The Trance Terrors, R.K. Galvez [surface ebook reader TXT] 📗

always mucking up her rituals - but she was hopelessly useless in most of her roles. Elaine was brought up on sinecures. Just another poor little rich girl stuck in a cruel, class-obsessed, world. She would remain in stasis for this, thought Papus as his mind fondled her innermost fantasies.

He got a mind-link. It was an old link. He needed to find the only plant on his asteroid. It was some norkweedroot which was technically an intelligent form of fossilized bacteria, and not strictly speaking a plant. Papus located the norkweedroot and consumed some on a slow juice day. It made a change from maggot excrement, no matter how refined it was.

The tyme-craft was beyond repair, he noticed the crew had died. There were two skeletons. Papus - in a moment of euphoric norkweedroot ecstasy - bit into his thumb and extracted two drops of blood; one drop for each of the charred skeletons. Papus mumbled a strange incantation, which sounded like a corruption of a similar Etruscan ritual

“Boom-biddy-byby-boombiddybybyby! Aw-law-dee-woo-woo-law-dee-aw-lawdee!”

Papus intoned this strange mantra for a few hours, staying in some kind of norkweedroot induced trance…

 The skeletons fizzed, as Papus chewed his norkweedroot. He noticed he had half left, but the root was starting to grow in his hands. The blood from his thumb had also dripped on his norkweedroot. Oh dear. He looked at the remainder of his norkweedroot and saw it was fizzling with energy; it started to change into various multi-coloured hues, it remained as greenish brown. A small little plant man was in Papus’ palm.

 Papus looked around; the other skeletons were still fizzing with life-force; their flesh slowly spreading over the skeletons.

 Papus said to the plant man, “You again?”

 For some reason, Papus had the idea as if he knew this strange entity. The plant man laughed and performed a little dance and waved at Papus. He sounded like a squeaky cartoon fly, trying to speak. Papus also made the vaguely academic comparison with Wheelie out of the original Transformers movie, a personal occult favourite for those in the know….

 “Hi Pappy, it’s me Norky,” squeaked the little plant man.

 “Norky? Oh yes, you! My old Professor at the U.R.SO.M.A.D.!” Papus shouted somewhat too gaily.

 Papus hated coming back to life in the 1970s. He ended up at an under-funded polytechnic where Professor Norkgrub had been his dissertation supervisor. He did not get a first, mainly because Norkgrub wanted him to experiment a lot more. It was a blurry time and Papus accidentally killed himself drinking too much cherry-brandy which had been laced with arsenic. Papus was not popular in that realm and had forgotten who he was trying to poison -- there was always some politician or pseudo-radical that needed a good dosing to the otherside; but he had unintentionally poisoned himself in his haste to have a few scoops...

 Papus laughed off all his silly past deaths. The great corruptor always returned a lot greater, a lot more eager to corrupt the soulful fabric of realm-space. He was much happier here with his juice bar, though business had been a bit slow for the first century. Papus just hoped the world was a lot more chaotic, it was so much easier to survive when even the scientists did not know what was going on…

 Nothing was true or false; everything was a weird kind of fact, even those old wives tales. Papus had a slight headache from the norkweedroot. The little plant was squeaking a lot about some mission but Papus was not officially C.O.G. He just used them… 

 Chapter 12 Trek-Star-Speeding in PhulSpace (Hello my House of Arms)

 I am the Phultor, the lost one. I do not remember being made human. I was born in Middlesex, and again in Poiislit-XT. It remains a strange star-town near Balham, but can also be found on Charon, if you play your cards right....I remember that bloody awful tarot book, it was one of Papus’ I’m sure of it. It’s rubbish, hopelessly out-of-date...

 That fool never does anything right. And now I’ve possessed his muse, Elaine Pettifer. She was never his true muse; Papus only loved himself, that dark monk of doom. He was still playing Atmosphere when everyone else had moved to Warcraft. Bloody corrupt geek; I always wanted to be a lady, but Elaine’s bits aren’t in a good way.

 She doesn’t need too much work, though, but I feel like I need to get myself out there and see what kind of kit she has. Can she pick up some desperate stranger in a bar? It’s a London thing, but it’s a crucial occult test. No-one will want to complete the ritual with her to bring me back to life. I need to manifest…

 I decided to shave her hair off and pierce her skin with various pieces of chicken wire. I do not feel it and nor does she. It remains a valid form of body art using chicken wire to insert through the skin. To my surprise, it seems to energize me.

 At least she’ll stand out in the crowd. I look in her wardrobe, what a disaster. Just work clothes. She really can be a dull bitch. I find her trusty sex toy, though; it looks like a real antique. I will definitely use that later in a public place.

 I hope a randy Policeman might catch me publicly masturbating, and then I can possess someone with a tiny bit of power and not some dull bitch who works in some secret office. It was not even supposed to exist, but she has got her occupation on her Facebook profile. Silly, silly, silly! Might have to pull that quickly…

 …Anyway, I have total control of her these days. I do not think she has any memories left. She doesn’t even remember her adopted sister Zoe ‘Zip’ Gregano. Oh dear, it might be fun to make them meet one day. Maybe Zip’s still a lesbo, it would be fun to have her in my passionate grasp, performing all kinds of sex magicks. Oh what larks, to use that fool Professor Norkgrub’s parlance.

What? I did not hear that Elaine? Are you trying to talk to me? Oh no, do not dictate to me. That was not how it ever worked...You did not know what you messed with. No more resurrection trickery for you young lady! You are going to be a witch! I need some gothic attire and some glitter…

That was when it was inevitable to just find some black bin bags and rip some holes in for Elaine to wear. Disposable clothes carry less evidence, too.

I leave the house for the Good Ship; then on towards the Christchild and Vonderpump once the Good Ship turfs us out… 

 Chapter 29 Set Palaver Speed!

 Pocock Lodge, Buckinghamshire, 1874.

 …Old Lady Goodepayne smiled. She was annoyed at being chucked out the Good Ship for being a loutish ruffian…She remembered her future life, huddled in a small room in a retirement home in Frinton-on-sea. She remembered she had done many things, commanded dust mite armies and worked with undercover C.O.G. agents…She was expecting Disraeli for a fish and chip supper…He loved a good battered sausage in him…

…She was no longer able to remember the missions. But at 110 years old she can do a lot of good. She was very resilient, one of the best C.O.G. agents ever. She still had a stash of tramadol patches and she was partial to the odd pipe of Tommy Tellman’s pressed herbs with diamorphine. His snuff was not too bad either and she did not mine some fine shag at her ripe old age. She did not mind the occasional puff with her sherry, of course.

 That was when Lady Goodepayne remembered something about her future. In 1999, she had inexplicably got pregnant. She had also been pregnant in 1991. However, she dismissed her relations with her astral wraith lover, Tommy Tellman. It was still to go online in her old pzionik mind.

Her only recent sexual relations were with her nephew, Callum Cheevers, and her lesbian lover, Sybila Leeka. Sybila was also her maid, but she was also a psychic so Van RapArd, her Tyme-Pyre agent, had booked her on the monolithic ‘Book of the Dead’ tour. Cthulhu got the ‘South Park’ gig, and went global, but decided to go back to the void of the Seven Hells. It was much more economically viable there than on this weird earth-realm.

…Even those Old Ones could not get any bang for their buck these days. The UK was still a battered war economy in decline that just spat out the old and young; and squeezed all of those who bit their lips and just kept on paying. It was an odd antiquated museum country, constantly selling the past, which had to be recycled in the future…

 …Many seers knew riots only happened under Tory governments. That slimy bastard Disraeli was back in again, thought Lady Goodepayne. She knew something was fishy. Just like in 2010: those 10 million idiots had all been fooled, according to Papus. I have always been a swinging Labour-Tory man, of course…Papus must have been in Millbank that day……She had no idea what had happened to the child, as it had vanished into menstrual ectoplasm, even though she felt the child’s aura. She was told not to have any more children. She did not think eight children was a lot. And she was, technically, aristocratic, though more of noblesse-de-robe stock, so inbreeding was still a huge problem.

Lady Goodepayne decided that she would have to summon Professor Norkgrub. She was in 2015, he was in 1979. But he needed to go to a Maggot farm on an asteroid near Saturn. Lady Goodepayne huffed; she had an idea Norky would take a while to get there. She needed that child’s spirit to help her own astral transfer out of this world. She was sick of it all.

 She found an old piece of norkweedroot in her wheelchair bag and nibbled some. A thousand colours exploded in her mind; she saw who the unborn child was. Feebuz Apulow He was coming to save her. His face appeared, a zombie child with bright yellow eyes and strawberry-coloured hair. He smiled at Lady Goodepayne. He wanted a bit more mother-love methinks… 

During Lady Goodepayne’s somewhat unconventional communique, the Manchester Victoria Yard Crew had just deployed their nukes against the West London Literary Posho Gang. They had their defunct super-ASBOs tattooed to their fake Global Hypercolour tans. Luckily, they ignored these bureaucratic arts, as you know…It was turning into a bit of a blood-bath…

That has to be the last time I go to a poetry slam…

 …Lady Goodepayne smiled. She knew how empty and incompetent the Prime Minister was. They all were, except Blair who made that deal with Papus, and another deal to leave earth with all his money and properties… The red Tory slime was still thriving...

That was when Lady Goodepayne took out the spectre-star pistol…If she could only remember how to fire it… Oh well, she thought, another baffling cosmic trigger for her to ponder over her.

Issue 560, part VII

 Chapter 62: World Time Trancers-Crumble and a few other Queer Cosmic Desserts…

 The Phultor was a Policeman again. He had got bored with the cosmic strut years ago. He had made this poor Policeman cry, he did not even ask his brain what he had been called before Phultor entered him from behind…The Policeman needed to be saved but Phultor knew he would attract more C.O.G. freelancers to clear up his mess; he was leaving a trail of discarded comatose corpses in his path…

 Elaine was discarded once the Policeman approached her using her crystal phallus within the public vicinity. You should know what happens when you breach the by-laws at Walthamstow – they are very strict. I just got out after ten years for mucus evacuation…

 But [always a big butt…] this demonic Policeman had no idea about the state of Elaine’s mind. Everything was state of mind, after all. She was taken to hospital after the Policeman was possessed. The Policeman’s soul was no more, a