Chapter One - The Intern
In the sleepy hamlet of Trembleton, nestled deep in the pines of Southern Jersey, there lived a necromancer named Heck. Hector Vargas, to be formal - known as Heck to his friends - lived and worked in a two-story house, with weathered siding and shuttered windows, painted in an array of colors. Heck's house was certainly one of the most colorful structures in Trembleton - more colorful than the churches in their white picket-fenced yards, brighter than the rainbow the children had finger painted on the side of the preschool, and certainly far more colorful than the Mayor's drab gray mansion. This was often a point of contention between Heck and the town council, who proclaimed the building 'a trichromatic eyesore' and drew up orders and called on ordinances to tear it down.
Heck didn't worry about it too much - he payed his taxes like a good citizen, and the structure itself was sound. The house had belonged to his grandfather - the first Necromancer Vargas, and had been gifted to him in abuelo's will. He wasn't about to give it up, or repaint it, for that matter. Everyone who worked in the building liked the bright colors - the green that reminded him of the color of his first skeleton, Mr. Bones, the blue that sparkled like his sister Charmane's eyes, and the gray parts where the paint had peeled off which was pretty much the color of Rhonda when he'd first brought her back from the grave. Best of all were the reds and oranges, vivid and sunny like Heck's favorite waistcoats.
The bottom floor of the building was dedicated to Heck's business, Necrotic Technologies Inc. The slogan for their business originally read "for when you need it put into, or pulled out of, the grave", but Charmaine had decided that was way too wordy and didn't fit well onto a business card. They'd gone instead with "For all your Necromantic Needs". This new and improved shorter slogan was plastered onto the wall, along with their logo - "Necrotech" in a gothic font, with a grinning skull forming the O. It wasn't the height of graphic design, but it did get the point across. Rhonda complained on occasion that it depicted the undead in an unfavorable light, thus having a negative impact on their standing in society and violating their DEAD rights. Heck didn't pay much attention to that, however - Rhonda was always going on about some violation of rights or another. She was a very politically minded zombie. Rhonda's desk sat where she could greet those coming in the door - and on her desk, she had some plants, knick knacks, and a few signs that read 'Know your DEAD rights" in a strategic grouping around her computer.
There were two comfortable chairs, and a couch, set up for customers to wait on. That they didn't match each other in the slightest didn't bother Heck - when a customer came to him, it was because they had a problem or a need. He didn't have to impress them with fancy furnishings. The couch was made of an old coffin, velvety and smooth on the inside, lacquered and shiny on the outside - it rested on clawed feet. The chairs were overstuffed and striped, red and blue. He'd picked them up at a second hand shop when he'd been just starting out, and never bothered to replace them. On the coffee table were spread various trade magazines - from the DEAD Digest (Rhonda's subscription), to Haunts and Gardens.
The rightmost chair was occupied by a young man in a bright orange sweatshirt that read PHEAR U - the college he attended, Phearville University. He had a full head of carelessly combed black hair, and a petulant look on his face. There were three years of college education (and a fair amount of Ramen-fueled belly) under his belt. He thumbed lazily through the Necromantic News while waiting.
Rhonda smiled towards the young man, who had been waiting the better part of an hour. "Don't worry, hon. I'm sure Mr. Vargas will be back soon..."
The college student looked up from the book, and gave the secretary a somewhat shy smile. "Thanks," he said. Now that he looked closely at her, he noticed she had a somewhat odd mottling in the skin around her face. When she moved to return to her work, brushing the blonde hair back from her face, he noticed a sickly purple color around her neck - half-hidden by her blouse. He grew a little bit pale, wondering if she was.... of the living. He didn't have much time to think about it however, as the door burst open and in stalked five-foot-two of fury.
"Oh hey Charmaine, " Rhonda began, looking up from her work. "Andrew Newton is here for his--"
"Can you believe what he did this time?" Charmaine said, completely ignoring the boy in the orange sweatshirt who waved a bit hesitantly. "He's -- he's got the Mayor in such a snit. I swear, they're going to tear this place down if Heck's not careful....."
Rhonda frowned. "Uh-oh... what happened?"
"Well, remember the Henderson case? Mr. Henderson wanted his wife raised for their fiftieth wedding anniversary?" Charmaine began, starting to pace.
"Aw, yes- so romantic..."
"So scandalous, you mean. Apparently Mrs. H was having it off with the mayor..."
"You don't say!" Rhonda gasped.
"Oh yeah, she was. And before Heck could corral her and get her back into the grave or off with Mr. Henderson where she belonged, good old Mrs. H hauled her undead posterior straight to the mayor's mansion to see her sweety." Charmaine made an exasperated face.
Rhonda, somewhere between horrified and amused, struggled to keep a straight face.
The college boy had no such compulsions, and burst out laughing - which attracted Charmaine's attention. She turned towards him, and gave him a once-over stare. "Who is this?"
"Hi," he said, giving her a shy little wave in a manner that spoke of 'please don't hit me, scary angry woman'. "I'm Andrew Newton - from PU? I um, they sent me over about the internship..."
Charamine folded her arms across her chest and gave him a second look. He seemed young - perhaps her age, maybe even younger. A bit unkempt around the edges, but who wasn't around here? It was a pretty informal working environment, most of the time. He shrunk back against the couch when the full weight of her stare hit him, which meant he likely had some common sense . He might do. At any rate, they didn't have to pay him thanks to the wonders of work study programs - and that was the best incentive of all. If nothing else, they'd return him to the college after the busy season - a little worse for wear, but definitely 'enriched' by his work experience. Still, it wasn't her decision exactly.
"When Heck gets done detaching Mrs. H from the Mayor's leg, he'll be back..." she assured the intern-to-be. "Have faith."
"...kay," he said, and went back to the magazine. Some of the techniques described were pretty interesting - but the pictures made him kind of squeamish.
When Charmaine had stomped off to her office, Rhonda turned back to the boy. "Don't mind her - she gets a little crabby sometimes."
"It's okay," he said cheerfully. "I had a feminist studies class. I'm used to women giving me that look like I shouldn't even be here in their presence because I'm an unworthy male who is likely soiling the couch just by sitting on it with his filthy manparts." Andrew Newton settled back into waiting. He glanced up at the clock on the wall, noticing it had a skeleton motif, with skeletal hands going around the face. The small bone had traveled quite a bit before the front door opened again.
"I'm home - did you miss me?" Heck called, strolling into the room to give Rhonda a charming smile. He was dapperly dressed in a black top hat, and scarlet waistcoat. A gold watch chain hung from his pocket. A little goatee and a well-trimmed mustache, coal black as the hat and the hair on his head, accented a sharp chin.
"Your sister told me what happened," Rhonda said, then clucked her tongue.
"Ah yes - did you know the Mayor had been having an affair?" Heck asked, his eyes twinkling with merriment.
"No, I didn't--"
"Neither did the town council - until Mrs. Henderson ran into the room and threw her loving semi-rotten arms around his neck and called him Daddy." Heck started past the couch and towards his office door when he noticed someone parked on one of the chairs. He didn't recall having any appointments left today - but that was nothing new. That was the principal reason Rhonda kept his schedule. "Who's this fellow?"
"Andrew Newton, here for the internship interview?" Rhonda reminded. "Your two o'clock appointment."
"It's half past four now," Heck said, glancing up at the clock. "So we're late! Come on then boy, follow me..." He strolled the rest of the way into his office, leaving the college kid to scramble to his feet and hastily follow. Heck's office smelled slightly of spice and decay, and had a hodgepodge of furnishings, the same as everywhere else in the place. His desk was solid oak and looked antique - his chair was a modern office chair, with back support and roller balls. Strewn over his desk, a wide variety of files, arranged in a system that only made sense to himself. An angular horned skull - not real, the college boy hoped, was being used as a paperweight. In one corner , a moss green skeleton with mismatched legs sat. A basket beside him contained balls of yarn - and he was using two long bones to knit what looked like a perfectly ordinary sweater.
"Is... that skeleton... knitting?" Andrew Newton asked as he scrambled in. There was a chair presumably for clients across from the desk, and he sat into it though his eyes were still on the surprisingly domestic bones.
Heck waved a dismissive hand. "Ah, it makes Rhonda happy - she thinks Mr. Bones needs hobbies to be fulfilled. Plus, I needed a new sweater."
"Oh, erm... cool? Can I ask another question?"
"Shoot."
"Why is he kinda... green?"
Heck sighed. Everyone always asked that. First the greenness, then the uncomfortable questions about leg length. "He was my first skeleton," he said, somewhat defensively. "I was eight. I thought it would be interesting to mix up the formula a bit, get a better coloration. I like him- he's unique."
The college student smiled.
"Now let's see here, I know I have your paperwork somewhere." Heck began shifting through the piles on his desk. "Interment, exorcism, parasitic poltergeist, skeletal dog invasion... ah here we are." He found the file the college had sent over. "Now, tell me Newt..."
"Andrew sir. Andrew Newton."
"-- why you want to work in the business. Ah, and we don't stand much on formality here- unless you're a client you can call me Heck. My secretary's Rhonda, and my sister's Charmaine - I assume you've met them, Newt - and this is Mr. Bones."
'Newt' wondered why Mr. Bones got a Mister while everyone else got a name or nickname, but who was he to argue? Besides, internship had to be better than lectures. "Yes sir, Mr. Vargas."
"Heck," he corrected.
"Heck."
"The question?"
"Oh! Yes, well... the alchemist guild was all filled up, and... necromancy seems like an interesting field," Newt said, giving his potential employer an honest smile. "It's neat."
"Neat does not begin to cover it, my boy - when you feel the spark of life returning to a cold corpse - when you send a malevolent spirit packing - it's exhilarating! There's nothing quite like it. And it's a useful service you'll be performing for the townsfolk - where would we all be without necromancy?"
"Awash in a sea of dead people and having no room to live?" Newt guessed.
"Exactly! For all that Rhonda's on about the DEAD rights- that's Deceased Entities for American Democratic rights - we can't let the dead have more rights than the living. Don't let her hear me say that, by any means - but still. We need our space. Sometimes spirits and ghouls and other entities that are running rampant just have to be put down. And of course, there's the other side of the coin - bringing back ol' Uncle Bob for a visit, or conjuring up a dead pet so little Billy stops crying and gets back to learning algebra. We're valued members of society!" If only the Mayor would see it that way.
"I'm just a college student," Newt said. Valuable member of society seemed like something to aspire to.
"Ah, but not just any college student- a college student that has a golden opportunity to work for one of the finest Necromantic firms in the country! Nay, dare I say - in the world!" Heck propped his feet up on the desk, and took off his to run his hands through his hair. "I built this business up from nothing - and now just look at us. I even have a secretary - now that's class."
"Um, about your secretary, Mr. Vargas..."
"Heck."
"Heck. About your secretary, is she uh..."
"Dead?"
"Yes."
"No."
"Undead?"
"Bing bing! Give the boy a cookie," Heck said, though he had no cookies, or if he did, he didn't produce one.
"Okay, I was wondering if she was - like a zombie, with all the ... well, she didn't seem rotten, but her face and her neck..." Newt didn't want to be impolite, but he had to ask. "Does she eat brains?"
Heck snorted. "Oh boy, don't make with the brains talk around her- she'll give you six pamphlets and a five hour lecture. That's a myth, Newt! A fallacy. Don't they teach you anything in college? What's your major?"
"Preternatural studies."
"Well, I can't imagine what sort of nonsense they're teaching these days! Brain eating zombies - what are we, in the dark ages? Please. Reanimation technology has advanced well beyond the mindless undead state. Why, even Mr. Bones is sentient. And they're certainly not craving your flesh..."
"Oh.. okay. Good. I like my brains in my head - and I have to use them someday so I can become gainfully employed before my student loans kick in," Newt said, relieved. He nervously shifted in his seat, and looked towards Mr. Bones, whose knitting needles clacked in a rhythmic knit-purl pattern. He didn't look up from his sweater. "He's really... aware?"
"Of course he is. He can't talk because he doesn't have a voice box, but he has intelligence. He's just busy doing his own thing right now - probably doesn't think what we're up to is worth the bother," Heck offered. "Anyhow - back to you." He tapped the rather thick file from the college, then shuffled through it some more. "Your grades are fairly good. You don't have any disciplinary actions. You don't cost me anything. I think you'll do..."
Newt beamed. "Really? I can intern with you?"
"Welcome to the team," Heck said, and reached across the desk to shake Newt's hand. "Get a good night's sleep, kiddo- because tomorrow, you've got work to do."
(Wordcount: 2543 )
Heck didn't worry about it too much - he payed his taxes like a good citizen, and the structure itself was sound. The house had belonged to his grandfather - the first Necromancer Vargas, and had been gifted to him in abuelo's will. He wasn't about to give it up, or repaint it, for that matter. Everyone who worked in the building liked the bright colors - the green that reminded him of the color of his first skeleton, Mr. Bones, the blue that sparkled like his sister Charmane's eyes, and the gray parts where the paint had peeled off which was pretty much the color of Rhonda when he'd first brought her back from the grave. Best of all were the reds and oranges, vivid and sunny like Heck's favorite waistcoats.
The bottom floor of the building was dedicated to Heck's business, Necrotic Technologies Inc. The slogan for their business originally read "for when you need it put into, or pulled out of, the grave", but Charmaine had decided that was way too wordy and didn't fit well onto a business card. They'd gone instead with "For all your Necromantic Needs". This new and improved shorter slogan was plastered onto the wall, along with their logo - "Necrotech" in a gothic font, with a grinning skull forming the O. It wasn't the height of graphic design, but it did get the point across. Rhonda complained on occasion that it depicted the undead in an unfavorable light, thus having a negative impact on their standing in society and violating their DEAD rights. Heck didn't pay much attention to that, however - Rhonda was always going on about some violation of rights or another. She was a very politically minded zombie. Rhonda's desk sat where she could greet those coming in the door - and on her desk, she had some plants, knick knacks, and a few signs that read 'Know your DEAD rights" in a strategic grouping around her computer.
There were two comfortable chairs, and a couch, set up for customers to wait on. That they didn't match each other in the slightest didn't bother Heck - when a customer came to him, it was because they had a problem or a need. He didn't have to impress them with fancy furnishings. The couch was made of an old coffin, velvety and smooth on the inside, lacquered and shiny on the outside - it rested on clawed feet. The chairs were overstuffed and striped, red and blue. He'd picked them up at a second hand shop when he'd been just starting out, and never bothered to replace them. On the coffee table were spread various trade magazines - from the DEAD Digest (Rhonda's subscription), to Haunts and Gardens.
The rightmost chair was occupied by a young man in a bright orange sweatshirt that read PHEAR U - the college he attended, Phearville University. He had a full head of carelessly combed black hair, and a petulant look on his face. There were three years of college education (and a fair amount of Ramen-fueled belly) under his belt. He thumbed lazily through the Necromantic News while waiting.
Rhonda smiled towards the young man, who had been waiting the better part of an hour. "Don't worry, hon. I'm sure Mr. Vargas will be back soon..."
The college student looked up from the book, and gave the secretary a somewhat shy smile. "Thanks," he said. Now that he looked closely at her, he noticed she had a somewhat odd mottling in the skin around her face. When she moved to return to her work, brushing the blonde hair back from her face, he noticed a sickly purple color around her neck - half-hidden by her blouse. He grew a little bit pale, wondering if she was.... of the living. He didn't have much time to think about it however, as the door burst open and in stalked five-foot-two of fury.
"Oh hey Charmaine, " Rhonda began, looking up from her work. "Andrew Newton is here for his--"
"Can you believe what he did this time?" Charmaine said, completely ignoring the boy in the orange sweatshirt who waved a bit hesitantly. "He's -- he's got the Mayor in such a snit. I swear, they're going to tear this place down if Heck's not careful....."
Rhonda frowned. "Uh-oh... what happened?"
"Well, remember the Henderson case? Mr. Henderson wanted his wife raised for their fiftieth wedding anniversary?" Charmaine began, starting to pace.
"Aw, yes- so romantic..."
"So scandalous, you mean. Apparently Mrs. H was having it off with the mayor..."
"You don't say!" Rhonda gasped.
"Oh yeah, she was. And before Heck could corral her and get her back into the grave or off with Mr. Henderson where she belonged, good old Mrs. H hauled her undead posterior straight to the mayor's mansion to see her sweety." Charmaine made an exasperated face.
Rhonda, somewhere between horrified and amused, struggled to keep a straight face.
The college boy had no such compulsions, and burst out laughing - which attracted Charmaine's attention. She turned towards him, and gave him a once-over stare. "Who is this?"
"Hi," he said, giving her a shy little wave in a manner that spoke of 'please don't hit me, scary angry woman'. "I'm Andrew Newton - from PU? I um, they sent me over about the internship..."
Charamine folded her arms across her chest and gave him a second look. He seemed young - perhaps her age, maybe even younger. A bit unkempt around the edges, but who wasn't around here? It was a pretty informal working environment, most of the time. He shrunk back against the couch when the full weight of her stare hit him, which meant he likely had some common sense . He might do. At any rate, they didn't have to pay him thanks to the wonders of work study programs - and that was the best incentive of all. If nothing else, they'd return him to the college after the busy season - a little worse for wear, but definitely 'enriched' by his work experience. Still, it wasn't her decision exactly.
"When Heck gets done detaching Mrs. H from the Mayor's leg, he'll be back..." she assured the intern-to-be. "Have faith."
"...kay," he said, and went back to the magazine. Some of the techniques described were pretty interesting - but the pictures made him kind of squeamish.
When Charmaine had stomped off to her office, Rhonda turned back to the boy. "Don't mind her - she gets a little crabby sometimes."
"It's okay," he said cheerfully. "I had a feminist studies class. I'm used to women giving me that look like I shouldn't even be here in their presence because I'm an unworthy male who is likely soiling the couch just by sitting on it with his filthy manparts." Andrew Newton settled back into waiting. He glanced up at the clock on the wall, noticing it had a skeleton motif, with skeletal hands going around the face. The small bone had traveled quite a bit before the front door opened again.
"I'm home - did you miss me?" Heck called, strolling into the room to give Rhonda a charming smile. He was dapperly dressed in a black top hat, and scarlet waistcoat. A gold watch chain hung from his pocket. A little goatee and a well-trimmed mustache, coal black as the hat and the hair on his head, accented a sharp chin.
"Your sister told me what happened," Rhonda said, then clucked her tongue.
"Ah yes - did you know the Mayor had been having an affair?" Heck asked, his eyes twinkling with merriment.
"No, I didn't--"
"Neither did the town council - until Mrs. Henderson ran into the room and threw her loving semi-rotten arms around his neck and called him Daddy." Heck started past the couch and towards his office door when he noticed someone parked on one of the chairs. He didn't recall having any appointments left today - but that was nothing new. That was the principal reason Rhonda kept his schedule. "Who's this fellow?"
"Andrew Newton, here for the internship interview?" Rhonda reminded. "Your two o'clock appointment."
"It's half past four now," Heck said, glancing up at the clock. "So we're late! Come on then boy, follow me..." He strolled the rest of the way into his office, leaving the college kid to scramble to his feet and hastily follow. Heck's office smelled slightly of spice and decay, and had a hodgepodge of furnishings, the same as everywhere else in the place. His desk was solid oak and looked antique - his chair was a modern office chair, with back support and roller balls. Strewn over his desk, a wide variety of files, arranged in a system that only made sense to himself. An angular horned skull - not real, the college boy hoped, was being used as a paperweight. In one corner , a moss green skeleton with mismatched legs sat. A basket beside him contained balls of yarn - and he was using two long bones to knit what looked like a perfectly ordinary sweater.
"Is... that skeleton... knitting?" Andrew Newton asked as he scrambled in. There was a chair presumably for clients across from the desk, and he sat into it though his eyes were still on the surprisingly domestic bones.
Heck waved a dismissive hand. "Ah, it makes Rhonda happy - she thinks Mr. Bones needs hobbies to be fulfilled. Plus, I needed a new sweater."
"Oh, erm... cool? Can I ask another question?"
"Shoot."
"Why is he kinda... green?"
Heck sighed. Everyone always asked that. First the greenness, then the uncomfortable questions about leg length. "He was my first skeleton," he said, somewhat defensively. "I was eight. I thought it would be interesting to mix up the formula a bit, get a better coloration. I like him- he's unique."
The college student smiled.
"Now let's see here, I know I have your paperwork somewhere." Heck began shifting through the piles on his desk. "Interment, exorcism, parasitic poltergeist, skeletal dog invasion... ah here we are." He found the file the college had sent over. "Now, tell me Newt..."
"Andrew sir. Andrew Newton."
"-- why you want to work in the business. Ah, and we don't stand much on formality here- unless you're a client you can call me Heck. My secretary's Rhonda, and my sister's Charmaine - I assume you've met them, Newt - and this is Mr. Bones."
'Newt' wondered why Mr. Bones got a Mister while everyone else got a name or nickname, but who was he to argue? Besides, internship had to be better than lectures. "Yes sir, Mr. Vargas."
"Heck," he corrected.
"Heck."
"The question?"
"Oh! Yes, well... the alchemist guild was all filled up, and... necromancy seems like an interesting field," Newt said, giving his potential employer an honest smile. "It's neat."
"Neat does not begin to cover it, my boy - when you feel the spark of life returning to a cold corpse - when you send a malevolent spirit packing - it's exhilarating! There's nothing quite like it. And it's a useful service you'll be performing for the townsfolk - where would we all be without necromancy?"
"Awash in a sea of dead people and having no room to live?" Newt guessed.
"Exactly! For all that Rhonda's on about the DEAD rights- that's Deceased Entities for American Democratic rights - we can't let the dead have more rights than the living. Don't let her hear me say that, by any means - but still. We need our space. Sometimes spirits and ghouls and other entities that are running rampant just have to be put down. And of course, there's the other side of the coin - bringing back ol' Uncle Bob for a visit, or conjuring up a dead pet so little Billy stops crying and gets back to learning algebra. We're valued members of society!" If only the Mayor would see it that way.
"I'm just a college student," Newt said. Valuable member of society seemed like something to aspire to.
"Ah, but not just any college student- a college student that has a golden opportunity to work for one of the finest Necromantic firms in the country! Nay, dare I say - in the world!" Heck propped his feet up on the desk, and took off his to run his hands through his hair. "I built this business up from nothing - and now just look at us. I even have a secretary - now that's class."
"Um, about your secretary, Mr. Vargas..."
"Heck."
"Heck. About your secretary, is she uh..."
"Dead?"
"Yes."
"No."
"Undead?"
"Bing bing! Give the boy a cookie," Heck said, though he had no cookies, or if he did, he didn't produce one.
"Okay, I was wondering if she was - like a zombie, with all the ... well, she didn't seem rotten, but her face and her neck..." Newt didn't want to be impolite, but he had to ask. "Does she eat brains?"
Heck snorted. "Oh boy, don't make with the brains talk around her- she'll give you six pamphlets and a five hour lecture. That's a myth, Newt! A fallacy. Don't they teach you anything in college? What's your major?"
"Preternatural studies."
"Well, I can't imagine what sort of nonsense they're teaching these days! Brain eating zombies - what are we, in the dark ages? Please. Reanimation technology has advanced well beyond the mindless undead state. Why, even Mr. Bones is sentient. And they're certainly not craving your flesh..."
"Oh.. okay. Good. I like my brains in my head - and I have to use them someday so I can become gainfully employed before my student loans kick in," Newt said, relieved. He nervously shifted in his seat, and looked towards Mr. Bones, whose knitting needles clacked in a rhythmic knit-purl pattern. He didn't look up from his sweater. "He's really... aware?"
"Of course he is. He can't talk because he doesn't have a voice box, but he has intelligence. He's just busy doing his own thing right now - probably doesn't think what we're up to is worth the bother," Heck offered. "Anyhow - back to you." He tapped the rather thick file from the college, then shuffled through it some more. "Your grades are fairly good. You don't have any disciplinary actions. You don't cost me anything. I think you'll do..."
Newt beamed. "Really? I can intern with you?"
"Welcome to the team," Heck said, and reached across the desk to shake Newt's hand. "Get a good night's sleep, kiddo- because tomorrow, you've got work to do."
(Wordcount: 2543 )