THE WIDOW, NECROMANCER, AND A DEAD HUSBAND'S FORTUNE UNFOUND

The bereft widow pays a small fortune to a necromancer to resurrect her recently deceased husband; not because she loves him or can’t live without his presence in her life. The stingy bastard didn’t leave her the secret location of all the gold and silver he stashed away during their twenty-year union. Not even his most trusted Estate solicitor is privy to where his fortune abides.

The stingy bastard had always lived a frugal life. If she hadn’t possessed wealth of her own, she would have looked like a penniless pauper their entire married life.

She is forced to sell family heirloom jewelry to maintain the lifestyle of the Social Elite that she’d always been accustomed to since birth.

She had married the tightfisted son of a bitch, not for love---- But for his reputed wealth. He had been twenty years her senior the day they made the union official. Her expectations were that her darling husband would be dead within a decade. She tried her very best to get hubby to live an unhealthy lifestyle, but the stubborn bastard kept to his healthy routine.

Next, she tries fucking him to death, because she wanted to have a baby---- one of twelve---- and start their family. He gave as good as he got. Twenty years later she remains barren. Hubby suggests that they should adopt. She wanted to keep trying. In the end, she’s grateful to whatever Powers watching over her remaining childless. She would not have to share a single copper of her inheritance.

Hubby’s away on a business trip. She’s notified by the Prefect of Police himself and in person that something untoward has befallen her husband. He escorts her to the Lincoln Township where she has to identify his body. She almost shouts with unbridled joy when she eyes his corpse on the metal slab in the Coroner’s Examination Room.

After making funeral arrangements and provisions for the corpse to be shipped home, she allowed the Prefect of Police to comfort her seven times on the train ride home.

So, she hires a necromancer to reanimate her dearly departed to lead the way to the undisclosed location of her treasure----

For the next fortnight, the widow and necromancer followed the shambling gait of her stumbling dead asshole of a husband, hoping in his UnDead state that he’d retrace his steps and lead them to his treasure.

It is the height of the dog days of summer. The air is smolderingly hot and sultry. To the widow, it’s like attempting to walk through invisible, soggy cotton. She’d like nothing better than to rip of her sweltering ensemble and jump in the deliciously cool wading pool back at her manor. But she doesn’t trust the necromancer to be left on his own; he’d probably run off once he found her hidden inheritance.

Her dead husband is beginning to smell foully awful, attracting thousands of swarming flies. Maggots start appearing all over his corpse. The necromancer informs her that they need to take him out of direct sunlight and rest him in an ice bath for at least a week. Ice! Holy fucking shit! Ice in the middle of summer will cost a fucking fortune!

She gave her husband’s corpse a Nine-day respite in an around-the-clock ice bath.

The necromancer bathes the corpse in a mixture of herbs and sticky honey laced with Bella Donna. He hires three street urchins to provide shade and shoo away the swarming flies.

When they’re back at the hunt, the smell emanating from the corpse is tolerable. Any of the swarming pests that land to deposit eggs, expire within seconds after taking flight. The three urchins earn their daily pay of five coppers by providing the cooling shade and repelling the swarm.

As the maggots begin to appear, they’re trapped in the gooey coating of herbs, honey, and Bella Donna.

Soon, the corpse is covered in lifeless pupae.

That night as the widow and necromancer relax at her manor, she becomes quite upset with the lack of progress in locating the hidden treasure. She punches him in his decaying face, dead center in his nose.

It falls off, exposing the thousands of dead maggots clogging his sinus cavity.

She backhands the deceased across his right cheek. The flesh splits, revealing bone, jaw, and teeth underneath.

The necromancer says not a word. He applies a sort of spackling paste to the tear, and, in seconds, the cheek appears good as new.

More sweltering days of aimless wandering through the city.

The corpse begins to disintegrate right before their eyes. The three urchins take turns collecting the errant pieces. The left ear falls off. The right leg below the knee is bent askew. His head flops off, rolls into the street and is crushed like a ripe pumpkin. The left eye shoots out of its socket and splatters on the widow’s bodice. She screams in frustration.

The necromancer tells her that their search is over. Without the head, he cannot direct the deceased.

The widow pays the urchin, throwing in ten extra coppers as a bonus.

The search party departs in separate directions, leaving the corpse lying in the street.

The widow arrives home just as a Postman stops his cart right before the entrance to her estate. He hands her a Registered Letter and has her sign the receipt. A tip of his broad-brimmed Postman’s cap, her bids her adieu and departs.

She tears open the envelope and pulls out a single sheet bearing her husband’s pigeon tracks.

My dearest wife,

By now I expect that you hired somebody to help you find your missing inheritance. Don’t bother. The gold and silver are with me. I’m not actually dead. I am far, far away with your niece, and we’re lounging on a wind-swept beach enjoying Mai Tais. You are welcome to attempt to locate us. We’re honeymooning on one of ten thousand islands somewhere in the Summer Sea.

One more thing…. Congratulate us, your niece is expecting our first child!

With warmest regards, your former husband.

The wail of a wounded animal echos well into the early evening on posh Manor Row.