A Letter to Redemption

Redemption, two miles, the worn yellow placard by the roadside said. As I passed it in my fairweather Ford, I noticed a smaller word underneath, "Population", followed by crossed out numbers. The final one, uncrossed, was faded, but still legible:

-5.

Yes, it was one of those places. But what else was I going to do? After all, if a necromancer can't get the dead to come to him...

I was impressed by my dedication, driving two states to deliver an elderly woman's letter. Maybe this would make those bastards in the Thaumaturgical society stop calling my profession an abomination.