Neglect Not the Black Arts

Bleeds personality from you – acquires mannerisms and characteristics from the people he parasites off – a shifting composite of his present hosts.

She’s starting to see things out of the corners of her eyes. It’s one of the first symptoms - I remember when it happened to me. Painful dilation of the mind occasioned by the insertion of an unusually large new idea.

Shako was standing facing the wall with his back to them. On the wall he had daubed a strange cruciform symbol using the blood from the cut on his arm. The lights flickered back on by themselves. The evil had evaporated from the air.
“Are you okay?”
He stood with his back to them, ignoring them. As they gathered around him, he slowly turned to them, with his head tilted back and a strange lopsided half-smile on his face. His eyes had turned an unnaturally icy blue-white, which focused not on them but on something in the distance – listening eyes. The ice gripped them all again.
Shako’s features were shifting – something was struggling under the skin. Ulrika realised with a chill that he was swallowing the demon.

The feral children have somehow unwittingly invoked ancient alien war gods.

GIVE. SYMPATHISE. CONTROL.

Essential corpse maintenance

The corpse is hungry, so force some food into it. The corpse feels desire, find it release. The corpse needs cleaning, scrub it and wash its coverings.

Keep that corpse stumbling forward until it lies down for oblivion, eventually for the last time.




Yes, it is a ghastly vision of life. Sometimes the light just hits the ground at the wrong angle, you know. You grate your teeth and see right into the core of things, but a core that is loathsome and humans should not know. Sartre called it the Nausea; I suppose at least that he was talking about the same thing. It is that moment of sickening realisation, that moment that I think Burroughs' title Naked Lunch refers to - that naked "frozen moment when everyone sees what is at the end of every fork".