BORIS

Boris sat on his own in the nether library. He had been meaning to read up on bone magic and manipulation of bodily remains through dark energies for some time but he always found himself too busy to do so. A necromancer like him had a lot of odd jobs to do and they piled up so much sometimes that magic itself was more of an afterthought. It was one thing to raise the dead but a completely different thing to MAINTAIN the undead and unfortunately there were no magics delicate enough to sew a cavity shut, polish a skull or to scatter a legion of leeches. As Boris finished reading the chapter, he picked up the Necronomicon to find its place back on the shelf when he had this pressing feeling that he'd forgotten about something today.

"Happy Birthday, Boris!" Everyone shouted.

All of a sudden, the dark and dingy depths of the nether library's walls were contrasted by colourful confetti. Boris's eyes widened as he dropped the Necronomicon he was studying from and skipped over to the rest of the cult.

"Did you get the candles right? Did you get the candles right?" He spluttered in joy as they revealed a large home-made carrot cake sporting 34 candles with icing on top that read:

Happy Boris Birthday

"You guys." Boris laughed peering at them suggestively through his dark hood as a compulsive smile cracked its way up one side of his lips.

"But before you have a bite, we all pooled in and... well, you'll see for yourself." Replied one of the dark hooded figures.

The figure reached into its robe and pulled out a square package wrapped brightly in glittery paper which was promptly handed over to Boris.

"Oh my Dark Lord, you didn't!" Boris whelped as he tore the paper away, his eyes widened further as he held the gift in his hands. "The Grimoire of Duns'kehzifilz the Defiler! You shouldn't have!"

"I heard you talking about it before entering the whore pits on Thursday." Croaked a sour voice from under one of the dark hoods.

They all Laughed.

"Well, I never thought a visit to the whore pits would satisfy me this much!" Boris tittered.

They laughed even harder, one of the cultists laughed so hard he had to hold onto his side and bend over with one hand on the floor stopping him from falling over.

"Because that's where we shag!" He wheezed.

"That isn't all Boris! Come with us, I think you'll be happily surprised!" One of the cultists yelped, trying to hold in his excitement.

Boris followed the rest of the cult into the halls of the dead. The place was really a very large catacomb where the walls, furniture and ornaments were all made of bone and remains but as Boris entered, he was surprised to see colourful banners along the walls and a disco ball hanging from a pelvis on the ceiling, almost every single skull had its own party hat as did the undead waiters.

"Oh my Dark Lord!" Shouted Boris again, sprinting towards the chocolate fountain and marshmallows.

"Wait, Boris!" Shouted one of the cultists, beckoning the legion of undead.

Boris turned around to see a choir of decaying animated corpses huddled together, each with a bright party hat. One of them had a fat maggot slithering out from under its eye.

A cult member stood before them all and started to move his hands as they all began to croak the deathly, inhuman sound the undead make when they speak. It was like the sound of nails scratching down a chalkboard mixed with the wretch of a burning vomit.

"Haaaaaapyyyy Burrrrfdaaaay toooo Yooooouu" They sang.

Boris held his hands over his mouth as he watched them singing and as the final zombie screeched the final syllable of the song he maniacally clapped as the undead waiter, Rigamortimer shuffled his way over on broken legs with a tray full of drinks.

"Spaaaarkling waaaater foooor the birrrthdaaaay boooy?" He hissed through his rotten teeth.

Just as Boris reached his hand out to take a glass – a silver bolt shattered it.

Everyone went quiet.

Boris looked down at the pieces on the floor and then up at Rigamortimer who was holding a giant novelty birthday boy badge which now had a large bolt sticking out of it.

Boris looked over his shoulder to see the large, spiney doors of the hall wide open and a legion of men strapped in leather and armed to the teeth with crossbows and stakes. One man standing before all of them with his crossbow drawn, he looked at Rigamortimer's party hat, then to the disco ball and then, finally, to Boris.

"Purge them!" He screamed and the legion fired a volley of bolts.

Boris stood in awe, watching them. He saw each individual projectile fire as if in slow motion. He remembered his cake, he thought about the party hats and the disco ball and then he remembered what he was studying earlier.

He outstretched his arms, the tips of his fingers peeking out from his long black robe and his eyes rolled to the back of his head as he focussed on the dark energies given to him by the Dark Lord Azkalzubar.
Suddenly, the bones making up the hall's walls snapped and cracked out of their places and spiralled towards the bolts, every single one was stopped in it's tracks and left only a mist of bone and torn party hats drifting around the place.

"Well I never. On his birthday!" One of the cultists spat.

"No bloody respect, these witch hunters and the like. They should have seen the balloon on the door!" Another replied.

"At least the disco ball's still up." Came another scratchy voice from the crowd.

"Well we'd better deal with this rabble. Someone put the cake back in the pantry of despair." Another wretched.

With this the cultists began to chant in tongues as the horde of fancy-dress zombies lurched their way past Boris and Rigamortimer and into the mist.

Boris turned back around to the rest of the cult, his hood down to reveal a balding, pale man in his thirties with a chubby face. He scrunched up his face and folded his arms, standing very stiffly as harrowing screams of terror echoed from the mist behind him.

"Oh, it's okay Boris." Came a sympathetic voice from one of the dark hoods. "We can still have the party after they're gone."

"They ruined my badge." Boris huffed.

There was an awkward silence between them all as a man with his entrails loose managed to crawl slowly out of the mist only to be dragged back in suddenly by a large, green hand.

"Put on your party hat, you'll feel better." Winced another voice.

"There aren't any left!" Snapped Boris.

Rigamortimer shakily took the hat off of his rotten, flaking head and held it out to Boris.

Boris looked at Rigamortimer''s hat. It said "Birthday Boy" just like the badge. He rolled his eyes and put it on his bobbly head and smirked.

"There's my smile" He giggled as the last horrific yell was quietened swiftly with a long cracking noise that seemed to go on a little too much longer than was necessary.

One of the cultists put both their thumbs up at Boris and laughed. "See, all better! And I think I've got an idea for our... guests.".

Boris lay in his bed later that night positively buzzing. After the incident they had continued on with the party, he had more presents to open and he had so much sparkling water he could have sworn he went for a fizzy wee but the best surprise was later in the evening when the rest of the cultists revealed what they had done with the witch hunters. Boris had never been on a skin coloured bouncy castle before then and he looked forward to seeing it again later in the year in the whore pit. He closed his eyes and fell soundly asleep.