Never Too Late!

Never Too Late!
any resemblance to anyone real or imaginary is mere bad luck
we are all lying in the gutter, but some of us are trying to get up


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.