Detective Martinez stared at the cryptic message on the morgue wall: “She'll rise again.”
The latest victim, 17-year-old Sophia, lay on the table, her eyes frozen in terror.
Her gut told her this wasn't a prank. The symbol etched into Sophia’s palm matched the one on the previous victim. Her research led her to a cult that practiced necromancy. They believed the dead could be awakened. But how? And why?
Her phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number: “Meet me at the old cemetery tonight at eleven." Heart racing. A feeling Sophia’s killer was just getting started.
The Fiction Dealer's Microdosing: 100g of Necromancy.
NEVERENDING
Donned in a stark red dress and a helmet hiding the eyes, a woman descended the stairs. In one hand, a holy mace, in the other an incense burner. The incense swung in a rhythmic motion as purple smoke trailed behind. She strutted through the walled yard, and skeletons came to life when she passed their grave, tugging at her cloth and clinging to her feet. The wounded skulls pleaded, but could not speak, and the woman smiled.
"Rise again, my beloved army," she said, "horns of war are calling again."
Willow wasn’t allowed to do a lot of things. She wasn’t allowed to leave the house for anything other than school. She wasn’t allowed to dye her hair or even paint her nails. She wasn’t supposed to be reading about witchcraft, and she certainly wasn’t supposed to raise the dead.
So – Willow with her spellbook and newly red hair, nails adorned in black polish – stood in the cemetery after dark. The body inside the now open coffin rose. Its groan was strained and low as it looked up at the one who woke him. His eye narrowed instinctively. “Again, Willow?”
I wasn’t sure if I should restack or make a post, and totally missed the comments. Here’s mine:
Auragen “Stonesleep” Nola-Kanathi stepped into the grove, her enormous grey form glowing in the moonlight. She closed her eyes and reached into her satchel, pulling out a handful of powdered fungi. The face on the bag seemed to look up at her hand.
A cool breeze kicked up as her eyes flashed white, carrying the spores from her hands and filling the entire grove, almost as if they knew exactly how to space themselves. Then, with a snap, they fell, not as a cloud, but as lead.
“Come, my children. We go to avenge the forest.”
One by one, skeletons and corpses of wolves and bears worked their way out of the earth. Foxes and badger skeletons followed. Glowing lights where eyes used to live. Following to make wrong things right.
(ok, so it’s 132 words, but rules are meant for breaking) Thanks Miguel!
If the story needs it don’t hesitate to push it! But be careful not to overdose haha. Also comment, restack or post is all good, whatever suits you the best :)
Hi Robert ! Glad you liked the story. You can join in either here in the comments or on notes by writing the story and tagging me 😁 you can also write your own post if you want and tag me there. Whatever suits you best 😁
The micro fiction challenges are sent out everyday. The flash fiction challenge (300-1000) was last in August I believe (Larry the time traveler) and I’m planning another for October 😁
Well, luckily her 'gift' was only with the audio, not with the 'sight'. It was the first human voice she heard for the day..... you might wonder about the grandmother...?
Fucking hell, that had been a long shift. Finally, some rest.
Yes, It had been fun convincing the villagers I was evil, that I was responsible for bad harvests, that I could end the world. But, I did start feel a bit bad taking their money just so I could live the highlife a bit. It was hard work too.
I suppose I had it coming when they burnt me to death.
Wait, whats this weird energy running through me? These strange voices?
Oh no, don’t wake me. I can’t help. It was just a joke. I need sleep. Please.
Retreating to my secluded remodeled garden shed, I begin with my usual writing ritual. A hot mug of tea. Fountain pen filled. Candle lit. Journal opened. A few stretches. Settled in, I wait for the inspiration to come. Nothing. The candle flickers. A floorboard creaks. Must be a draft. A footstep?
“I’m here.”
Startled, I jump. No one is here.
“Don’t be afraid. I have something I want you to say for me. Get ready to write.”
I feel a cold hand cover mine. Words flow onto the page. Stunned, I’m excited to see “Subscribe to The Fiction Dealer on Substack.”
“Why do we rely on ghosts to solve our problems?” asked the young man.
“They carry great wisdom,” the chieftain replied. He raised a burning stick, letting the smoke disperse over the bones laid on the ground.
The beads hanging from a young sapling rattled as a strong wind shook the small village.
“What do you want?”
A gray presence swam towards them from among the trees, fluid and without form.
“Please ask the gods to send water for our crops,” said the chieftain.
“Why should I?”
The chieftain stuttered. “You-you-you’re our ancestor. You should—“
If the presence had a face, it would have smirked.
“I am not your ancestor but the ancestor of those you’ve slain to covet this land. Enjoy your curse.”
"SHE'LL RISE AGAIN"
Detective Martinez stared at the cryptic message on the morgue wall: “She'll rise again.”
The latest victim, 17-year-old Sophia, lay on the table, her eyes frozen in terror.
Her gut told her this wasn't a prank. The symbol etched into Sophia’s palm matched the one on the previous victim. Her research led her to a cult that practiced necromancy. They believed the dead could be awakened. But how? And why?
Her phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number: “Meet me at the old cemetery tonight at eleven." Heart racing. A feeling Sophia’s killer was just getting started.
The Fiction Dealer's Microdosing: 100g of Necromancy.
NEVERENDING
Donned in a stark red dress and a helmet hiding the eyes, a woman descended the stairs. In one hand, a holy mace, in the other an incense burner. The incense swung in a rhythmic motion as purple smoke trailed behind. She strutted through the walled yard, and skeletons came to life when she passed their grave, tugging at her cloth and clinging to her feet. The wounded skulls pleaded, but could not speak, and the woman smiled.
"Rise again, my beloved army," she said, "horns of war are calling again."
Thank you for joining in Mea!
PROMPT: NECROMANCY
100 WORDS
Willow wasn’t allowed to do a lot of things. She wasn’t allowed to leave the house for anything other than school. She wasn’t allowed to dye her hair or even paint her nails. She wasn’t supposed to be reading about witchcraft, and she certainly wasn’t supposed to raise the dead.
So – Willow with her spellbook and newly red hair, nails adorned in black polish – stood in the cemetery after dark. The body inside the now open coffin rose. Its groan was strained and low as it looked up at the one who woke him. His eye narrowed instinctively. “Again, Willow?”
PROMPT: NECROMANCY
THE REVIVAL
Everyone had told him what he was planning to do was impossible.
“You can’t raise the dead”, they said.
But he believed he could.
And he was going to do it tonight.
While the right stars were aligned and the Moon was full, he was going to commence his difficult work.
No matter how long it took and how many attempts he had to make, he wouldn’t stop until he’d proved them all wrong.
One way or another, his manuscript was getting finished, and he was going to breathe new life into a novel he still hoped could be salvaged… 😎
I wasn’t sure if I should restack or make a post, and totally missed the comments. Here’s mine:
Auragen “Stonesleep” Nola-Kanathi stepped into the grove, her enormous grey form glowing in the moonlight. She closed her eyes and reached into her satchel, pulling out a handful of powdered fungi. The face on the bag seemed to look up at her hand.
A cool breeze kicked up as her eyes flashed white, carrying the spores from her hands and filling the entire grove, almost as if they knew exactly how to space themselves. Then, with a snap, they fell, not as a cloud, but as lead.
“Come, my children. We go to avenge the forest.”
One by one, skeletons and corpses of wolves and bears worked their way out of the earth. Foxes and badger skeletons followed. Glowing lights where eyes used to live. Following to make wrong things right.
(ok, so it’s 132 words, but rules are meant for breaking) Thanks Miguel!
If the story needs it don’t hesitate to push it! But be careful not to overdose haha. Also comment, restack or post is all good, whatever suits you the best :)
You took your life in your hands coming to Haiti,” said Dr. Voudoun with a tombstone smile.
“Pfff! What life?” said De Vere, looking down at his wasted, wheelchair-bound body.
“And you understand my…medicine?”
“Tried everything else, you’re my last hope, Doctor,” replied DeVere.
“Well then, you shall walk again. Come, drink this...”
DeVere awoke, took his first stumbling, incredulous steps, then caught his reflection in the mirror: ashen face, black veins, blue lips, yellow eyes.
“My God! What have you done!” he screamed.
“I promised you would walk again,” Voudoun chuckled, deep with evil, “But you had to die first.
Uu that’s a good one.
thanks - I think its one of my favourites!
ghoulish lust! the very best kind!
I wrote this on the fly. Hope you like it!
https://open.substack.com/pub/rgarron/p/rebound?r=336zru&utm_campaign=post&utm_medium=web&showWelcomeOnShare=true
How could I contribute?
Hi Robert ! Glad you liked the story. You can join in either here in the comments or on notes by writing the story and tagging me 😁 you can also write your own post if you want and tag me there. Whatever suits you best 😁
Thabk you so much! Also, when will you have another microfiction challenge. The last one looked like it was held in July.
The micro fiction challenges are sent out everyday. The flash fiction challenge (300-1000) was last in August I believe (Larry the time traveler) and I’m planning another for October 😁
Here's my little sci-fi take on necromancy: https://open.substack.com/pub/rgarron/p/rebound?utm_source=share&utm_medium=android&r=336zru
I look forward to it!
Great feel and visuals! I love the stinger at the end. Brilliantly versed!
The Fiction Dealer's Microdosing: 100g of Necromancy.
She woke up, remembering one scream from yesterday.
'Please....not so much today...'
Outside her hut was just icy wind and grey sky. She headed to the forest.
"Careful, child."
She smiled, thanking her grandmother.
As she weaved deeper into the woods, the curses sounded clearer.
Finally, under one big oak, she looked up at a hanging body, grey feet at her face level.
'May you be at peace'.
Her gift of hearing them had made her a designated corpse finder.
"Miss, you’re alright?!"
Suddenly a man stood nearby. His lips moved as she heard his voice.
Finally, a human voice.
oooh this is lovely! ethereal and mysterious... who or what is standing next to her???
Well, luckily her 'gift' was only with the audio, not with the 'sight'. It was the first human voice she heard for the day..... you might wonder about the grandmother...?
Fucking hell, that had been a long shift. Finally, some rest.
Yes, It had been fun convincing the villagers I was evil, that I was responsible for bad harvests, that I could end the world. But, I did start feel a bit bad taking their money just so I could live the highlife a bit. It was hard work too.
I suppose I had it coming when they burnt me to death.
Wait, whats this weird energy running through me? These strange voices?
Oh no, don’t wake me. I can’t help. It was just a joke. I need sleep. Please.
Thank you for joining in!
Fear, my old lover, you taste like daddy's whiskey,
burning down my throat as I raise the dead.
In this graveyard of my making, I am both witch
and resurrected, my tongue thick with dirt.
Mother always said I'd come to no good,
now look at me, cavorting with corpses,
their rotting flesh a banquet I can't resist.
Is this what power tastes like? Putrid and sweet.
In the mirror, my reflection grins, teeth blackened.
I've swallowed too many secrets, too many sins.
Neighbors whisper, but they don't know
how delicious their fear is, how it feeds me.
Death, my companion, your flavor lingers,
spoiling me for the living.
beautifully dark and with rancid undertones on the palette. i had to put my bacon sandwich down
…my work here is done
Retreating to my secluded remodeled garden shed, I begin with my usual writing ritual. A hot mug of tea. Fountain pen filled. Candle lit. Journal opened. A few stretches. Settled in, I wait for the inspiration to come. Nothing. The candle flickers. A floorboard creaks. Must be a draft. A footstep?
“I’m here.”
Startled, I jump. No one is here.
“Don’t be afraid. I have something I want you to say for me. Get ready to write.”
I feel a cold hand cover mine. Words flow onto the page. Stunned, I’m excited to see “Subscribe to The Fiction Dealer on Substack.”
🤣 welcome back Tania 🫶
Thank you Miguel!
Manya put her hands on the corpse and shouted, “Demi! Demi! Demi! Demi!”
Despite Dimitri having been dead for over three days, the pentagram carved into his chest began to bleed.
“Demi, come to me now!” The walls shook; a plate fell off the table and shattered. Manya flinched. “Who killed you, my brother?”
A gurgle.
Manya pressed her ear to the corpse’s cold lips.
A wheeze.
Manya ran her hand through his hair. “You will tell me, now!”
“Peeteerrr.”
“Good. Now…tell me the numbers.”
“Whhhaatnuuuumbers?”
Manya slapped the corpse’s face. “The Powerball numbers!”
Thanks for the prompt, @Miguel S.! :)
😂 Unexpected ending.
Nice one!
Hahahaha I love this!
hahahaha