Necromancy: Networking with the Dead-Part 3

Friday, May 27th, 2016


In the previous posts, I talked briefly about the different kinds of shadow spirits and how important it is to maintain a good working relationship with the spirits that you plan to call upon. As an example, let me tell you about a spirit that I’ve been working with for some time now. Someone who is NOT ancestral in the least. I know there’s probably a few people who will snicker or laugh about this. To this end, I assure you I am being most sincere and undoubtedly serious upon the matter.


I think everyone who knows me is aware of my huge love for horror and the macabre. Hell, I even named my son after one of the masters of horror (Vincent Price)! I don’t know how I really stumbled upon H. P. Lovecraft. My husband was going to college at RISD several years ago. I went to SVA in New York. I used to visit him in Rhode Island when I could afford the time and money. I really enjoyed my time there, except when I was constantly spirit bothered at night.

Seeing me haggard from lack of sleep, Jason nonchalantly told me that Providence, RI happened to be one of the most haunted cities in the USA. I think I wanted to choke him at that point. I remember one night waking up to someone hanging by a noose in the corner of the room staring down at me. Later on I found out the that the dorm we were staying at was once an auction house for slaves. I think by the time we left, the dorm was supposed to be marked condemned due to the foundation sinking into the ground.


We used to walk (oh so much walking…oh how I loathed it) to the park, mall, and little shops and eateries during our animation thesis breaks. Sometimes when Jason was in an animation groove, I left him behind to go eat, smoke or wander the streets at night taking in the small city of Providence. On one of these late night walks, I remember seeing a man dressed in what looked like work business attire from the 1930’s. He was tall and lanky looking up at the houses and buildings. He saw me passing by and then in a blink he wasn’t there. I dismissed it as insomnia. We had been up for probably a few days working non-stop.

Sometime after graduation I know I must of gotten ahold of Donald Tyson’s biography of H. P. Lovecraft’s life. That was my introduction to Lovecraft and his Cthulhu Mythos. Well, that and Mike Mignola’s Hellboy comics. I was intrigued by his life story, and by the imagination of his horror writing. I went on a reading spree on most of his works. I had heard that his work had racist overtones, but I originally just dismissed it as that was the attitude of the time. It wasn’t until I delved into his personal correspondences that I was really disappointed to find out he was not just a racist, but a RAGING one at that. {Chris, if you are reading this. I am sorry. You were right.} Those particular poems and stories I speak of can be cringe worthy to say the least. Yet he had friends from all walks of life (fetishists to homosexuals) and even married a Jewish woman. In some ways he was a living contradiction.

Maybe it was me pray-crying during the Great Recession looking for work. Maybe it was the constant obsession with painting/drawing of monsters while thinking of him. One day Howie (as I would come to call him) showed up and decided to help me. He never asked for anything in return. He’s kind, generous, picky, very helpful, talkative, and eloquently well spoken (I’m constantly with my nose in a dictionary because of him). He hates my swearing but reminds him of certain friends he used to hung out with. He has a weird stance on things sexual. He leaves me to “do my thing” for the erotic works. He’ll come in for the more gruesome ones.

He would make suggestions, critique works, open doors and introduce me to people I’d never expect to meet in a million years. He would even push me to do things that would scare me to death. I think he got a kick out of that. You know it’s not coincidence anymore when you meet/become friends with the owners of Weird Tales Magazine and they introduce you to the owner of a bar called Lovecraft (which by the way is currently exhibiting my art). Everything would just fall into place organically.

My artwork hanging on the walls of the Lovecraft Bar in NYC.


Several years ago, I started an intimate animation salon with a group of professional friends that met monthly at the Productive in NYC to critique one another’s work. We were officially called the “Animation Group Therapy Class”. Yucky name. I know. Unofficially we were “the boys”. As a tradition, we annually made the trek to Sleepy Hollow for our picnic in the cemetery. I only found out recently that Lovecraft did the almost exact same things with his friends (The Kalem Club) and family.

This is Howie’s spirit vessel.


This year since Howie has done so much and asked so little in return, I wanted to create a spirit vessel for him to help deepen the connection. I don’t know why I didn’t do it sooner (fear most likely). In the past, I just offered the usual coffee and cigar to the empty Chet Zar bottle I had and that was that. The cigar, even cigarettes, felt wrong to give him. I never gave him any alcohol. I recently discovered why I probably felt these things. In one of his letters to a friend, he tells him how he never touches alcohol since it takes memory and wit away. Cigars were a nasty habit as he saw it. He did enjoy coffee and sweets.

I consulted my friend Fiona Benjamin about her relationship with Poe. With her help, I managed to acquire Lovecraft’s graveyard dirt and talismanic oil from Marcus McCoy of House of Orpheus. I was quite pleased and ecstatic upon receiving it. I set to work on his personal altar on the bookcase immediately. At a later date, I plan to do the Agrippa summoning rite to manifest his ghost and bind him to his vessel to set and firmly establish the connection already created.

And if you’re wondering…Yes, he thinks it’s quite comical for an atheist like him to be a communicating shade.

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This is Fiona’s set up for Poe. Photo courtesy of F. Benjamin


Fiona suggested one night to “throw a dead cat at him”. I laughed and replied, “I guess I have to if both of us thought the same thing!” One of the things I found most amazing was what happened next. I mentioned to Fiona I would be happy to get him a cat statue but couldn’t afford it just right now. Within the hour, I got a notification that I had sold a print, booked two Skype tarot readings and an art commission! It was like Howie’s ears had perked up and said, “Did you say I can get a cat? Sure, here’s some money. Now go get it!”

It would be nice it this was a common occurrence, Howie.

Hint. Hint. Say no more.


I asked Howie, “Why?”

He replied, “Why not? We’re artists. We’re writers. That’s all there’s to it.”


I asked Fiona, “Why would someone like him help someone like me knowing my family history?”

She replied, “Even racists make exceptions.”


My brain is still trying to process that.



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