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Almost Alive: NDP Award Winner for 2016 Spooktaculary Story in FF Category!
My name is Cal Thomas. Well, technically it's Calla, not Cal, but the Devil himself won’t be able to help you if I catch you calling me that. If my parents wanted to name me after a flower, they should've stuck with Lily - not that Lily's much better than Calla. Closer to normal, at least. Anyway. I'm Cal Thomas, and I'm a paranormal investigator. For all intents and purposes, I'm a bounty hunter: I operate on the fringes of supernatural law, and the police like me about as little as I like them.
The thing is, ever since a few years ago when the ghouls and fairies and wizards and other magical creatures and the like came out of the shadows and into the mundane world, the police have had more trouble than they can handle. So, there're people like me, who bring in the rogue were-rodents, the unlicensed magic practitioners, and even the odd mundane lawbreaker when things get slow.
The pay’s crap, of course, especially considering the kind of people you end up crossing - believe me when I tell you it’s no fun to be on a hedge witch’s bad side. But it’s a job, and it’s more interesting than bagging groceries or waiting tables, which is about all I’m qualified to do. The government requires that you take a six-week course before you can call yourself a paranormal investigator, but I could’ve forged my certification for all the good it’s done me in the field.
We’re supposed to call the cops who specialize in supernatural stuff if things get out of hand, and I guess that's what I should have done when I found out the perp I was after was a necromancer. I’m stubborn, though, and I needed the money in a pretty bad way. One can only go without electricity for so long before it gets inconvenient at the very least, so I charged ahead with all the confidence of the oblivious.
Anyway, the small-time wizard I’d agreed to bring in turned out to be a small-time necromancer instead, and the graveyard where I cornered him, didn't help the situation at all. Once he’d raised a few of the dead, I definitely had a lot more on my hands than I would have liked. I was tempted to turn tail and run to the nearest supernatural-equipped station to give a report when the situations became..interesting.
The thing is, ever since a few years ago when the ghouls and fairies and wizards and other magical creatures and the like came out of the shadows and into the mundane world, the police have had more trouble than they can handle. So, there're people like me, who bring in the rogue were-rodents, the unlicensed magic practitioners, and even the odd mundane lawbreaker when things get slow.
The pay’s crap, of course, especially considering the kind of people you end up crossing - believe me when I tell you it’s no fun to be on a hedge witch’s bad side. But it’s a job, and it’s more interesting than bagging groceries or waiting tables, which is about all I’m qualified to do. The government requires that you take a six-week course before you can call yourself a paranormal investigator, but I could’ve forged my certification for all the good it’s done me in the field.
We’re supposed to call the cops who specialize in supernatural stuff if things get out of hand, and I guess that's what I should have done when I found out the perp I was after was a necromancer. I’m stubborn, though, and I needed the money in a pretty bad way. One can only go without electricity for so long before it gets inconvenient at the very least, so I charged ahead with all the confidence of the oblivious.
Anyway, the small-time wizard I’d agreed to bring in turned out to be a small-time necromancer instead, and the graveyard where I cornered him, didn't help the situation at all. Once he’d raised a few of the dead, I definitely had a lot more on my hands than I would have liked. I was tempted to turn tail and run to the nearest supernatural-equipped station to give a report when the situations became..interesting.
40 pages, Kindle Edition
Published October 28, 2016
1 person want to read
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