Damn witches! Am I seriously stuck in this Erlenmeyer flask of void hell for the rest of eternity?
If anyone living is reading this, make sure someone will claim your ashes after your cremation! Why? Because some unscrupulous funeral homes will sell unclaimed remains. And you may be thinking, “who cares, I’m dead. It doesn’t matter what happens to my ashes.” You NEED to care.
I can’t speak to all the various hells you could end up in, but you don’t want to be acquired by a witch. And I don’t mean the earth-magic Wicca type. I mean the hard-core black-magic master, that doesn’t have a problem drinking the bone and ash of the dead.
So when you’re dead, you can still learn things. Like I learned that human cremains are a potent ingredient in spells to prolong life. The secret to a witch’s longevity and youthful glow? Burned up dead people – bonus if there’s still some bone!
Into a vile potion go my ashes along with wormwood, mandrake, a cat’s heart, and mint (for flavor?). The witch drinks half of this potion after reciting an incantation that I would call “ominous.” And the other half of the “me” cocktail is poured into a jar and left to fester in her moldy root cellar.
All of this works for the witch because the spell or whatever pulled my soul back to my remains, and then she drank half of me! The other half of me waits in a jar until that witch bitch dies. And there are loads of other jars on this shelf. I may be here a while. It might be less unbearable if I could talk to the other trapped souls.