I guess it could go without saying that I owe a great deal of thanks for this story to Simon.

If you need a reminder, you can find out all about Simon right over here (Part 1 and Part 2 respectively, go ahead and read all about Simon, I’ll hold your place for you).

If it wasn’t for Simon, I probably wouldn’t have even remembered how to raise the dead at all.

So who is Simon actually, well if you want to get right down to it, Simon is me.

He’s this little fellow that lives inside of my brain, probably not much older than 7 or 9 years of age. In truth, I hadn’t met him before the day when I went wandering through my skull looking for a story to share, when I had multiple things happen at once.

I was pondering over my keyboard when one line popped into my head.

Nope, there is absolutely nothing special about Simon.

It was at that exact moment when the Italian Greyhound

who happens to be nestled to my left hand side for the majority of any moment in the day, decides to inform me that it is time to walk around the yard for a moment or 12. Now on normal occasions if this had been her first nod about going outside, I had a bit of time before her reminders become incessant. Alas, I had used up my time of putting her off to go outside until the last possible second…  it had now becomes that very second and dang it all it was either take her out or clean the carpet (again).

I set down the keyboard, tethered her securely to my wrist with the leash and headed out the front door only to be greeted by brave wildlife that stood at attention at front of my door.

I am exaggerating somewhat, it was in fact one lone squirrel who proceeded to scamper out of dog range in time so as not to be caught up within the mighty jaws of Zoey the terrible (In our eyes terribly cute, in their eyes terror on paws) and she pulls… or should I say zips with speed and accuracy of a flung crossbow bolt. I barely had time to shut the door behind me as that 11 pound terror on stilts flings herself off in an aerial ballet only made stooge-esque because of the leash. She hops, drags, and pulls me towards the palm tree where the young squirrel scampers up leaving me to wait out Zoey’s ever decreasing interest for the next bit of whatever happens to cross her path.

As I stand under the tree I remember standing under trees as a youth, having much time to myself being an odd sort of child, yet really had hoped for better, and remembered I would create these silly little songs based on whatever church melody happened to be running through my head at the moment, and I would sing them to the trees… and more importantly the squirrels.

In the now mythical wonderland to be found in the backyard of my youth, there lived a troupe of squirrels, and it just so happened that they seemed to enjoy my singing. In truth I don’t know why as I have had trouble holding tunes in buckets since before I knew (and forgot) how to read sheet music (though I can still find middle C and peck my way around). I can’t tell you why they would come down their trees to peer at the odd little boy who sang songs to them or the trees. Back then I may have said any number of things, one about as true as the other and not necessarily true at all.

All I know is they came down the tree whenever I sang and ran from anyone else.

As I watched the formerly brave squirrel from my front porch remain ever so still nestled some 25 ft off the ground safely within a notch between the branches and the trunk, Zoey lost her interest in her prey and we proceeded to find our way around the block.

As she dragged me around checking the pee-mail, making a couple of deposits I had to tend to, terrorizing dogs 5 times her size or body mass, and exploring little holes with a puff of air from her snout I had another memory that I had almost forgotten entirely, a memory of a miracle on the very first day I had ever raised the dead.

After discovering that I could resurrect the dead, I ran from my discovery and never told a soul about my macabre miracle. It was fear I say, nothing more than fear of the fires and the marauding townspeople with pitchforks, and other various (and quite painful) pieces of farm equipment.

When we finally reached the condo Simon’s two part story was crafted in my mind, and within days I had fully envisioned a graphic representation of a Children’s Book of Necromancy, I wrote out my notes.

I knew I had to create this book… A Children’s Book for Adults, and it could only have been possible with the assistance of Darcy Melton, her creativity and dedication to perfection helped encapsulate the intended vision of this book.

Want to know more about this project?

Check out the official website Necromancy 101

It took a little over 1.5 years to bring it to you, and I hope you will enjoy.

Sincerely,

Debrin Case

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