In old lore, necromancy is the craft of raising the dead. I don’t wander cemeteries in the dead of night, raising corpses from their graves, but you may call me a necromancer of modern times; death draws me in. It’s why I, like now, often find myself in, let’s say, dire straits?
Drabble: “Devil Take My Heart”
When we were small, we had in our backyard what we thought of as a field of sugar canes. It wasn’t that, of course, except for in our imagination. We have sugar beets, not canes, here in the Scandinavian North. Up until this day, I don’t know what those imagined sugar canes truly were – maybe bamboo or a type of weed? – but I do know that they were tall, green, round and juicy, and I also know that they made this delightfully crisp sound when we harvested them with our makeshift play-scythes. I remember those days vividly and with fondness, but I understand now, sister of mine, that you perhaps never saw those sugar canes, but that I, and only I, was the one who did.
Drabble: “Monster in our Midst”
Something lives in the basement.
It is my daughter who first tells me this, her eyes earnestly blue and so unlike my own.
She stands on her tiptoes and grabs my hand when I drop the fatty dough on the tabletop, flour rising up in an endless cloud of white – swirling, forever turning.
Who tells you this, I ask her, patiently, to which she replies that it was daddy, yesterday, during storytelling time. I say nothing. While I don’t believe that she’s speaking of our basement, I do believe that she is speaking of monsters, but as through the mouth of her father.
As to whatever that means…