Dr. Hausse gazed dispassionately on the shattered face of the man.
“Close range shot,” growled the sergeant. “Can you help?”
Hausse nodded. “I can glue the skull, stitch the flesh back together. He won’t be the man he was though.”
“Could he shoot a rifle?”
Hausse shrugged. “Sure.”
“Then do it. We’re getting slaughtered out there.” The sergeant stormed out.
Hausse sighed and turned back to the corpse. He had a suspicion he’d raised this one before, back in the early days of the conflict.
He lit a cigarette and wondered if it was too late for that second career.
Author’s note: Even life as a professional necromancer must get dull sometimes.
Hundreds had gathered for the smart mob, and Ginny congratulated herself again on the genius of the conceit. Her @magichealing Tweets had garnered thousands of followers over recent years. She stood on the riverside boulevard and watched as hundreds of them threw personal effects associated with painful memories from the bridge, hoping to be cleansed.
The collective trauma of the group shone in Ginny’s eyes as they unwittingly made their offerings to the ancient water spirits.
After a time she raised her hands, and the skies darkened. Ginny smiled in anticipation.
Ritual mass sacrifice was so much easier these days.
Author’s note: Social media surely makes life easier for the modern villain.
Ennis perched on the threadbare seat and gripped the old book tight. He could feel the leather writhe under his fingers, hear it whispering to him in the indifferent silence of the train carriage. Uncertainty assailed him. Was he sweating, mumbling? Gods he was hungry. Would anyone ask?
A young woman approached him, eyeing the heavy tome.
“That’s an odd book. What’s it about?”
Ennis smiled. “Would you like to have a read? I warn you: you won’t be able to put it down.” He handed it over, and his heart lifted.
It felt good to pass the curse on.
Author’s note: I like to speculate on what might happen if clichés were literally true.