Just Another Day in the Unlife of a Blightican

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic


In the land of the frightful, and the home of the blasphemous.

Submitted: August 02, 2018

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Submitted: August 02, 2018

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It’s another glorious day; the mosquitoes are singing, the corpse mold is blooming into seasonal hues of yellow, and all is terrifying in the world.  Nothing is perfect, but everything is as close to perfect as it gets.  I can’t wait to begin the next chapter of the story that is my unlife.

Sulfuric clouds are aglow this morning as the bloody moon sits beside the beautiful, gray sun for a chat.  It’s perfect weather to take my barghest for a walk.  Hellhowl sure does love a good rampage after a long week in his pit.

I wave to my neighbors as we pass them along the cobbled street.  Mister Slasher waves back, trimming his cadaver garden as usual.  By this time next year they’ll be ripe for the corpse wagons.  That’s assuming the maggot migration bodes well.

Hellhowl seems to have something in his jaws.  What do you have there, fella?  No!  Bad barghest!  Bad!  Spit that human toddler out this instant!  You know those are no good for you.  Spit it out, or no souls for you.  Good boy.

Anyway, we’re coming up to the downtown area.  It’s so good to see the young ghouls walking to school.  You pursue that education!  So many of them will go on to be licensed necromancers and man-slayers.  Gosh, maybe one of them will grow up to be the next Arch Lich of the United Sepulchers of Blightica.  That sure would be swell.

Oh no.  It looks like the sky is clearing up a bit.  Might even end up being bright out soon.  It’s time to go home, Hellhowl.  We don’t want to get caught in the sunlight, lest we catch a warm.

We made it home and just in time, too.  Looks like the light is coming down pretty heavy.  Good for Mister Slash’s garden, though.  With enough light, they’ll be sure to rot to perfection.

Time to read what the newspaper has in store for me today.  The humans in the Middle North got hit with another plague?  Fantastic!  Pardon my Farspeak, but it’s about time those “hummies” got what was coming to them.  This is a life-free Blightica, after all.

Another interesting story on the next page: a war agreement signed with the Old Gods.  That’ll be good for the economy.  There can never be too much global devastation.

Also, alchemists are apparently close to unearthing a cure for resurrection.  That’s great news!  I lost my dad to resurrection a couple centuries back.  The necromancers had to disintegrate him after breath returned to his lungs.  I never did get over that.

The wife should be back from her day at the office soon.  It’s a shame I got the day off while she didn’t.  Work as a soul collector can be taxing for her.  I know!  I’ll brew her up some of my famous arm beef.  That’s guaranteed to put a smile on her face.

Let’s see…  Cut off my arm?  Check.  Roll it in mold?  Check.  Now I just need to slice it up into triangles, sprinkle some anathema, and let it thaw for an hour.  What’s up, Hellhowl?  You want the bones?  Here you go, buddy.  Your a hungry, little barghest.  Yes you are, yes you are!

Alright, what else?  Of course!  I should prepare something for dessert.  Digested brains should do the trick.  But where am I going to find gray matter at this hour?

Hello again, boy.  What’s the matter?  Stomach bothering you?  Oh.  Oh my.  It seems you barfed up some of that toddler you were chewing on before.  I told you it’ll make you sick.  Now I gotta clean it out of the skin-rug before…

What’s this?  Your a genius, Hellhowl!  You puked up just what I was looking for.  Good boy!  I’ll give you a treat after dinner tonight, but not a moment sooner.  Don’t want you to ruin your appetite, after all.

The wife is home.  Even after a whole day at work, she’s as hideous and terrifying as the moment I asked her to bury me.  Such a swell gal, that one.  We exchange death wails and I show her to the kitchen.  She keens like a banshee, and I swear I fall in love with her all over again.  How did a geist like me ever get so lucky?

We sit down, bow our heads and fold our claws in prayer.

“Xthaggamyog, thank you for this repulsive meal you’ve sacrificed thousands of souls for us this day.  Thank you for my wife, our barghest, and for our unlife as proud, happy Blighticans.  May we continue to reap misery and suffering to humanity everywhere.  In Flgchthlmgflhshmrkth’s profane, incomprehensible name, REE.”


© Copyright 2018 M. A. Yacone. All rights reserved.

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