Trickery V

I can't STAND this anymore.

It is two years to the day since I first realized what has been going on, every day becoming worse and worse.

My journal is my only link to sanity.

I am ready to cast aside sanity.

My bed is my ship in an ocean of evil, barely afloat.

I'm drowning.

I must follow them.

The cool waters of the ocean will fill me and grant me.

Fangs for the Memories, II

The Manitoban conflict was not my own doing. Well, not entirely. I may have sent agents to fan the flames of discord in the area, and it wouldn't be a complete lie to say that I supplied arms to the more hot-headed members of each faction*. But the issues that drove the majority of the populace to begin fighting one another were there from the beginning. Not that they remembered exactly what they were anymore, but that's fine because they're utterly beside the point.

The point is that most of the region, from Thompson south and including parts of North Dakota was a war zone and the factions had, unanimously** chosen me as Mediator and could agree on no one else. Such weight, to fall upon my shoulders. Kashsh, dealing with violent infighting amongst members of its*** cabinet, and Hawthorne, now struggling with uprisings in overseas American territories, were both eager to quell this diversion as quickly as possible.

Or so I hoped, since I was running out of influential contacts.

I stepped in front of the camera. A cavernous room, humming with activity, spread behind me.

"Steven, your t-shirt is interfering with the Green Screen," Ligasha said.

Modern video technology has made intimidating people much cheaper (and safer), but it does have its own difficulties. I swore mildly, ran to my room and swapped t-shirts.

When I strolled back into the room, Kashsh's beady gaze and Hawthorne's wrinkled face were framed in the monitors across my desk.

I nodded to Ligasha to start the camera on my end. "President Hawthorn. Prime Minister Kashsh. How can we bring events to a peaceable end? Have you read the revised demands by each of the-"

"The United States, as I have said before, will not, cannot, concede the territory in North Dakota," Hawthorne interjected.

"Nor will Canada concede any territory," Kashsh answered.

I stood up. "Then there is nothing else to discuss. I'll inform-"

"T' sh!" Swore Kashsh. "Very well. The President and I have agreed that this is all we can concede: a provisional government will be created for the region. Most internal matters will be left to this provisional government, but a combined group from the United States and Canada will remain to oversee certain areas."

"I'll discuss your proposal with the faction leaders. Drop the details into the ftp drop folder I've provided you; there's no need to waste time discussing them now."

Neither one said, "Goodbye," to me as they disconnected, but then I don't suppose that either one was very happy with me at the time.

"I'm confused," Ligasha said, following me from the room. "I had the impression that you were trying to obtain direct control of the territory for yourself."

"Yes, eventually. But this will offer a respite for those fighting the territories, while the provisional government—particularly the American-Canadian oversight—will serve to keep discontentment high—on each side. Although I doubt either Hawthorne or Kashsh intends to let it remain for very long; but they just have to be distracted long enough."

"I see."

It always worried me when Ligasha would end a conversation like that. I never mentioned it, but Ligasha was much smarter than I am, possibly the smartest being on the planet.

"Time for your experiment, I suppose."

* Indirectly. Don't bother trying to trace it; even I get headaches thinking about that convoluted route.

** With a little urging from my informants.

*** Pentapedes—and I hope you find my interjections on them interesting; it's all I can do to keep to the events with only footnotes on Pentapedes—are "asexual", meaning, in this case, that they are neither male nor female****. Instead, each Pentapede lays eggs coated in a special semen that prevents fertilization by the Pentapede's sperm. If another Pentapede lays eggs in the same place, then the sperm of each combines with the ova of the other, resulting in sexual reproduction. But, if left alone long enough—a few days to a week—the semen breaks down and the sperm fertilize, resulting in genetically identical off-spring (leaving aside mutations, of course). Terrifying, isn't it?

**** Biologically. Most Pentapedes prefer to remain gender-neutral (and don't mind being called 'it'), although I have heard that some Pentapede enclaves have developed their own gender roles, completely different from human genders.

Trickery IV

Bulbous, sickly yellow eyes.

They adorn every shadow, peek through every crack.

The voices are louder now. Follow! Come! they say, leading the way into terror, down into dank caves of insanity.

I can barely get out of bed in the morning. I leave all the lights burning all day and all night, trying to banish them, banish the darkness from which they spawn.

All night last night, I would sleep, only to be awakened again, paralyzed, their Presence crushing me until exhaustion drove me unconscious again. The fourth time this week, though I get little sleep even when their attentions are elsewhere.

And now it's night again.

Trickery III

My nightmares are getting bolder.

I was walking home from work today—I quit my office job and took a part-time position at the grocery store a few blocks from my apartment so I could come and go in the daylight—and as I put my key into the handle, one jumped from the shadows at me, tiny, pale, hungry eyes boring into my soul. I flinched and crouched, flailing at it, whimpering incoherently.

I swear I have never seen a child so frightened before in my life.

But I think this incident amused them, my nightmares; now, interspersed with their whispers and chattering, I hear a mocking laughter.