I Was A Teenage Necromancer: Book One, #1

Chapter One

I CAN’T BELIEVE WHAT I just witnessed. People do crazy things, but you never truly believe anything will come of it. Nobody is that stupid, are they?

I mean, one moment we’re talking about using a Ouija board, and the next thing someone is suggesting that we go raise the dead.

If I knew then what I know now, I wouldn’t have even been there, but I was naïve, and now I am so afraid, so mind-numbingly a part of all this, that I fear even in death I may not escape them.

Let me start at the beginning.

HIS NAME WAS SIMON, and we met at a gathering of people dedicated to spiritualism, meditation, and all things ethereal. It wasn’t supposed to be serious, but I did not know some took it to such extremes. I had seen this poster on the walls of the Student Union in my first year at university. The walls were full of all sorts of junk, from learning guitar to going on charity walks, and none of them seemed particularly interesting. All I wanted to do was to have some fun, no matter how ridiculous.

It seemed like the only option, as it had been every day living in there, just drink, and once tipsy then I could have fun, doing, as usual, nothing.

As I was about to leave, I caught sight of something that mildly interested me, which was a picture of a pentagram. I’ve seen plenty of these before, but this one appeared to be hand drawn and had all kinds of details around it, including a particularly striking image of a snake, wrapped around it. The colors, dark green and a deep hue of red, seemed to stand out so much that I couldn’t take my eyes off it. Then my attention maundered to the text underneath; it said:

‘Join us for a fun night of Occult experimentation, drinking and craziness’

The exact wording seemed as if it was directed just at me, because it suggested the kind of thing I wanted, just differing from the norms. What sealed it for me was the small picture of the girl beside the text, dressed in a long, flowing black dress, and her hair so fine, skin so white. I know it seems sexist, but hey, I was a university student, and young too, so forgive me, please.

I didn’t make notes off the poster; I checked no one was looking and just snagged it, screwed it up, and shoved it into my pocket. Then, I went into the nearest toilet, opened it up, and checked it again. I felt odd sitting in there, in that little cubicle looking at a poster like that, but it intrigued me, and I wanted to know more - quickly.

All it said other than that was an address, there in Chester, where I was living and studying. I hadn’t heard of the place before, but I knew it was in an area of large houses, and that the place was well known for money, which I didn’t have, so I figured I would go. The date was the coming Friday, meeting up at nine at night. It seemed late, but I would be finished studies for the weekend, so it mattered little.

That was on a Tuesday. I couldn’t concentrate after that. My mind was elsewhere all the time, thinking of the odd things that we might do, and most of all, how I might get to see that attractive woman from the poster. I knew it might be a fake picture to lure people in, but still, at least then I could admit to myself for the first time that the reason I was going wasn’t just because of the alcohol, more that it was the chance some attractive women might be there.

The rest of the week dragged, but I found myself increasingly going into the library and looking up books on religion, superstition, and the Occult. I will admit I have never been the slightest bit interested in such things before, but being who I am I hate going into anything not knowing what was what, ignorant so to speak, so I tried to soak up a lot, the odd terms, and practices. It was obvious reading all of this that much of the subject was just an excuse to engage in sexual activity. That was fine by me!

I was so distracted I got removed from my poetry class; the teacher had asked me questions and my mind was so focused on what was to come that I wrote a sample of poetry, and it mentioned slaying cats and sex with a woman covered in blood. Being academic I thought the tutor would appreciate my openness, but no, such was the offense taken by not only him but others in the class I got asked to leave, to think things over and return another day when I had returned to my senses.

By the time of the next class, things would not only be much different, but I would be in another world altogether.

Chapter Two

I DIDN’T KNOW WHAT to wear on the night. It was Autumn, and dark, and I wondered if I should go there dressed in a black cape, holding a wooden staff. Then I realized it wasn’t an invitation to a Harry Potter convention, and that if they were indeed serious about this, my garb might offend them. In the end, I wore jeans, a t-shirt, and a hoodie, which of course was wrong because when I eventually saw them, they looked as if dressed for a dinner party.

The road leading up to those big houses is wide. You can tell the difference between money and poverty, just by how wide the roads are. Maybe in ancient times, they needed space for all the large carts or even tractors. I digress, but only because of how nervous I am recanting this entire thing.

There were no gates, and the front gardens, expansive as they were, appeared unkempt. I suspected it might be a dirty old man, looking to entice teenagers into his home, for his treats, not ours, but I didn’t worry. I figured I could look after myself.

The driveway was longer than I had expected, and as I approached the house, it was only then that I appreciated how large it was. I’d like to be able to say it was a Gothic-style castle, with foreboding stone statues raging at me, but in truth, it wasn’t anything like that; it was just a very large house, lots of bedrooms, bathrooms, garages, land. The kind of thing most of us never experience, except on the outside.

There wasn’t a doorbell, and for a place in such a wealthy area, it seemed run down. That alone should have pricked my conscience, but apart from internally deciding it would be an old man, I didn’t think of anything.

I knocked hard on the wooden door. It seemed dark inside, and there were no signs of life, so I just figured I would turn around and go back to my cramped one-room thing with an ensuite bathroom and a table and bed. I could sit there and stare at the walls—again.

Just as I was about to turn and walk away, the heavy door swung open, crackling as it did. It seemed dry and dusty, as if no one had opened it in so long it had grown together.

Standing before me was a man, no doubt in his twenties, dressed smartly, silk shirt, patterned tie, black trousers, and shiny black shoes. His blonde hair was slicked neatly back, and he stood as if he were modeling clothes on a catwalk. There was a minor yellowish light behind him, and further back through another door was a larger room, clearly with others standing looking on.

At this point I did become nervous because no, it wasn’t an old man before me; it was someone younger, taller, stronger, and if he had wanted to cause me problems at that point, I doubted I could do anything about it.

I never had a chance to say ‘sorry, wrong door’ or anything. He must have read the look on my face, because he jumped to attention, leaned out towards me, and offered this great, slick, smooth smile. His eyes glistened, and that alone made me more uncomfortable. I felt like an extra on a Christmas commercial, where at any moment he would slip out a bottle of coke and shout season’s greetings to me.

I felt lost for words, but he wasn’t.

Evening, what can I do for you? he asked. He didn’t have a drawn-out posh accent, no airs, and graces, but he did sound confident. I wished then that I had been drinking for a while, to get some Dutch courage.

I kind of choked, then swallowed hard, and all the while he waited patiently, his smile never wavering.

Eventually, I muttered something about the leaflet I had seen and what I was there for. At that point I trailed off, wondering if by magic the Earth might open up and swallow me whole.

It didn’t.

Instead, as warm, and welcoming as you can imagine, he insisted I should go in, and that I was very welcome, and the fun and festivities would begin any moment.

My name is Simon, and I am one of the hosts tonight. Anything you need, please just ask, a drink, anything, and I will tend to it immediately, he said, smiling like a game show host.

I truly wanted to leave. It seemed so wrong to me; I was so out of my depth. They were older than me, all dressed smartly, and straight away I could feel their eyes boring into me, that I was not only a stranger, but I was strange compared to them. In my mind, they were the odd ones, but I was hardly in a place to tell them that.

As I walked in, it was surprising to see how nice everything was, and normal. They had sofas, chairs, tables, lamps, everything like you would imagine. There were others there, a young couple, hanging together, and a woman by herself. Two other men were hanging around what I would imagine was the kitchen, the lights were brighter through the door to there, and it seemed like it, but for the entire duration of my stay, I refused to move far away from the front door.

I just stood, feeling terribly awkward. Then someone put a hand on my arm, and I jumped so hard I thought I was going to break something. I looked to my side, and it was a woman, the one from the poster. She looked even more beautiful than in the picture. Her hair was long, down her shoulders, and purest black, but shiny in the lights. She wore a long, flowing purple dress, but her arms were bare. I couldn’t take my eyes off her fine white skin, and as embarrassed as I felt, I just couldn’t look away.

Can I take your jacket? someone asked. It might as well have been the television speaking because I felt lost. It turned out to be Simon. When I looked at him, he was still smiling, and I knew they were all looking at me as I looked at her. My imagination was doing all the work.

No, no, I’m fine, don’t want to get cold, I replied, feeling stupid the moment I did, because the house was warm, and I didn’t need it. I guess a part of me felt that if, and when, I might need to run, I shouldn’t leave anything behind.

"Come on then,