Michael changed the bandage, concerned that his arm wasn’t healing.
He sat at his desk, glancing nervously at the wall clock. Only two hours to prepare himself for the pitch. He hadn’t wanted to call on the daemon with such little time.
He tore a blood-flecked page from the typewriter.
Jeff is a handyman who also writes. When he has time he posts to his blog
“I was down low, deep in the scorched bowels of the Earth. The swirling of the thick, greyish, mephitic air slowed my progression towards the doomed book of Alhazred.
“As I wrote those lines, I swear I saw it exhale, although I might have been deceived then.
“Read… and tell.”
Arnaud Moussart teaches English in a French University. He cannot read long books anymore. He writes songs for a rock band, LadyH, and short articles dealing with science fiction and the real world.
Living amongst death and decay was simply part of being a necromancer, but Khin-Topekh hadn’t expected so much loneliness.
Employing his best problem-solving skills, the necromancer went to the pet store and picked out a puppy.
Little Fidus made him very happy, until she started stealing bones from his corpses.
This story is based on a title suggested by @Invariel.