The majority of those who walk the necromantic path are considered to be outcasts in one form or another. As hard as it may be to believe there was indeed a time when I was such a social pariah. Growing up as the grungy kid at the back of the class who cared little for the lessons and even less for his fellow students, I was even then drawn to darker things. While this may have been in the youthful sense that typifies the paranormal studies of those whose age forces a limited understanding of the wider world, I have no doubt that an eerie and unsettling cloud of hung over me like a shroud even then. And ever have the herd instinctively attacked the monster in their midst.
Bullied to within an inch of suicide, it became a constant struggle to stop the curse of empathy from robbing me of the very ignorance that other victims of repeated violence shelter behind. The ability to see deep into the hearts of those why hated me so forcefully was a weight almost impossible to bear. When you can smell what those vile little neanderthals are planning to do to you, if not exactly when it will happen, every day becomes an exercise in skulking between shadows. In that at least the bruises served to teach me well, my mind turning from capitulation to manipulation and the very empathy itself switching from a passive quality to something far deadlier.
Eventually I mastered how to shield myself from their hatred and turn it back on them. I held my own against the very people that had previously sought my destruction, exuding both charm and malice as the situation desired. And then, just when it seemed that the problem was solved, the dead arrived. Time spent dodging the fists and feet of my peers left me with the ability to sense the emotional spark that denotes a living person in my general vicinity. It was when I started to notice such points of light without an obvious physical shell that the penny dropped and consensus reality crumbled around my ears. The dead walked, and they were not alone.
It is through this technique that I experienced the majority of my contact with the various entities that inhabit this world with us in those now mythical years before I became a practising magickian. I guess in hindsight my long slide first into witchcraft and then eventually necromancy itself were inevitable. As was overlaying my previous distrust of social groups onto interactions with the discarnate. Some people seem to look into the spirit world with rose tinted reading glasses, spreading messages of peace and love without any real notion of the true intentions of the beings which they come into contact with. Frankly, they are fools.
Oh yes, not only do I remain highly suspicious of the entities that stumble across my path on a regular basis, but for me the very point of necromancy is to stand as the bulwark between the realm of the living and the underworlds of the dead. We who have chosen this blackened paradigm realise that there is no good to come from the breaking down of such fundamental barriers, nor should either side of that divide seek to freely interact with the other unless everyone participating, living or otherwise, is aware of the potential dangers involved. This statement is born of pragmatism, not elitism, because the veil exists for a reason.
The dead are not happy, honest or even particularly pleasant, yet most are relatively easy to be around. That said I have come across far darker entities more than once, not all of which could ever have been considered human in the first place. Nebulous astral beasts which made my flesh crawl and blood freeze. Awesomely powerful nature spirits filled with rage and pain at the desecration of their once pristine home. Graveyard guardians who raised the very death current against me whilst searching their ivy choked domain for supplies. And then there were the shadow people.
To this day I still don’t know what category to put them in, but know that they are almost impossible to stop and can turn very nasty if challenged. We have history, those damnable creatures and I, though that is a story for another time. Suffice to say that not everything that the necromancer faces when stepping beyond the mausoleum could be considered to be just another ghost, and as a result of the power that they exude there is a very real risk of attracting something that is way outside of their ability to challenge. But this is the razor’s edge that outcasts such as I dance along, for we view the end result more than worth the risks.