A Fall in the River

The little wooden rowboat rocked gently on the murky green river, sunlight glinting off the water’s surface in blinding flashes.

BoomFuzzy sat at one end of the boat, long grey dreadlocks trailing over his shoulders, his hands deftly tying a lure onto the end of a fishing line, while explaining to GhoulSpawn what he was doing.

BoomFuzzy was an expert fisherman, a side effect of being a master chef who specialized in cooking seafood and refused to let anyone else catch the fish he cooked.

GhoulSpawn, having spent the near entirety of his life in Harvard University dodging first the Korean War draft and then the Vietnam War draft, amassing endless PhDs in sciences, had no clue how to fish. Isekaied here to the dystopian post apocalyptic wasteland ruins of the 40th century from the comforts of campus life in 1978, he had no clue how to do anything at at.

Survival was not GhoulSpawn’s strong point and left to his own, he would not last day in this era, where governments no longer existed, factories and business had not been seen in centuries, and the world was nearly the Dark Ages when it came to basic survival.

GhoulSpawn, perched awkwardly beside BoomFuzzy, held a rod in his clawed hands, his golden fleece glinting beneath the sun’s heat. His cloven hooves tapped nervously against the damp floorboards as he watched BoomFuzzy’s hands with wide-eyed fascination.

“Now, ya got tae hold it steady, Goat,” BoomFuzzy said, his thick Scottish brogue making GhoulSpawn’s ears twitch.

“I’m a sheep.”

BoomFuzzy glared at the Satyr Demon.

“Stop interrupting me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Shut up and listen. How the hell did ya spend ya entire life as a student and never learn how to shut up and listen to ya teacher?”

“You’re not my teacher.”

“Who the one teaching ya hairy arse how ta fish?”

“That would be you.”

“Then that makes me ya teacher.”

“You’re not a good teacher.”

“Ya’re not a good student.”

“Will you two stop fighting!” Quaraun yelled at them. “I am trying to sleep.”

“Ya know ye could do to learn to fish, yarself. Get ya scrawny arse over here and learn to catch ya own meal.”

“I have a headache.”

“On account of ya don’t stop drinking.”

“On account of I am sitting in the sun.”

“Stop being such a sissy. How the hell did I end up with two inapt, lily-livered pansies? I’ve marched armies across this frigging planet, battled bloody Humans, took down down zombie hordes, crowned meself king of this of this entire damned godforsaken fucking planet, and when I retired from fighting bloody fucking endless world wars, I marry a simpering twitch who brings with him another whimpering twit to live with us! Got a draft dodging idiot Satyr to my right and whining pampered High Elf prince to my left. Not a one of ya ever saw the front lines of a fucking war, or know the first thing about getting yar hands dirty!”

“Sorry, I am not a war lord like you.”

“Mmpphh. Go back to sleep, ya stupid Elf.”

“I intend to.”

“He never helps, does he?” GhoulSpawn asked.

“No. I ought to kick him off the boat.”

“I’m surprised you don’t. You’ve kicked me off enough times.”

“Aye. But you can swim.”

“Quaraun, can’t swim?”

“Nope.”

“He’s a lighthouse keeper.”

“Aye.”

“And he spends half his life live on The Mark Twain — “

“Blue Monkey. We renamed it, when we repainted it.”

“Dude, my point is, he spends an awful lot of time on or near water, he should learn how to swim.”

“Aye. I’ve tried teaching him. Ya’ve no idea, how bad he gets.”

The trio continued their day, Quaraun bitching about everything. BoomFuzzy and GhoulSpawn ignoring him while BoomFuzzy went over the fine art of catching river trout.

“An’ when ya feel th’ pull, ya dinnae jerk it — let th’ fish run wi’ it a bit first, aye?”

GhoulSpawn nodded eagerly.

“Got it! Steady — don’t jerk. Let it run.”

Across from them, Quaraun lounged beneath a massive pink lace parasol, dressed in layers of flowing pink silk and glittering pink rhinestones. A wide-brimmed floppy pink sunhat shaded his face, oversized pink rhinestone encrusted sunglasses perched on his nose. He flapped a fluffy pink feather fan, more interested in the oppressive heat and the threat of sunburn than the fishing lesson unfolding before him.

“I hate this heat,” Quaraun snarled.

“What heat?” GhoulSpawn asked. “ “It’s not even fifty degrees Fahrenheit. There’s ice on the water, and snow on the riverbanks.”

“It hot for us, Ghouly,” BoomFuzzy said. “We live in an ice age, remember. Below zero’s our norm. Fact that the river has moving water in it, says we gots heat wave happening.”

“You know, in 1978, a heat wave would have been defined as higher than a hundred and twenty degrees Fahrenheit for a minimum of three days, not anything above thirty two degrees Fahrenheit for a few minutes. I mean, this is Maine. I lived here. How did this happen.”

“In the year 2525, a comet hit the moon.” BoomFuzzy pointed up at the Fractured Moon which hung low in the sky, looking as though it would crash into the planet at any minute. “Moon dust and comet dust filled the atmosphere, blocked the sun. We ain’t seen direct sunlight since. Entire planet frozen in under a week. Happened before Quaraun were born, so he does not remember it. But I remember it. I wasn’t a Lich yet back than. I was still alive. I remember the world as you knew it, Ghouly.”

“2525 would have been Comet Swift Tuttle.”

“Aye. That were the one.”

“It comes through every hundred and thirty three years.”

“Aye. And rains meteors on us every August. That not changed.”

“I do not understand why I was dragged along for this miserable venture,” Quaraun drawled, glaring down at a smear of green slime on the hem of his gown. His lip curled in disgust. “The sun. The heat. The smell. The mud. The… algae. It is revolting.”

“Yer th’ one who said ya wanted fresh trout for supper,” BoomFuzzy grunted.

“Yes, well, I assumed you would go acquire it without dragging me into this cesspit with you.”

BoomFuzzy rolled his eyes and turned back to GhoulSpawn.

“Try castin’ it again. His royal pain in the arse is getting bitchier.”

GhoulSpawn grinned and flicked the rod forward — too hard. The line tangled mid-air and landed with a limp splash.

“Oops.”

BoomFuzzy sighed.

“Ya ken, ya’ve got th’ coordination o’ a blind goat on roller skates.”

“I’m trying!”

Quaraun sniffed haughtily.

“Must you splash about so violently? You are getting water on me.”

“Love,” BoomFuzzy said without turning around. “Ye’re in a boat. Water happens.”

Quaraun huffed and stood, shifting his weight gingerly on the slick, wet planks of the boat. He swiped at the hem of his gown where mud and slime clung to the silk.

“I need to stand. This is intolerable — ”

The boat rocked. His heel slid against the wet wood.

A sharp gasp.

Then a splash.

Quaraun hit the water hard, his parasol spinning off into the current. He flailed, limbs thrashing as the ice cold river swallowed him.

“Quaraun!” BoomFuzzy was already moving, diving over the side of the boat in a flash of dark limbs and grey dreadlocks.

“Oh god!” GhoulSpawn’s eyes widened, hands scrambling over the side of the boat. “Quaraun can’t swim! Quaraun can’t swim!”

The Elf’s flailing limbs disappeared beneath the murky water before he broke the surface again, coughing, screaming, eyes wild with panic.

“NO — NO! I’m drowning — NO! HELP ME!”

BoomFuzzy reached him in two powerful strokes. His strong arms wrapped around Quaraun’s waist, dragging the struggling Elf against his chest.

“Calm down, Love — I’ve got ya. I’ve got ya.” BoomFuzzy’s voice was low, soothing, even as Quaraun twisted and fought.

Quaraun’s hands clawed at the water, grasping wildly for something solid. His breath hitched in ragged gasps.

“I can’t — I can’t — ”

“Ya’re no’ drowning, Love. Ya’re no’ drowning. I’ve got ya.”

BoomFuzzy swam toward the shore, towing the panicked Elf through the water. He dragged Quaraun up onto the sandy bank and pulled him into his lap.

Quaraun kept flailing, his hands still clawing at the air, legs kicking as if he were still drowning. His chest heaved with shallow, panicked breaths.

“Shhhhh, easy, Love. Calm down. Ya al’right.”

Quaraun’s hands clenched into BoomFuzzy’s chest, his eyes wide, unfocused.

“I’m drowning,” he gasped.

“No, Love.” BoomFuzzy rocked him gently. “Ya’re safe. Ya’re out o’ th’ water. Feel me? I gotcha. Ya’re safe.”

GhoulSpawn managed to get the boat to shore, hopping out and splashing through the shallows.

“What’s happening?” He crouched beside them, golden fleece darkened by the damp air. “I he all right?”

BoomFuzzy held Quaraun tightly, pressing a kiss to his clammy forehead.

“He thinks he’s still in th’ water.”

“But… he’s not?” GhoulSpawn’s brow furrowed.

“Nae, but he’s got a bad fear o’ drownin’.”

“But he’s not in the water anymore.”

“Aye. Phobia. Pot traumatic stress disorder. Nearly drowned once. Never got over it. Day his hands were crushed. His father put his hands in the grinding wheel of a windmill and held his head underwater. He was just a child.”

GhoulSpawn hesitated, then reached out, brushing Quaraun’s soaked silver hair from his face. The Elf was still screaming and thrashing. BoomFuzzy was squeezing him tight, trying to keep him from hurting himself.

“Hey, Quaraun. You’re okay. BoomFuzzy’s got you.”

Quaraun’s breath hitched. His eyes darted wildly around before finally settling on BoomFuzzy’s face.

“You… you caught me,” Quaraun whispered.

“Aye, Love. Always.”

GhoulSpawn smiled and sat back on his hooves.

“You scared the crap out of me.”

BoomFuzzy chuckled.

“Scared th’ crap out o’ me too.”

Quaraun sagged against BoomFuzzy’s chest, trembling.

“I hate water,” he murmured.

“Aye, Love. I ken.”

BoomFuzzy kissed Quaraun’s forehead, then looked toward GhoulSpawn.

“Looks like our Elf’s done fishin’ for today.”

“Yeah,” GhoulSpawn agreed. “I’ll get the fire started.”

“Can ya stand?”

“I think so,” Quaraun said shakily.

“Al’right. Get changed out of ya wet clothes. Then ya take over tending the fire.”

Quaraun’s eyes narrowed.

“I am not tending a fire.”

“Aye, ya are,” BoomFuzzy said, lifting him effortlessly to his feet. “And we’re gonna finish catchin’ dinner.”

Quaraun opened his mouth to protest, but BoomFuzzy kissed him, cutting him off.

“Ya’re stayin’ on shore,” BoomFuzzy said, brushing wet silver strands from Quaraun’s face. “No more fishin’ for you.”

Quaraun sighed dramatically and allowed BoomFuzzy to lead him toward a patch of soft grass near the edge of the shore.

GhoulSpawn smiled.

“You’ll make a great firekeeper, Quaraun.”

Quaraun shot him a scathing glare.

“Do not push your luck, Glinta.”

Quaraun and BoomFuzzy

The Pink Necromancer, Moon Elf silk weaver & merchant: Quaraun on Noodle Beach. His master chef Phooka turned Lich husband: BoomFuzzy with his 1968 VW Bus Beach Noodle Food Truck. And their on again/off again mad scientist Sheep Demon lover: GhoulSpawn with his 1974 AMC Gremlin time machine. Time Travel setting swings back and forth between 40th century Maine after a comet hit the moon decimating the planet, and the 1970s, Maine. Quaraun in the main character, he and BoomFuzzy are a married gay couple. GhoulSpawn is their shared live-in lover. Art by Wendy Christine Allen.

BoomFuzzy

Quaraun

GhoulSpawn and BoomFuzzy

GhoulSpawn

GhoulSpawn and Quaraun

Faeries vs Elves (In The Quaraun Series) A Pink Necromancer World Lore Post

The Pink Necromancer: The Adventures of Quaraun The Insane aka The Twighlight Manor Series

🌸🦄🌸 Furry Yaoi Fiction about Elves and Faeries and Satyrs and Demons and Unicorns and Technomancer Wizards and Liches living in a Lighthouse and surviving as Travelling Merchants and Food Truck Chefs in Cyberpunk Dystopian 40th Century Maine, and Zombie Apocalypse and Time Travel but it’s Slice of Life Vignettes of Mundane Daily Lives of The UnSeelie Court’s Royal Family trying to survive after a comet hit the moon and turned the Earth into a CyberPunk Ice-Age. 🌸🦄🌸

• eBook Editions from this series can be found on: GumRoad

• Kindle, eBook, Print Paperback, & full colour illustrated Hardcover Editions from this series can be found on: Amazon

Meet The Characters

Wendy Christine Allen, 2019, able to sit up in a chair for the first time in years, and able to raise up my arm and wiggle fingers. This was when I started playing Witcher 3 on Twitch as part of my physical therapy to regain finger movement. Playing Witcher 3 daily from 2016 to 2019, is how I regained the use of my thumb and two for fingers on my right hand... it is also why I stopped playing Witcher 3 in 2019, once I had strengthen my two forefingers enough to start typing again. Wendy Christine Allen, Old Orchard Beach's Autistic Author, Artist, Illustrator, & Art Car Designer Counting Down to the September 23, 2028 50th Anniversary of my first published book (September 23, 1978) If you are here looking for The Twighlight Manor series, The Crystonite Wars series, The Wild Years series, The White Rock Asylum for the Criminally Insane series, The Twisted Tales series, the Captured By a MerMan series, The Space Dock 13 series, The Kats of Planet Ptarmagin series, the stories about Miss Citten the Eel-Kat, or the stories about Etiole... ALL of those series were combined and consolidated into The Adventures of Quaraun the Insane Pink Necromancer series in 2014, so ALL the different series, are now under one series title. List of the published titles still in print: The Index of over three thousand stories in The Pink Necromancer series What the series is about, for those new here: The introduction to The Pink Necromancer Series.

If you want some stories to get you started in The Pink Necromancer series, reading these first will give you a good introduction to the 3 main characters: BoomFuzzy's Chowder Dilemma If your ass ain’t freezing or your brains ain’t scrambled, you’re ain’t really trying A Very Important Clump of Grass The Washer Woman & The Fae Absinthe Slushies: An Ode to Frozen Green Fairy Wine Bone Dice Excited For The New Baby Zwodder: A Drowsy Stupid State of Mind Pink Sheep, Cheesy Burritos, and The Grim Reality of Zombies Open Grave The Phooka's Dragon School The Moon Goddess Laughs From The Rooftops The Jar of Pickled Toes The Book Burning Maggots, a You Can't Spell Hatred Without Red Hats A Day In The Life of a Bumbling Necromancer The Three-Seventeen Pee Expedition

My Elves Are JellyFish...and I asked Google AI and ChatGPT 5.6 what they thought of this.

As requested, my daily writing prompt series is now available print paperback editions on Amazon.

365 Cozy Writing Prompts For Fantasy Writers Vol.1: Daily Writing Prompts Series For Writers of Serial Pulp Fiction

365 Cozy Writing Prompts For Fantasy Writers Vol.2: Daily Writing Prompts Series For Writers of Serial Pulp Fiction

365 Cozy Writing Prompts For Fantasy Writers Vol.3: Daily Writing Prompts Series For Writers of Serial Pulp Fiction

365 Cozy Writing Prompts For Fantasy Writers Vol.4: Daily Writing Prompts Series For Writers of Serial Pulp Fiction

365 Cozy Writing Prompts For Fantasy Writers Vol.5: Daily Writing Prompts Series For Writers of Serial Pulp Fiction

There are 20 volumes of this writing prompt series currently planned and in varying stages of finishing, hopefully all 20 will be published by the end of 2026. I likely will do a 2nd series of writing prompt books in 2027.

Health update: August 4, 2026 - in recovery for 6 months+ (at least until mid-January 2027...all book and video game releases are pushed back at least 6 months) see video below for why...

@eelkat health update #maine #disabilityawareness #wheelchairlife #wheelchairvlogger #multiplesclerosis ♬ original sound - Wendy C Allen | 📚 Author

Update Sept 3, 2026:

I am able to get around enough to take Koko to dog park... today is 29 days since getting out of hospital. My diet is still mostly liquid, but im eating some solid food again, but its like rice or soft mushy baby food type stuff because I still can not chew yet, though I can swallow again. My jaw is still not functioning good so im having trouble talking still. So there's been slight improvement to my mouth, throat, and jaw, but, zero improvement to my eye, which is a major concern, be Im almost fully blind right now. im legally blind since birth in my left eye, so I have no ability to fall back on using my left eye. My right eye is the one injured and my vision in it is "40% decreased" according to my doctor, but it wasn't good vision to begin with, and right now my right eye is not much different from my legally blind left eye. Which I why I have to have someone drive my car for me instead of me driving my car myself right now, which is very frustrating, because, being a female, I had to fight for over twenty years to be allowed to drive. I started sneaking out at age 31 and dressing as a man to go to Old Orchard Beach high school to get a ged, because us females are not allowed to go to school. And i was 37 years old when snuck out to the DMV and got a driver's permit and started going to college. I was 42 and 8 months pregnant when my family found out I was going to college and thats when I was punished by the backhoe driving over my house and my spine broken with a golf club and my baby born right then and killed with same golf club. So it's very frustrating now, so soon after finally being able to drive , to now not be able to drive because of an eye injury, especially after 14 years of being paralyzed from the golf club and not being allowed to have a wheelchair, again, because i am female and we females are simply not allowed to do anything. I hate the culture I was born into. I wish I had the freedom to go to school and drive a car the way American women do. I wish having my spine broken with a golf club and my baby killed with a golf club and a backhoe driven over my house was not how men in my family punishment women in my family for learning to read and write. Its so frustrating not being able to to drive again, so soon after 14 years being paralyzed, and being paralyzed by the golf club was the punishment for getting a driver's license back in 2013 after 30 years of men not letting me have one. I hate my family's culture and how they treat us women.

I get so sick of Americans telling me how they wish they could be a Gypsy… they are either misogynist woman hating pigs, or delusional idiots who haven't got a clue how shittily we Gypsy women are treated by Gypsy men, because no one in their righ mind who knows anything about Gypsy culture would ever want to be part of it. I hate that I was born a Gypsy. 

update sept 7, 2026

"You would not make a good teacher"... what does that mean, and why are there so many people on Railroad Ave and Western Ave and Cutts St why walk up to me and say that to me?

I find it very confusing. I have low functioning Autism (the Rain Man type) and so i have very little understanding of words beyond the basic ones, and i never went to to school, so I never learned maths or sciences, and I only had remedial classes at Southern Maine Community College, because I did not have an education to enroll with regular, I was there taking every reading and writing class they had to learn how to read and write, and also took speaking classes to learn how to talk (i spoke Shetland Scottish language because that was language my grandmother spoke but she died when I was 8 so I only knew that language to speak and write, and I was 37 when I went to college and 42 when I learned English speaking and I still cant speak English good yet), all the other classes I took were art painting and cooking.

So the phrase "You would not make a good teacher" makes no sense to me because it seems to imply that I am trying to be a teacher, but I don't have anything close to the education ti be a teacher, and im not trying to be a teacher. So I don't know why people keep saying this phrase to me and I assume it must have some sort of a slang meaning, but I can't figure out what it could be of why do these people keep saying it to me.

see video below for more information: 

@eelkat "You would not make a good teacher"... what does that mean, and why are there so many people on Railroad Ave and Western Ave and Cutts St why walk up to me and say that to me? I find it very confusing. I have low functioning Autism (the Rain Man type) and so i have very little understanding of words beyond the basic ones, and i never went to to school, so I never learned maths or sciences, and I only had remedial classes at Southern Maine Community College, because I did not have an education to enroll with regular, I was there taking every reading and writing class they had to learn how to read and write, and also took speaking classes to learn how to talk (i spoke Shetland Scottish language because that was language my grandmother spoke but she died when I was 8 so I only knew that language to speak and write, and I was 37 when I went to college and 42 when I learned English speaking and I still cant speak English good yet), all the other classes I took were art painting and cooking. So the phrase "You would not make a good teacher" makes no sense to me because it seems to imply that I am trying to be a teacher, but I don't have anything close to the education ti be a teacher, and im not trying to be a teacher. So I don't know why people keep saying this phrase to me and I assume it must have some sort of a slang meaning, but I can't figure out what it could be of why do these people keep saying it to me. #mainelife #biddefordmaine #maine #disabilitytiktok #Biddeford ♬ original sound Wendy C Allen | 📚 Author

update Sept 15, 2026:

I have some slight movement in some my fingers again again after over a decade being paralyzed

you remember how I used to be a professional doll making, pattern designer, and embroiderer, back before I became paralized and before my son was murdered and being the backhoe drove over my house?

all my equipment, sewing machines, ect were all destroyed by the backhoe driving over my house, and I have been quardepelegic for over a decade because of it so could not use my hands to sew or draw or embroider, and so only continued to do my writing of novels since then because I could do that with dragon dictation software,

well, since 2016, I been playing Witcher 3 and don't starve video games on twitch livestream, one hand two fingers, as part of my therapy to regain nerve and muscle use of my fingers, and now after 10 years of that, I have somewhat more movement in my fingers and im thinking maybe I can try to do embroidery and doll making again, but not sure, anyways, now im rebuying all of my sewing and embroidery equipment that the backhoe destroyed when it drove over my house, and hopefully I can use my hand enough to embroider again.

waiting for stuff to arrive in mail, so soon I should find out if ten years of twitch gaming has given me enough muscle strength to use my fingers to embroider again.

update to the previous video, answering viewer question about lack of hospital vs broken spine

Wheelchair Fundraiser... I need to upgrade to a power wheelchair, the manual one just isn't enough anymore. But the power wheelchair is $25k. Yes, twenty five thousand dollars. Wtf? I can get a car for a quarter that price, why are wheelchairs so damned expensive? That's more money then I make in five years, so I need to start a fundraiser for it.

Books By Wendy Christine Allen
Currently Available on Amazon Kindle:

Index of the Quaraun novels, novellas, & short story collections on Amazon

And GumRoad:

Index of the Quaraun short stories on GumRoad

On Medium:

An Index of the more than TWO THOUSAND Quaraun Short Stories on Medium

(NOTE: a $5 or $15 per month paid subscription required to access stories on Medium)

On Vocal:

Index of the Quaraun short stories on Vocal

On Notd:

Index of the Quaraun Short Stories on Notd

On OnlyFans:

Index of the Quaraun Short Stories on OnlyFans

(NOTE: a $4.99 per month paid subscription required to access stories on OnlyFans)

Pink Necromancer Merch: On CafePress:

An Index of the Quaraun Merch on CafePress

Pink Necromancer Merch: On Zazzle:

Index of the Quaraun Merch on Zazzle

Not Quaraun:

This page was written by Wendy Christine Allen of 146 Portland Ave, Old Orchard Beach, Maine.

All Rights Reserved.