Second Chances

 Della’s business was always booming. As the town’s resident necromancer, she ran a little pop-up shop, Second Chances, just outside the cemetery. For the right price, she’d bring back the dearly departed, no questions asked. 

Today, a man with slicked-back hair and a leather briefcase strolled up to her with an urgent request. 

“It’s my boss, Arnold,” he said. “I need him back just long enough to sign these papers. I swear, he was this close to promoting me before he kicked the bucket.” 

Della squinted at him. “So… you want me to resurrect your boss. So you can get a promotion.” 

He shrugged. “It’s what he would’ve wanted.” 

Della waved him off and went to work. Minutes later, Arnold shuffled out of the grave, pale and groggy, adjusting to his brief time among the living. 

“Uh, Della, is it? Where am I?” he croaked, one eye twitching as he spotted his “loyal” employee. 

“You died, but it was a minor inconvenience for Mr. Slick here,” Della explained, deadpan. 

Arnold blinked. “Oh. Well, I suppose I should be—” 

“Sign here, sir,” the man interrupted, shoving a pen into his bony fingers. 

But Della grinned. “Oh, one thing: Resurrection contracts come with a little clause. You know, for quality assurance.” 

The man frowned. “What kind of clause?” 

“Let’s just say he’ll be following you everywhere for at least a year. Day, night… holidays. Arnold here gets… attached.” 

The man’s eyes widened as Arnold gave him a toothy grin, visibly decaying by the minute. 

"Promotion or not," Della said, “he’s all yours.”