Bobby found the possum in the woods under the tree he’d left it, it was still standing up and completely motionless, but something had taken a bite out of it in the night and now it looked slightly ill. He opened his third eye, touched it and pushed more of his magic into the space surrounding its soul. I probably need to actually feed these things, I’m not sure they can run on magic alone. Mcgunkin probably hasn’t eaten for two days as well, it would be frustrating if he dropped dead from lack of energy. Having decided on the course of action to take, Bobby commanded the small creature to follow him.

  When they got back to the house he poked his head through the door, “Mcguckin?”

  “Yes Master?”

  “Can you fetch the car keys, we’re going into town.”

  “Certainly Master.”

  When Mcgunkin got to the car, he opened the driver door for Bobby and stood by it with an air of regal servitude.

  Bobby climbed into the car with wonder. Everyday he becomes more like a butler! Mcgunkin proceeded to close the door softly and then repeated the gesture with the back door, making the possum jump in unprompted, finally getting into the passenger's seat himself.

  Bobby started the car on his third attempt and they were off, zooming back down the long winding lane. Not liking silence in his journeys, Bobby asked Mcgunkin the thing that had been at the back of his mind for a while, “What do you think we should call the possum?”

  Mcgunkin was silent for a moment, “Fluff.”

  Bobby frowned at the suggestion, “That’s not a very creative name though, is it?”

  “No Master, I don’t have creativity.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s just gone, like my personality.”

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  “But you cooked me eggs this morning, doesn’t that require creative thought?”

  “No Master, you had previously complained to K???????e??????????????i??????????t???h???????????? that deadbeats should do work around the house, and that cooking food was an example of such work. I exist to serve you so I took it as an order.”

  “Complained to who?” Bobby said, frowning at the sudden eldritch noise.

  “Sorry master, I don’t understand the question.”

  “What used to be your name?”

  “Sorry master, I don’t understand the question.”

  At risk of getting Mcgunkin stuck in an infinite loop, Bobby paused and pondered what he had just learned. They say that everyone has different levels of creativity, so it would make sense that the part of the soul that differentiates each person, the ego, might contain the creativity. The ego must also contain a person's name, but the name is so linked to the memories that it is not something that can be completely removed.

  What then would happen if I gave a thrall their original name? Would their ego regenerate from their memories and I lose control of them? Bobby knew he was going to have to do some experimentation at some point, he suspected that Mcgunkin was already regenerating his ego due to how he was suddenly acting butlerish, although he didn’t think it was anything to worry about because it was nowhere near what Keith’s personality was like, it was probably his soul just trying to fill the gap. He hoped that the creativity might be returned though, it was a pretty valuable trait.

  Bobby didn’t say anything more for the rest of the journey as he thought about Necromancy. Maybe I could even learn how to leave the creativity intact?

  His musing came to an end as they arrived in the town of Kelpington. Kelpington was a small town built in the pine forests that had popped up in what used to be Delaware Bay. The estate agents of the last few generations had had field trips when all the unclaimed land had appeared by america’s old coastline, cities that used to be by the sea had flown into frenzies of building, and eventually some entrepreneur had decided that he should build a town smack bang in the middle of the old bay along the beginning of the railway that would soon connect america to africa.

  It had been a stupid place to build, no one wanted to stop in an unknown dead town on their way to the other side of the Ex-North-Atlantic region and the only thing keeping the town going were the three Megacorp office buildings nearby that played host to 90% of the town's residents.

  Bobby drove along the mostly empty high street, soon arriving at Boris n’ Gomps Bar n’ Grill or as everyone he knew called it Bogbag—to the disgruntlement of its owners. Seeing that the car park was empty, he parked the car in the middle of two spaces. Any ticket officer would get an aneurism if they saw it, but this town didn’t have ticket officers. Then he made sure his two minions were in tow and walked to the cowboy style double doors that were the establishment's entrance.

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