Necropotence

XI.


Those were all my changes. Maybe you’re sitting in my attic and you’re the first person to come across this monumental discovery. I can’t give you any more of the names on my list or reveal my plans for the future. You understand, I’m sure. Although I have the forces of the underworld on my side, I can’t have anyone meddling in my affairs.

If you’re the detective type and you have some great sense of right and wrong, I can imagine you’ll probably be on your way out the front door of my empty house to contact the authorities.

Maybe you are the authorities. My place has been condemned for so long that society has been forced to notice. In that case, good luck. You’ve never seen my old face, much less the face of my youth. Will you take this dirty journal to a precinct and place it in a folder where it will grow cold over the next twenty years until the statute of limitations expires?

Or, perhaps there’s a chance that you’ll change your routine.

Look around. I’ve left the stone in the basket of my old Schwinn in the corner of the attic. To have any chance of chasing me, you’re going to have to reject mortality.

Will your magic be potent enough to find me? How much are you willing to bleed?

Will you bleed for justice, or become one with the dead like me?

Do your research. Without enough necropotence, you’ll be nothing when you finally face me.

(This is the final part 11 of a series of journal entries for this story, written by Violent Harvest)