We'd be Late to Our Own Funeral...

But then they say: good things come to those who wait...

Crossing over from the living to the dead can be a painful, arduous, and murderous experience. Sometimes it takes longer than expected and one suffers in agony until death's reprieve. It's much the same when producing Necrography, it seems.

The first issue of Necrography was originally scheduled for December 2008. I decided around that time that Necrography would be better off with a first publication in Spring of 2009. We set the date to March 21st, 2009 and obviously, that date has come and gone. Necrography however, is still here and we will be publishing our first issue... ...eventually.

As it stands now, we look to be about a month late. This makes our publication date toward the end of next month (April). There's not much longer we'll have to wait for Necrography and while patience is its own reward, there's also darkness at the end of this tunnel. I'll post a followup entry soon with a sneak-peak of the cover and the line-up of great content we've got for you!

On to the other issue at hand...

I've been quite silent over the last month about what's going on here at Necrography and I hope to remedy that. As for an excuse, I can only say that while exhuming a body late last month, I ran into some lecherous fiends digging for bodies as well. Though their intentions were certainly not as pure as mine, we all happened to find ourselves in the same cemetery, on the same moonless night, with similar wicked machinations. Afraid that I'd expose their activities, the hoodlums saw me as a threat to their scheme and quickly overwhelmed me.

It was days later when I awoke to a fecal stench and found myself prostrate on a mildewy mattress in the darkness of a dank cellar. Though my hands seemed bound behind me and my head throbbed with every heartbeat, quick introspection and self-analysis revealed an abundance of pain coming from my lips and wrists. I rolled onto my side and saw dim light coming from a doorway at the top of some stairs. I got to my feet and made my way toward the light through the darkness.

Half-way to the stairs, my feet met with a solid, meaty mass on the ground. I fell forward, thrust my bound hands out from around my back, and grimaced from the ripping pain in my wrists. Gathering my strength, I stood and continued to ascend the stairs toward the door.

In the hallway, I realized I was in my own house. As I passed the mirror on the way to the kitchen, I saw my hideous reflection illuminated by the dim, bare bulb hung from the ceiling by a frayed wire. Once I saw the thick stitching binding my lips shut, I tried to gasp and scream but couldn't open my mouth. Looking down on my wrists, I realized I'd torn the stitches binding the skin of my arms to one another when I fell. The ripped flesh dripped spots of blood on the dusty wooden floor at my feet. I nearly passed out from pain and fear.

I regained my composure after a time and I realized I'd better do something about that body in the basement. Sometimes work is tough... I can only imagine what demons we've unleashed with the first issue of Necrography. I'm afraid it will only get worse. I'd better buy another axe...

Now that I've handled this little interruption, I hope I can be a little more communicative. Stick around for the first issue of Necrography and I'm sure you'll be pleased!