Zombies and vampires, thanks to enthusiastic supporters on the one hand and a carefully calculated public relations campaign on the other, have never been more popular among mortals. But they are not the only corporeal undead. The Society for the Advancement of the Neglected Undead would like to remind you of the many other varieties that are often overlooked, discriminated against, or even endangered:

Liches, so called after the Norse lík for “corpse,” are powerful mortal spirits that retain their faculties and bodies after death or the completion of a powerful ritual. Contrary to the depiction in media of the skeletal or cadaverous undead being stupid and clumsy, liches are extremely intelligent and skilled: they are master necromancers and virtually immortal. Their body deteriorates only because it is a husk whose presence is an unfortunate necessity, as they have long evolved beyond any sort of personal vanity. But appearance-conscious mortals constantly recoil from them, shallowly, and accuse them of consorting with viler forms of undead. But who else are they to associate with

Wights, named from the High German for “unpleasant person,” are far less powerful and more ordinary spirits that remain bound to their bodies even after death through sheer force of willpower. While admittedly strong-willed persons can often seem unpleasant to observers, where would we be without them? In addition to being tarred with such an unpleasant name, wights can’t rely on sorcery or science to sustain them after death like liches can (though the more clever ones occasionally are able to ascend to glorious lich-hood). Instead, they must consume life energy stolen from the living. Merely touching a mortal can provide enough energy to sustain a wight for some time at the expense of only some nausea and one less day of life on the mortal’s part. Imagine the harmony that could be sown if wights could receive life energy transfusions just as mortals receive blood!

Ghouls, whose name comes from the Arabic ghul for “to seize,” have a stable source of life energy after death, usually due to being slain by unnatural means. But their bodies constantly deteriorate and, driven by trends and fashions left over from their mortal existences, strive desperately for biomass to replace that which is constantly rotting away. This desperation is behind their unsavory reputation as cannibals–though it should be noted that plenty of mortal cultures have practiced cannibalism in the past, shielded by busybody anthropologists. Mortals, as a race, have inert corpses to spare; surely some donations would go a long way toward building ghoul culture and civil society!

Ghasts, a term coined by noted friend and benefactor of the neglected undead H. P. Lovecraft, are ghouls who have been particularly successful and therefore begin to evolve in a new and wonderful direction. They become much cleverer, cast off many unnecessary and vestigial mortal features, and obtain others (like talons and fangs) most evolutionarily suited to their diet. Occasionally obtaining near-lich intelligence, they are the leaders of groups of ghouls, zombies, or wights and must feed somewhat less voraciously on a choicer selection of cuts from mortal flesh. It’s worth noting that they have nothing in common with the foul black death-dogs of Yorkshire, the barghests, aside from their mutually disagreeable odor to mortals and undead with noses.

And those are only the most common sorts! Mummies, animate skeletons, beautiful penanggalans, manananggals…there are all sorts of corporeal undead severely discriminated against and neglected in favor of trendy and popular vampires and zombies. So please, open your hearts, your minds, your wallets, and your rib cages to the Society for the Advancement of the Neglected Undead. We wouldn’t be caught dead without you.

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This post is part of the May 2014 Blog Chain at Absolute Write. This month’s prompt is “Take a Character, Leave a Character”

MELINDA: Hello and welcome to our program! We’ve got quite the show for you here today, as always! But first, let’s meet our panelists. First up is Ulgathk the Ever-Living, Elder Lich of the Seven Lands. Tell us a bit about yourself, Ulgathk.

ULGATHK: Well, Melinda, I’m currently a sitting member of the Council of Undeath, sole ruler and commander-in-chief of the Unholy Army, and Undersecretary for Foreign Affairs in the Obama Administration. In my spare time, I do volunteer work to help rehabilitate the public image of what I like to call the ‘neglected undead:’ liches, wights, ghouls, ghasts, and my other non-zombie and non-vampire brethren.

MELINDA: Touching! Executive experience, leadership, and volunteering? He’s a triple threat, ladies and gentlemen.

ULGATHK: I am a threat to all that lives or cools in undeath, Melinda.

MELINDA: Our next panelist is sure to be familiar to all you sports fans out there. It’s Tom Hicks, color commentator for NBS Broadcasting. Tom, I hear next season is looking pretty good?

TOM: That’s right, Melinda. I look forward to providing meaningless patter to help fill the otherwise dead air in between sacks, home runs, zombie attacks, and other pulse-pounding moments in sports.

MELINDA: And what would you say to people who call sports commentary boring or vapid? Are they wrong?

TOM: That’s right, Melinda. I would challenge those people to actually listen to one of my rambling monologues, delivered in a sports voice, during the interminable pregame show for a major sporting event. In addition to the usual useless statistics that assume causation, I touch on themes as universal as the philosophy of consciousness, artificial intelligence, and predestination as I am chained in that chair for hours on end with airtime to fill but no one paying attention. Unable to live, unable to die. Back to you, Melinda.

MELINDA: Also joining us on our celebrity panel is Dowager Empress Cnhyn Hallud of the Crimson Empire. Viewers of the popular reality show Princess Search know her as a judge there, but before that she was the 19th and final wife of Crimson Emperor Testarossa, plucked from obscurity for her beauty before outliving the Emperor by 40 years and counting.

HALLUD: The many splendid mushrooms of peace be upon you and yours, Melinda. I seek only to see the beauty in everything, especially that which has no beauty. For what is life but a journey of self-discovery and love and flowers and smiles and puppies and rainbows and love?

MELINDA: Dowager Empress Hallud, how do you respond to critics that call you out of touch, given your fabulous personal wealth and unimpeachable position as stepmother to Crimson Emperor Testarossa II, or criticize the Crimson Empire’s human rights record?

HALLUD: I don’t think about it for even a moment, Melinda. I was a lowly milkmaid until my beloved Testarossa executed his former wife in my favor; as a self-made and powerful person, I seek to help others realize the self-actualization and harmony with nature that I have already achieved. Human rights are but a fleeting shadow substituted for true enlightenment, as my old bocce ball partners Elena Ceausescu, Imelda Marcos, and Madame Mao would tell you.

MELINDA: Here in the corner, still in his neural interface suit and HUD rig, we have noted RPD (remotely-piloted drone) jockey and interstellar prospector Cameron “Cam” Hickson, RPD (remotely-piloted drone) jockey. Cam, I understand that RPDs use faster-than-light communications technology to remotely survey the far reaches of our galaxy with the human pilots safely back on Earth.

CAM: Bullseye, Melinda. Communications are fast, spaceships can be made fast, but we humans are awfully, awfully squishy. Space exploration becomes an order of magnitude easier and cheaper when you strip out the parts needed to keep humans from becoming chunky salsa.

MELINDA: So you sit at home and pilot your drone all day? What makes you any different from a gold miner in an MMORPG like Dungeons of Krull?

CAM: Well, for one thing, I am paid in cash for my surveying and prospecting, and I own my own rig, and I don’t have to kill a hundred kobalds to level up my piloting mojo. For another, when your character in Dungeons of Krull dies, you just respawn. There isn’t a chance of a neural feedback loop that might kill you. And instead of farming the same patch of ground endlessly, I–or, more accurately, my drone–am out there finding real things that will be actually exploited to make life better for everyone. Provided that claim jumpers and psychotic griefers don’t wreck my rig.

MELINDA: Perhaps our most distinguished panelist is next: French filmmaker Auguste Des Jardins, director of Les trois Juliets and multiple Oscar nominee and Palme d’Or laureate. Forgive me for asking, Mssr. Des Jardins, but didn’t you die in 1976?

DES JARDINS: A man must have his secrets, Melinda, and a filmmaker even more so. A wiser man than I once said that no one dies until the last person who knows them through their works can no longer remember; by that measure, I have never been more alive and have, I hope, many long years ahead of me.

MELINDA: Mssr. Des Jardins, your films are as divisive as they are critically acclaimed. There have been widespread reports of seizures, hallucinations, and out-of-body experiences viewing your cinema, especially your last film, The Sacred Cenote. Would you care to respond?

DES JARDINS: I will only say that filmmaking as a whole is a violent seizure, a vivid hallucination, an out-of-body experience of the most profound kind. It is a linking and a meeting of minds, of souls, and I was able to make only very gradual progress toward that ideal with my work. The Sacred Cenote came closer than all my other works combined to the true unity to which I realized I had been aspiring all along. If that makes people uncomfortable, there is always Jaws.

MELINDA: Splendid! Our final panelist was chosen from a pool of applicants to help add a more popular dimension to our program. Please welcome Odessa “Dessie” Mullin, paranormal enthusiast and native of Hopewell, Michigan.

DESSIE: Oh man, it is just such a huge honor to be here, Melinda! I watch this show so religiously that I really ought to be ordianed in it as a high priestess or something. I do just want to say, though, that ‘paranormal enthusiast’ is kind of a misnomer. I do love all aspects of the paranormal, but my first and truest love is zombies. And, in fact, I sometimes slip into a horrifying alternate dimension where the zombie apocalypse, or zompocalypse, has already occurred, and-

MELINDA: Ms. Mullin? I-

DESSIE: -it hasn’t done anything to decrease my love for those lovable brain-eaters. On the contrary, I love them more than ever! But I also love ghosts, and ghouls, and liches, and banshees, and wights, and ghasts, and barghests, and Ulgathk the Ever-Living, and…you know what? Maybe ‘paranormal enthusiast’ is an okay thing to call me after all.

Check out this month’s other bloggers, all of whom have posted or will post their own responses:
Ralph Pines
Sixpence
writingismypassion
Sneaky Devil
BBBurke

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The Crimson Empire has a large and expansive royal family, but has always recognized the absolute authority of the Emperor, as both ruler and Heirophant of the Crimson Tabernacle, to have a wife of his own choosing and to freely divorce her. This, coupled with the Crimson Emperor’s unquestioned ability to name a successor of his choice, means that most Emperors are serial monogamists, rotating between wives every few years to ensure a diverse pool of princelings and heirs.

A divorced Empress is stripped of her imperial titles but retains any she holds in her own right, and is guaranteed a pension for life. The Empress at the time of the Emperor’s death, however, becomes the reigning Dowager Empress and is provided with a much more generous stipend and the position of regent, should one be required. The combination of wealth, temporal power, and the luxurious Dowager Estates throughout the Empire make the position highly sought-after–so much so that many an Empress has poisoned her husband to rule the Empire in the name of a young son.

Dowager Empress Xicia is perhaps the most notable example, having served Crimson Emperor Doricus I a plate of poisoned mushrooms while she was pregnant and then ruling the Crimson Empire as Regent for 21 years before relinquishing the throne to her son Doricus II. Rumor still holds that Xicia substituted a peasant baby for her own when she delivered a stillborn son or a girl, though the prominent nose of Doricus II suggests that the child was a close relative of Doricus I at the very least.

The only thing which can unseat a Dowager Empress is if the sitting Crimson Emperor dies on the throne while married. In that case, the sitting Dowager Empress is immediately ousted, reverting to the status that she would have had in the event her husband had divorced her. This tradition does nothing to lessen the intrigue surrounding the position, as many Dowager Empresses have sought to poison or murder the wives of ailing Crimson Emperors to preserve their power.

But, as often as not, the position of Dowager Empress is used to live a life of dissolute luxury. Especially when an old Crimson Emperor marries a young Empress and then leaves the throne to one of her younger stepchildren. Freed from any reliance on their own funds, and with massive resources at their disposal, the parties thrown by the sitting Dowager Empress were some of the most legendary in the era of the Late Empire.”

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In my garden I grow fresh hours
As others might grow verdant flowers
I harvest fresh bouquets of seconds
To hang about as summer beckons
My minutes are coming in a bit small
Ground cuckoo fertilizer to make them tall
Though you say my garden is a waste of my time
I’ll keep my precious moments in green and rhyme

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As you know, each year at commencement it is Southern Michigan University’s pleasure to present the Ernest Smedley Distinguished Faculty Award. The recipient of this year’s award is Dr. Horace Butler, a dual appointee in our Biology and Pre-Medicine. As any of his pupils will tell you, Dr. Butler is a tireless advocate for his students. The nomination letters we received said that he is always available for consultations, day or night, rain or shine. He has answered students at 5am, on vacation in Hawaii, and from his hospital bed after a major car accident.

Dr. Butler’s dedication to helping his anatomy and physiology students is so great that he will cut open his own chest cavity to demonstrate how various human organs work. He has tirelessly pitched in up to and including distributing test answers, grading on a vertical curve, and allowing students to take his exams up to five times in practice.

And I would be remiss if I didn’t mention Dr. Butler’s volunteer work in the community. Because he hates his wife and children, he dedicates nearly every waking hour that he is not teaching to community involvement. Dr. Butler has put in over 1000 hours personally collecting, transporting, and spaying or neutering feral cats, dogs, and freshmen. He is the faculty advisor to the local campus chapter of the Illuminati, recipients of that organization’s prestigious Invisible Hand award and growing its membership from less than 10 to over 200.

Please join me in congratulating this year’s Ernest Smedley Distinguished Faculty Award winner, Dr. Horace Butler.

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Hey there party animal! We all know that spring break is a time to get your drink on and hang loose, but have you ever stopped to think about all those calories? College is a time of changing metabolism and expanding waistlines, dude, and all that drinking and eating and partying can really build up. Bulimia can only get you and your smokin’ hot babes so far, and as we all know the Freshman 15 can soon be the Senior 16 if you’re not careful!

That’s why Amazing Dude Tours (a subsidiary of Globomex Petroleum LLC GmbH) is pleased to offer the all-in-one inclusive DrillDive™ Experience, a combination exercise regimen and rustic getaway on the scenic Gulf of Mexico! It’s a well-known fact* that oil workers have some of the highest calorie burn rates of any profession in the world, and that their no-frills existences and low-calorie foods meshed with the natural beauty of the Gulf give them some of the highest job satisfaction rates in the world.**

With DrillDive™, you get to participate in the same fitness activities as oil workers in a controlled and welcoming environment aboard the Trapezoid Nowhere themed resort platform. Our level of verisimilitude is unparalleled, yo: you’ll swear that our efficient hot bunking, simulated well capping and pipe welding, and “high-risk”† diving inspection and repair programs are the real deal. Once you’ve signed our totally rad nondiscolsure agreement†† you’ll be whisked away for an unforgettable one-week getaway on the gulf that will have you as fit and trim as you’ve ever been. And our exclusive oil treatments for exposed skin are guaranteed to help combat the aging process, sun damage, and dozens of other disorders that serve to fade the youthful glow of your skin.‡

Drilldive™: the combination spring break getaway experience and weight-loss experience that all your friends will be talking about for years to come.‡‡

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April 2-May 29: Faced with repeated complaints about fire ant infestations in buildings abutting the quad, Landscape Services repeatedly poisons anthills in the large grassy area using both commercially available products and those sourced from professional exterminators.

May 29: In preparation for the three-day holiday weekend, and in acknowledgement of the lack of recent complaints, Landscape Services ceases its poisoning campaign against the fire ants on the quad.

June 1: Returning students report an “odd” structure in the middle of the quad. Analysis of cell phone photographs shows a small anthill with uncharacteristic “holes.” Landscape Services takes no action, as the observations are not complaints and many employees remain on vacation.

June 2: The first reports of invasive fire ants in buildings bordering the quad come in. Landscape Services dispatches fresh poison; workers report that the anthill has grown to nearly a foot tall and is made of a material that resists crushing. Landscape Services delivers the poison, but the crew is severely stung in the process.

June 3
: Members of the Landscape Services ground crew are rushed to the hospital in anaphylactic shock due to lingering effects from fire ant stings. The remaining employees refuse to venture onto the quad to lay more poison, which seems to have had no effect.

June 4
: The first deaths occur from allergic reactions among the initial ground crew. A commercial exterminator is contracted, and entomology experts are brought in. The structure on the quad is now approximately three feet tall. Buildings with an infestation are closed, and the quad is roped off.

June 6: Entomologists at the state agricultural annex, after examining the ants, report that they seem to have developed a resistance to most commonly used pesticides. Furthermore, a form of hardened mound-building most commonly seen in tropical termites appeared to have spontaneously evolved in the local fire ant population–explaining the 6-foot tall structure that now dominated the quad.

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The stranger entered the Juarez bar with a jangle of spurs, a cloud of cigar smoke, and a faint but audible twang of guitar strings. He had a hard face with a hard life writ large upon it, hovering over a sweat-speckled ranch hand’s shirt and below a beat-up Stetson that was at least as old as disco.

He trudged over to the bar, slouched upon it, and ordered the strongest drink on the menu–a boilermaker made from tequila and whiskey–by flicking his thumb at the menu. The bartender opened his mouth to protest, but upon seeing (and smelling) the man before him, he thought better and served the drink unquestioningly.

“Tell me,” the stranger said in clear but accented Gringo Spanish after slamming back the sledgehammer cocktail in a single drag. “What do you know about Señor Guerrero?”

The bartender’s eyes widened. “Nothing. Nothing at all!”

“Let me tell you a story,” said the stranger in a rough voice braised in the harshest of liquors. “I have traveled many a long and weary mile on this earth in search of one thing, and one thing only. I want the best, and people who get between me and it tend to end up in the hospital if they’re lucky, the morgue if they’re not. I have heard that Señor Guerrero is the man to talk to about this in these parts, and that his product is stronger and more pure than that of his competitors.”

“But-” the bartender started.

“I’ve tried what his competitors have to offer and found it wanting,” the stranger continued, growling out the Gringo Spanish as if it were a series of hard watermelon seeds. “So you will tell me where I might find Guerrero and his product, right now. Or you’ll be seeing the inside of a white room of one kind or another very, very shortly.”

His hand trembling, the bartender held out a faded and warn business card for Señor Guerrero’s Secret Taqueria featuring the Hottest Tacos and Taquitos in the World. The stranger took it without a word, paid his bill, and left.

“Soon,” he murmured, patting his belly even as he felt the great taco hunger rising within his gullet once more. “Soon.”

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“As you are aware, we have been asked to read a statement from the Continental Football League,” said CFL play-by-play announcer-at-large Carl Drake.

“That’s right, Carl,” added Tom Hicks, his color-announcement partner-in-crime and Gal-Friday. “We have the somber duty, as designated neutral third parties, to announce to you that Ulysses Calhoun, who you may know as the star forward of the Southern Michigan University Fighting Grizzlies, has failed to report for duty at the Richmond Squires spring training camp.”

“This constitutes evasion of the CFL draft, one of our nation’s most sacred institutions,” continued Carl Drake sorrowfully. “Those of you with a passion for history may recall that the CFL has not had a draft dodger since ‘Dike’ DeSilvo refused to report for training with the Iowa Caucuses in 1972, and that no draft dodging player has been convicted and sentenced since ‘Kiddie’ Voles failed to appear at the Birmingham Klansmen’s Grand Wizard Stadium in 1923.”

Tom Hicks, his head lowered, pursed his lips. “That’s right, Carl. It is our sad task to inform you that Ulysses Calhoun is now considered a fugitive from professional football. Under CFL Bylaw #237-B, it is hereby prohibited for anyone to give him aid or succor, and it is further required that anyone seeing Ulysses Calhoun or with knowledge of his whereabouts must come forward with this information. Failure to do so will constitute a violation of CFL Bylaw #237-B, and any such persons will be held as equally guilty of draft dodging.”

“While we urge the public’s help in assisting in the apprehension of this draft dodger, we must caution that Ulysses Calhoun is to be considered unarmed and dangerous. Do not approach him. We also wish to avoid a repeat of the unfortunate incident from the 1955 CFL draft when Swedish recruit Diks Vloeide was accidentally lynched on his way to training camp after a rumor emerged that he was a draft dodger.”

“That’s right, Carl,” sighed Tom Hicks. “Do not approach, confront, or attempt to apprehend Ulysses Calhoun. Report his location to the nearest local branch of the CFL armed forces and take shelter until the CFL Special Operations Group has had the opportunity to deploy. These dedicated professionals, many of them CFL veterans themselves, have the necessary combat, sport, and large animal handling experience to apprehend Calhoun and bring him to justice.

“The CFL Special Operations Group has honed their skills reining in CFL players during drunken escapades, drug binges, outbreaks of roid rage, and the rare, regretful circumstances when a player breaks containment and is allowed to roam free among the populace,” said Carl Drake. “Report any sightings, let them do their job, and soon we will be able to put these unfortunate events behind us.”

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My fellow Minosians, no one can deny that the Magick-Industrial Revolution has made our fair city a more technologically advanced and wealthy place to live. Life has never been easier with sorcery now available to all from the haughtiest hierophants at the Temple of Clohl to the most miserable congregants gnawing on day-old holocaustberry pies at a Savage Pie Hole franchise. Nevertheless, I must call upon our fair city to turn a keener eye to the effect that the rampant and unrestrained use of magicks has had on our environment.

But the soot caused by the Incantation of EverFire can only be removed with crushed Essence of Diamondroot, which is rare and expensive. Smog and soot from cantrips like Coldburn, Major/Minor Heat Liquid, and Illuminate Self chokes our skies and our streets with purple eggplant soup fog. Familiars from the Dimension of Magick have been turned loose and now breed feral and wild, displacing our native fauna–and we all know about the choking swarms of Hellweed that follow upon the improper disposal of material components imported from the Dimension of Infernis.

Those of us who are of like minds in confronting these challenges have formed Minosians Against Magickal Abuse (MAMA). We meet once a fortnight at the original Savage Pie Hole location in the Ragpicker’s Quarter. Look for our broadside, and ask yourself whether or not a Minosia in which you can see the sky even on a day when the winds are not right is something worth striving for.

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