Why am I doing this again? the anonymous person asks themselves, Oh right. Because I thought it would be awesome to become an agent. they give a long sigh, What was my young 17 year old mind thinking?
A man walks across a worn sidewalk, his milky brown hair being rustled by the cold autumn air. His angled cheek bones flushed pink as he fought with his mind, walking unconsciously to his destination.
He held onto his military styled long coat and huffed while furrowing his brows and giving a slight pout. His leather boots made a soft sound, light clicking against the concrete.
"Let's get this over with." he said as he came to a stop at a manor.
This was an old, time worn manor. A beautiful piece of time, full of memories of when the place seemed to be stuffed with children of all ages living their lives, oblivious to the world.
This was Haswood Manor. Or as many called it back in the 90's: Death's Playhouse.
Why give it such a dark name? After all, it was just a home for children. Well, not exactly.
Haswood Manor was the home for exactly 37 homeless children who had special, abilities.
They were called devils for there abilities. For being different, peculiar, and for simply doing something that was as sinful as being a witch.
Brings you back to the Salem witch trials in 1692, when simply being a witch, even if no crime was done, was a death sentence.
Of course, warlocks would take offense to that. They don't want their wives and family to be burnt at the stake, drowned, impaled...you get the idea.
One might wonder, what was the ability that the children had that made them devils to the very humanly flawed society?
Necromancy.
The children were necromancers. It was all they were, all they knew, and all they would become. Born with the ability to ''raise, communicate and tell the future with the help of the dead'' in many different ways. They were necromancers by definition, but all unique in their own way.
Back to the young man standing by the side walk on a cold winter morning staring up at the house.
His name is: Heri Salemi. A young 19 year old agent of the local cop agency.
His reason for being there?
The station had received a tip from an unknown number, stating that there had been a murder around this street, and the main suspect was Haswood Manor.
Heri looked up at Haswood and sighed wistfully, small wisps of breath escaping threw his mouth as the winter approached. It was a wonder it hadn't started snowing with the temperatures so cold. He shook his head from his thoughts and stared up ahead, a hard look in his dull eyes.
"Well, here goes nothing." and so, he headed up to the porch.
Necromaniacs!
