The Littlest Necromancer Rides Again

19 08 2015

I read a story once. 

I won’t bore you with the details but let me just say this: There were three brothers who worshipped a filthy god. One was a warrior of impressive skill, one was a powerful wizard, and the third was a beast; a great hulking thing that bore his siblings into battle atop his mighty shoulders. 

Oh and if the big one ate you alive he would pass you out as a twisted demon. 

Details, I know. 

Anyways the necromancer approached me the other day in her usual manner. Her expression was perplexed and her gaze was far off. Building my courage I asked her what she was thinking about.

“If I were a bug I think I’d be a mosquito.” She said.

“Okay. And why would you be a mosquito?” I asked.

She thought on this a little longer before continuing with a very matter of fact tone. “Because they suck blood and its okay. People don’t hate them because they suck their blood, just because they make you itchy.”

“Well, I guess that’s true. The itching is what people focus on.”

“I wouldn’t be like a regular one though.” she continued.

At this point I think most people would be a little surprised that their child didn’t admit to wanting to be more like a regular animal, say a lion or a pony or a unicorn, something you might see on National Geographic you know? I was expecting there to be more to this story and as always, she didn’t let me down. 

“I would be a really big one so that I could suck all the blood!”

Then she put her arms straight out to her sides flapped her hands at the wrist and rushed off making buzzing noises, stopping every few feet to make awful slurping sounds. I didn’t have the heart to tell her she sounded like a bumblebee. At least I think its because I didn’t have the heart to. I may have said it because I was still in a little bit of shock from the exchange I just had. 

In the end it doesn’t really matter. The weird keeps on keeping on around these parts. 


The Littlest Necromancer’s Ultimatum

29 08 2014

So to the casual observer probably thinks our daughter is kind of creepy.

If you’ve been following along with the rest of this week’s posts you probably know what I’m talking about. Hell you might even agree. I think I’m a little excited about it to be honest with you. The world needs more interesting characters in it and by the power of Greyskull, I think we’ve got one.

The girl child expressed her thoughts to me the other day on what had recently happened, with the funeral I mean. Do you want to know more?

I was sitting on the couch with book in hand enjoying another quiet afternoon with the kids. I was making great headway in my current read when the world’s smallest, blondest necromancer approached me.

“Daddy, are you reading?” she asked, peering over a sheet of paper longer than her torso. (She loves to draw and sometimes I think they may even be normal people drawings of dogs and butterflies and stuff. Not diagrams of the levels of hell.)

“Why, what’s up?” I ask.

“Did Grammy really die?”

I put my book down and pat the cushion beside me. She accepts the invitation and plops down, frown and all.

“Yes she did. Do you want to talk about it kiddo?”

No sooner had I finished my question than she lit right back up, a toothy smile replacing her momentarily distressed face.

“No, that’s okay, I’ll just go see her later.” She says as she hops up and heads out of the room. I stop her and try to refocus the conversation.

“You can’t actually see her later, she isn’t around anymore.”


“Do you remember what we did when the dog died?” I asked her, trying to frame this in a way she would understand.

“We put them in the ground.”

“That’s right. And we did the same thing with Grammy; we put her in the ground kiddo. She can’t run around or talk or play or anything anymore.”

I thought that might do to trick. It didn’t of course; she just cocked her head and looked at me sideways for a minute. (A lot like her mother does come to think of it.) She smiled.

“That’s silly Daddy. It’s okay if she’s in the ground I can just play with her later just like the puppies.”


“You can still play if you’re in the ground. It’s okay Daddy, I’ll just go play with her and the puppies later.” She repeated.

Then she turned and headed for her room. I didn’t stop her that time since I was having a difficult time trying to make sure I understood what she was telling me, the implications of which, lead to the same conclusion.

I think I’m raising a Necromancer.


D’awwww. Even death can look adorable.

The Littlest Necromancer Draws Your Doom

27 08 2014

The saga continues as the tiniest wielder of magic both dark and terrible continues to make her powers known to the world.

Mondays are usually days of great bonding and adventure in our household. The kids and I watch movies, run around outside, and all manner of other fun stuff. I’ve been putting quite a few hours into a sketchbook recently so the girl child at least has decided that perhaps she should do the same. She already loves to draw so it is no surprise really.

I was sitting on the floor at the end of my bed listening to music on the record player, phone nearby waiting for my wife to call and tell me how work was going. I had my bag of pencils, erasers and tiny metal sharpener on the floor beside me and was scrawling away at a page in my sketchbook.

Enter the necromancer.

“Hi Daddy.”

“Hi weirdo.”

“What are you drawing?”

“A face.”

“Is it a real one?”

I had to stop for a moment here. Not because I didn’t know how to answer but because I was afraid of how this conversation was going to expand.

“Well no. It isn’t of a real person; it’s more of a cartoon you could say.”

“Oh.” Ponderous head scratching follows for a few silent moments.

“Are you going to draw the skin?” she asks.

“Well I’m drawing it with skin on, yes. It would be a skull instead of a face if I didn’t draw the skin.”


I couldn’t help myself. “Why do you ask about the skin?”

“Last time I drew a person he didn’t have any skin. He had a helmet and a horse and a big shield but no skin.”

“Why was there no skin?” I asked.

“I’m going to go finish this picture; you’re really going to like it.”

Dodging the question. Slippery little speaker of the dead. I tried my best not to think anything of it and went about my own sketchy business (tee hee). The peace lasted about six minutes before she returned again with a large piece of paper in tow that looked like it may have been used to clean up blood splatter at a murder scene.

“Daddy, look at this, look at what I drew!”

I look. I can’t make out what I’m looking at, but I look.

“That’s very elaborate kiddo, what all did you draw here?”

“It’s you and your doom.”

“Oh. Wait, what?”

“It’s you daddy. See? There’s your beard.”

“Okay, sure I could see that. What’s all the red stuff though? Is that a spear in my chest?” I really start squinting at this thing because…damn.

“No that’s you and you have all the stuff you were drinking that’s red like blood and that thing (indicating what looks to be a spear) is your wheel and this (pointing to what looks to be a horrifically jagged metal cube) is your doom. You’re going to go fast too because that’s what it does.”

I stare and stare at this picture hoping that something that makes an ounce of sense is going to pop out at me but it’s just not coming.

“Doom?” I ask.

Sadly the conversation didn’t go any further. She ran off back to her room screaming “Doom doom, dooooooom.” So you know, that’s over with I guess. Up until the time I’m typing this nothing has happened to me yet. There has been no indication that any sort of doom is coming my way. I’ve stayed away from elevators and spears, batons, javelins, and any other pointy thing I can think of. Hell I even tucked the letter opener at work into a drawer in case she was drawing that and just screwed up the perspective in the picture so it seemed huge.

Thanks for the comforting thoughts little friend of dead things.

I’ve got my eye on you.

The Littlest Necromancer Strikes Again

25 08 2014


So I may have mentioned the Vixen and I having a couple days of funeral activities with the girl child in tow. Oddly enough I thought I’d discuss it some more. Now, much like the last post that explored the recent death in our family, this one really isn’t that sad either. How is that you might wonder?

Well, because we had a child with us of course.

The day after the casket-licking incident was the day of the actual internment in the ground. There was a catholic mass held before hand. This would be the scene of the second incident; calling out the clergy.

I cannot say that I have been to a lot of specifically catholic events. There were a good many years that I was an active participant in the Christian scene, regularly going to church and other religious functions throughout the week. As you may have guessed from the unconcerned usage of profanity and the referencing of Sesame Street themed lubricants, I don’t really do that these days.

That of course is an entirely different discussion for an entirely different day.

At any rate, I am unfamiliar with Catholicism’s rituals and practices but there are a few things that this particular flavor of Christianity seems to have in common with its cousins. The one that is most important for this story is the practice of communion. I have seen it done a couple different ways in a couple of different churches. The idea is the same though. You eat the wafer, you drink the juice, and you listen to the ditty about the blood and the body being broken and eaten and stuff.

This happened toward the end and the clergyman stood in front of his altar and dispensed the wafers to the long line of attendees. This is where the Necromancer in all of her diabolic glory stepped in.

After studying what was happening for a few minutes she felt comfortable enough to announce this holy man a fraud with the declaration of “That’s not a body!” And you better believe that as a fractioned of the dead arts, that girl knows a real live, uh, well…dead maybe? She knows a corpse when she sees one.

The Vixen even had the audacity to try and silence her damning cries.

I prayed for the first time in a long time that night that my wife would be saved from the adorable yet lethal vengeance of the littlest necromancer.


I’m Raising a Necromancer

16 08 2014


So my daughter licked a casket.

Do you want to more?

Imagine if you will that you are at a funeral. It’s at a lovely little funeral home on a busy street in a little town in upstate New York. The employees are friendly despite the town typically thinking too highly of itself. Through a doorway from the main viewing area (which is lined with pearly white chairs) there is a smaller room. The dimensions aren’t important; just know that it is about half the size.

The new room connects to others even though it does so without using a single hallway; just a collection of rooms with neat little cuts that make them all fit together. In this half-sized room (just off the main, remember?) there are two pitchers of water. Each is smartly curved and full of ice and some of the most peculiar tasting water you’ve ever had. Why is that? Maybe it’s just the way the town water tastes. Maybe it’s because the water at funerals never tastes quite right; like it knows something is off and it should feel upset too.

Then again this is upstate New York so maybe a raccoon just had a bath in it twenty minutes ago.

You take a glass of water and head back into the main room thinking about how happy that raccoon had better be when you’re foxy wife approaches you to ask if you had any idea what the girl-spawn had done. You answer “No” of course since you’ve been in the other room thinking about how you’re probably drinking Rocket’s bath water.

So the Vixen quietly informs you that the girl-spawn put her hand on the deceased’s casket (as opposed to the non-deceased since apparently that’s a thing all of a sudden) then licked her hand. Furthermore, because that isn’t strange enough, she make the declaration that “Yes, it does taste like wood.”

The above story is true.

One thing you can always rely on a child for is the opportunity to look at something in a way you never thought you would. How does this child, who is still a month from entering kindergarten, manage to take a person’s death and turn it into something to smile about?

I’ve mentioned before how interesting I find death to be and that I love exploring it more through writing and as it turns out my kids might be coming along for the ride too.


Profound Thought Ahead!

2 11 2013

I’ve had a terrible realization. Just yesterday. Well, terrible might be a bit strong. Inaccurate? Unexpected? Painfully obvious? I’m going with all of the above.

Years ago I wondered why the parents I knew (other people’s not mine) always went on about how they were so busy with their kids and there was always so much to do. I would look at my son and wondered what the hell was wrong with everybody else. My kid was low maintenance. I didn’t feel any significant impact on what I was able to accomplish in a day because of the presence of my spawn.

Yesterday I figured it out.

I work in the inpatient building of the largest hospital in my area. It’s a 24/7 sort of a gig no matter where you work in the big house, with a few exceptions of course. Those smug cafeteria people go home every night for instance.

Anyways, lately my department has been looking to plug some holes in our schedule due to vacations and pregnant women finally getting over their short term disabilities. Naturally, being a giant sucker for punishment I’ve been happily gobbling up some extra shifts.

Are you ready for the eye opening kid bit?

I will be working overnight on Sunday, getting home Monday morning. I might be there in time to take Tango Sierra to school at eight. Sleep would be delayed so I could bring Terminally Cute to school at nine.

Then sleep will be had.

Until one when Terminal needs to get picked up. And then a little more will be had before Tango needs exfil at three.

That’s every single week day. When I was younger I never took things like school into account. Then there are doctor visits, various holiday shenanigans, and who knows what else. Now I’m thinking ahead to extracurricular activities. Sports! Debates! Petty Larceny!

The possibilities are endless. I suppose that most of that is going to be taken care of once the oldest learns to drive. But that’s a whole other can of arthropod invertebrate animals.

Regardless, to you parents that I never used to understand, I’m sorry. I get it now; overwhelmingly so.

To you I tip my hat. I just wanted you to know.

Terminally Axed

30 04 2013

I’m in the woods as I write this.

I’m out here with Terminally Cute – my daughter, collecting wood to smoke our meat for dinner. We live in rural New York and that sort of thing is common here. Trees fall all the time of their own accord. Nothing wrong with collecting the bodies.


I paused for a moment and glanced over at my hatchet. No particular reason. And it occurred to me that the scene might make an excellent prompt for some bit of fiction.


I’ll make something of it some time soon. Just thought you might like to know, Internet.