows, and a young girl and her dog slowly moved into the light. I would have preferred solitude, but if I had to see another person, at least this was someone who lacked an understanding of death.

"What are you doing out so late?" I asked her.

She continued to stare at me in bewilderment, stunned to silence. No doubt she was afraid of me. I would normally ignore the gawkers, but on this night I was especially starved for human interaction, so I pressed on.

"You're soaked. Come under the awning."

I put out my cigarette, and forced a smile, as I tried once again to have this human interaction. "My name is William," I said in the friendliest tone I could muster, "what's your name? Please share the awning with me. I promise it's okay."

To my surprise, the girl slowly made her way under the awning's protection. She hadn't ceased her stares, but I was used to this from children. I was also used to ignoring their stares, and leaving them at the mercy of their imaginations. But I surprised myself when I found myself saying, "You need not fear me, child. I am only a person."

I have since wondered if there was something different about this encounter that made me reach out. Was it my desperation for a genuine connection? Was it boredom? Was it the effect of the small amount of adrenaline I felt every time I ran into Brenda? I may never know for certain. But in the twenty years of being a necromancer, I had never stooped so low as to attempt to win the approval anybody, let alone a child. But I could not resist myself on this occasion.

"Are you–you're a necromancer?" the girl finally mumbled after several more seconds.

"Yes! But I am also a human! I'd just like you."

I knew that I was breaking a sacred vow of necromancy. We are supposed to be something above mortality. This was a lie; we have always been mortals–human beings who have studied the art of resurrection just as others study the art of carpentry–but it was always tantamount that the illusion always exist. I don't know if we present ourselves as something inhuman because our craft is so repugnant to what being a human means that the disassociation is necessary, or because other humans do not want to associate themselves with us and our craft. Regardless, I knew that I had risked everything by saying these things to this girl, and yet in that moment I did not care.

I could tell the girl did not agree that I, too, was a human. But I was determined to convince her. "Look," I said as I removed by black gauntlets to reveal sweaty, slender hands, "I'm like you, see? Hold up your hand."

She did, and our palms came together; in that moment, I felt as if a ball of light had formed within the darkness that was my inner self, much as our surroundings appeared under that awning.

The girl wore a smirk, but I could see that she was not fully convinced. "But you..." she began.

"Do you like cartoons?"

She grinned a bit wider and nodded.

"So do I! I loved cartoons growing up, and I still do. And I like to play soccer, and skate, and hang out with my friends!"

Those were lies. Those were things I used to enjoy, before my pride and ambition led me to the arts of resurrection. I had exchanged one life for another; a life of living for a life of dying. I did enjoy cartoons; those, at least, could be enjoyed in isolation.

"Do you like Pony Maids?" the little girl asked.

"What is that?" I replied.

"A cartoon!" she exclaimed. She now wore a wide smile, probably because she realized that she was in the presence of a necromancer who was nice and relatable–a limitless canvas for the imagination.

"I haven't seen that one. It sounds like it's for girls!" Here, I broke another tenant. I was a male before I studied necromancy, but we are supposed to leave earthly things like our sex and gender behind.

"You're silly!" the girl said over her excited giggling.

"No, I am not silly. I'm William." I extended my hand once again for a friendly handshake.

She shook it after only a slight hesitation. "I am Elizabeth," she replied.

My heart expanding from the joy the handshake had awoken within me, I found myself motivated to continue the interaction. "It's nice to meet you, Elizabeth. That's a big name for such a little girl. You didn't get formal on me, did you? What do people call you? Lizzie?"

"Beth," she said warmly.

"Well, I'm glad I met you, Beth."

"Me too, sir."




publiuscicero t1_j5n8yeh wrote

Silence. The rain was still hammering, with its rhythm outpaced only by my wildly beating heart. "What are you doing out so late? And in the rain and cold, no less? Don't you know you might get sick? Where are your parents?"

Beth looked at me startled, and I knew that she was thinking of a way out.

"Don't lie to me, Beth," I said, "I will know."

"Well," Beth began, "you see, sir-um, William, by Gran is in the hospital, and-"

"Is she–" I began to ask, fearing the worst.

"Oh no, she's okay. Well, she got dizzy the other day, and they brought her here. But my mom told me she was gonna be okay."

"Well that's good," I replied, thankful that I would not have to know Beth in my other form.

"But, well... I just kept thinking and thinking, and I thought that it must be real lonely, being there all by herself," Beth continued.

"No doubt."

"And I thought my doggie could make her happy!"

I finally remembered the dog. "But Beth," I began, "dogs aren't allowed in. You mom should know that."

Beth was silent.

"Your mother doesn't know you came, does she?"

Beth looked more fearful than she had when she first saw me from the shadows. "Please, please don't tell my mom!" she cried.

I considered her for a moment. Minutes prior, she saw me as a necromancer. And now, after only a short conversation, she viewed me like so many other adults in her life. Relatives. Teachers. Someone who cared enough for her wellbeing to report her transgressions to her mother. Childhood innocence was a truly beautiful thing.

After some thought, I decided on a compromise. "I'll make a deal with you, Beth. I won't tell your mother, but I can't promise you that your Gran won't. But you had to expect her to scold you anyway, right?"

Beth's eyes beamed with excitement. "You mean I can bring Whisper in to my Gran?"

"It isn't allowed, but I would expect them to make an exception for their resident necromancer," I said as I turned back towards the entrance to the hospital. "Do you know what floor your Gran is on?"

I had taken several steps before I realized that Beth was not following me. I stopped and turned around, and could tell that she was deep in thought about something. "Is everything okay?" I asked.

"William, you're very nice," Beth said.

Whatever I might have anticipated for this child to say, I did not expect this. "Thank you," I said, fighting to hold back tears.

"But why are you a necromancer?" she asked.

"I've often wondered the same thing," I replied after gathering myself. But this was unsatisfactory, and Beth still didn't budge. I continued, "I always wanted to do something that would make me feel special. And having power to bring people back–well, I thought that would make me special. But it wasn't just that. I help people. People have an easier time, uh, well, dying, if they think they can come back."

I could tell that she didn't understand. And how could she? She was too young for such horrible things like death and loss and grief. And she had yet to feel an urge to rise up and to be someone "important." She was already in the most tranquil stage of her life, and she wouldn't realize it until it was too late.

Beth eventually found her words. "You're a person though, right William?"

I wanted to tell her that I often questioned this myself, but instead I told the truth as I understood it by nodding affirmatively.

"Is someone dying now?" Beth inquired.

I didn't know how to respond. I didn't want to scare her. But I also wanted to treat her with respect, as she had with me. I decided to tell her the truth, with the hope that the truth would not bring about a substantial disruption of her blissful ignorance.

"Yes, someone is dying now. But he's an old man, who has lived for a very long time."

I hoped her questions would end there, but I was prepared to give her more if she requested it.

"And you're going to bring him back?"


A look of shock spread across this child's face. "I don't get it."

"I can only bring people back if they give me something in return. But I don't always get something. The person who is going to die tonight, well... he doesn't have anything to give me in exchange. And it would only be fair for me to bring him back if he could play his part and give me something in return. Does that make sense?"

I couldn't look her in the face as I divulged this. She would hate me for this. I knew she would. And I wouldn't be able to blame her–I hated myself, too. Only a monster tries to profit off of sorrow and mortality, and to deny people a last chance to be with their loved ones due to a lack of funds was something far more repulsive than a mere monster.

"I don't make the rules, Beth," I said, still not daring to see her reaction, "I am forced to behave in a certain manner. The Order of Necromancy is.. well, it's like school. You have to follow the rules. If you don't, you get in trouble."

I finally dared to look down into Beth's face. What I saw wasn't loathing, or disgust, but mere childish curiosity. "But if you aren't going to bring him back, then why are you here?" she finally asked after what seemed like an eternity.

I was so relieved that Beth didn't seem to hate me that I found myself crying for the first time in many years. I knew that the darkness, alongside the damp air, would make it difficult for Beth to tell, and I hoped that she couldn't. After calming myself down enough to steady my voice, I said, "It's because the family wants me to be there. You see, when a necromancer is there, it gives dying people a feeling of security. They expect to be brought back, and they have an easier time dying."


"Because they don't think it's actually the end for them."

"But it is?"

"Yes. You see, sometimes a family doesn't have enough to give me for me to bring someone back to life, but they want the person who is dying to think that I am going to bring them back. So they give me a little bit, and in exchange I will stand in the room while the person dies. Deaths like this are usually fairly smooth, because they do not tell the person who is dying that they will not be coming back to life, but because they think that they will be they are more at ease with the idea of passing on."

Beth seemed to be deep in thought. She seemed to be a very clever little girl, and I was unsure of what I could expect from her. I hadn't told her that the practice of deathbed comfort was most commonly used for children belonging to indigent families, and I hoped that the subject would be be breached by this very smart young person. Finally, she said, "So you are there so that people are not afraid when they die?"

I pondered this for a moment. "Well, I guess you could think about it that way."

To my surprise, Beth's smile had returned. "That's a very nice thing to do! You ARE a nice person!"

She took my hand and led me inside, and moments later I was back at the side of Mr. Brent Felix's deathbed. Once again gazing into oblivion. He wouldn't die for some time yet. But he soon would. And eventually his son would join him. And eventually I would, too. And so would Beth. While we are living, we are dying. Adults build the world, but children arguably got the most out of it. For what was a good life, if not a pure one? What was the sense of resurrection, if someone lived a life with no regret? Perhaps childlike ignorance of the world and its evils was the happiest sort of existence. Maybe I could still find a childlike joy for life somewhere within myself–a glowing aura within the oblivion.


chacham2 OP t1_j5opzyt wrote

That was a pleasant and interesting read. Thank for for the replies!


RolyPoly1320 t1_j5mnft4 wrote

I don't have much longer to talk so I'll try to keep this brief.

I'm a Necromancer. Not the kind you'd expect. I specialize in closing unfinished business for the deceased and their family, friends, employers, and acquaintances. Never got a chance to say goodbye to your beloved pet? I'm your guy. Best friend passed away unexpectedly and you need a day or two to make sure you fulfill a promise you made to them? Say no more, I got you. Employee croak and leave a major brain drain? It'll cost you, but I can help.

Sounds great doesn't it? I bet it does, but there's a catch. I only do temporary reanimations. I know it sounds great being able to see someone you love again, but upsetting the natural order of things just isn't appealing. Any two bit necromancer can make a mindless zombie horde, but it takes a special bit of skill to bring back a whole person with full consciousness.

You need not worry though. My spells are precise. You tell me how long you need, I do my work, and we're all happy in the end. The spells even ensure the target returns to their crypt at the end of their time because let's face it, nobody wants to deal with a mound of rotting flesh sitting in their home or office.

In case you're wondering what kind of compensation I require? I generally give people a day or two on the house. It's such a small amount of time that charging for it just feels wrong. After that the price rises in proportion to the time you need. A couple years will cost you a few million minimum.

Sure it's expensive, but everything comes at a cost and I'm not exactly benefitting from these prices either. My time is limited too so when I started seeing serious income I setup charitable organizations to assist people in processing their grief in a healthy manner. I mean, it's not like I can take it with me either, right?

Anyway, sorry to have kept you so long. I have one last customer to tend to before my time is up. I'll see you on the other side friends.


Vanatrix t1_j5pmm2t wrote

The shop I had rented was an old, run-down butcher's shop. Kind of ironic, really. Where corpses once were disassembled and sold, they now were reanimated. Temporarily, of course. Magic is nowhere near as strong as it was a few thousand years ago - necromancers used to reanimate corpses with ease, able to maintain whole armies of the dead without breaking a sweat. Nowadays, it takes more effort than I can afford to raise more than two people at once.

As I began to clean up after my last client of the day - an old woman wishing for one last conversation with her daughter - I heard the bell of the front door ring. I stepped through to the 'shop', and inspected the two men standing there. One was fairly unremarkable, the kind of face that you forgot rather quickly. The other was huge, towering over his companion and myself.

"Good afternoon, gentleman," I began, "I'm sorry for the inconvenience, but I'm just about to close up, so if you could-"

"No need for the pleasantries," the shorter man interrupted. "We are short on time, and need use of your services."

"Well, if you would like to book an appointment, I have several-"

"We would like this done now." Said the shorter man.


"Yes." He motioned to his companion, who produced a metal briefcase. "We are willing to pay extra."

I am not a greedy man. But when somebody tries to give you a briefcase full of money, it's hard to refuse.

"How... How long do you need the reanimation to be? I charge by the hour, usually. Special offers can be arranged for longer sessions, but-"

"We need him up permanently."

"Permanently? Impossible."

"How come?"

I sighed. Of course he wouldn't know.

"It's hard to explain, but let me put it this way. I assume you want this person to be reanimated with some semblance of their living persona?"

"Naturally." He had stopped interrupting me. This must be important, then, not just some desperate rich person throwing their money around...

"Then here's the issue. I can bring them back, but they're still dead. They are still decaying. Not just the body, but the brain also. In theory I can keep them animated indefinitely, but at some point, they'll be just a mindless skeleton, useless for anything other than the most menial of tasks.

Both men glanced at each other. Then the shorter one looked back at me.

"How long can they keep their intelligence?" He asked.

"Well, let's see." I mused. "The first symptom of decay is memory loss, which starts on week-"

"Short answer." Ah. Back to interrupting.

"Umm... Approximately 1 month of full function, with another six of limited functions."

"Fine. We'll pay you this million for the first month. Each consecutive month, we'll come back with another million. If we don't show, cut it off. Do we have a deal?"

I was torn. The longest I'd maintained a corpse until now was three weeks. It was taxing to say the least. I'd have to limit my regular customers, which could damage my reputation... But a million dollars? That amount was unheard of for a single job!

"Fine. On the condition I withhold the right to refuse an extension after the first month should I see fit."

"We accept." The shorter man closed the case, slid it over to me, and turned to the bigger one. "Bring him in."

It was going to be a long month.


spiritplumber t1_j5oqxq8 wrote

The dead will serve" was the decision, as we endure Fimbulvetr and prepare for Ragnarok. And so they do.

Look at the shambling line, a trickle compared to the river of decaying bodies that march in phalanxes up and down the ramp, wider than a parade ground, to the main shaft, carrying up coal, iron, copper. The cold slows their movements, but their sheer number makes up for it - and slows the advance of putrefaction just as our swordsmen and artillerists slow the encroaching swarm. Maybe it will be enough, in both cases.

This line follows a glowworm path, luminescent runes large and simple enough for their clouded eyes to follow; those without eyes, and those who lead them, bear their thin guiding chains as a tree might bear ivy. The ones that can walk carry the ones that have stopped, in the same wheelbarrows used for ore.

Crude helmets bolted to head or skull bear notches; every time a restoration is needed, another notch is made. Even the necromancers had to bend the knee to mathematicians; like food, or wood, or anything else, blood and power is scarce. Reanimate a warrior to have a worker; reanimate the worker again when it fails. Up to the allotted number of times, divined and inscribed, for maximum efficiency; sorcery of diminishing returns.

The workers with one notch, in the gloom, look alive enough to be recognizable, if family was ever allowed in the mine. Living family, anyway. It has been tried to put fallen brothers in the same chain gang. The numbers say half percent greater yield. The implications, the necromancers don't care, and everyone else tries to not think about it. The souls are gone; it is repeated every day, to every grieving widow, every time with the same cold words.

The workers with two notches are the majority. They've lost toes, noses, jaws. Unimportant for the task. Lighter. Streamlined. Efficient.

The workers with three or four notches have picks, spades, crowbars tied or stapled to their forearms, the fingers no longer worth keeping. They can still serve.

The workers with five notches, there's barely enough left to push a cart, or move a bellows where motive power can't yet reach. They, too, can still serve.

Past that, there is finally rest. Bones to powder, any meat left to slurry, that plants may live and feed us. The necromancers remove the taint they applied. This, too, is repeated every day, every time with the same cold words.

"Eight notches? Looks... pretty intact, considering. Why are we keeping it?"

"She's a volunteer."


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_39characters t1_j5rh4z2 wrote

“I’m not sure if you’re up to helping this guest, Urie. She’s a bit, well…” I watched as the two associates peeked outside the lilac velvet curtains, both of them scanning up and down my newly refurbished body.
“What’s wrong with her?” I assumed it was Urie asking as the curtains fell. He clearly had just begun his battle with puberty with the squeaky depth echoing in his voice. “I’m not saying she’s hot, but she’s hot.”
“No,” the woman hissed as I tried to contain my laughter.
“That’s not a real woman!”

Tsk. Tsk. How fragile her femininity must be to try and tear down a fellow female. Sure, I wasn’t born in this body, nor did I deserve these boundless curves and perfect bosom, despite knowing that this is the skin I decided to wear and the looks I choose. I sighed, wondering how luxurious it must be to inhabit one body for decades. But, living in one prison for eternity sounds awfully dreadful. Why slowly rot, when for the simple price of damnation one can live forever?
“She’s a necromancer.” She seethed the words out.
“How do you know?” Urie said smacking his body against something in the back.
“Lord please have mercy on our souls. Just what are they teaching you, kids, in school?” The inflection in her voice indicated she had no need for a response.
“The normal things.” He responded having no regard for her hidden meaning.
“Clearly.” She hissed, “it’s their eyes. They have eyes of the dead.”

Despite her ignorance and disregard for my feelings, the fiend was right. Despite all I’ve done to maintain and create the perfect vessel, not even I could hide these fogged-over gunmetal eyes. After millenniums of failed attempts at hiding them, we – as a collective elected to forego any more attempts and embrace the dead. Guess that gave us away, sometime during the BC times I believe.
It ended up outing us and we had to, come out of the grave, as to say and reveal ourselves. Let’s just say it didn’t end well…But we came forward and eventually society accepted our kind as a normal part of life. We became a liaison between the dead and the living in many ways. Many of those jobs are what would be considered, hell we are even Priests now in some religions. But living like these mortals was never something I could settle for. Besides, I got my powers to play with the dead, and Mother Lilith always said to use our powers how we want. And I want money, diamonds, luxury, and piles of materialistic things which could tower above babel! Saliva dripped from my lips as the rush of pleasure filled my body. Fuck having a normal life, I’m here to start a little chaos and drum up some drama for a few million.

“Excuse me?” The voice ripped me from my fantasy, and I turned to see the boy standing before me.
“Can I help you?” He was trying to hide the fear in his voice as he stared into my eyes.
“Ah,” I said not hiding the excitement in my smile as it stretched wide. “Can I see your finest wears, Mr – “
“Robinson,” Urie said softly trying desperately to release his gaze.
“That’s him,” the voice echoed in my head. “I know that’s him!”
Her voice was filled with rage, a cold icy rage only found in the last circle of hell. It was a joyful sound to me, a choir of angels playing trumpets of gold while money rained down.
“Are you sure, little one?” I asked. “I cannot redo this if you mess things up. Remember your mother is paying a fortune for your revenge and you get a single shot.”
“It’s him,” rage filled my blood as she spoke.
“What kind of diamonds are you looking for?” Urie asked instantly cooling my blood. “We got a few new pieces in today.”
I leaned forward lifting my elbows on the glass display, “I’m looking for the finest of diamonds, Mr. Robinson.” My lips rested, “I believe they are called blood diamonds.”
His face twisted, “huh?”
“Blood diamonds, sweetie.” Pretending to laugh I finished the incantation, “I’m sure you have them.” I tapped on the glass, “Somewhere."
“I’ve never heard of those,” he stuttered out.
“Really?” I pretended to be shocked as he looked away. “What about a Rachel diamond then?”
The color ran from his face and he looked at me, “what-“
“A Rachel Reed diamond, would you happen to have-“
“I don’t know what the fuck you are talking about lady!” He shouted at me causing the woman to come running from behind the curtain. “I don’t know any fucking Rachel Reed diamond.”
“Why do humans always say the dumbest shit when they are caught.” I stood up and leaned forward causing both to push up against the wall. “You know why I am here, Mr. Robinson.”
“Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” The woman shakily said, “the police are on their way.”
“Shut your mouth, Jennifer.” I snapped looking at her, “I’m not here for you. Despite your annoying ass husband constantly whispering in my ear about the money you stole from your daughter’s house.”
She gasped, “e-“
“Yes, Edward.” My gaze drifted back to the boy. “Someone paid a lot of money to get back at you for what you did.”

One by one the lights around the room went off, followed by an explosion inside the glass below me. “I’m not the one you should be mad at honey; in fact, I thank you. Without your dumb actions, I wouldn’t be 3 million richer.” Saliva pooled below me as I spoke, wanting nothing more than to taste the fear pulsing through his body.
“W-what did you do?” Jennifer asked.
“I didn’t do anything to anyone!” He shouted; I could see his muscles tensing to run.
“Didn’t do anything to anyone!” The voice which lived in my head exploded in the room. “Am I no one to you, Urie?!”
The curtain beside them burst into flames, “what’s left of Rachel.” She hissed from behind the inferno. “After the horrid acts you did to my body.”
“It wasn’t me!” He screamed, “it was Ashely and Snail who did it to you!”
“You know,” I said running my finger through the pools of silva. “The spirit stays with the body for 48 hours after death. And during that time the dead can choose to move on or stay.”
“It wasn’t me!” His legs locked into running position, but Jennifer put a hand over his chest shaking her head.
“It was Ashely and Snail who did it, but it was you masterminding the whole thing!” Rachel hissed as the fire grew. “This was your sick attempt at showing me love, murdering me, and –“ She screamed out the horrid things they did to her while she was still alive ending by saying the acts he committed after she died.

Jennifer’s hand dropped, “You didn’t?” She turned to him realizing the monster was not I, the demon with the dead eyes but the boy she hired. “What the actual fuck?”
The curtain fell and we all turned to see my child standing amongst the flames. Her body was covered in mud and grime, hair ripped from her scalp, and decomposition beginning on her nude body. She also had me add a few more grotesque features to cause him to squirm as she ripped him apart.
Rachel was a girl after my own heart. See necromancers can reanimate the dead, in their original bodies or something else. But unlike the others, who preferred my golem crafting, she wanted the vilest creature I could imagine. And since I was one of the first necromancers born, I saw some horrid shit in my time.
“Have at him,” Jennifer said backing away.
“Please-“ he reached for her.“Don’t you dare!” she swatted his hand away, “you deserve everything you’re about to get.”
“NO!” Urie screamed out.

Job one of five done today, 3 million in the bank, and a lot of blood to clean up after she’s done with him.