There are demons everywhere and they want to feast on me. They can’t wait to feast on me; they can’t wait to drain the very life out of me. They want to suck me dry, they want to reduce me to a dry empty husk and leave me staring blankly at the wall. I am afraid of these demons. I am very afraid. I’m too afraid to go back to the house. I can see them now – in my mind’s eye – hanging in unholy droves from the ceiling of my living room like so many revolting rotting  grey fruit. I can see them loafing around on the sofa, on the armchairs, somnolently anticipating my return. They’re lying around in the hallway, sitting in twos and threes on the stairs, heaped up in a revolting mound on the living room carpet like a small mountain of over-sized wrinkly old ticks. They are listless, languid, lethargic and yet at the same time very, very watchful…


They are psychic parasites of the very worst sort! I know them and their kind only too well – I am familiar with their ways. Their trick is to release a gas from glands in their skin that permeates the atmosphere and makes their hosts completely blind to their presence. They don’t have to hide from their prey – these psychic ticks can walk right up them and feast away at their leisure. They enjoy perfect impunity; they are utterly indifferent to being spotted. The gas they release renders our brains incapable of perceiving them. We are incapable of even believing that they exist…


They are low-life parasites of the very worst kind! Malignant in the extreme – it turns my stomach even to think of them. Denizens of the psychic sewers, there are untold hordes of them. Hordes and hordes and hordes of them. You wouldn’t believe how many hordes of them there are. Lazy, indolent, torpid and malignant beyond belief – they are hideously and vilely repugnant in every way. They are offensively lazy psychic vermin with no interest in life other than feeding on the emotions of their hapless victims. I try to tell people about these filthy mind-parasites but no one ever takes me seriously. I don’t know. Maybe it’s me? Maybe I’m making too big a deal of it? Maybe I’m making a lot of fuss about nothing? I don’t know…










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