Practical Necromancy: A Guide to College Living (spring semester)

Words of wisdom for an aspiring Adept of the Black Arts: A dorm fridge is not the most secure place around for keeping your ingredients fresh. The little buggers never work quite right, either letting them spoil, or freezing them in turn. Let's not overlook the fact that unwitting roomates might accidently get into your stash of AB positive while looking for Jagermeister. I found better places to keep my jars full of anatomical odds and ends after that little debacle. It's tough being a necromancer at a public university.

Just so you know, my major is techincally Biology with a Pre-med concentration. Dr. Edwards, my advisor, thought that might be the easiest way to describe my work. I never would have guessed I'd meet a kindred spirit, and fellow student of the Art, when I came to college. Takes all kinds, I suppose.

I woke up early, having to meet with Dr. Edwards to choose my classes for the coming semester. I showered, shaved and dressed with typical haste, missing a few spots here and there with the razor. At least I didn't cut myself shaving. Running down through the hall and continuing that hurried pace left me winded but at my advisor's office right on time. It pays to be punctual with a man who can dine on your soul. Not that he would, mind you, he's really a nice guy, as far as it goes in this business.

Even arriving on time I was still about ten minutes too late for dear departed Doctor Edward E. Edwards(an alias if ever I've heard one). I found his body, or what was left of it sprawled awkwardly upon his office chair. His chest was a wide, bloody crater. His eyeless gaze stared into infinity. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end as I drank in the carnage. Terrible magics hung in the air like a fetid cloud. I guess I needn't have worried about him drinking my soul. It seemed that someone else had dealt him the same professional courtesy.

I performed a cursory sweep of the room, my senses tuned to the horrifying power unleashed here. My sort of power. Necromancy. Dr. Edwards was missing both his eyes and his heart, along with who knows what other assorted bits and pieces. His eyes could have shown me the face of his murderer. His heart would have retained his power for some time after death. It was clean and efficient, no signs of mania or other psychotic behavior. No notes or signatures to mark this as a serial killer. Someone killed him for his power. Someone knew exactly what they were doing.

I dialed the number for the Campus Police on my cellphone. I tried to sound as frantic and distraught as I felt, but thanks to my training there was a cold wall between me and my emotions. The police arrived in record time. By then, that cold wall had crumbled and I was a jittering mess of nerves. I think the police bought it. The last thing I needed was to wind up on the list of suspects. They asked me all sorts of questions, and I think I answered them. I'm not really sure though. A few hours later, I left there, numb and emotionally wrung out. It's not every day you see aftermath of someone ritually murdering a friend.

I wandered aimlessly for a time, not thinking and not knowing where I was going. When I finally roused myself from my maudlin musings I stood in front of old Wilson Hall. It had been left derelict for years. It was also where the good doctor and I had done some of our most guarded research. I almost hit myself for my stupidity at that point. If there was someone watching I almost led them right to a potent cache of occult lore. The place was well shielded, and even if the killer had assumed the doctor's power by now, there was no way that anyone other than he or I could enter those protected rooms. It was time for some quality acting, just in case.

I summoned up all the fear and grief anew. I lost myself in it for a time, wandering aimlessly yet again, but this time toward some place only slightly less dangerous: The dining hall.

I wasn't really in the mood to eat anything, but I forced some unnamed and indescribably substance down my throat and washed it down with tepid fruit juice. My stomach protested the invasion of those culinary abberations, but there was naught I could do at the moment other than just live with it.

I shambled home after that, feeling queasy and generally put through the sausage grinder. Up to the third floor I went. My roomate, Jake, was there. He handed me a package, gaily wrapped in all it's Christmas glory. I would have thought it proper if it were December, not March. I opened it up with care, listening for any ticking or buzzing that might betray it's malign nature. Nothing. The box thudded to the floor and I gasped. Jake had already left the room, he and I didn't get along too well, and at that moment I was quite thankfull. Looking up at me from a cushion of crimson silk, was what could only be Dr. Edwards' misplaced optical organs. I sat down on my narrow dorm bed and unleashed an acidic stream of profanities.

Someone, it seemed, had his eye on me.