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t3knomanser's Fustian Deposits

The following is a stream of consiousness that I composed: It just…

How Random Babbling Becomes Corporate Policy

run the fuck away

Mad science gone horribly, horribly wrong(or right).

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run the fuck away
The following is a stream of consiousness that I composed: It just kinda spewed out, completely out of my control.

I don't think I'm going to finish this. I'm not even sure why I started really, it's not like the mood is set; John Coltrane blasting from my record player is hardly the music to write the end of my life to, is it? The irony of the whole thing� that's really what gets me.
No, it really doesn't. But that's what you're supposed to say, right? Oh, woe is me, how ironic, I'm about to die and had no control over it. Fuck. People should really get to practice before having to go through with shit like this, don't I even get to write a second draft.
Damn, I procrastinating. I don't want to write this though, that's really what it is. Because, even though the terror is looming right out my window, I don't want to think about it. I mean, I'll be damned if it doesn't scare the fuck out of me.
What did I do? It's not like I really meant to. I picked up The Book. I can't even be more specific, or I'll never finish this. The Book was heavy when I lifted it, a huge, leather bound volume. I wish I had it now, the weight would comfort me, and who knows, maybe I could find some solution to my dilemma.
Now, I know what you're thinking, standard horror movie premise. Stupid, immature hero picks up some ancient thing that they shouldn't, various evils and nasties come to kill them, and they survive by sheer pluck and luck. But this is nothing like that.
The Book really wasn't the problem. It was Javis.
You see, Javis has always wanted The Book. Ever since I won it at that auction, he's coveted it. He'd watch me practice the rituals, rehearsing each step and syllable, carefully and out of sequence, lest I run the whole thing through in order, hence releasing the power of the incantation. He thought I didn't notice the ritual where he brandished the ritual dagger and attempted to use it to project a malediction onto me.
It was no effort to sideswipe the malediction, Javis was never quite so competent at sudden attacks as I was. I saw it coming a mile away, and redirected it onto his wife. He deserved that for all of his avarice and treachery. It was good for him damn it, but no, he couldn't let that lie. After she died, he left the cabal, but how could I know he left me a present.
It was a silly bomb, and the shockwave probably killed him. He took a photocopier and knitted together jumbled texts from the Necromnicon, the Torah, Crowley's works, and a few sigils that I'll never be able to recognize. When I was out he slipped past my wards and slipped the page into the book.
When I next lifted the book, the interaction of all of those mystical fields hit my body, and The Book attempted to sway over� but failed. All hell broke loose.
I have not yet begun to sound like a madman, but let me continue. Things came from The Book; usurping its force and essence. Even now, the most benign of the things flickers in the periphery of my vision always, dancing, tempting me to look towards it, but every time I glance nothing is there. Nothing! But I see it nonetheless and it taunts me, oh how it taunts me.
I'm going to keep typing this for as long as I can� I've set my computer to automatically email it to Jarvis, and I think the resonance I'm packing into this document should seal some kind of vengeance against him. Perhaps I can even trap some portion of the things in it.
But as the Tentacle of the Unawakened works through the phone jack, I don't think I'm going to be able to get the email to send. But that's okay, if I hang up the phone, it can't get through can it? I remember reading that the FBI could force a phone line to be active even after the other person hung up. If they can do that, I don't think the Unawakened would be daunted by such a thing.
So I'll just let it crawl from the phone. That, and the mist rising from the electrical outlets.
Now it is ironic. I erected wards to keep them out, and instead of trying to break them, they instead use the natural chinks in them that I allowed to exist! Phone, electricity, water� I told these utilities to come in, and be welcome, and the Unawakened were welcomed by them, and hence, welcomed into my home.
There's a scream from the shower. I don't have to imagine what happened, because the shattered corpse of my wife stands in my study, naked, wet, and torn, something else behind her eyes, and poking out from the corners where her flesh no longer meets.
It's black.

All black.
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