Things That Never Were

Subject: Things That Never Were Tue Nov 10, 2015 9:04 am

I do not want you reading this.

The persuit of knowledge is inherently currupt. Accumilating information can only lead to the accumilation of non-information. The known and the unknown are always in balance and the scales will always even. Enlitenment forces the unfathomible into a corner. It is a corner of increasingly uncontainable and insupressable existance. Mass education makes the incomprehensible stronger and therefore dangerous.

So why have I ritten this? It is not to share my philosophy. Its intrinsic value does not ellevate it above its own ideals. It is because I also believe in freedom of choice.

My soul is in a constant state of reinkarnation (or so I'm told) and their may come a day when my fuchure self will wish to languish in the memories of past lives. It is a privillage I currently deny myself. And for good reason.

This is not a sign of dowt. To uphold my current beliefs I have taken the following precautions:
- These accounts will be breif.
- These accounts will not use real names, places, or similar facts.
- At least harf these accounts will be complete fabrications.

That last precaution is what I would call a balancing effect. The possibilty that something may be ~~reel~~ real has always served the supernatural well before they were common knowledge. It is not true knowledge when you dowt the sauce, so it should not upset the forces of the unknown. And yet these accounts will still serve any fuchure reinkarnation well should they personally encounter what truth is ritten in these pages.

They call me the Benighted One. Tzul the Ignorant. Kiara.

Let me tell you a tale I know nothing about.

-----

Index:

Tales
#1 - one very mean umbrella
#2 - the Bad Water
#3 - the Unutterable and Absence
#4 - the Shadow King
#5 - Antithesis
#6 - Goat Simulator
#7 - the Hobbling Horrors
#8 - the Horsies
#9 - Sir Tutor
#10 - Lizard Men
#11 - the Cry in the Dark
#12 - the Landmass Thieves
#13 - Flinchy
#14 - the Procession of the Garb and Ajtzen Kaax the Unholy Stark
#15 - latent lifeforms (Keiza)
#16 - Perdition Express
#17 - Testers and Srodinger's Catastrophe
#18 - Brown Froth
#19 - the Ruin of All
#20 - the Ghost of Christmas Past
#21 - the Yule Lads and Jolakotturinn
#22 - Olentzero and Grandfather Frost
#23 - the Ghost of Christmas Present and Frau Perchta
#24 - the Krampus
#25 - the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come
#26 - Santy Claus
#27 - Short Stories
#28 - Soul Mate
#29 - Fourth Wall Fissure and The Narrator
#30 - Little Matchstick Girl

Subject: Re: Things That Never Were Tue Nov 17, 2015 6:45 am

One time long past in Belize, I encountered a remarkible woman. A local man of office sang loudly of his English au pear (which sounded more French to me, but I am no expert in langages). He said his disobidient children had never behaved better than when they were in her care. And that furthermore she could do many magical and wonderous things. When I met her, I found his words to be true.

The woman was well-spoken, having an impecable accent and manners. I have never seen a home more pristene. Rugs were shampooed and you could not find a speck of dust to save your life. Spider webs were not removed but its denizens evicted and the threads delicately woven into patterns like a mural (I have found this is possible with enormous time and steady hands). The children were happy, with no creeses or dirt or tantrums about them. They were kept to a strict skeduel and I was assured top of their class in school. Their was no sign of spontaneous or disruptive behaviour. They did not have friends over, keeping their own company, and could fall asleep when arsked.

In short – it was unatural. Beware these omens.

The woman herself wore her hair in a bun and applied make-up in a city fashion with an expert hand. She said she liked me and invited me along on a daily walk in the park with the children. Although she childed my bad habits she did it in a kindly way. Outside she was goaded by the children to demonstrait her own magic in response to use of my own. The au pear opened her umbrella (black with a parrot-headed handle) and began to lift like a helium baloon. The device could lend her flight and she offered to let me test it out. I refused. The children tried but failed. She hugged them and said it took time and practise. They could try again tomorrow.

Eventually I had the little boy alone. He was credited with an outragus imagination, ranting about the many incredable kingdoms he and his au pear had visited. Were I not once driven half-mad myself, I would not have recognised the signs. He'd been halusinating, vividly.

I did not share my suspisions with anyone. In the middle of the night I spirited the children away to a friend. Come the morning the parents were beside themselves with greif, whilst the au pear consoled them. She was not suspisious of me. Not until that damned tape measure got involved anyway.

Long story short. The umbrella could not levitate people. It could only levitate the au pear because she was a husk, devoid of waity vital organs. I speculate that the umbrella was controlling her, since the parrot-headed end demonstrated the abillity to talk. As it stalked me in that last great battle, it was singing (a catchy tune that I could imagine being made into a song).

Because I misbehaved a lot when I was just a tot.
My father put me on the street and gave me to the rot.
But then one day I found a way to spare my wasting bones.
All hell enjured can be transferred, this magic phrase intones.

Oh~ [magic phrase removed]
Watch as I perpetuate unholy symbiosis.
If you serve it well enough you'll never know necrosis.
Give your children over to this deadly mad psychosis.

Um diddle, diddle diddle, um diddle ay.
Um diddle, diddle diddle, um diddle ay.

I was able to lure the nightmare out into a storm. As it floated overhead a flash of lightening struck the umbrella, killing the au pear. I found the chared umbrella and claimed ~~responcibillity~~ responsibility for it. A week later I took a journey into the remote interior of the Belizean jungle and hid the cursed object. On my way back I took a powerful drug that robbed me of my wits for several hours. I wandered about the jungle aimlessly until I forgot exactly what I had done with the umbrella. It is safer this way.

As for the family. I was able to reunite them with there children. Both had begun to show simptoms of some medical complication. I was told it had something to do with their organs failing. It is sad but there was nothing more I could do for them.

Explaining the situation to the father, he arsked me, “Perhaps it was a witch?”

“Of course not.” I replied, “Witches have brooms.”

Subject: Re: Things That Never Were Thu Nov 19, 2015 10:08 am

There was a beach in Guatemala, where black volcanic sand glisened like glass in the dawne. And although a crop of mangrove safegarded it from wayward roadways, it was still a popular tourist destination. They reached it by canal, boating down a waterway teaming with igwanna and crocodile and sea turtle. And so they told me – shark.

It is said a shark never swims inland. But I do not see why not. Nobody could stop them, surely they can go where they please. Regardless, the locals were in much distres about the mater when I arrived. It was lurking in the swamps. And it was killing people. Which has a poor effect on tourism, I understand.

I am not a hero. When it comes to everyday problems I expect everyday people to deel with it. I was not there to fight the shark. I found myself on that canal boat seeking restful relaxsation. And trying to impress the son of a local tiller who had ~~deep brown eyes, a cute chin, and arms that could squeaze you until-~~ a good personality... I'm sometimes lonely on my travels. Anyway, the boat soon colided with something, which was odd since we were in the middle of the canal.

As they investigated, a plume of water shunted one side of the boat, tipping us hazerdously. A passenger fell overbored and swiftly came up for air. I was about to lend him aid (I'm no hero but I'm not rude either) when there was a rush of futher activity. The water condensed around him, until he was submerged. It looked to the world as if he had been pulled under, but no, the water had risen to his level. Then suddenly he exploded into a fountine of blood and guts. Women screamed, children wailed, men did their masculin whimper. I think I said 'ooo'.

As if they thought their eyes had lyed to them, the entire crew believed it was shark or crocodile. When I offered to hunt it, they did not think I could, which hurt my feelings. I decided to take my leave, flying off into the swamp. From what I could see nothing but the water itself had killed that man. I'm sure a syientist could tell you some facts about the presure needed to explode a human. The Bad Water was dwelling in the swamp, and it was killing for reasons unknown.

Work always finds you.

Having forgotten to pack supplies (a minor oversite, I admit) I soon became hungery. When darkness fell I was thouroghly lost on the boggy track. Clumps of withies made paths that went nowhere but to puddles of sludge. I levitated ditches and landed on pans of salt. My plan was to find its centre. My misfortune was not knowing when I got there. Under the eye of the moon I continued. Small lantern lights would pop up from darkness and then withdraw as I flew towards them. Eventually my astral sight allowed me to locate the cause of these wisps.

I nabbed a small floating person. It was a type of being called an alux, I knew them from back home (sometimes called a sprite). She struggled in my grip as I arsked about the lights. She tried to feed me some nonsense about swamp gas illusions. Eventually she admitted to intentionly misleading me for fun. I made her promise to act as my guide as recompence.

I shared my experiances with her and she acknowledged that her people too had encountered the Bad Water. It would eat sprites as well as humans, but seemed to ignore animals. She remarked how there magic had failed against it, but I did not arsk what specificly they tried. I told her I would subdue it, which delited her, until she arsked how.

As the morning rolled in I settled into a lagoon. My possesions were on the bank including my pants. My shirt was rapped around my hair as a water-proof. At my head was an achient banyan tree with roots stretching far out in all directions. It was, the alux said, the centre of the swamp. I infused my astral energy into it and used it to make waves. I believed the Bad Water would somehow be able to detect my presence this way. Whether I was right or not, it soon found me.

Imperceptable to the human eye, I had to rely upon my astral vision to keep it in sight. I did not move until the last moment, whereupon I levitated out of the water. It 'jumped' after me, enveloping me in midair. The sprite ignited the surrounding swamp gas. The watery tomb I was incased in protected me from the blast of flame. It quickly evapourated the Bad Water and stopped it cold. Yet I knew we had not destroyed it fully.

The sprite provided a container to catch the droplets that remained on my skin. I dried myself with my shed clothes and discarded them into the pot. I was bone dry by the time that we had finished, and a new sun had arisen. We couldn't be sure if any of it had escaped, but surely it was much diminished even if it had. I took the container and arsked the alux not to watch me as I found it a hiding place. When I had found one, I made myself some halusinogenics from the surrounding plant-life and, as before, forgot its location.

Sprites guidded me back to civilisation. I regained my wits just in time to flag down a passing canal barge. Although I wish I hadn't. The hand that helped me abored belonged to the tiller's son. It's a lot more comfortable to be naked in the company of sprites. Nervous

Subject: Re: Things That Never Were Tue Nov 24, 2015 9:54 pm

Miss Viper has since told me that my spelling is poor. o.o

She said people may make fun of me if I make too many mistakes. This has kept me up at night. To fix this, I have bought a diktionary to use from now on:

-------------

Language is a funny thing. When people think language they imagin the spoken sound or the written text. But as sign language shows, it can be a gesture. It can be through smell, or brightness, or any sort of medium. My astral powers are a sort of spiritual comunication to the initiated. There is potential for everything known and unknown to be language.

All have one thing in common. A single word we can never express.

There is a word the universe will never allow to be articulated. Anyone who tries will be met with the same problem. A sudden and all-incompassing discrepancy in reality. It rewinds time, or rather undoes what has been done. It will put your fate on a new course. One where you in fact do not say the word. This manifests itself as a sensation of repatition. You will vaguely recall having lived through that exact instance before. We accidentally speak this word many times during the course of our lives. It accounts for a phenomenon I have heard called deja-vu.

I know not what the word is, only that it exists. More importantly, I am equally unaware of the potent force that is behind these alterations in reality. As for why they want this word covered up, that is the gratest mystery of all. Maybe it is the summoning cue for some esoteric entity that will inevitably usher the end of all existence. Perhaps it is a universal censor for foul language. At any rate it is best that we never look too closely at the – Unutterable.

That does not mean I am content to ignore it. It rewinds time whenever it is mentioned, which alone is no danger. However, I meant what I ~~said~~ wrote earlier about the potential of language. Anything can be used as a basis for language. Even absence.

The language of Absence is communication through omission. You infer your words by what you don't say. This may sound absurd at first hearing, but I assure you such a thing is possible. To prove it, I once tasked a talented linguist with its invention. He succeeded and explained to me its mekanism. While I can not speak the language, I can now recognise it if I ever encounter it again. And this is useful.

For no one must be allowed to use this language.

Were a speaker of Absence to ever accidentally mention the Unutterable then I theorise a terrible chain would be set in motion. Time would be rewound and the speaker would be induced to not referance the word in the language they had just referenced it in. In the case of Absence, this requires them to speak the word. Causing another time rewind. And so on so forth. Forward and back. Time would run on a loop forever.

For the good of reality, I theirfore killed the linguist. I also destroyed his soul so that he may not return as a spirit in any capacity. I have taken his work, his notes, and hidden them. On this ocassion I took my memory-robbing potion to free me of its location, and the man's face. Language is a funny thing.

Subject: Re: Things That Never Were Mon Dec 21, 2015 4:32 pm

It may interest my prodecessor to know that we are marked for death. By royal decree we are to be killed on sight by any loyal subject of the diseffected kingdom. It is a vast kingdom that spans the globe, and I am told by syientists, the universe. Its territory is ever shifting and often overlapping that of other sovrin lands. It is a selfish nation that has never contributed anything to the world. It not only lives off the achievements of others, but each individual subject is perfectly content to live its life parroting other species so they never have to make a decision themselves. Some say they are by necessity symbiotic, but I am of the opinion they are astoundingly lazy. I am frendly with one and she tells me that many worship an entity which we would call Sloth. The rest Chhaya.

My crime is that I killed the 83rd Silhouette Supreme. Or as I like to call him the Shadow King.

We met entirely by chance. As part of a wrong turn in Mexico I found myself in Cuba. I am not so very good at speaking Spanish but know enough to get by. Whilst in a dockside town I encountered a man who was quite literally born into slavery. All his life he'd carried around the afore mentioned Shadow King. You could tell you were in the presence of royalty just by looking at him. The shadow walked around with a crown on his head, while the man did not.

My own shadow began acting weird. I must at this point mention that my shadow's name is Kiara. Try as I might, it insists it has not taken my name and our similarity is just a happy coincidence. I think it is a liar. It bowed to the Shadow King as we passed. So did every shadow. My original assumption was that the Sun had dipped suddenly due to the sky falling. I now realise that belief was stupid. If anything is going to fall it will be the ground. I came to my senses quickly, and a mere day later exited my panic bunker to locate the Shadow King.

In my defense I had no intention of killing him. Appart from the hour or so beforehand when I had decided to kill him. But for the majority of my life the act was not premeditated. I located him by reaching out to my own shadow.

My father had long since informed me that shadows do have a mind of their own. There are an impish few who take it upon themselves to prank there owners. They will make obseen gestures out the corner of your eye. Or else shift themselves to be directly in the path of whatever you are trying to discern. They especially like disturbing sunbathers - the closest thing they have to sport. But the rowdiest of shadows will put harsh words into your mouth or visit locations before you yourself arrive. These are known as doppelgangers, which I believe is a Yourapeeing term.

I linked my soul to my shadow and meditated with help of herbal remedies. Kiara was excited to meet the person she had followed for so long. She insisted on telling me about Shadowkind's rich history, including where they came from and how to acheive a full and happy life.

So anyway. She went on to explain how the Shadow King knew everything. He had a billion-billion spies in a billion-billion distinct places. Anything that happened outside pitch black or searing light was witnessed by him. I knew this selfish hording of knowledge could only be of detriment to the Universe. No one being should no more than what they personally witness. With a heavy heart I decided I must terminate him. Kiara was less sure. But when I asked what she would rather do instead she recoiled and replied, "I dunno. What do you wanna do?" o.o

It was not enough to kill the Shadow King. I had to separate his airs from their ability to gather information from their subjects. The difficulty of this lay in that I had no understanding of how it was done. I eventually faced him at sea, early morning, in a fog.

While I could touch his incorporeal form with my magic, I did not destroy him. The fog has a remarkable effect of making usually flat shadows fill out with girth. They'll have what syientists call three dimensions. This afforded him more attack potential. Other shadows aided the king in his fight against me. I feel my own shadow would have slit my throat if she ever took any action that I did not first take myself. Kiara is without initiative, I am happy to say.

The batle ended when I tricked the Shadow King's host into agreeing to lend me his soul (the poor guy was freaked out enough). By extension I could then manipulate the Shadow King's. I waited until the human and the three dimension shadow overlapped one another (which is possible in fog). I then bound their astral energy together as tightly as cement. Inside a body where there is no chance of light, the Shadow King perished. As a result, the human became the recipient for all the deluge of information from the Shadow King's spies. I am not a doctor, but I think that makes the brain explode. He was alive but non-responsive.

I made sure the man was cared for in a hospital. The longer he lives, the more time there will be before another Shadow King inherits the gift for knowledge. When that happens I will have to kill them all over again. Or you will, future me person.

So yes. While their is a price on my head, I am fortunate in one manner. Shadow people can't tell human beings appart. We all look the same to them. The only way they can track me is by identifying my own doppelganger. And I have convinced Kiara to always hide her face in shadow.

Subject: Re: Things That Never Were Sat Jan 02, 2016 7:08 am

Yesterday upon the stair,
I met a man who wasn't there.
Oh how oh how can such things be?
His state was contradictory.

He said relax he came in peace,
Ensure our wars would never cease.
He meant no ill, he caused no fret.
Yet that made him the greatest threat.

I told him straight, I said retreat,
He stood his ground, departed fleet.
And therein lies the problem see,
In defeat he claims a victory.

I lashed out quick to do him harm,
And sucker punched an outstretched palm.
My astral blast could fray his soul,
It split into a complete whole.

It was then I saw my strikes were lured,
In defence his counter was assured.
He broke my fist upon his jaw,
And whimpered out a mighty roar.

I blocked his blows, I know I did,
Stopped them dead and round they slid.
Backing off, I tried to escape,
All routes led back into this scrape.

Not being present he wouldn't know,
But I was trapped within his throe.
He drew his sword; a fine antique,
Freshly made by himself last week.

He aimed it like a gun, thereby,
It missed its shot and struck bullseye.
I fell down dead and yet revived,
Somehow in death my life still thrived!

Twas then I knew what stood before,
A force greater than all folklore.
He'd pulled me back from the abyss,
I could not match Antithesis!

It seemed as though I was now doomed,
To spend my days as his; entombed.
Even if he let me go free,
He'd still possess the absentee.

The problem seemed intractable,
But not for me - I am Tzul!
I harnessed all my ignorence,
And garbled out complete nonsense.

At first confused, he made me quiet,
Thingy doodads then caused a riot.
Those whatsit words had made him frown,
I kippled quick and knocked him down.

My vorpal sword went snicker snack,
There was no contradicting back.
Gibberish was his bane, his woe,
He can't reflect what he doesn't know.

'Stop' he cried 'This just isn't fair',
'You can't pluck words right outta thin air'!
'That's not a noun, that's not a verb',
'Take care shaman who you disturb'.

'It isn't me' I told the guy,
'My magic level's not that high'.
'You upset someone of greater stock',
'Now fear the manxome Jabberwock'!

Then whiffling came a burbling brute,
With dimensions I could not compute.
Its frightsome gire was to stun,
It said one word and that was 'Run'.

I can't recount what next transpired,
Description fails where desired.
The Jabberwock unleashed with ease,
Unspeakable monstrocities.

While death itself can't keep him bound,
The nowhere man was run aground.
Under nonsense of such acclaim,
He suffered fates without a name.

Yesterday upon the stair,
I met a man who wasn't there.
He wasn't there again today,
Good.

As a side note, I would like to mention that Antithesis is the only being in the history of the universe capible of thinking about 'The Game' whilst simultaineously winning it. In case that's ever useful to you.

Subject: Re: Things That Never Were Mon Jan 18, 2016 2:05 pm

Earthquakes are not uncommon in Nicaragua, so it was with little incredulity that its citizens believed another had occurred. Despite the fact there were no tremors. And that you could walk the path of destruction as you could a trail of footprints. I approve of this deception, for it isn't necessary that the public know the reality.

The situation was not known to me either when I arrived. I was trudging my way along a dilapidated country lane, when out the corner of my eye I happened to notice a tank driving towards me. Now, I do not know the traffic laws of Nicaragua, but when this happens in Belize, we tend to give the tank right of way. I straddled a fence while watching a large military convoy drive past. It seemed as good a time as any to break for lunch.

The peculiarities started when out of the field behind me there approached a sheep. The soldiers raised an alarm and came to a halt. Several aimed their fire-arms while one man, riding on a jeep, constructed a larger weapon. It fired rockets I think. Dragging me to ground, a unit of heavily armed infantry engaged the barnyard animal. It lost. Spectacularly.

There followed some bellowing from a man in charge which caused the soldiers to look decidedly... sheepish. I have mentioned before I don't speak Spanish good. But there are many in Latin America whom are better at languages than I. While the officer shouted at his men, another came to me with an apology, believing it was my animal they had just butchered. They said it was an honest mistake. They had mistook it for a goat.

My family never reared goats. I'm not sure what it takes to kill them usually. But even I saw a marked disparagement between goal and resources. I was almost tempted to ask them why. Instead I decided to follow them up the road and see what happened. I was not disappointed. And in case you're thinking it, no, none of the soldiers were cute. I swear.

From the head of the column, the tank fired. It was suddenly all activity on the ground. Alejandro lifted me from the jeep before it sped off through the fields. As I walked towards the carnage, I saw that same jeep go airborne, followed by the death wails of a couple dozen battle-hardened veterans. I kept going. What I found should not have shocked me. It was a goat.

The goat was tearing through men and solid barricades as if they were made of paper. Bullets were not slowing it. The tank fired again and scored a direct hit. The flailing body of the creature flew through the air and landed with a wet thud two-hundred yards distant. It got back up. The goat then charged at the tank, some four times its height and many times its weight, before butting it. The tank exploded. The goat went flying over the horizon in a fireball. The army retreated.

Forces of the unknown take many forms, even that of the known. Familiar was not comforting to me. I steeled myself and levitated over to the crash site. The goat was already tearing up signposts and plant life. When it saw me flying, it paused and stared. It seemed to understand the world around it. I landed and it charged. I met it with a beam of astral energy. Where as usually my blasts can knock back a grown man, the goat was unfazed. I was forced to use my levitation as an acrobatic dodge. Fortunately it was not totally immune to my attacks. It faltered on one leg and tripped. Physically it was invincible, but my attack could sap its vitality instead. The goat glared.

I told it to go back where it came from. It said 'mehhh' and rushed at me once more. This time when I dodged it flicked its tongue out at me. I have seen frogs that do this, but I did not know goats were able. The tongue latched itself to my skin and dragged me after the rampaging animal. My weight was nothing to it. It descended upon a farmstead and crashed into a chicken enclosure. It detached its tongue and sent me cartwheeling into the coop. I did not like this goat.

I crawled out of the collapsing structure spitting features. The goat was waiting, it stuck out its tongue again and I caught it on my staff. No one else can touch my staff. It's mine. A burning sensation made the goat let go and opened it up to a second blast of astral energy. This one knocked the goat sideways, proving that it was not unmovable. I flew into the air where I knew it couldn't reach and continued my barrage. The goat smashed its way into a farmhouse and evicted the occupants. While waiting for it, it made its way up to the top floor and charged through a window at me. Fortunately this pushed us into a haystack.

Unfortunately by the time I'd escaped it had taken my mask. It was munching on the ferns I'd adorned it with. Somehow it managed to start wearing it, which became a problem. Because my next astral blast struck its face and glanced off harmlessly. It saw my magic could not penetrate objects. It chased me into a corral and set free a lot of cattle. I needed to flank it from behind but the flying debris and cow-flesh made that near impossible. It tore off another fern, this time from my pant coverings, forcing me to kick off its face and levitate higher.

And that's when things got weird.

More goats came out of nowhere. This time they were dead, but they dropped from the sky like rain. I dodged the first handful but then got swatted out the air by a kid and landed in the mud. While I was busy fending off the limp corpses the live goat took out the legs of a water tower. A stampede formed around me before a wall of water swept both me and the cattle over a verge. I hit my head on a rock and passed out.

When I came to it was dark. My arms were splayed out above my head and something was tickling my legs. It was the goat, licking my tattoos. When I recoiled I found to my horror it had somehow succeeded in partially removing them. Which was both impossible and creepy. Without my tattoos I had no magical power. It shouldn't have known that. It pulled another leaf from my pant dressings, butted me as I tried to rise, and then dragged me further into the jungle with its tongue.

Eventually we reached a fierce red glow in the night. When I saw it clearly I realised it was some kind of pentagram. This suggested demonic origin, but my astral sight had spotted no magic potential in the goat. As I stood looking at the circle, it prodded my backside with its horns and forced me to step inside. I believe it wanted to offer me as a sacrifice.

Dark energies radiated from the magical glyph. The goat bayed to the moonlight and shuddered with ecstasy. I felt my soul twinge with fear but could do nothing to protect it since my magic was gone. It was at that moment the goat staggered to one side and slumped against a tree. The pentagram stopped glowing quite so bright and I was able to exit its perimeter.

“Half my costume, the part you ate, was a plant named salvia. It causes hallucinations.”

I wasn't sure if it could understand me any longer. With luck it had dragged me to where I needed to be. Using the local plants avialable and that which I'd brought with me, I fashioned a potion so strong that even I would not drink it for fear of forever losing my wits. I made the goat drink. It did not resist.

The next day I brought the animal to the authorities. Though it still displayed an invulnerability, I had destroyed its mind. Hopefully permanently. From then on it would be no smarter than any other member of its species. Cruel? Maybe. But like I said – I did not like this goat.

I was able to get my tattoos redone in the next village. As for the pentagram, I do not know any seal breaking magic. I left it where I found it. But there is not much danger of it being discovered. That section of the jungle was very remote. And the only animals I saw around were monkeys, tapirs, plus one or two wild goats.

Subject: Re: Things That Never Were Thu Jan 28, 2016 11:19 am

I like spiders and spiders like me. I practically grew up with them. When the Summers came and the village was being eaten alive by mosquitos, you would be glad if ten or twelve spiders set up shop in your room. And waking up to one on your face every now and then is good for the nerves. If it doesn't kill you it can only make you stronger, right?

There is one spider, however, you do not want to get close to. Instead of harmonising with humans it seeks to destroy our homes and will not hesitate to slay a full grown man. It is a creature of nightmare and a symbol of terror. No bigger than a thumb-nail, but no less deadly for being so. And if that hasn't narrowed it down; it is the only spider I've seen with a ninth leg, giving it a limping gate. I call it a Hobbling Horror.

I encountered it in Guatemala. Or Honduras. I didn't pay that much attention to which side of the border I was on. I'm no custom officer, so such things do not concern me. I wandered into a disaster relief aid camp. It was bustling with refugees who had travelled north to escape the recent wildfires. No one asked me if I was suppose to be there, so I helped myself to a meal. Far to the south a cloud of smoke billowed into the air where the fire teams worked long into the night. I assume they won, yet I have heard tales of fires that never go out.

Anyway. At lunch a man suddenly screamed and collapsed off his bench. He was clutching at his hand. There were small puncture wounds in the flap between his thumb and forefinger. Naturally he blamed the spider crawling nearby. No one recognised its breed (species? kind? pedigree?), so a woman trapped it under a glass and they took it with them to the medical tent.

Hours later I found myself visiting that same tent. I had been trying to impress some guy with tree acrobatics and somehow head-butted the ground. We do stupid things when we are little. These days I don't fall out of the tree. The volunteer staff had been treating burns all day and my sore head came as a welcome relief for them. I even got a lollipop.

Next to me sat that same spider-bite victim. I have heard the expression 'green around the gills' but I think this was more apt an example than most. The gentleman was sweating profusely, muttering to himself, and took his own pulse every few minutes. His diligence in that regard paid off. A doctor returned with a diagnosis. There was nothing wrong with him. Apart from a panic attack.

Some family member tried to calm him down. Eventually they decided the only way he was going to have some closure is if they killed the spider. I didn't like this idea. But I had a lollipop to eat. So the patient removed his shoe, arced it back over his head like a mighty sword, and nodded to his wife. She lifted the glass that the spider was under. He brought his arm down to swat it. And died in a raging inferno.

It was the darndest thing. The spider lit up like a blow-torch in response to the threat. Within a fraction of a second the victim was engulfed in a fireball roughly the shape and size of his body. He must have died quick. I cannot be so sure for everybody else. That spider went on a rampage. That hospital tent ignited with the speed of a short fuse. I escaped by flying through a tear in the roof.

People came to put out the flames. That only made things worse. The spider was too small to see in the mayhem. It burned alive dozens of the gathered masses before anybody ever thought to run. It walked a path of destruction all along the camp. I knew I had to stop it, but I was scared. It was my first time doing this without my father there to guide me.

I trusted in my powers. Flame is intangible. I can block the intangible. But not the heat that came with it. I swaddled myself in cloths and found a barrel of water to dunk myself in. With this cooling my body I then plunged into the heart of the burning maelstrom. My astral energy kept the flames at bay. My skin prickled with stabs of heat. I searched for as long as I dared, gradually losing cloth as they spontaneously burst into flame. I was down to my smallclothes when I saw it perched upon a web. It crouched menacingly amidst the voracious fire and drifting ash. I smushed it with my staff.

It can't have been the only one of its kind. Now that I think about it, those forest fires probably weren't accidents. Perhaps more importantly, I believe this now gives a valid answer to one of the Unknown's greater mysteries. That of spontaneous combustion. People bursting into a white hot inferno from seemingly nowhere. Perhaps they'd just had the misfortune to encounter a Hobbling Horror.

Subject: Re: Things That Never Were Thu Feb 18, 2016 7:51 pm

Sometimes it seems there is no mystery syience cannot spoil. Syientists have uncovered the secrets of lightning, flight, and our brain. I am certain one day syience will rationise magic. I will do everything in my power to stop such a thing, but there we have it. I cannot be everywhere at once. It is some comfort, then, that a syientist once told me how unexplored the ocean remains. Beneath the sea are perhaps some of the best kept secrets on Earth. Even in its vastness entire islands have gone undiscovered. I know this because I found one.

A year of my life was spent as a castaway. It is not a time I am eager to return to. I am distrustful of the Specific Ocean. It is far colder and meaner than the Carrybean one. You are probably not interested as to how I got lost out there. So I will begin at the part where I walked up a submerged coral highway to make its shore. (Much of the Specific Ocean can be traveled this way for those sick of sailing. Yet it is difficult to rest upon and I imagine would be quiet hazardous during a storm.) I walked up the beach in hope of finding some place to sleep.

I quickly found I was not alone. Brutish ape-like beasts with thick brows and long arms dominated the coast. They threw things at me as I approached and bellowed loudly. I bellowed back and this seemed to make them lose interest. There were a group of them, like a pack. When I turned my back on them they followed me and then would pretend they weren't. I originally thought them some strange monkey, but they had no tail. They also did not have those hand-like feet which help apes climb trees. I observed one try to take on the task. Another onlooker shook the base of the tree as it was about to succeed. It fell to its death.

I escaped them and traveled further inland. It turned out they were not the only animals here. I found a number of horses meandering on the outskirts of a settlement. There were buildings, simple structures which gave ample room to walk around. I did not find any humans but the number of horses increased. Eventually I realised the horses were doing things like chopping firewood and darning thread. I thought this was awful clever. I've never taught a horse anything harder than pulling a cart.

I then noticed a horse riding in a cart. It was being pulled by the ape-like creatures from earlier.

It transpired these horses could talk. They did not speak English well but we were able to converse. They were the intelligent species of this island. They were called ~~Hoonym... Whinim... Whoomim...~~ Horsies. Their first act was to offer me sanctuary. I spent some days with them and in that time learned of their history and culture.

First; they reckoned they had been around as long as humans. We'd just never noticed them before. This seemed unlikely, for they were not adept in technology, nor did they know magic. Yet they were adamant that they seldom had contact with humans. From time to time they would spot a plane, but they claimed humans were so busy with their own problems that they would overlook the island. And their situation was not unique. They said there were many colonies of Horsies dotted all around the Specific Ocean.

They were clever, wise, and far-thinking. I was immediately impressed with their intelligence, and they agreed with my philosophies. Many humans often dismiss my theories out of hand, but the Horsies put in motion experiments to test them that very day. They were a society ruled by logic. They made no decision based on emotion, I found. My arrival caused me to dip into their food reserves. To solve the deficiency they merely killed an old and lame member of their community. And he was resigned to let it happen. There was a short service to check that he had his affairs in order, and then he was taken behind closed doors to kill.

I'd have asked them not to. But I didn't want to offend my hosts. They took the ethical baggage out of murder. I've seen killers who were numb to empathy, but this was something different. This was sheer acceptance of mortality.

They did not invent. Their society was working, and none saw the point in fixing what wasn't broken. They had no word for 'lie' and war was unknown. Everyone took as much as they needed and no more. They had luxuries where it could be spared and a form of art. It was a close approximation of paradise. It was everything I could have hoped for in neighbours (heh, neigh). Unfortunately, they gave me the creeps.

I found myself spending more and more of my days down by the beach with the hairy beasts of burden. It is hard to explain, but was more comfortable with them. They did not live in harmony like the Horsies, and yet they were more natural. Their selfish and deleterious ways were unseemly yet oddly familiar. I soon found out why. The Horsies explained it to me. The Yahoos were simply other humans.

Their body was the same, if scarred and filthy. Their behaviour was basic human instinct. They horded shiny rocks of no worth, would attack each other if they could get away with it, and were wont to be lazy. They wore no clothes and were far hairier, but there was no denying the resemblance. The were lowly and disgusting; they were fine examples of us. Indeed the Horsies revealed that they had never considered me any better. They thought I was a Yahoo that was in self-denial. Apparently it is an affliction that many of our kind share.

To rectify this, they proposed to break my 'logical fallacies' that were preventing me from being true to myself. They put before me five arguments that were so perfect that I could not deny the veracity of them. In doing so they forced a change in me by wait of logic alone. These arguments were:

- As a human you have a base need for self-gratification, self-aggrandisement, and self-preservation; and seek to avoid moral blame whilst doing so.
- Civilisation is about denying this part of you. It is about the group and not the individual. It actively punishes your moral failings and ultimately (for humans) only benefits an elite few.
- You would be happiest if your societal needs were handled by higher beings not given to a selfish nature. You would stop self-abnegating your true nature. Therein lies freedom.
- By submitting to us we will provide you with every life essential. We will do your thinking, look after your well-being, and not hold you accountable for any moral shortcoming.
- (I am unable to reiterate this last argument in my own words)

Their reasoning was so absolute that when I processed it, I began to devolve. My back sloped, my brow grew, and hair appeared in places where there had been none before. The Horsies threw me out of their town and forced me to live with the other Yahoos. I felt my desire for higher thinking ebb away and be replaced with universal yearnings. Fighting against it was futile, I could not deny their logic.

I was their slave; I needed to be their slave.

They used the Yahoos for labour and did not spare the whip. They delivered on all their promises to preserve my life and not a crumb more. I don't know how long I remained in that degraded state. I fought with Yahoos, wallowed in mud, and stole shiny rocks from the others. My consciousness was still there but it was fast fading. It was the worst humiliation I ever experienced.

Many things can focus a mind. Not just higher beings are capable of concentrated effort. And right then revenge was my focus point. Devolution had turned it into an obsession so that every waking moment was spent on the prospect of avenging myself. I tried to find a way to turn down their logic. To deny it for myself. And if there's anything I know a thing or two about it's ignorance.

I would fight their psychoforming logic with a psychoforming illogic. I would fool myself into thinking a thing that wasn't true. My father had shown me it was possible. He'd once prescribed a herbal remedy that he knew was fake. The patient had nevertheless made a full recovery. The Syientists have called it the Placebo Effect.

Baring this in mind, I asked myself how I could know what the Horsies had told me was true. It was only possible to know something if you could explain it to another. I soon got my chance. Another bunch of seafarers had found the island. They appeared to be charting it using navigational tools. No doubt the Horsies intended to subjugate them as well. Heck, if my plan failed, I would have done the job myself. I approached them and tried my best to put across the argument. I failed. I told myself that if I couldn't explain the idea then I did not truly know it. And if I didn't know it, it couldn't effect me.

I transformed back. (This is like the third time I have wound up naked in front of people...)

I'm not proud of what happened next. But the experience had exhausted any chivalry I might possess. I convinced the Yahoos to go to war against the Horsies. They were easy to manipulate. I told them many lies; that the village was hiding lots of shiny rocks, that the Horsies would attack them first, that they would be rewarded by a Greater Power. It ended with them slaughtering each other. I escaped on the exploration ship and sailed away without a backward glance.

I would like to say the moral of this story is that we must seek to rise above our nature. But I fear the exact opposite is true. For should our governments finally stumble upon the Horsies, then they might engage them in diplomacy. If they do, entire countries will regress into a Yahoo state within weeks. The Horsies may be peaceful, enlightened, and idyllic; but they have no humanity. They will enslave us all.

We must show them war and nothing else.

Subject: Re: Things That Never Were Sat Mar 05, 2016 2:29 pm

[IG?][IL?]

Though our story begins it has yet to be done. It winds on and on and can frequently stun.
There was long ago a shaman so sad. Always alone yet three children he had.

The cause of this grief was easy to tell. A fight with a wife, his marriage in hell.
She took all her shoes, she took all her hats. She couldn't remain in a house with those brats.

Their eldest was broad, obnoxious, and loud. He'd sing to the heavens and draw in a crowd.
What a rascally rug-rat he really could be. When it came to the rest he was green with envy.

Our second was loved far more than the first. He'd bump his own head and ask to be nursed.
An owie and boo-boo was never far off. When starving affection he was quick to a cough.

And the youngest was dumb, there's no being polite. She refused to be taught which wasn't so bright.
She was wilful and wise and wouldn't be told. Yet Ms Madam was merely eight precious years old.

Now their father he loved them it can't be denied. But their presence and antics he'd start to deride.
Their behaviour he blamed for the loss of his wife. He was shackled by love, it hampered his life.

So being quite clever the shaman sought aid. For many a night to his gods he had prayed.
He looked deep inside him and something took root. In heed of his summons there came a recruit...

Spoiler:

A presence appeared at his entrance one day, and thud thrice on the door while the kids were away.
With a yay the dad opened and gaily embraced, a tutor which he then employed with all haste.

Sir Tutor had style, charm, and finesse; he'd turn a good phrase, was dapper in dress.
I digress but our friend was all sillyful smiles, he'd keep on grinning for miles and miles.

He hence set to work with copious glee, and turned to the eldest with his repartee.
Disagree though he may about doing his chores, big bro saw different whilst locked up indoors.

24 hours he'd spend in his room every day. The door had been padlocked, the key thrown away.
There he'd stay and remain until driven half mad. His siblings were worried and complained to their dad.

But their harrowing pleas fell on deaf ears. Their father was rightly immune to their tears.
And their fears now grew for their sake of their skin, Sir Tutor grasped hold of the next with a grin.

The second feigned illness for sympathy's sake. Yet he could fool no one with something so fake.
Bellyache though he may on his state of repair, he was dropped off at eternal daycare.

Nevermore would he have the hugs that he craved. If only he'd known to be better behaved.
And he waved to his family as he left them behind. Leaving one sibling, but she was not blind.

Like father like daughter she played the dark arts, dabbled in magic, their souls and their hearts.
Just the parts that she lacked were chapter and verse, to her muddled mind said knowledge was curse.

What she had instead was raw latent skill, an astral font that would always refill.
It was brill, but the one thing that made her the best, was she could see Tutor unlike the rest...

Spoiler:

In alarm she told father what she beheld, a phantom and he coming slowly to meld.
And they yelled and they chanted all of their spells. For many a night there rang sonorous bells.

Fragrant incenses flew thick through the house. They tried to smother and banish and vanish and douse.
But the spouse that the shaman missed dearly so, kept him deep bound in Sir Tutor's throe.

Their mystics and magic had done them no good. The shaman gave up when they'd cast all they could.
Fatherhood was a nuisance, an unwanted chore. Sir Tutor took over; hard to ignore.

Spoiler:

The young girl searched hard for signs of her dad, but all that stared back was a grief-stricken cad.
At a loss that the ghost had remained on this plain, for once she demanded that it should explain.

“Listen to the mustn'ts child. Listen to the don'ts. Listen to the shouldn'ts, impossibles, and won'ts.
Listen to the never haves, then listen close to me... Anything can happen child. Anything can be.”

Amongst the three siblings she was least learned. The care-given teachings of her parents spurned.
No respect had been shown, just bare-faced cheek. With Sir Tutor in charge her future looked bleak.

She was beaten and battered all bloody and bruised. She tolled ten times over the love she misused.
Her dad was both dead in mind and in soul. She would soon join him. Or that was the goal.

Before he could finish her off at his leisure. That bratling now fancied she'd gotten the measure.
She knotted a noose about her own neck, gave him fair warning, and jumped off the deck.

The shock of this act awakened his heart! The dad had revived at his daughter's depart!
He threw off Sir Tutor in fear for that witch! Her plan had succeeded – $%@# $%@# $%@# $%@#!

Grief might have been salvaged upon the kids' death. Renewed as he savoured her last dying breathe.
But the rope had not bitten under her weight. At the last moment she floated – oh great!

So they were united, both father and spawn. Wife was long gone but he'd no longer mourn.
He renewed his outlook on lovers and life. He'd brook no more of Sir Tutor's strife.

Her brothers returned, rejoiced, and gave thanks. The girl grew and grew; joined the mystical ranks.
Yes here was a tale with a fairy book end. Until you take heed of who's ink this was penned.

YOU THINK YOU'VE ESCAPED ME? CLEAN GOTTEN AWAY? YOU &%!@, DON'T YOU KNOW THAT'S SO VERY CLICHE?
LOOK UNDER YOUR COVERS! WATCH OUT FOR A SPOOK! YOU'LL NEVER GET RID OF THE BABADOOK!

I didn't write this...

Subject: Re: Things That Never Were Sun Mar 27, 2016 1:35 pm

Lots of people are struck by the uncanny sensation that there is more going on than they know. They may suspect the powerful in society to be operating against them. But the truth of the human condition is that we are far too busy thinking these things of others to operate in them ourselves. The village headman worries of revolt. The spy cannot sleep at night for fear of surveillance. The keeper of secrets frets that everyone knew all along. This paranoia is natural and healthy. It has not yet devolved into a state where it would hinder society. I have encountered such a blight in other cultures.

Evening in Belize; I was traversing the roadway on foot, as you do, when a Land Rover stopped alongside me and two strangers barrelled out. Without announcing themselves they injected me with some chemical that clouded my mind and then pulled me into the boot. They drove off quickly; no one saw us.

Although conscious, I was not able to draw on my astral reserves to defend myself. Where they took me I do not know. They hooded me and we drove for about an hour. Then everyone piled out and they tied me to a chair, gagging me. There were no lights except for several shielded candles. The two men spent a lot of time looking out of windows, through blinds, whispering to each other. If I didn't know any better I'd say the ceiling was covered in tin foil. I eventually regained enough coherency see them for what they were. These were not humans. These were Lizard Men.

Doubtless they thought themselves well hidden. But my clear sight allows me to see through disguises. Despite their outwardly appearance, underneath they were stooped and scaly. They had forked tongues, slitted pupils, and holes where their ears should be. Their fingers were clawed but they had no tail, instead sporting ragged stumps where tails might have been. Although surprised, I was not perturbed. It was difficult to communicate through the gag (imagine that) but I was able to convey my impressions to them; that they did not need to hide what they were.

Eventually, in the ensuing conversation, it transpired these Lizard Men were not as heinous as they seemed. They had no idea who I was. They were just following orders. They believed me to have important intelligence but neither knew what of. They asked me about myself but refused to believe the answers I gave them. At last I got them to admit they did not even know where their orders to kidnap me had come from. Lizard 1 thought Lizard 2 had been briefed. And Lizard 2 thought Lizard 1 had been told.

Ridiculous, yeah. Both agreed they were to wait until a supervisor arrived to advise them. No one seemed to know how a supervisor was to find them. I laughed at their incompetence and suggested that maybe I was their supervisor. Imagine my surprise when they believed me.

Supervisor or not, it wasn't so far fetched if you think about it. I do often manage to keep my cool, and no human that they knew could see through their disguises. I must, they reasoned, be Lizard ~~Man~~ Woman. They untied me and asked if they had passed the test. I felt it would be churlish of me to say no. They asked for permission to shed their disguises, but I forbid it. They next suggested we report to my own supervisor. At a loss, I agreed this was a good idea.

Here is just a taster of how calamitously the Lizard Men society is operated. Over the next few months in their company I put many of the pieces together. First of all, no single member of their species is permitted to operate without oversight. Everyone is a supervisor to someone else. If that sounds like it wouldn't work - that is probably because it doesn't. Most Reptiloids don't even know who their supervisors are (to my fortune) and live in constant fear of scrutiny.

Insidiously, they likewise treat their own charges with an over-exacting criticalness. Whether they choose to reveal themselves or not, they hold an unaccountable hatred for those they observe. My companions thought me quite saintly in my treatment of them, and that because I did not admonish them at every turn. Supervisors are expected to complete bi-annual reports on their charges in a secret code, and mail those reports to addresses which seem to change at random.

Plenty mention a 'Leadership' that will exact just punishment on the lazy, but my belief is that such Leadership does not exist. It is a self perpetuating fantasy which keeps the Lizard Men in line and drives their dogged pursuit of world conquest. Oh yes. Conquest is indeed their goal. They seek to rule the planet. The promise of such is like a religion to them. But in my days spent alongside their kind, I am doubtful any individual has ever done anything worthwhile to further those aims. They lack a fundamental basic that any coup needs. Coordination.

In this is their downfall. Since no Reptiloid at any time knows who is calling the shots many are operating off of hearsay and conjecture. They read too much into the coincidences of the land and believe them veiled messages sent by the Leadership to strike or lie low. I have seen operations range from the assassination of government bureaucrats to the theft of family pets. They will poison random bottles of milk or help create new streams of 'radical' music. One day they will back the conspiracy theorists and another they will aid government forces. The true mark of a Lizard Man scheme is that it will have no goal. I would not even say their activities support aimless chaos. They are simply purposeless;

Senseless... As an agent for change the Reptiloids are a blind writhing mass of malcontents. But they are not without their talents. They are true champions of mimicry. Their impersonations are second-to-none and their shape-shifting functions via a mechanism I still do not understand. They can simply 'be' anyone they set their minds to. If they had any true guidance they would have no trouble replacing the Heads of State and remain undiscovered in doing so.

Rest assured then that the majority take the disguise of no person in particular. The greatest congregation of Lizard Men take jobs as waiters, butlers, tailors, and vicars. They are the haughtily upper-class folk who still unaccountably work in these sectors. They revel in being snooty, aloof, disdainful, and snobbish to the general public. Many more still find jobs in politics. It is well known that no Reptiloid can deny being one if asked directly. They are masters of avoiding the question which fits right in with the political scene.

Evoking their other talents - they are second to none in what syentists call cryptography. They can and probably have broken every code known to man. One of my companions claimed an Englishman called Alan Turing was a Lizard Man. They helped bring us the computer age merely to have codes to break. Every Reptiloid can solve complex encryptions and cyphers in their head given minutes. I had to pretend I understood what any secret messages that arrived for us meant.

A lot has been said. I could go on. I could tell you how they reproduce (and how I got out of that mess). What they eat (I can't look at kittens anymore). Where they come from (they don't know themselves). Or what effect they've had on our history (probably not important). But the above account should provide you with enough information.

Let's be honest. They are disorganised and ineffectual. They watch and hate each other more than they watch and hate us. They trust nothing yet are somehow incredibly gullible. We have nothing to fear from them.

Subject: Re: Things That Never Were Sun Apr 03, 2016 1:33 pm

I should clarify from my last entry. I never lost touch with my Reptiloid pals. To this day they have been known to show up unannounced upon my doorstep. They still believe me one of them. And I dare say it would be impossible to convince them otherwise now, so suspicious are they of everything. They could deny the very sky. They go by many aliases but here let us call them Clive and Himay.

While they are a pain, they provide me a welcome distraction at times. As I mentioned a few pages back, Lizard Men as very good at deciphering hidden messages. One day they brought to me a project they had been working on. They called it 'backmasking'. Basically it is the art of playing sounds backwards to uncover hidden messages.

For years the Reptiloids had known these backward messages have been used by various factions to deliver subliminal messages to the masses. Clive told me that the cleverest of these messages include a command to forget you heard the message, so even if you played it backwards you would never know it had been tainted. Unfortunately (or fortunately) these messages often experience a lot of interference. Of an infernal nature.

Yes, the Devil exists. And he is the reason the human race has not been brain-washed by boy bands.

I hesitate to use the term 'Devil'. I am not a Christian and nor do I particularly prescribed to a religion that promises a Hell. In Obeah it is assumed that once we die (and if we were bad) we will wander the Earth as spirits. However, I am forced to admit that I kind of sort of 'went' to Hell this one time. So I grant the theory some leeway.

Anyway. Backmasking fell out of fashion once it became clear that by doing so you were attracting the attentions of an ill-defined nefarious immortal soul-monger. Don't get me wrong, it's not for certain you'll suffer consequences, but yikes it's not worth the risk. Only the ignorant or the desperate use it nowadays. And the Reptiloids usually intercept them for their own good.

All of this my scaly buddies told me before explaining their discovery. They had been listening back to some of this interference the subliminal messages had been plagued with. And they thought they could put together a new message from that. A subliminal message within a subliminal message. They were very excited. Himay kept pouring shot glasses and proposing toasts. To great success and world domination blah blah. They get ahead of themselves a lot.

When we had finished (and by we I mean they, all I did was hide the whiskey) we listened to the results. It was a series of rambling sentences. Nothing said was of any importance but there was one significant thing about it. It was all in one voice. The same person on recording media the world over. After hours sifting through the data we came to several conclusions.

1) The voice was talking to itself.
2) The voice could hear what was on the messages, often commenting on them.
3) It was stuck somewhere.
4) Wherever it was, it could hear whale song.

Clive and Himay wanted to try communicating with it and disappeared for three months. When they returned they led me to some kind of satellite station specially kitted out in gizmos and trinkets that I would have to say I don't recognise. They claimed to have made contact with something. An entity imprisoned in the sound-waves. As their supervisor, they thought I should do the talking.

At first the voice thought we were recordings. It wasn't use to speech that was directed at itself. When it at last realised what was happening it lost its cynical edge and became pleading. It had been imprisoned in sound for as long as it could remember. When asked for a time scale, all it could suggest was an eternity. It could see nothing, touch nothing. It was literally a Cry in the Dark.

It measured its day by the sound of sunlight, described as a gentle aum. It stood on ambient noise. It fed itself on percussions. It rode a wave of reverberation and was buffeted by peal like a rainstorm. Ever in motion, its landscape was constant turmoil, as if sitting on the high sea. It recognised me and my companions by the tone of our voice and preferred we speak melodically. Only pitch perfection did not harm the Cry in the Dark and I found myself singing rather than speaking to it. It stated it could only be freed if everything in the universe was silent at once.

This all sounded very poetic. But as we chatted I was struck by the vague notion of insincerity. I eventually put my finger on what disturbed me. As I said previously, we'd thought the interference was infernal, on account of the involvement of the Devil. But the Cry was causing the disturbance. Which could only mean... I accused the voice. I claimed it was the Devil.

It paused before replying, “Aren't you?”

I cut off the transmission. Clive and Himay complained, it would take them hours to recalibrate, but now that we were not speaking to the Cry, I began to notice something. We were all noticeably thinner, malnourished even, I was fatigued and parched to the point of danger. Our bodies had been wasting away. Clive thought we had lost track of time, but we hadn't. Not a second had been lost.

I then realised Himay had recorded our conversation with the voice. I asked him to play it for us. But backwards. You could hear the usual gibberish resulting from our voices. But every time the Cry in the Dark spoke, it was with pure clarity. Each and every sentence, in reverse, said, ”Die! Die! Die! Die!” and nothing else.

I don't know what the Cry is. But it's trying to kill the Devil. And something tells me it is the worse of two evils.

Subject: Re: Things That Never Were Sat May 21, 2016 1:46 pm

I will explain why I got lost at sea. Eventually. Honest, it is on my to do list. But that is a story for another entry. This one takes place after I have already been cast into the high waves. But before I met the Horsies. And before passing through the kaiju conservation.

At this point I was on another ship. It was rather small, and on deck was piled several dozen burlap sacks full of what I believed to be coconut. They were held in place with a net you had to step over to get around. The pilot promised me a phone when we stopped at the next port. I did not know who I would call. Maybe my dad. But he does not own a boat. And I could not have directed him to me even if he did.

Yet around mid-afternoon we encountered a curious sight. There was a woman stood upon the sea. Merely her feet were submerged. She looked bedraggled and haggard. When we called out to her she did not look our way. I decided to fly over to see if she needed assistance. I knew by then that there were several human-like species that lived in the oceans and assumed she was one. Curiously I found that she was standing on ground. A plateau of coral lying just beneath the waves.

I turned to shout my warning to the boat but I needn't have bothered. The coral bed sunk when confronted with the hull. It was buoyant, it was mobile. You could sail straight through it and never know that it was there. When I turned back to the water woman she had gone.

Sensing danger, I wanted to push on. But the sailors had become enraptured with the prospect of what I had found. They threw down an anchor and stepped onto the submerged shore. Fish swam between their feet and waves splashed against their calves. They wanted to map the zone. Reveal to the world their discovery. It wasn't their discovery.

As I said, there are several species which call the sea their home. Atlanteans look like us, but they can live and breathe in water. Upon trekking a short distance we came across a group of them. It was as much a surprise to us, but the Atlanteans claimed they had nothing to do with the coral. It predated the Atlantean civilisation. They were a group of scholars there for research. And though I have no great love for scholars, if more start strutting about in their swimming trunks, then I might reconsider.

They claimed they were intrigued because their telepaths could not communicate with the coral. It even caused them migraines, which I guess explains why they did not live nearby. They had thus turned to magic to investigate its wonders. It proved to be another example of my impeccable timing. No sooner had the Atlantean shaman begun his scrying were we all zapped by a bolt of energy.

Everything around us grew. Until we were engulfed by the sea.

I might have drowned but this one Atlantean guy shared his oxygen with me until we found shelter. Yes, the usual way you do that. So all in all it was lose/win situation. He'd located an underwater cave that we swam into. We surfaced in a cavern with useable air. We did not know what became of the others.

The cave proved to be a network of caverns. My mask may have been water-proofed earlier on but the dip had caused it to lose some decoration. I picked some odd fir like growths off the walls to replace them. It wasn't rock we were surrounded with. The only route open to us was down.

As we edged our way along there grew signs of civilisation. Actual brick and motor in the form of crumbled ruins. There were the husks of trees starved of sunlight and rock mounds that didn't match the cave walls at all. We saw things like these in every chamber. Axes and rotten stubs of fencing. The bones of what we feared were humans began to crop up. My companion wanted to turn back but I saw no use in retracing our steps.

It was when his nose began to bleed that made me pause. Because his kind was psychic, the coral had given him a headache. But not at a level he was used to. It had grown many times worse during our travels. I finally understood where we were. We were inside the coral.

We had shrunk to a size so small that we were crawling through its capillaries. But that's not what worried me. The amount of debris we were coming across foretold a bigger tale (if you will pardon the pun). It suggested that ours was not an isolated incident. And unfortunately for my Atlantean lifeguard, he wasn't going to last long.

My astral energy can weaken psychic 'waves', if that's what you want to call them. I did my best to shield him as we moved on. We entered a chamber with a tall funnel roof and looked up. At the top there was a gelatinous mass writing about. Directly beneath it had been built what was undeniably an altar for worship. The lose stone we'd been walking passed had been quarried and fashioned into a small flower shaped temple. Various picture carvings had been added in decoration. There was many a statue. Those were most unusual of all.

They were almost spherical in shape but had many flat surfaces (they should invent a name for that). The artists had put effort into shaping bristles. At regular intervals they had rods sticking out of them. If you could roll a statue, it would always land on three rods, like a tripod.

In gawking at these we bumped into a procession of people. These were like the water woman I saw earlier. They were drenched and dishevelled and held their eyes closed. Their first response was to attack us, but the Atlantean overpowered them. We held one while the rest ran off to gather help.

Our captive spoke a language I was unfamiliar with. My companion vaguely recognised it as one that he knew. I forget what it was now. One of the islands in the Pacific still talk it, I believe. He thus asked the coral walker to explain what was going on. I will give you the gist.

First of all I was right that we'd been shrunk (hurray) and were trapped inside the coral (boo). But not by those humans. They were very much prisoners of circumstance as well. They'd been shrunk down so long ago that they did not even know of calendars. Due to their miniature stature they had an unnaturally long life but little access to sunlight.

They survived at the mercy of 'higher beings'. Gods that lived in the gelatinous ooze above and gathered nutrients for them to feast on. All that these deities asked in return was absolute servitude. It was these creatures we had to blame for our being here. I call them Landmass Thieves.

Throughout history, it would seem these Landmass Thieves were responsible for abducting entire islands, with their populations, and cramming them into the coral. They probably do this to renew their worship-base and for resources. They began their work by littering the desired coasts with coral. Once surrounded, the islands are shrunk down and coalesced into the caverns.

This causes me some concern since many islands in the Caribbean sea house coral beds. But I am assured by people who know these things that, should an island go missing, people would notice.

What befalls their captives is enslavement. They live a miserable and deprived existence tending to their masters and inducting new people into the fold. The Landmass Thieves do not speak a human tongue and so communication with them is on a trial and error basis. This often involves slaying their followers. Our prisoner understood little more than that.

It was then that the chamber was crowded with a mass of castaways, blocking all exits. And those people bayed terribly to the heavens in a din that shuddered the chamber. And in response to these cries, the ooze above us opened up. They were calling down their gods. A number of them slithered down from their thrones and descended to our level. They were shaped exactly like the statues I've already described. Being one with knowledge, the Atlantean called them zoox-something. I'm not sure about that, but I now gather they were a type of cell or 'microbe'.

Their insides could be seen for they were transparent. The first that reached us fell upon the man we had been speaking to and absorbed him into their skin. In case you were interested, he screamed. It probably hurt. During what happened next he remained there, dissolving.

The people bowed and prayed to their round gods as they arrived. It might have been a one-sided conversation had we not suddenly been blasted with telepathic images. The Landmass Thieves showed us images of bleached coral, of storm damaged beds, of pipes of pollution, and of great bombs hitting the ocean with a mushroom cloud. They showed us themselves in radiance and ourselves in dirt. They wanted us to submit like the rest.

I told them who I was and gave them a single chance to release us and surrender. In response they showed us pictures of our innards. Then they advanced.

Astral power is a funny thing. It is not related to a person's size. Despite being smaller then a cell, I was as strong as ever (had I not protected my companion from the psychic waves for all this time?) and so I unleashed that power. I pushed back the so called 'gods' and then directed my blast up. The gelatinous ooze was as much alive as they were. It was a polyp, and far more simple minded than they. Once my astral attack sapped its energy it collapsed down into the chamber, much to the terror of the humans, and engulfed us all.

Inside its tissue was where the Landmass Thieves had made their home. Me and the Atlantean wandered blindly into its folds, pursued by microbes, until we came across a cache of what I suppose was technology. Not tech as we know it. It was not designed for hands. But once I saw it I knew it was related to our predicament. I pointed a nozzle at the pair of us and bashed it until something started to happen (very much my approach to computers).

Mercifully the device resized us. We seemed to shoot upwards, smashing the chamber wide open and then exploding out of the ankle-deep water. And that was the end of that. Or at least it would have been, had not one of the Landmass Thieves come along for the ride. There stood, in the light of day, a microscopic monstrosity that squealed viciously into our faces. I tried to zap it with my astral energy, but it seems size was a factor to its telepathic might. It overpowered me.

But with the luck I often find myself blessed with, just before it could devour us whole, a cloud-bank moved and brought out the Sun. In sunlight the creature quickly shrivelled up and turned to powder. It blew away on the breeze.

Being unable to survive in our world means there is little danger of outward aggression from these strange beings. However, my Atlantean friend was eager to tell his cohorts what he had learned and to investigate coral everywhere as soon as possible, lest they be housing these power-mad fiends. I stole a kiss from him and bid my farewells. I could not journey to the ocean depths with him. With the ship out of sight I continued to make my journey over the coral plateau provided.

It is a shame I could not help all of those trapped people, but as I often say, I am no superhero. My concern begins and ends at the confinement of the Unknown. Those people will have to fend for themselves. I can not be sure where they all came from, but the man we spoke to gave his home land. He used to live in a place called Mu.

Subject: Re: Things That Never Were Tue May 31, 2016 1:17 pm

Upon reflection I have not been strict enough with myself. I promised to keep these accounts brief. But in writing them something of a chatterbox has opened up in me. It appears I have a need to unburden myself just like anyone else. Even though my philosophical beliefs side against idle chatter. You don't even need to know this, future me, so I apologise for this luxury of a journal. I will try to keep this next tale as to-the-point as possible. And skip over any awesome masks I may have been wearing that day.

It was a mountain village in Belize. My father was asked to come, but he sent me instead because he was still sleeping off a- not that that's important. The settlers found no relief from the local authorities. Their kids were missing and the usual excuse of kidnap given. But these people were spooked. They believed their children were in danger. A mother's intuition is often undervalued.

They'd traded stories and found similarities in the way their kids had behaved before they disappeared. Glum, paranoid, easily frightened, and aloof. Clear signs of a sick soul - which is why they had asked for a shaman. They thought spirits might be to blame. But this alone was not significant. In drawings each child had been sketching vague yet similar stick figures. Tall thin trees (not common near us) and a human who appeared to mimic said trees. He was equally tall, equally thin, and instead of arms he had several tendrils coming from his body, like branches. Never did this man have a face. The children called it Flinchy on account that it hid and only peeked out when their mothers had turned away.

Many of the fae could manifest in such a way. I made inquiries in case the children had been abducted into a fairy land. I am reasonably sure they had not. When I showed the drawings to the alux they cast me out of their realm with surprise fear. They gave me advice to stop looking into it. To ignore the man in the drawing. Basically that curiosity would get me killed.

Oddly this is a message that resonated with me. Weird, huh?

I burned the drawings that night and left for home. Months later we got word that one child out of three had returned. Apparently a shell of themselves, refusing to talk of his experiences. I ignored any further summons.

My guess is Flinchy is a being that exists only in creativity. It hunts children for the power of their imagination. It is strengthened by interest and scrutiny. If the hearsay is right, it has the power to drive its victims mad. As heartless as it may seem, our best hope against such a creature is to ignore it. It will go away.

That is, of course, assuming the creature hasn't taken measures to perpetuate its legend. That it has not created another in the image of itself to do its bidding until it was strong enough to set out on its own.

Last month it killed the Slenderman. I buried his body in the usual manner.

Subject: Re: Things That Never Were Thu Jul 28, 2016 7:00 am

After the cotton fields have been picked the people of Guatemala turn to weaving as their primary occupation. I had the privilege to spend a season living amongst a Maya community there. There are no better seamstresses. Not that the mass-produced American fabrics aren't impressive in their own ways, but you can hardly call them tailor made. They mainly use ixcaco cotton, but I saw them braid rabbit hair and plant fibres as well. They were not big fans of wool. This proficiency might be why they were targeted. But who's to say?

The mountain villagers gave me shelter and in return I spent my days sewing for them. It is a practical thing being able to make your own clothes. I had plenty of time to reflect on my cultural roots. Now that I know I am reincarnated, I needn't have bothered. My complacency made me slow to realise the irregularities.

First of all I was always tired. Not spiritually but plain and simple exhausted. Secondly I did not dream. I remember my dreams quite vividly. And last but not least I got out of bed on the left-hand side. I never do that unless something is wrong in the night.

I decided to keep wakeful. I sat up for long hours of the night in anticipation of irregularity. There was a lot of activity outside even at this late hour. Yet strangely not a light had been lit. I decided to go down and investigate. What I saw were residents doddering about as if they were sleepwalking. Which in itself is not strange I guess. But the fact all of them had some form of garment pulled over their head was.

Spoiler:

The shoulder worn quechquemitl was plastered over their faces or else a woman's huipil had ridden high. Head-cloths, bandanas, or jackets were similarly stretched over the nose of men. They were walking as if under a trance. But they were evidently lucid, for when I made myself known they came for me. They then tried to hike up my own garments.

Thinking quickly I imbued a portion of my astral energy into my top. When the fabric met my nose it was like falling into a dream. I was barely conscious. If it wasn't for my heightened perceptions I would not have been there at all. It was like I was imprisoned some place while my body was taken over. I could feel this presence cycle through my mind. I suddenly could not remember waiting up. The entity had destroyed those memories.

Before it could erase my suspicions altogether I fought back. It may have thought itself safe from attack, being behind whatever veil it resided, but my astral blast touched its incorporeal form and utterly removed it. I awoke to find myself in a ghostly procession. The entirety of the town was on the move. Its whole population had been enslaved by the Procession of the Garb.

I made sure to keep my outfit over my nose and followed on. It seemed obvious to me what had happened now. During the evening people got undressed for bed. And when they dragged their shirts over their heads they were ensnared by these mysterious spirits present in the stitches. It was in cloth these beings did dwell, and they needed our hands and feet to further their aims.

Considering they could rewrite our memories at whim, it seemed likely they had been doing this to us for some time. Every night they took control and every morning they gave us it back. We would not have been any the wiser. I now began to recall the empty houses in town. The strange gaps in the village that could easily have featured a person ever since wiped from our minds. I reasoned that they cared little for collateral damage in what they wanted. I had to stop them.

The dour journey took us to the village thread-stores. We entered a trap-door into a basement that was heavily camouflaged from the outside. The underground chamber was lavishly adorned with embroidery of all colours and patterns. It was wired for light, though not much, and contained a great deal of looms and other weaver's tools. There was even a basin for dyes. The Procession got straight to work. I grabbed a needle and joined in.

A team of Garbs moved to one side and removed sheets from something on a table. Disconcertingly, this proved to be a dead body. Judging from the smell, they must have been dead for some time. I tried not to notice it, but they were pricking at its veins, draining from it blood that would then go into the vats of dye. Every strand was stained with human life.

All efforts appeared to be on the unfinished piece of work spread across the far wall. It was a grand tapestry the likes of which I've never seen. Mesmeric wine-like purples and reds seemed to glow as if the thread itself held a sheen. Its pattern was almost symmetric and yet deviated to the slightest degree to give a sense of deformity. Whole circles dominated the centre, while at its border were depictions of men. If you followed it around it told a story.

Once upon a time men were naked. They knew not of clothes and neither shame. But then a fiend or deity with crystal eyes and purple face got involved. Either born of our embarrassment or the cause of it – it latched itself onto our skin. It hung like a weight that man could not shed. Perhaps it is the physical concept of starkness or nudity – a mindset certainly not shared by animals. They are not as self-aware of their bodies as we are. And this fiend was bound by string to every human. It was here that the work had stalled. There was an evident piece missing from the tale. But the very last scene, at least, had already been sown into the tapestry.

It was a picture of the crystal-eyed one wearing clothes of human skin.

I'm not the best judge of character. But I got the impression that this entity was not benevolent. And so I decided to end it. But how to do so? I could banish the spirits as I had my own – but what was to stop them returning the next night? Unless we became a nudist colony. But the mosquitoes had not yet left and so that idea was discarded.

It would have helped to know where they came from. Many supernatural creatures live in different layers of reality. I'm sure a wizard could tell you what plain the faerie folk reside. Boundaries often meant nothing to such creatures. So I decided to introduce some.

It was easy to wander aimlessly touching the cloths of the infected. No one asked me what I was doing or had any hint of curiosity. I used my powers to bind the entities to the massive looms that they were working from. And as they worked, thread by thread, they began to sew themselves into the works they were creating. Like a frog in warming water they had no idea what they were doing to themselves.

When morning came the Procession put away their tools and returned their hosts to their houses. I remained in the basement watching through my astral vision. It was a quite a sight to watch each strand of spirit get flung into the tapestry as they detached themselves from the clothes. Like an elastic band they all came to rest in the enormous work of art, writhing and screaming in violent outrage.

I told them then who I was and why I had involved myself. I commanded them to tell their brothers to leave this town alone – lest I imprison their entire decrepit race. Tzul the Ignorant would destroy them all with fire if need be. And as spirits who knew not death, this frightened them immensely.

All that was left to do was to seclude the tapestry. It was too large to move myself, it was all I could do to take it off the wall. I also remembered that these creatures could violate my memories. I needed to hide this creation in a place where not even I remembered. It was the first time I devised my method of inebriating myself shortly after deposition.

Yet as I pondered these problems the tapestry began to ripple. The Garbs trapped within were not the ones moving it. I stepped back as something seemed to grow beneath. I knew that underneath was solid rock, and yet a figure rose up as if riding an elevator. It kept growing until it was eleven feet tall and the edges of the tapestry barely dragged along the ground. The nonsensical patterns of the piece, given contour, suddenly formed a face. A large purple face with diamond eyes.

Ajtzen Kaax the Unholy Stark.

The name came to me in a flash. I did not know its relation to the spirits – their creator or their mad god, but they had sown the tapestry for it and now it had come in their hour of need. My astral blast was useless against it. It seemed stronger than the multitude I had faced. I felt the fibres of my outfit tremble and was suddenly engulfed by shame. I was overcome with the belief that I was showing too much skin, that I was dishonouring myself.

I could only cover my body in embarrassment as it glided silently across the basement towards me. From the silhouette an arm materialised and gestured. The skin on my own arm began to peel from nothing sharper than air. If I did not do something quickly I had no doubt I would be flayed alive. Salvation came from humble corners.

I'd noticed that the basement hatch had been vacuum sealed. And it had been a long night. The town had always been fighting an uphill battle against insects. If the stitching hadn't worked then my backup plan had been to attract insects. Smells of rotting fruit or meat work very well in this regard. And come daylight, the dank basement was alive with moths.

Several began to land on the tapestry. Ajtzen Kaax seemed distracted by them. I forced myself to move and removed the sheets covering the dead body. The one they had harvested for blood. It was slimy with putrifaction. I lifted it with my astral powers and then flung it headlong at Ajtzen Kaax. Covered with vile juices the insect interest became a frenzy. Seemingly from nowhere flies and cockroaches and all sorts began to swarm the tapestry. It floundered uselessly and seemed to have no control over the simple-minded creatures.

I ran for the exit and sealed the trapdoor. Only later that day did I return, determined to finish the job. But I needn't have bothered. The tapestry lay limp on the floor with ragged holes across its fine needlework. I had the townspeople help me transport it. And we abandoned it deep in the jungle. I invited each of them to share a wits-robbing drink with me to make sure none knew its place.

For I got lucky. Ajtzen Kaax was not someone I could handle alone. The Garb had clearly been attempting a ritual – a ritual that could surely be attempted anywhere else on earth. Anywhere they think they can escape my notice. Had the Garb finished the tapestry, and raised it in all its glory, I wonder then if the Unholy Stark would need to hide beneath it at all.

Better that he throw aside his birthday suit and take a new outfit. One sown of the flesh of the blushing and the prudish.

» Things Unsaid
» Stranger Things
» So things happen
» Things change
» Searching For Missing Things