I moved to get on my feet when I noticed a note pinned on my shirt. It read, "I have bestowed upon you the curse that I have had for hundreds of years. I advise you to keep it a secret. If you can find the time, bury me here beyond the tree line." I did, and later I reported to my handler that Ammit was no more.
In the years since then I, unfortunately, have seen my wife and children grow old and pass away. I explained to them what was going to happen, of course, but that didn't make it any easier. In time almost everyone I knew had died. I obtained new and younger friends. Eventually, I'll have to leave them, too. Long, ageless life is going to turn out to be a curse, even though I have (like Ammit before me) used my new skills to become quite wealthy.
From Pytheus of Sparta, I learned the notes to an ancient dirge, which I was able to sell for quite a profit. In England, I spoke with a harlot who had died at the hands of the Ripper. From graves in North America, I heard a first-hand account of what happened when the Titanic sank. These are just a few of the individuals that I commanded to come forth and speak to me.
I think the worst part is the screaming. The dead are in pain when their minds are called up. It takes them a minute or two to collect themselves. Sometimes I have to threaten to leave them raised up before they'll speak to me.
See Part 8 here.
Or:
See more fiction here.
© 2024-2025 Lonestar Hobby Blog
