Unholy Trinity: Afferte Voces Mortuorum ad Unum Quem Volo by Lanson Wells

Afferte Voces Mortuorum ad Unum Quem Volo

I recited the incantation from the ancient parchment. “Afferte Voces Mortuorum ad Unum Quem Volo.” Nothing happened, and I had just wasted seventy-five bucks on a dusty grimoire. That was three days ago, and I wanted him gone, badly. Our wonderful marriage had turned into a nightmare. So, in desperation, I cast a spell. But I didn’t want him dead. Last night, I dreamed of unintelligible guttural voices singing. This morning, there were only ashes left in our bed. Then I looked up the translation of the spell: “Bring the Voices of the Dead to take the One I Wish.”

Cut Through the Crap

“You have to cut through the crap and get to the meat of your story, or it’s unpublishable!” I heard these words repeatedly from my fat sweaty editor, Marvin. Even my unholy dead husband hated him. After my seventh novel, Bloody Entity, was published, I gave him a mug embossed with his stupid catchphrase. Sitting here, watching his blood drain into that insipid mug, I finally have retribution for all those lost words. Marvin enjoyed being mean, like my husband. Seeing him slowly dying in my bathtub makes me hope my next editor won’t dare force me to cut anything.

Subway Exit

I find the hypnotic rhythm of the subway comforting. I used to take the train to editorial meetings, and always found the heartbeat from the tracks soothing. This train is different. It’s dark, quiet, and the air feels thick. I also don’t recognize this car, and it just blasted past my stop! “Excuse me,” said a pale man, who looked sorta like my dead husband. “It is time for our exit,” he said, pulling the speeding door open. In my last moments before being splattered on the wall, I saw his hands were bare bones and he wore a badge: Mortician.