The Patterson house, surrounded by a white picket fence, seemed like a perfectly calm and orderly residence. Third on a street of seven houses, it didn't stand out much from any of the other buildings save for the numbers on the mailbox and the little lawn flamingo that perched pinkly on the grass. Mrs. Patterson had requested discretion, about her little ghost problem - so Heck had waited for the sun to go down before driving the hearse up and parking it around back of the building.

"And now, my boy," he said to Newt as they got out, " you are about to witness your very first aggression- level haunting."

"There's levels?" Newt asked, as he headed around back of the hearse to open the bay door. He collected the tools Heck had tossed in their back at Necrotech - a big black bag, and an contraption that looked like the unnatural union of a vacuum cleaner and a GPS.

"Of course there's levels! We don't just do these things all unorganized," Heck said. "First you have Impressions - those are just little bits of spectral energy attached to an object or location. They're the leftovers of the ghost world - not much of a problem to anyone other than the psychic sensitive, really. Then you have the Nuisance level - those you saw at the graveyard. A little Ghost B Gone and they're tottering back to their own plane of existence. Then there's Aggressive hauntings - that's what we have here. An aggressive haunt is where the ghost involved is spooking people, throwing things, and just generally acting out with bad behavior...."

"Is that the highest level?' Newt asked, curious.

"There are higher levels," Heck assured him. "Best hope you never meet anything above Aggressive. Those are the sort of ghosts that'll possess you and drive you to madness..."

Newt shivered. He definitely didn't want to meet those. He wasn't all that sure he liked he sound of aggressive level' either. He followed Heck up the porch and to the door, where he rang the bell. An anxious older woman with glasses answered, nudging a cat away from the door with her foot.

"Oh thank goodness," she said. "Thank you, Mr. Vargas - please, please come in. The ghost - it's just not cooperating at all. I don't know what to do."

Heck stepped into Mrs. Patterson's parlor, motioning for Newt to follow. The cat - a large moggy with bright green eyes - stared curiously at them and meowed.

"Hi kitty," said Newt, leaning down to try and attract the cat for petting. The cat just tilted his head.

"Don't worry about a thing, Mrs. Patterson! We at Necrotic Technologies, Inc have the finest in ghost removal technology," Heck assured her.

"Removal?" Mrs. Patterson frowned and rung her hands. "Oh, I don't know. I mean, that seems a bit harsh - poor ghost. Granted he is somewhat of a pain, but... it doesn't hurt the ghost does it?"

Heck inwardly groaned. He hated when people were on the one hand wanting to get rid of their ghost problem, and on the other hand concerned about its special feelings. "Ah, Mrs Patterson, I can assure you that our equipment is very sensitive to the ghost."

Her eyes drifted towards the equipment that Newt carried. "It looks a bit... mean."

"I can assure you the ghost won't suffer," Heck said, reaching over to pat her shoulder. "We'll be quick. Now, let me just ask you a few questions about the haunting and we'll get started."

Mrs. Patterson was clearly still having doubts, but she nodded. "Of course. Here, have a seat..." She indicated the slipcovered furnishings. They all sat down - and the cat promptly jumped into Newt's lap.

"Oof.... hi kitty." Newt made with the petting. The cat stretched out and enjoyed the attention while the humans spoke about whatever silly matter they were on about now. None of it of any import, of course, unless it involved food.

"Now, when did you first notice the haunting?" Heck asked.

"Oh, about three years ago now- at first , he seemed like such a nice ghost. Hardly any problems at all, really. Just liked to spook the cat once in a while - Madame Whiskers didn't like that, did you precious?"

The cat looked up at the mention of her name, but since it wasn't followed by 'food', she returned her attention to the human that was worshiping her with pets.

"Ah- so when did you first notice an aggressive incident?"

"Oh, last year or so - around Christmas. He pulled down our tree! Naughty thing." Mrs. Patterson made a face, remembering. "Broke my grandmother's heirloom ornament, too."

"The incidents have escalated since then?" Heck asked.

"Oh yes- he's become quite belligerent since then. Now he's holed up in the attic and refuses to come down. Throws a fit when anyone goes anywhere near it..."

"What about this most recent problem - the one you called me about?"

Mrs. Patterson wrung her hands, clearly distressed by thinking about it. "I was heading to the attic to get my Halloween decorations down. Oh, how I love this time of year - all the children's happy faces! I've got the most wonderful shrunken heads in my decoration box - I hang them from the trees. Kids love making them shriek."

"You mean the heads make the kids shriek?" Newt asked, still absently petting the cat on his lap.

"Oh no - the kids make the heads shriek," Mrs. Patterson explained. "Whenever someone runs under the tree, the heads make all sorts of a ruckus. It's a lot of fun for everyone."

Newt blinked. Trembleton sure got into their Halloween celebrations. He wondered what Heck was going to do for Halloween. He'd heard the occasional bit of talk around the office about it, but not any specific details. Whatever they did, the intern hoped it wouldn't involve too much work for him.

"So you went up to the attic..." Heck prompted, wanting Mrs. Patterson to get back to talking about the matter at hand. "And when you got up there, the ghost..."

"Threw a huge fit!" Mrs. Patterson said, shaking her head in disbelief at what a misbehaved creature her ghost had become. "A tantrum! He tossed things around, yelling and making the lights dim and everything. I said Harold, I--"

"Harold?"

"That's his name. I said 'Harold, this is unacceptable behavior! You give me my decorations and calm down right this instant."

"Did he listen?" Newt asked.

"No! He threw a box at me. It barely missed my head!"

"Did it have your decorations in it?" Newt guessed.

"No - old shoes. I was furious! That was when I called you, Mr. Vargas. But oh, now I'm having second thoughts. Harold isn't such a bad ghost, not really. Well, at least he didn't used to be. We used to have long chats in the evenings - he was good company. But lately he's just been dreadful."

Heck sighed. Back to this again. "Well, we will do our best to remove Harold humanely..."

"Please, try not to hurt him. He was such a nice ghost. I just don't understand what went wrong."

Heck got up and nudged the cat off Newt's lap. "Come on, my boy- let's get to work." The cat looked indignant about this interruption of her pet-time. As soon as Newt got up, she lept back into the chair and washed her paws, ignoring the humans and their silly need to do something other than cat stroking. Newt collected the equipment, and followed Heck and Mrs. Patterson up the stairs.

Once on the second floor landing, Mrs. Patterson pointed towards a trap door at the end of the hall, set into the ceiling. "Just give the cord a good pull and it'll open up. There's a folding ladder to climb up into there."

Newt eyed the small trap door, and imagined the steep ladder to the attic. He wondered if this would be a bad time to mention to Mr. Vargas that he was afraid of heights.

"You'd best wait downstairs," said Heck as he headed down the hall to examine the trap door. Newt half-bolted back towards the landing. "Mrs. Patterson, not you."

Newt stopped, sighing, and trudged back to meet his fate.

Mrs. Patterson descended the stairs, but called back over her shoulder "Be careful! Don't hurt Harold.." on her way down.

Heck reached up to pull the cord that opened the trap door. He unfolded the stairs and tilted his head up towards the attic. A sudden chill wind blew down, ad knocked his top hat off. It tumbled off his head and rolled down the hall. Newt scrambled after it. "Looks like Harold's up there alright," Heck said. He held out his hand towards Newt, who had captured the top hat.

"This ghost already blows," Newt said, handing the hat back.

Heck chuckled, and resettled the hat onto his head. He indicated the ladder with a swoop of his hand. "Alright, Newt - put the Flash Hat on, and get up there."

"The Flash Hat?" Newt asked, eying the stairs with trepidation.

"In the bag," Heck said, keeping his focus on the attic.

Newt dug through the bag until he found a bright yellow hard hat with a minder's light mounted on it. "This?"

Heck turned around briefly, and nodded. "That's it. Turn the light on, strap the strap around your chin. Buckle it firmly, so the ghost doesn't pull it right off of you."

Newt gulped, alarmed by the thought of ghosts pulling anything at all off his body. He strapped the hat down tightly, then reached up and fumbled around until he found the switch. A bright beacon of light shone in front of him.

"Now you head up first with the light," Heck said, stepping aside so that Newt could reach the stairs. "Because the moment I get up there, the ghost will full on manifest."

"Like at the graveyard?" Newt asked. He shouldered the equipment, figuring he was supposed to take that up with him as well.

"Oh, no - not like the graveyard. Don't be silly."

Newt sighed with relief, and set his foot on the bottom stair.

"Those were only Nuisance ghosts. This one will be a much stronger presence."

Newt paused mid-climb, nervously gripping the ladder. "Uh... what if he manifests before you get up there?"

"Duck and cover, my boy! Duck and cover." Heck grinned. To him, this was always the best part of the job - the stepping into the unknown. Each circumstance was an adventure!

Newt climbed up the rickety ladder, his light shinning up into the gloom of the attic and illuminating a variety of dusty boxes, trunks, and bags. A discarded bird cage dangled in one corner above an old phonograph. As soon as Newt stepped into the attic proper, the needle dropped onto the phonograph. An old jazz song began to play, the record scratched and crackly. A chill ran down his spine. "Mr. Vargas! I'm up," he called down to Heck. Please hurry, he mentally added.

Heck ascended the ladder with an agility that Newt would have envied, if he wasn't so busy being scared. "Step aside so I can get up."

Newt lurched forward, then edged back against one of the boxes as the birdcage door swung open and closed, in time to the music. "I think he's over there in that corner..."

As soon as Heck stepped into the attic, it was extremely apparent that Newt was correct. A shimmering green light illuminated the attic corner - and out of the light formed a gentlemanly looking fellow in a waistcoat and tails. He had a very angry expression on his translucent face. "Intruders!" he called. "Get outtttt..."

"Kay," Newt said, starting to back up towards the ladder. Heck stopped him with a firm hand on his shoulder.

"Get the Ghostinator ready," Heck whispered to his intern. "But don't turn it on just yet."

Newt reached around his back to try and get the Ghostinator down - but his hands were shaking too bad. He hoped it would be a while before the boss needed it.

"Harold, your presence here is no longer wanted by the living being who owns this dwelling," Heck said, his voice deep and commanding. "I charge you to leave this premises - on your own accord, least we have to remove you with force."

"This is MY home! Mine!" Harold hissed, his face contorting in anger. The phonograph sped up, and the heavy iron bird cage flew off the wall towards Heck.

"Crap! Look out!" Newt shouted, getting the hell out of the way and ducking down behind a box. Heck did not move out of harm's way - merely raised one hand and pushed it forward as if struggling against a great weight. The birdcage stopped a few feet away, wavering back and forth mid-air as the necromancer struggled against the force the ghost was exerting. The motion of Heck's hand pushing against empty air reminded Newt a bit of a mime pretending to be stuck in a box. He laughed nervously , then -success! He got the Ghostinator down off his back. Now all he had to do is figure out how to turn it on. The vacuum part of the contraption was fairly simple, but up at the end that looked like a GPS, there was a panel of dials and buttons. None of them were clearly labeled with anything like ON.

"Now now, Harold. Let's talk this out like civilized gentlemen," Heck said, giving another push of force. The birdcage dropped.

"Bah! Talk. I don't want to talk about it- I want you OUT," Harold hissed. He floated over towards the necromancer, roaring in anger.

Newt fumbled with the buttons, hoping Heck was holding his own out there. Maybe he should have asked if there was an instruction manual. "Um, Heck? How do I turn this on?"

"Little busy here, Newt..." Heck called back, as he sidestepped the ghost, who was reaching for him with an icy tendril and shrieking loudly. "Turn the calibration knob, then flip the anterior switch," he said when he got a moment. "Then click the entropic deflector twice..."

Newt had no idea what any of those instructions meant. Being an industrious college student, he did what came naturally and just started poking, prodding and pulling things hoping that he'd come across the solution by serendipity. His efforts were rewarded when the machine started humming and the display lit up. "It's on... I think!"

"Good!" Heck said. He had both hands raised, and was keeping the ghost at bay. "Now Harold- what's got you all angry, anyhow? Mrs. Patterson said you used to be such a nice ghost. What's got your ectoplasm in a bunch?"

"Bah! That insufferable woman! What would she know?" Harold boomed. "She isn't my friend anymore!"

"Anymore?" Heck pressed. "Ah, but you were friends..."

Harold floated back to his record player, the anger fading from his features. He seemed almost sad now. "I thought we were. But I was wrong."

Newt poked the screen on the Ghostinator and a menu came up. He poked a few random choices and the vacuum cleaner portion of the machine seemed to turn on. Dust from the surrounding boxes quivered, and was pulled in. "I think it's ready!"

"Just a moment, hold on..." Heck called to Newt, then turned back to Harold. "What happened?" he asked, a compassionate tone to his voice.

"I... I don't want to talk about it." He looked sulky now, trailing an insubstantial finger over his phonograph.

Newt stood up with the Ghostinator at the ready. He felt a little braver now, with the big sucky thing in his hand and the ghost being less cranky. "Just say the word!"

"What... what's that?" Harold asked, eying the contraption suspiciously.

"An intern. Ignore it, it's still in college," Heck said. "Now come on, Harry. What happened to your friendship with Mrs. Patterson?"

"Nothing!" The ghost insisted. "Well, nothing on my end. She just... she... say, while that intern's holding a vacuum cleaner there, could you get him to dust up some? It's gotten quite bad up here."

"No respect," Newt muttered. He halfheartedly ran the Ghostinator over a box and sucked up some of the dust.

"What did she do?" Heck asked, sympathetically.

"Well.. she went and got herself another friend," Harold said. He slammed the lid of his record player shut. "Now she talks to her new friend instead of me. And I have to stay in the attic, so I don't disturb miss precious..."

"New friend?"

"Miss Whiskers - that insufferable feline! Mrs. Patterson says I 'spook her' , so I have to stay up in this dusty old attic while that cat gets free reign of the house. It isn't fair, I tell you! Not fair at all..."

Newt moved the Ghostinator to suck up a cobweb. It was kind of fun, really, watching it pull things in. And Heck seemed to have the ghost situation under control.

Heck managed not to laugh. "The cat? Oh I see - well, you know - as nice as the cat seems to be..."

"The cat is NOT nice. The cat is evil!" Harold insisted.

"Well, remember- the cat can't talk. Don't you think Mrs. Patterson is a little tired of having one-sided conversations by now?" Heck said, trying to cajole the ghost into being reasonable. "I bet she misses you as much as you miss her."

"She does not! Otherwise she wouldn't have called you," Harold said, looking hurt. "To get rid of me."

"She asked us not to hurt you," Heck said. "She was very worried for your safety."

"She... she did?" Harold seemed to glow a little brighter, a small smile forming on his iridescent face. "Well, I suppose that's nice..."

"And did she really say you were confined to the attic?"

"Well, not exactly... but she gets so darn upset when the cat gets spooked," Harold said. "At first I came up here just to be helpful but then... she hardly ever comes up to see me."

"She is getting on in years- the ladder must be a bit hard for her," Heck said, approaching the ghost. "Now Harold- wouldn't you rather make up with Mrs. Patterson? Maybe get things back to good?"

"Oh, I would love that but... but I'm afraid I've behaved rather badly," Harold said, hanging his head in shame. "I threw a box at her- she could have been hurt. Do you think she'll forgive me?"

"Of course," Heck said. "I'm sure she will."

The warm fuzzy of the moment was interrupted by a horrible shlorping sound. Newt had brought the Ghostinator too close to Harold, and he was being drawn into it.

"Turn it off!" Heck shouted, not wanting the ghost to be pulled in now that he had promised to repent. He expended all his energy to help Harold hold on.

"Let me go! You horrid little intern!" Harold shrieked, desperately backing up away from the machine.

"I'm trying to!" Newt called, punching buttons and pulling levers. Harold was inches away from certain dispellment when the machine coughed to a stop.

"You ruffian!" Harold shouted, rushing straight for Newt.

"Help!" Newt cried, ducking behind Heck. Harold turned even greener and Heck, guessing what was coming, stepped aside just in time to avoid the slimy splash of ectoplasm the ghost deposited straight over the intern's head. "Awww, grosss!"

"What do they teach you kids in college?" the ghost snapped.

Newt was really getting tired of hearing that.

(words: 3264)

"Thank you so much, Mr. Vargas." Mrs. Landis hugged her son tightly, smiling through tears.

"We certainly appreciate your services," Mr. Landis said, taking the bill and examining it carefully. "Do you take personal checks?"

"Cash or credit only," Rhonda called cheerfully from her desk.

Heck nodded. "Terribly sorry- but we've had a problem with checks in the past."

"I want to go to the circus!" Billy said, wiggling out of his mother's arms. "I got free tickets, wanna see?"

Mr. Landis handed over his MasterCard, and Rhonda processed it.

Billy took out the tickets from his pocket and waved them impatiently at his mother. "Mom, look. Mommm!"

"I see dear, I see." Mrs. Landis took the tickets from her son. "Oh, on Halloween - how nice. Of course we can go."

"And here's your receipt," Heck said, snagging it from Rhonda when the transaction had gone through. "Now, I need to explain to you our return policy - if you want to have him put back down for whatever reason, there is a separate fee involved. However, if he has any malfunctions within thirty days - limb starts to rot off, he eats the neighbor's cat - whatever - just bring him on in and we'll fix things."

Heck waved cheerfully, and escorted the Landis family to the door, then headed back to the Rhonda's desk. "So what's on the schedule for today?" he asked her.

"Well, Love For Losers called...."

"...that boy band?" Heck blinked.

"Yeah, those guys. They called and--"

"Haven't they been out of the music scene since like - 1994? Did you tell them I resurrect bodies, not dead careers?"

Rhonda shook her head. "No not their career - their drummer. He OD'd, poor thing."

"How long ago?"

"About six years now. They're trying to make a comeback tour and the contract is for full band," she explained, reading from the post-it where she'd taken notes on the call earlier.

"Alright, hm - schedule them for a consultation next week and let them know this is the busy season. See how soon they need their drummer back, where the body's buried and so forth. You know the drill." Heck waved absently to Rhonda, considering that matter closed. He was sure there were other more important things to get to.

"Well, you have a couple more party calls- I just added them to the mix for Halloween - and Mrs. Parkinson called about the ghost in her attic again. It's getting aggressive and the Ghost B Gone isn't working anymore."

Heck nodded. "Ah, thought that ghost might be a bit of a problem. Well, let's put that on the schedule then. I can bring Newt with me - we'll go handle that tomorrow. It'll be good for him to see a haunting in action and learn what to do about it."

"Charmaine wants you to write that apology letter to the Mayor," Rhonda said, knowing Heck wouldn't like it - but it did need to be done. "I think you probably should, too."

Heck groaned and rubbed his head. "Et tu, Rhonda?"

"Well, you did cause him a lot of trouble..."

"No, Mrs. Henderson caused him a lot of trouble. I just laughed. There's a difference," Heck insisted. After all, how was he supposed to know that she'd run down there instead of back to her husband when she was brought back from the grave? He had no clue she'd been carrying on an affair with the mayor. Really.

Rhonda clucked her tongue. She didn't believe for a moment that her boss hadn't known about it. "You know he's already looking for reasons to close us down- Charmaine's right. You should be careful. What would it hurt to send an apology?"

"What would it hurt? Everything! That man doesn't deserve an apology. What has Mayor Grumley ever done for this town other than make it a terribly boring place with high taxes and low excitement? Any time I get a good idea, he negates it!"

"Well, that's not entirely true," Rhonda ventured. "He does do some good things..."

"Name one!"

"When DEAD rights approached him about having a Zombie Pride parade, he said he'd put it up for vote by the town council..."

"Ooh. What a stand up guy," Heck said, rolling his eyes. "Enough about this. Is there anything else I have to worry about coming up?"
Rhonda hesitated. To tell him, or not to tell him. "Well, um... there is one more thing."

"Appointment?" Heck headed over towards the water cooler, intending on getting himself a drink before settling in to work on things.

"Sort of. Erm... Katrina's coming in." Rhonda winced.

Heck froze in mid-stride. ".... why? What's she... she's in town?" Heck's ex-girlfriend - the one he hadn't seen in about six years now. What would she be doing back in Trembleton? He took a deep breath to assure himself that he could still breathe. "Why would she ... come here?"

"She just said she's got some kind of problem and needs your help," Rhonda said. She frowned at the stricken look on Heck's face. "Do you want me to call her back and cancel? Tell her that you've got too much work at this time of the year..."

Heck sighed. "No, no... it's alright. Tell her to come in. That's fine. I'll help her with... whatever."

Heck wandered off out of the waiting area, and into his own personal office. He sunk down into his chair, took off his top hat and tossed it towards the hat rack on the wall. It missed. Mr. Bones, who was patiently tidying up at the moment, headed over to silently hang it up.

"Thanks Bones," Heck said, muttering a few choice things about how his week was shaping up under his breath.

Mr. Bones nodded silently, and went back to dusting. Heck watched the skeleton work for a while - his lopsided gait causing him to make a clack-thump sound as he walked. He really needed to get around to trying to fix Bones - but he worried at the same time about breaking him. Mr. Bones had been around since Heck was eight- and he was very near and dear to the necromancer.

"Katrina's coming to see me," he said, with a slight catch to his voice.

Mr. Bones stopped dusting and looked over.

"I know, right? After all that - coming back here, and seeing me." He sighed. "Still, what can I do? I have to help her, right? It's my job after all to help those in need of necromantic assistance..."

Mr. Bones nodded, his jaw clacking in an agreement sound.

"But that won't stop me from charging her the going rate, of course. After all -she's not a girlfriend, or even a friend anymore. So she gets charged what everyone else does. Why, she's lucky if I don't charge her double!" He wouldn't, of course - but he certainly thought about it.

Just then, Newt poked his head in the door. "Uh, excuse me Heck - you know the potions you had me mixing downstairs?"

Heck, glad for the distraction, turned towards the door and nodded. "Of course. My memory isn't that short term, my boy! What about them?"

"Well, I'm done mixing them and I was just wondering if I could talk to you a bit..."

"You didn't spill anything did you?"

"No."

"Break anything?"

"No sir."

"Then speak freely!" Heck waved his hand , gesturing for Newt to come in the rest of the way.

Newt did so, settling into the chair across the desk. He drew a piece of crumpled paper out of his pocket, and started to unfold it. "I was wondering if you could tell me something about this..."

Heck took the paper and looked it over carefully. He looked it over a second time, frowning. The picture on the page was that of an old man - a familiar old man. Abuelo - the lines of his face like roadmaps, the look of horror in his eyes as he had appeared that final moment. The picture was very real, and very disturbing. He knew who had drawn it. "Charmaine," he said. "This is her artwork.. where did you get it?"

"On the porch the other day," Newt said, feeling kind of guilty for swiping it. "And yeah, I saw her drawing - but then she crumbled this up and left it. Who's this guy? Why'd she crumble it up- it's really good?"

"That would be my grandfather," Heck explained, a bit tersely. "The first Necromancer Vargas. And - I wouldn't let Charmaine see you with that drawing."

"Why not?" Newt asked, frowning.

"If she crumbled it up, she did it for a reason. That reason isn't for nosy interns to have it," Heck scolded, refolding the paper and tucking it in to his desk drawer.

Newt seemed disappointed. "She's really good though. Why'd she crumble it up?"

"It's... that's a story for another time. We've lots of work to do," Heck said, giving Newt an unusually stern look that brokered no disagreement. "Charmaine's art is usually cheerful things. If you want one of her pictures, ask her to draw you a puppy, or some kids playing or whatever. Not this. Never this. Now why don't you see if Rhonda needs your help with the filing or some such?" He slammed the drawer shut, leaving a bewildered Newt to head out shaking his head.

"Why he's so cranky?" the intern asked Rhonda.

"His ex-girlfriend's coming to visit."

"Ohhh... that would explain it," said Newt, who hadn't had a girlfriend ex-or-otherwise in his life. But he did watch a lot of TV.

"I'd just stay on his good side for the next day or two," Rhonda warned. "They had some serious bad stuff go down, way I heard it. Not that I'm one to gossip or anything, but Katrina is not high on his list of favorite people. And if she's back in town, it can only be bad news."

Newt sighed. Second day on the job and he was already involved in office politics. Plus, he wanted to know more about that picture - curiosity may have killed the cat, but it was second nature to college students.

(Words - 1695)

Charmaine couldn't sleep again, so she walked the short distance from her house to Heck's place. Trembleton at night was usually peaceful, and tonight was no exception. The soft rush of the wind through the trees and the occasional bark of a dog excited by this were the only sounds other than Charmaine's feet crunching over the fall leaves as she walked. As she approached the familiar multi-colored building, she could see that the lights were still on in the office downstairs. She sighed, thinking that her brother must still be working as he'd a habit to - long into the night. Heck's insomnia was even worse than her own, and he was always taking on more work than he could comfortably handle. Having the intern around would probably help with that, if Heck could learn to delegate tasks. Charmaine let herself into the office with her key, gearing up for a good lecture. Heck really needed a stern talking to, especially after what he'd done to the mayor. She still intended to make sure he sent that apology letter.

When she walked into the office area, what she found in the waiting room was not Heck hard at work. What she saw was Newt the Intern, sound asleep on the couch. He was half nestled into the cushions, his mouth slightly open, arms curled over his chest as if to ward off a blow. Which, considering, might have very well been a smart idea. Charmaine reached for the Better Haunts and Graveyards magazine, rolled it up, and whacked the intern lightly. "Hey, Nate!"

"Newt," he muttered sleepily.

"Whatever. Wakey wakey." She nudged the couch with her foot.

"Mehhhh...."

Charmaine shook his shoulder.

"Five more minutes, mom..." He swatted at her hand.

She rolled her eyes. "I am NOT your momma. Now come on, get up."

Newt grudgingly came to his senses, sitting up and rubbing his hands across his eyes. He yawned softly. "Oh, hey Charmaine..."

"Hey yourself."

"What time is it?"

"Sometime around midnight," Charmaine guessed. She perched vulture-like on the arm of the couch, staring down at him. "Are you homeless?"

Newt blinked the sleep from his eyes. "What? No..."

"Then why are you crashed out like Sleeping Beauty on Heck's office couch?"

"Oh, I was having a sleepover..."

"A sleepover?" she said, with mock girliness. "I should have put on my jammies and brought my Hello Kitty sleeping bag!"

The thought of the boss's sister in her 'jammies' made Newt blush. "Well, I - um. So what are you doing here this late, anyhow?"

Charmaine cast her eyes down to the floor. "Couldn't sleep."

"Why not?" he asked, and studied her face. She seemed tired, maybe a bit worried.

"It's nothing," she insisted, waving a dismissive hand. "I just have a hard time sleeping occasionally. " Occasionally meaning at least once a week - granted, much better than Heck's track record of nearly every night, but it was still frustrating. There was something infinitely frustrating about lying down and staring at the ceiling, barely visible in the darkness, waiting for her mind to shut down and sleep to finally come. Her thoughts kept turning, and the more she thought of things, the more awake she was. Then she'd get up, thinking if she did something perhaps it would make her tired enough to sleep. Usually that just made her more wound up though, and then it was just easier not to sleep and just push through till morning.

"Have you tried cocoa?" Newt asked. "All warm, and chocolaty... mmm. It's comfort food."

"It's not a food, it's a drink."

"Comfort drink then. But it works. Or chamomile tea - that's good, too."

Charmaine rubbed her head and looked down at Newt. She could tell he was trying to help, really. But it wasn't any of his business why the Vargas family didn't sleep well at night anymore. "So... sleepover?"

"Yeah, 'cause little Billy's parents weren't---" At the mention of Billy, Newt's eyes grew wide. He glanced quickly around the room - no sign of him. "Crap."

"Billy's parents weren't crap? Huh? Who is Billy anyhow?"

"He's the kid Mr. Vargas brought back yesterday." Newt got to his feet and started glancing behind chairs and under desks. "He's about this tall--" He gestured with a hand to indicate Billy's height. "--and very hyper. Red hair and freckles."

Charmaine got up to look with him. "And you lost him?" she said, giving him a disapproving glare. "Heck's going to kill you - at least once or twice."

The intern cringed. He really hoped she was kidding. "Billy," he called, as loud as he dared. He didn't want to wake Mr. Vargas up, just in case. "Billy... where are you? I um, I have some candy."

"Oh yeah, 'cause kids come to to strangers with candy all the time. No one's ever warned them about that one."

"Well.... do you have a better idea?" Newt asked, an edge of desperation to his voice when he checked behind the potted plant and yielded no undead kids.

"I'm thinking," Charmaine said, though she didn't see why it was her job to get the intern out of trouble anyhow. Still, if a zombie kid was running amuck in town, Heck was likely to be blamed and she had to protect her brother. Besides, the intern had a pretty pathetic face right now and it made her feel sorry for him. "How'd you lose him to begin with?"

"I don't know," Newt wailed. "We played hide and seek a while, then he asked me to tell him stories, asked me like a million questions about stuff - then fell asleep. At least, I thought he was asleep. On the chair. So I crashed out on the couch..."

"Well, he's obviously not sleeping now,' Charmaine said. "Hm... what's the kid's full name?"

"William-something." He couldn't quite remember.

Charmaine grumbled. "Fine, that will have to do." She marched down the hall and opened the door to the basement, then called down in her most authoritative voice (which made Newt back up quickly). "William! If you're down there young man, you come up here right this minute!"

Silence.

"....I guess he's not down there," Newt offered.

"Yeah, hm. Let's check outside. C'mon." Charmaine headed for the front door, pushing it open and taking a good look around. "William! Where are you? Answer me this instant!"

Newt padded out after her, admiring her strength in time of crisis. He hoped that someday he'd learn to channel his inner bitchiness like that, to pop up at a moment's notice when needed. He looked around the yard, then pointed towards one of the bushes which seemed to have a blue jacket draped over it. "There- that's the kid's suit."

Charmaine headed over and collected the jacket. She held it up close to her face in the moonlight to examine it for any clues, and immediately regretted the proximity when a whiff of something unpleasant drifted from the fabric. "Ugh! Why does this smell like puke?"

"Um... dunno. kid must have thrown up or something."

"Yuck. Anyhow, let's see... he probably squeezed through the fence bars here and went on down the road," she surmized, and headed around to the gate and towards the road. "C'mon Nate."

"Newt," he corrected automatically, and scrambled after.

"William! William, where are you?" Charmaine called, her voice growing sterner and more demanding as they walked through the streets of the town.

"Billy! Uh, hey, Billy... c'mon out..." Newt tried.

No use. After searching up streets and down streets, in the park and in the playground - no Billy.

"Maybe we should try the graveyard?" Charmaine suggested. It was entirely possible that Billy had gone back to a place he found familiar - and that would be either his home, or his grave. Since she had no idea where the kid lived - she was kicking herself right now for not checking the file - the graveyard seemed the best place to check.

"Um, let's head back towards the office first? Maybe he's gone back there..." The intern had no desire to go back to the graveyard - especially not in the middle of the night. He'd seen enough creepy stuff to last him all week.

"Fine, okay- we can check his file while we're there, maybe see if he went back to his home."

Newt breathed a heavy sigh of relief, and followed Charmaine on home.

When they got there, they found the object of their searching - little Billy, looking just as pleased as could be (minus his suit jacket) talking to a barrel-chested man with a handlebar mustache who was barely taller than he was. Spotting Newt, Billy waved cheerfully. "Hi Newt! Hi lady - look what I found. It's a circus guy!"

"Where were you? You weren't supposed to leave the--- circus guy?"

"Ah good evening - does this charming young boy belong to you?" the circus man asked ,giving Charmaine and Newt a bright smile. "I found him out by the fairgrounds where we're making camp, and I thought it best to escort him straight home."

"Thank you so much sir," Charmaine said. "He's-- a guest here ,and he shouldn't be wandering off like that. His parents are due to pick him up in the morning and they would have been so worried."

"I'm dead!" Billy said cheerfully. "I'm gonna eatchur brains..." He advanced on the circus guy, making a grarr face.

The man took it all in stride, chuckling and patting Billy on the head. "Well, a dead boy like you would certainly enjoy our Reanimation Circus! You simply must come down - we're having a special show on Halloween. All of you, really. Do come to the show..."

Charmaine gave him a dubious look. "Well, as nice as that sounds Mr...."

"Stan - Stan the Dwarven Strong Man."

"Mr. Stan. Halloween is usually our busy night," Charmaine said. She pointed towards the business sign on the building. "Necrotic Technologies, Inc. We have a lot of work around this time of year."

"Like Little Billy here," Newt piped up.

"I'm going to the circus!" Billy said. "I'm gonna tell my mom and dad to take me."

"Ah, well... if you do change your minds - here are some tickets for you - free admission!" Stan passed tickets out to each of them and gave a charming smile to Charmaine. "I certainly hope to see you there, Ms. Vargas. But if not, well - have a pleasant Halloween."

And with that, he was heading on down the road, presumably back to the fairground.

"No going anywhere else," Newt said, shaking a finger at Billy. "You're supposed to stay here until your parents come for you in the morning."

"You were sleeping!" Billy protested. "I was bored! Plus I scored us free tickets to the circus - how cool is that?"

"Pretty cool," Newt admitted. "If we have time to go..."

He glanced towards Charmaine, but she was busy staring down the road after the strong dwarf, wondering how he had known her name...

(words: 1837)

Rhonda filed her nails on her break - that her hair and nails still kept growing, albeit slower, was one of the big surprises of being a zombie. Being undead had a few distinct advantages that most folks didn't even realize - you had to go to the hairdresser and nail salon far less often and you saved a bunch of money on health insurance. Of course, she had a larger appetite now and her metabolism was completely sluggish - so she'd packed on about twenty pounds. Other than that and her completion which was a bit mottled, being undead suited Rhonda just fine.

She also liked her employer in undeath far more than she'd enjoyed her job while she was living. Not just because her former boss had strangled her to death in a fit of rage over not having his presentation done in time - though of course, that didn't help her opinion of the workplace any. Not only had Mr. Vargas brought her back from the grave, he also paid her a decent salary and treated her well. At Necromantic Technologies Inc, Rhonda felt like she was part of a family. She took extra care to file everything properly, answer the phones in a professional manner, and make sure the office kept running smoothly. Right now, keeping the office running smoothly involved comforting Newt who was curled up in a little ball on the couch on his lunch break.

"So the cemetery didn't go well?" she asked.

"Mmrgh," Newt said, covering his head with his arms.


"You poor dear. Do you want me to go get you a cup of coffee?"


Newt's stomach churned violently at the thought of anything going into it. "NO... I mean, no thank you."

"Well, I'm going to go out for some Chinese," Rhonda said.

"You're going to eat Chinese people?" Newt blurted. He'd been meaning to ask about that whole 'brains' thing.

Rhonda folded her arms. "No. General Tso's chicken. Hmph."

"Sorry," Newt said. This just wasn't his day at all. He curled up further onto the couch, so far that his nose was in danger of squishing between the cracks in the cushions.

"Well, I suppose you didn't mean it," Rhonda said, somewhat mollified by the apology. "But we don't go around eating people, you know. That's a myth - and very derogatory to our people. Have you ever heard of DEAD rights?"

"Um... Mr. Vargas mentioned something about it, but I'm not sure..."

Rhonda's hand was already in her desk drawer, taking out an assortment of pamphlets. "Read these," she said, dropping them down over Newt where they scattered like falling leaves on his body. "They'll help you break through the stereotypes and get an informed opinion on the issues facing Undead Americans these days."

"Kay," Newt said, not moving from his curled up position.

"We'll discuss when I get back," Rhonda said (or threatened - he wasn't sure which) then bounded out the door.

Feeling sorry for himself got boring after a while, so Newt shifted to collect the pamphlets into a bundle. They had titles like Undead Americans and You , The Undead American In Today's Society, Zombies in the Workplace, and Undead? Under-Appreciated? . The one that seemed to apply most immediately to him was Zombies in the Workplace, so he opened it up to have a read. "Do you have a zombie in your workplace?" he read. "Well, duh. Yes, pamphlet- I do."

By the time he was done reading the pamphlet, Newt felt kind of racist. He'd apparently been violating Rhonda's rights by making a crude insinuation about her eating brains. He felt a little guilty about that, because she seemed like a really nice lady, other that whole skin condition. When she got back from lunch, Newt figured he would apologize again and try to be more sensitive in the future. Either that, or just keep his mouth shut in case more racist things came out, because he was still pretty freaked out by her being the walking talking dead.

"Newt! Where are you, my boy? Are you done lunch yet?" Heck called from somewhere not immediately apparent.

Newt jumped up from the couch, and scrambled to his feet, scattering pamphlets through the waiting room. "I'm coming! Um... where are you?"

"In the basement," Heck shouted. "In the lab."

"Where's that?" Newt asked, not wanting to do the try-every-door method of finding his boss.

"Go down the hall - second door on the right. If you see the bathroom, you've gone too far," Heck called.

"On my way." The intern walked down the hall, passed a closed door on the right and then a second slightly ajar door. He pushed it open the rest of the way to see a dimly lit set of stair descending into what he assumed was the basement. The smell of something spicy mingled with a bit of sweetness drifted up, and his stomach twisted again. Gulping, he forced himself to head on down anyhow - he didn't want to get fired on his very first day.

Heck stood in front of the long table, helping a confused looking red-headed boy to sit up. "Careful now... you're going to be dizzy for a while..."

Newt blinked - recognizing the boy from his blue suit (now somewhat stained) and the red hair. He padded the rest of the way into the room, trying not to knock anything over. All the bubbling and boiling things, and a lot of the herb jars seemed really breakable. It would be a bad time for clumsy.

"Ah, there you are my boy. I thought I'd spare you the resurrection experience this time," Heck said. A good decision, he thought, noticing the intern still seemed a little pale.

"Kay," Newt said. He didn't know whether to feel relieved or disappointed by that.

Heck moved to start cleaning up the supplies from the reanimation. "Why don't you help Billy up into the waiting room and keep him occupied until his parents can come pick him up?"

Newt blinked. Babysitting wasn't one of his strong points - especially babysitting the undead. He suddenly felt racist again (stupid pamphlet!) so he forced himself to smile. "Um, come on Billy- let's go play upstairs."

"Why?" Billy asked, looking suspiciously at Newt.

"Because... it's dangerous down here. There's uh... glass stuff. And fire."

"Cool!" said Billy. "Let's play down here!"

"No," Newt said more firmly. Ten year olds weren't going to tell him what to do, alive or dead. He had some pride. "Upstairs."

Billy made a face, but jumped down from the table and trudged towards the stairs. "I don't have to listen to you - I'm just going up there 'cause I want to."

"You have to listen to me until your parents get here," Newt said, following the zombie kid.

"Why?" Billy asked, running down the hall once he reached the end of the stairs.

Newt hurried after him, not wanting to be held responsible if the kid destroyed anything. Maybe reanimated kids had even more energy than normal kids, and that would suck. "Because I'm the Necromancer's Apprentice." He said it like an official title. "And you're just an undead kid."

"I'm a zombie!" Billy said proudly. He jumped up on the couch, bouncing wildly. "I'm gonna eat your brainnnnnnssss..."

The intern backed up quickly. "Uhhhh... no. No eating my brains."

Sensing there was fun to be had in teasing, Billy launched himself off the couch towards Newt, arms outstretched. "Brains! Gimme your brains! Rarrrrr...."

Newt skirted around the chair. "No."

"Yes! I need brains to survive. Rarr! I'm back from the grave and I hunger for your brains!"

"Do not," Newt said. He edged around to the couch as little Billy circled the chair. "I know, 'cause I'm a Necromancer's Apprentice." Plus he'd just read it in the pamphlet - which couldn't be wrong, could it? he still didn't want to take any chances.

"Do so!" Billy insisted, barreling at Newt who wasn't expecting that, and went tumbling back onto the couch. Billy jumped on top of him, surprisingly strong for an undead kid, and started chewing on his arm.

"HECK!" Newt cried, too frightened for formalities. "Little Billy is trying to eat me!"

"BRAINS!" Billy shouted, before going back to gnawing on the intern's arm. "Mmm... intern tastes like CHICKEN. Bock bock bock..."

Heck sighed, and trounced up the stairs. He headed down the hall and in to the waiting room, then separated intern and zombie child with a stern look. "Newt - he's ten, stand up for yourself and be a good intern. Billy - you have no nutritional need for brains, and brains aren't in the arm anyhow. Stop that."

"Yes sir," they both said in unison, then glared at each other.

"What's an intern?" Billy asked, after glaring got boring.

"A guy who learns under another guy..."

"That sounds kind of gay," Billy said.

"It wouldn't if you'd let me finish! Don't interrupt," Newt said.

Heck chuckled, and went off to talk to Rhonda as she came back in from lunch. "What's the rest of the day's appointments look like?" he asked.

"Not too bad," she said. "You've got a few skeleton requests for parties - Marnie wants to come in for some more Eau de Life, and Charmaine wants you to write a letter of apology to the mayor."

"Apologize? What for! I didn't do a thing," Heck said. He glanced over to where Billy was grilling Newt with a million Why questions. "And when are Billy's parents coming to pick him up?"

"Oh yeah... about that," Rhonda said, picking up a message. "They wanted to know if they could pick him up tomorrow morning. They're meeting with his teachers today and fixing up his room to accommodate some of his special needs."

Heck had a feeling Rhonda had something to do with that - but he didn't say anything. He just headed over to Newt, and clasped him on the shoulder. "And now- you're about to learn an important lesson about overtime. How are you at slumber parties?"

"Slumber parties?"

Heck glanced towards the undead kid. "His folks aren't coming until tomorrow."

Newt groaned, and rubbed the bite mark on his arm. His first day at work - and already he was learning why people hated their jobs.

"BRAINNNNNNSSSSS " said Billy.


(words: 1718)

Heck parked the hearse just outside the cemetery gates, and went around to the back to open up the bay. Newt lagged behind.

"Now, don't worry my boy - I'll give you step by step instructions. Nothing you can't handle," Heck assured him. He slid the stretcher out from alongside the coffin, then pulled the shovel and bulky bag out to drop them atop the stretcher. "C'mon, give me a hand here."

Newt reached for the other end of the stretcher, but Heck stopped him with a shake of his head. "No, I can drag the stretcher. Reach into the bag and get out the Ghost-B-Gone, then attach the atomizer."

"The... what?"

"Ghost-B-Gone, ask for it by name! Don't you ever watch television? I spent a small fortune on advertising - Charmaine was ready to kill me - and you've never heard of it?" Heck looked crestfallen.

"I don't watch much television," Newt admitted, feeling bad now that he didn't know what it was. "Between classes, and studying for classes, and writing papers, and occasionally visiting my parents so my mom can do my laundry - I don't really have that much time for it."

Heck waved a dismissive hand. "Ah, no matter. Anyhow - let me show you." He reached into the bag and rummaged a moment before pulling out what looked like an extra large perfume bottle, bigger than both his hands. A brightly colored label showed a cartoon ghost with a strikeout circle in red surrounding him. GHOST B GONE was printed over the unlucky specter's head, with Necrotic Technologies Inc. printed underneath. Inside was a substance that looked partially liquid with solid metallic chunks floating in it. "This is Ghost-B-Gone. First we shake to activate."

Newt watched, wide-eyed, as Heck shook the bottle and the liquid inside began to glow.

"The patented glow means it's working," Heck said, repeating another line from the commercial. "Now we just attach the atomizer..." He fished out a length of tubing with a big bulb on the end, and quickly uncapped the bottle then screwed the tubing into the end. He handed the bottle over to Newt. "Get ready to spray."

Newt held on to the bottle, wishing it was a bit smaller as it was kind of awkward to hang onto it and grip the atomizer bulb at the same time. "Doesn't it come in a smaller size?"

"Oh, the over the counter version we sell is only 12 ounces, in a convenient spritzer. For my own personal use, I've got the industrial strength. Now... get ready..." Heck pushed open the latch to the wrought iron gate, which swung open with a creek, then headed back to grab the ends of the stretcher and drag. He didn't bother closing or locking the bay door of the hearse - everyone in town knew it was his hearse, and thievery wasn't usually a problem in Trembleton anyhow. "Be prepared, Newt- step lively!"

"I don't see any ghosts," Newt complained, awkwardly clutching the Ghost-B-Gone and stepping in to the cemetery proper since Mr. Vargas seemed to want him to go first. The trees all seemed stunted here, their few remaining leaves already brown though most of the trees in town were still bearing their autumn colors. A variety of headstones, some old some new - were arranged in somewhat disorganized rows. Here and there a stone angel or cross loomed over someone's resting place. There was even a carving of a bear on a log, with an axe stuck into the log - Newt wondered if that dead guy used to be a lumberjack.

Heck grinned. "You will..." And with that, he stepped through the gates into the into the cemetery proper. For a long moment, nothing seemed to happen.

Newt shivered involuntarily as that moment passed. Everything was still - the trees ceased to rustle, the air seemed thicker and charged somehow with an electricity. He felt his hair stand up on end. A sudden influx of sound, like the rush of an oncoming train, broke the stillness. Wailing, shrieking, moaning and pleading - laughter, sobs, and shouted greetings and expletives all shook Newt's eardrums, and he turned towards his boss with a nervous shudder. Mr. Vargas seemed different here - more present, if such a thing be possible - in his element. He was smiling, eyes shining.

"Good morning, my friends! Good morning..." Heck called, pausing to set the stretcher down and tip his hat. He reached for Newt, settling a hand on the boy's shoulder. It made the intern jump. "Get ready," he whispered.

Newt clutched the Ghost B Gone protectively, sprayer at the ready. "Oh crap..." he muttered, his hands shaking. He could almost feel the veil between the worlds tearing as specters burst forth from seemingly everywhere at once - rising up from graves , emerging from inside trees, drifting from the mausoleum. Each stretched out their translucent arms, drawn to the Necromancer Vargas much like moths to a flame.

"Help me," one cried. He was primarily torso, the lower half of him jagged as though he'd been torn or rotten in half.

"I want to go home - have you seen my child? He needs me..." A woman, strikingly beautiful even in her pale undeath, reaching

I need, I need, I need.... he felt rather than heard from so many others.

Barely audible over the din, Heck's voice shouted. "Spray, boy! Don't just stand there - spray the damn thing!"

The shouting broke through Newt's daze, and he sprayed for all he was worth, running in a circle around himself and his boss - spritzing at any ghost that got within range. "Stay back! I have perfume!"

Heck shook his head, amused. Perfume! Well, at least the boy was managing to keep the ghosts at bay. Truth be told, he could have just warded them before stepping over the gates - but where was the fun in that? The intern had to learn, and trial-by-fire was the preferred method. After all, that was how Heck himself had learned from Abuelo many years ago now. And he'd been much younger - just a boy when he'd begun. "Good job Newt - now to find the grave. We're looking for William R. Landis - our client said you make a left by the bear, then wander down thataway for a while until we see a big memorial wreath."

Newt couldn't believe how casually his employer said that - back to business, just like that. They were almost overrun by specters from the great beyond! A moment's rest would have been nice. "O-okay," he stammered, still hanging on to the Ghost B Gone for all he was worth, just in case. He nervously headed toward the bear structure, glancing over his shoulder to make sure Heck was following with the stretcher and not being attacked by anything else. He wasn't - in fact, he looked annoyingly cheerful for a guy that was nearly spiritually violated. When he reached the bear, Newt turned left and started wandering down . The large wreath wasn't hard to find - it was three feet tall, made of carnations, and had 'Beloved Son' written on a gold ribbon that crossed it. The wreathed perched over a mound of fresh dirt. "Um.... is this it?"

"That would be the place," Heck said, dropping the stretcher. He took the Ghost B Gone from Newt, removing the atomizer and recapping it before putting it away. "Have a nice dig. Body shouldn't be that far down - gravekeep kind of figured the family would be in for a recall, the way they were carrying on. When they're too far down - like the proverbial six feet - it takes a while to get down to them. If it's a rush job, we just bring in the backhoe."

Newt took up the shovel and headed for the dirt mound, looking ill. He'd never seen a dead body before, and wasn't really prepared to see one now. He knew what he would be getting into when he signed on for Necromancy as his apprenticeship - but knowing and the actual practice thereof were two different things. He dug the shovel into the fresh mound, leaned on it with his foot, then pulled up and tossed it over his shoulder. One down... hopefully a lot more to go. He was in no hurry to get to the actual corpse.

Heck opened his Battle Box while Newt dug, double-checking to make sure he had the compounds he'd need to treat the body before they brought it back to the lab to reanimate. Even though he'd packed everything carefully the night before, he always checked before exposing the body to air. Everything was in order, so he watched Newt dig a while - amused by the stricken look on the intern's face when the shovel made a solid thunk. "That'd be the coffin - just clear it off, then break the lid open with the shovel. This isn't a temp-rez, so we don't have to preserve the box."

"Um... okay." Newt started branching out with the shovel, brushing the dirt off the lid. It was a lot shorter than he thought it would be - maybe the guy was a midget? "Why's it so small?"

Heck shrugged. "The kid was ten. How big did it need to be?"

The intern paled again - his stomach churning. "A kid? We're digging up a kid?"

"Well of course! His parents miss little Billy terribly - now, hurry up and pry him out of there. We've got to get him done by four so they can pick him up and take him out to Pizza Palace to celebrate his rebirthday."

Newt pried at the lid - he was surprised by how easily it opened, revealing 'little Billy' at rest. The kid had red hair and freckles, and was wearing a blue suit with a little tie. He looked like a tiny dead businessman. The cause of death wasn't readily apparent- but he certainly smelled dead. Newt's stomach flip-flopped, threatening to lose the granola bar he'd eaten this morning on the bus. "Rrrk..."

"Don't toss your cookies on the client's dead kid," Heck warned. "Come on now- reach in there and pull him out, put him on the stretcher so we can get him back to the hearse."

"Reach in?"

"Yes, just grab him around the waist like you're giving your mother a hug and haul his corpse on outta there. C'mon, boy- he's not getting any less dead while you're waiting."

Newt drew in a deep breath. You can do this, he told himself. All he had to do was close his eyes and just reach in there, pull Billy out, and dump his corpse on the stretcher. Then he just had to get through the rest of this day and shower and scrub for hours and hours until he felt clean again. "Okay... here goes..." He reached in. Little Billy was stiff, somewhat sticky in the back, and kind of stuck to the satin lining of the coffin. "He's... rrrm.... he's stuck." And he was also a lot smellier up close. Newt gagged.

"Rigor Mortis," Heck explained. "It's been less than 72 hours - I told his parents to wait, but they insisted..." He sighed dramatically. "Grief. What can you do?"

"...so he'll soften up if we wait," Newt asked, hoping this would mean that he'd get a reprieve.

"We don't have time to wait- they're coming at four, and the reanimation will take a while. Just a moment." Heck fished into the bulky bag and drew out a crowbar. "There we are- just give him a pry."

Newt took the prybar, and approached the coffin edgily. "Uh... sorry about this, Billy." He wedged it down between the corpse and the coffin, pushing with all his not-so-mighty strength to pry the corpse loose. The silk lining tore, and the corpse came free, falling over onto Newt - who promptly vomited up the contents of his stomach all over the corpse's blue suit, then fainted.

Heck eyed the vomit-stained corpse covering the unconscious intern, and slapped a head to his forehead. "What do they teach these kids in college?"

(Words: 2022)

Newt, who was still coming to terms with being called 'Newt' instead of Andrew Andy or Drew as he'd been known all his life until yesterday morning, took the bus from Phear U to his first day of work in Trembleton. The newly Christened Newt liked traveling by bus for a few different reasons. Top of the list was that it was cheap. Being a poor college student who owed his immortal soul to the university until he graduated and paid off his student loans, the price was certainly right. For a dollar fifty or less, he could get pretty much anywhere he needed to go. Some students were either too cheap or poor to pay even this modest fare. Newt saw them trudging from place to place on foot, or occasionally propelling themselves listlessly on skates, skateboards, or old bicycles. He couldn't help but wonder if this, in itself, was a form of undeath - the mindless shuffle from class to class, class to dorm, dorm to class, class to cafeteria, campus to town, and back again. If so, it occurred to him that perhaps he should have claimed 'prior job experience' on his internship resume for dealing with his fellow students every day.

Newt also liked the bus because it gave him the opportunity to collect himself in the mornings before reaching his destination. He wasn't by nature an early riser, so he did the bare minimum needed to propel himself out the dorm and into the world every day. He left the rest for the walk to class, or when he had an alternate destination like today, for the bus ride. Obviously pants were a necessity before leaving the building, but he often took care of matters of personal hygiene en route. Deodorant fit nicely in a pocket or backpack, and could be applied without too much trouble by shifting around under his shirt. Combing his hair on the bus was a bit of an art form - he'd lean over the seat, hitting just the right angle to catch his reflection in the window. He'd carefully smooth down his hair, combing each section until it stayed where it was supposed to stay. Of course, it was a bit of a wasted effort as his hair was rather unruly and had the habit of just popping up in the slightest bit of breeze. He also had a nervous habit of running his hands through it, which caused it to stand up at odd angle like a sculpture of abstract art. He chewed a handful of mints in lieu of brushing his teeth, but usually ruined the fresh effect a few minutes later by tossing down a bit of something nicked from the cafeteria the night before. Today's breakfast offering was a half-melted granola bar. The chocolate left a ring around his mouth, which he brushed off his lips with the back of his left hand. Having nothing to wipe it on since he didn't want to get his good jeans dirty before the first day of work even started, he smudged it down the fabric of the bus seat in front of him. He stuffed the wrapper between the seats, and looked up just in time to notice his stop. He hastily shuffled down the aisle for the door. Along the way out of the bus, he ran a hand through his hair which scattered all the good work the combing had done earlier, leaving it sticking up at odd angles.

He walked through the streets of Trembleton from the bus stop to his destination. Children ran or biked through the streets on their way to the town school. Ladies talked over fences, a gentleman and his skeleton were raking leaves into careful piles. On a few telephone poles, and on the sidewall of the general store, Newt spied some sort of poster with an elephant on it. Curiosity got the better of him, and he stopped to examine one a bit more closely. The elephant had red eyes, and a skull was depicted on each tusk. "Amazing Armani Brothers Presents: Regal Reanimation Circus," Newt read aloud. "Thrills and chills await. Coming to Trembleton this Halloween for a special showing." He smiled, wondering if he'd be able to see the show - he'd always loved circuses, and this one seemed to feature some reanimated creatures. Maybe he could convince his new employer that it would be educational and he should get the time off to attend. Speaking of new employers - Newt returned to his walk so he could get to his first day on time.


There didn't seem to be many cars in town - the town was small enough that it was easy to get from place to place by walking, or take the bus when one had to leave. Most of the houses were well kept- structures of brick, wood, or stone in either a rancher or a two-story Victorian style. The wooden houses were mostly respectable shades of beige and white, with a few pale pastels in blue and yellow here and there. This made the structure he was heading for stand out - the multi-colored facade of Necromantic Technologies Inc was pretty hard to miss. If the building didn't do it, it would be the yard encircled by the wrought iron fence, or the exotic gardens of strange plants that seemed to bloom on either side of the walkway no matter what the season. Newt bent to admire a particularly beautiful flower, mostly orange with some red variation . He reached out to touch it with a finger, and the flower bent towards his hand. Startled, he drew his hand back, just in time as the flower made a loud snapping sound, the petals closing shut.

"Don't tease the snapdragons, Nate," Charmaine called. She'd witnessed the entire incident from the porch where she was seated.

"Newt," he corrected, the nickname starting to stick in his head. "And I- um, I was just going to pet it." He stuck to the path with a bit more care now.

Charmaine had her sketchbook on her lap, with pastel sticks sitting beside her. She reached for a blue one, and started to color part of the drawing she was working on. "Mm-hm. Well, don't disturb the plants. Heck works hard to keep them growing."

"Yes ma'am," Newt said. He tried to sneak a peek of her drawing as he came up onto the porch, but she shifted to keep her book out of view.

" Charmaine."

"Charmaine," he repeated, and tried to edge a little closer.

"Heck's waiting for you inside," Charmaine said, emphasizing the inside. She didn't want to be bothered while she was working on her project, especially not by an intern.

"Yes ma'am - erm, Charmaine." Newt scurried off inside.

In the outer room of the office, Rhonda was busy typing at her computer. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a somewhat messy pony tail, and she was wearing a button reading Undead, Not Brain Dead pinned on to her sweater. She looked up and smiled at Newt as he came in. "Howdy, co-worker. Welcome aboard."

Newt smiled back a bit nervously. "Hey Rhonda - thanks."

Heck was seated on the couch, his feet propped up and a book in hand. Beside him sat what looked to Newt like a doctor's bag. He looked up from the book when he heard the conversation. "Ah, there you are my boy - welcome, welcome. Are you ready to get started?"

"Yes sir...."

"Heck! Please call me Heck - no need for formality around here, none at all." The necromancer leapt to his feet, his top hat remaining steady on his head as if containing its own magic. "Are you ready for your first assignment?"

Newt nodded enthusiastically. "I'm ready!"

"Good. Head on in to the break room and fetch me a cup of coffee - two sugar, one cream."

Rhonda helpfully looked up from her typing and pointed to the appropriate door. Newt scrambled to it, trying not to be too disappointed that his job seemed like it was going to involve a bit of lackey work. Everyone had to start somewhere, after all. Coffee wasn't so bad in the grand scheme of things. Fortunately someone had already made a pot, so all he had to do was figure out which mug belonged to Mr. Vargas. Undoubtedly, the Coffee is a Right! mug belonged to Rhonda, so that just left two to choose from. One had pastel swirls of color ,and he figured that to be Charmaine's , considering the painting she had been doing on the porch. That only left the Coffee Based Lifeform mug, which he figured had to be Heck's. He carefully filled it, then stirred two sugars and a bit of cream in.

"Ah, there we go - good job," Heck said, and downed the coffee that Newt fetched him in a few quick gulps. "Nothing like a bit of caffeine to get you going first thing. Now, let's hit the road!" Heck set down the mug on the coffee table, causing Rhonda to cluck her tongue in disapproval. He paid her no mind, merely picking up his black bag and heading for the door. "To the hearse!"

".... the hearse?" Newt asked, as he hurried after. In the short time that he'd been inside, Charmaine had apparently departed as she was no longer on the porch. A crumpled bit of paper remained where she had been sitting, and without thinking Newt picked it up and tucked it into the pocket of his hoodie.

Heck didn't notice, simply continued on towards the back yard where the hearse was parked. The hearse was a sleek black affair, purchased years ago from a funeral parlor that was going out of business. On each door was painted the company logo - Necrotic Technologies Inc along with the phone number, address, and website. "The hearse," Heck said, opening the doors for Newt. "C'mon, get in- times' a wasting!"

The intern obediently got in to the passenger's side door, trying not to feel too creeped out about riding in a hearse. As Heck got in and started the car, curiosity got the better of Newt. He turned slightly in his seat to peer over his shoulder towards the back. A bulky coffin was in the back, with a stretcher anda shovel pushed up along one side of it. On the other side was a blanket, and a bundle of something he couldn't quite make out.

"Is there anybody... in there?" Newt asked, a little pale.

"Oh no, nobody's in there yet, Heck said cheerfully.

"Yet?" Newt asked, having a very bad feeling that this might be his second job. He knew the coffee had been too easy!

(Word count: 1793)

( Heckromancy! book coverCollapse )


Chapter one: The Intern

Chapter two: Toil and Trouble

Chapter three: Newt's Commute

Chapter four: The Cemetery Gates

Chapter five: Brains!

Chapter six: Sleepwalking

Chapter seven: Katrina Makes Waves

Chapter eight: Ghost Busting

Remember! The novel is being posted friends only - so if all you can see is this entry, you are either not logged in, or you're watching the community and haven't joined it yet.

16756 / 50000 words. 34% done!

Long after Newt the Intern had departed, Heck worked on his files. He studied his upcoming cases, and took notes on what compounds he would need to prepare for each situation. In a few cases, a little over the counter product like his patented Ghost-B-Gone would work just fine - but there were some that needed his full attention. A full day ahead - and he was glad that he'd have assistance. Hopefully the intern would prove worth his salt, and have a bit of competency to boot.

Heck headed for his laboratory in the basement with the checklist of supplies he'd need.

The basement was arranged according to purpose - there was a table for mixing and boiling and brewing, that reminded Heck a bit of a mad science lab - only without the madness, at least most days. There were tubes and beakers and burners, some bubbling with compounds that needed to be set on a slow burn for a few days before they distilled properly. Overhead hung all the usual plants, bound up in bunches and drying to a proper consistency - mugwort, mistletoe, holly, belladonna and foxglove, burdock and dill. Opposite all the breakables was the assembly table, for those situations when he brought work home that had to be pieced together or stitched up. A set of tools rested in a case by that table- some that a surgeon would envy the sharpness of for all the fine detailing, others like mallets and saws applied to a cruder purpose. Behind the table and tools sat the refrigerator and the large freezer, for keeping things fresh. Wouldn't do to let things rot, after all.

An assortment of jars sat atop the refrigerator, filled with murky liquid compounds - in most cases, a mixture of preservatives natural and chemical. Lining every wall that had some spare space not taken up by all this, there were shelves. Some contained powdered and chopped components, others had stacks of books - their spines cracked and bent, their pages yellowed with age. They were earmarked, and book marked, and had notes in the margins - the meanings of which were primarily only comprehensible to Heck. As he strolled down the stairs, he flicked on the overhead light. He checked all the boiling and bubbling things, adjusting the fires where needed, adding a bit of ginger here, a pinch of acrimony there. He checked the state of several herbs, picking out the ones that had dried sufficiently and taking them over to the work table to chop fine and store away in jars, labeling each appropriately then finding room for them where he could.

Heck then set to work on his checklist - pulling his Battle Box out from under the table to fill it with what he'd need. The Battle Box resembled an old-fashioned doctor's bag, leathery and black, with straps inside to hold bottles, jars, and tools in place. He hummed to himself as he started to pull things from the shelves to place into the Box - quite distracted by work until he heard familiar footsteps on the stairs. He sighed inwardly, but put on his best cheerful tone, without turning around. "Good evening, dear sister! I thought you'd headed home for the day..."

Charmaine paused when she got to the bottom step, and settled down to sit on it. "I did. And when Rhonda went home for the day, she called me and told me you were still working."

Heck groaned, and waved a sprig of witch hazel at Charmaine in hopes that it would make her go away. It didn't, of course, as its many wondrous properties did not include Protection From Sister.

"You need to slow down, Heck. Do you want to wind up like Abuelo?" Though her tone was sharp, her eyes showed her concern. Heck looked away.

"I have work to do, Char. It's the busy season! Only a month or so to Halloween, and everyone wants to raise a little something for the occasion. Not to mention, all the specters and ghouls that are getting geared up for their big night. It'll only get busier from here. Have you seen the salamander eyes?"

"They're right up there next to the wormwood," Charmaine said, pointing. "And do you know what time it is? It's almost midnight."

Heck hadn't been aware of the time, and he hesitated slightly as he pulled the eyes. They all seemed to be looking at him now, matching his sister's accusing stare. "Well, I'm almost done here. Just getting ready for tomorrow. Our intern's first day - and won't that be exciting?"

"Are you sure the college sent someone competent?" Charmaine asked, dubious. Even though taking on an intern had been her suggesting to begin with, she hadn't been part of the arrangements and her earlier run-in with the kid hadn't filled her with great amounts of confidence. Not that they had to pay him or anything, but if he was to be a help to Heck, he had to at least be able to hold a jar without dropping it. "What's his name again? Andrew something?"

"Newt," Heck supplied. "His name is Newt. And he'll do fine! Kid seemed to me like he was just dying to get into the business."

Charmaine rolled her eyes at the old pun. "He seemed to me like he'd be better off interning with the illusionist, doing party magic and getting sawed in half."

Heck snorted as he dropped the eyeballs carefully into a bubbling solution. They sizzled and crackled, and let off a faint wisp of red-tinged smoke. "Party magic? Please! Newt seems like a natural to me. That boy had necromancer written all over him. "

"In invisible ink? "

"No, metaphorically speaking - but certainly, I can tell - he's got the Gift. Wait until he gets here tomorrow- you'll see! He'll be raising cain and rattling bones in no time."

"Well, maybe." She was still dubious about the kid, but if Heck said so - it was usually so. At least as far as necromantic matters were concerned. Much like their parents, Charmaine had been born without an ounce of talent for any of the magical arts. All the necromantic talent from their grandfather had gone straight to Heck.

"Go home," Heck said, making a shooing gesture. "I'm almost finished here, then I'll go to bed. Get some work of your own done- how's the book coming?"

"Pretty well," Charmaine said, forcing a smile as talk turned to her latest work. There were the talents she had inherited - a gift for illustration, and writing. In addition to his primary career of Necromancy, Abuelo also wrote and illustrated children's books. His Z is for Zombie was still one of the best selling books for the preschool set - a fitting legacy to the man. Charmaine hadn't exactly followed in his footsteps for subject matter, however. Her books involved living children, usually learning some important lesson. Somehow, they never seemed to sell all that well - but she was hopeful one day she'd hit on the perfect concept and her career would really take off.

Until then, she supplemented her income by helping out at Necrotic Technologies, doing such important tasks as bookkeeping (Heck was terribly bad with the numbers), and keeping her brother from working himself to an early grave.


Heck looked up from packing a jar into the Box. "There, all done - you see? Now come on, let's see a real smile..." He headed over to give her a hug, patting her shoulder comfortingly. "I'm sure this book will be a real winner. Publishers from all around will be lining up, fighting it out - coming to fisticuffs over who gets the great honor of publishing Charmaine Vargas."

Charmaine laughed in spite of herself, and leaned her head on her brother's shoulder. "Well, if any of them die in the process, I'll be sure to recommend you."

"It's a plan, then." Heck smoothed her hair back, then kissed her forehead. "Come on now, I'll walk you to the door so you can go get some sleep and I promise I'll do the same. We've got a busy day ahead tomorrow, and Newt should be here bright and early for his own the job training. You can even give him a nice orientation if you like." Heck imagined this would involve a lot of questioning, the occasional bit of yelling and 'don't touch this!', activities that his sister truly enjoyed. He knew she'd been kind of down about the books lately, so he was happy to provide the opportunity. Besides, that meant less work for him, and hadn't she just been saying he worked too hard? It was a truly masterful plan - at least to Heck.

"Oh yeah? Hm, alright - that should be fun." Charmaine brightened at the thought of that, and sprung to her feet. "Someone's got to show the kid the ropes anyhow." Never mind that 'the kid' was her age - it was her job superiority that counted!

Heck escorted his sister up the stairs, out through the office, and to the front door. "Love you - sleep well, dear sister."

"You too, Heck - right to bed, okay?" She waggled a threatening finger.

"On my honor," Heck said - and he intended to follow through with that promise. Eventually.

"Oh, and Heck -- " Charmaine paused in the doorway.

"Yes?"

"Real classy today with the Mayor," she said, shaking her head. "He already has it in for you- why do you keep baiting him?"

Heck pressed a hand to his heart. "You wound me. Right here. Ouch.... I would never! Perish the thought. It was simply an unfortunate incident - how was I to know he'd been carrying on with Penelope Henderson for the past twenty years or so?"

Charmaine eyed him suspiciously. "I don't know how - I just know that you did."

"Never! I swear. Dear old Mr. Henderson simply wanted his wife back for their Golden Anniversary. Is that so bad? I think that's rather sweet, really..." Heck smiled a dreamy smile. "Ah, love!"

"Well that love was a little messy when Mrs. H was throwing herself at the Mayor during the budget meeting," Charmaine said, not fooled for a moment by Heck's innocent look. "You'd better be careful, Hector. They're already on you about the house, and those ordinances you violated ---"

"A mere misunderstanding!"

"And that time the skeletons got loose...."

"Not my fault!"

"And the whole little 'incident' with the pet cemetery..."

"A boy and his dog- who could keep them apart?"

"And now this. I just don't want to see you losing the place, Heck. Hell, at this point, they may drum you out of town THEN tear the house down," Charmaine cautioned.

Heck made a big show of yawning. "Oh my, sorry- I'm drifting off here. You're terribly right about that whole need for sleep thing. I should listen to you more often. Good night, my dear - dream sweetly, and see you in the morning.

Charmaine allowed herself to be ushered out the door, but all the way home she still worried about Heck.

(Word count: 1844)

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 )