The Resurrectionist

by A. Rae Dunlap

For one infinite, horrifying second, the corpse swayed gaily above our heads like some obscene chandelier before collapsing mere inches from where we’d landed with an unholy thud.

“What? Corpses aren’t unpleasant company. Rubbish conversationalists, but I can attest that they are excellent listeners.”

We are members of the league of men who call ourselves not by the mantle of snatchers, but Resurrectionists. Our motivation is not the value of the bodies we steal, but in the second life we give them; each acts as a post-mortem Prometheus, bringing fire to mankind.

when he spoke once more, his silver tongue wove a tapestry of lies so elaborate I could scarce keep my jaw off the cobblestones.