The Hanging Hill

41

Reginald Grimes sat onstage, slumped in a cushioned chair with snarling skulls carved into its armrests.

He was exhausted. Drained. Necromancy was tough work. It seemed the ritual sapped some of his life force and transferred it to the souls he summoned up from the dead.

“Where did Mr. Murphy go?” Grimes mumbled weakly.

Hakeem indicated the general vicinity of the air. “His spirit is now free to roam the theater, to haunt its dark and dismal places until such time as you command him to return to the nether regions below.”

“He comes and goes at my bidding?”

“Yes, Exalted One.”

“I see. And this makes me rich and powerful beyond my wildest dreams how?”

Hakeem smiled. “All in good time.”

“Bah!” snapped Grimes. “So you keep saying. How ever, I grow weary of your tedious retorts, these tiresome rituals. Not to mention the foul-tasting dog jerky! I want to know what’s locked in the final drawer of that show trunk, and I want to know now!”

Hakeem bowed obsequiously. “Patience is a virtue, Exalted One.”

“Well, I’m tired of being virtuous. I demand to know what you are keeping hidden from me!”

“Soon. First, you must also master the art of necyomancy.”

Grimes squinted. “Nec-yo-mancy?”

“Indeed,” said Hakeem. “It is very similar to nec-romancy but much more difficult. In necyomancy, you can call forth demons more wretchedly powerful than Mr. Mad Dog Murphy.”

“Demons?”

“The devil in human disguise. Souls of the purest evil.”

“I see.”

“However,” said Hakeem, holding up a hand in warning, “if necyomancy is done incorrectly, those summoned can quickly turn against the summoner.”

“And tell me: Did my grandfather also provide a list of evil entities to be beckoned forth from the deepest recesses of the underworld?”

“He did.”

Grimes rolled his good hand, gesturing for more information. “Go on. Give me a name.”

“Diamond Mike Butler. The Butcher Thief of Bleecker Street.”

“Is he a true demon?”

“It is why they called him the Butcher. Mr. Butler was a jewel thief who liked to burglarize the homes of the wealthy late at night so he could slay any children he found asleep in their beds. He used a meat cleaver. Chopped off their small heads. When spirits this vile are called back …” Hakeem hesitated.

“What?” Grimes demanded.

“They return more monstrous than when they were alive!”

“Did my grandfather ever dare to summon forth this monstrous soul?”

“Yes. Several times. However, he always sent him back to the underworld very quickly.”

Grimes stood from the chair. “Really? Well, gentlemen, let’s rejoin hands. We don’t want to keep Mr. Butler waiting. I’m sure he’s quite eager to make his triumphant return to the stage!”