EDITOR’S FOREWORD

This collection of documents, amounting to an exchange of letters between imprisoned siblings, a dossier of official reports, and the memoirs (or fictions) of the Marquis de Sade, were discovered in the Archives Nationales in Paris last year and in this volume are made available to the public.

It is not the aim of the present editor to determine the nature of these documents, whether genuine personal correspondence and factual eyewitness accounts, or else fictitious entertainments, or even an attempt at perpetrating a hoax.

I will only note in passing that the following incidents, all mentioned in the text, did in fact occur and are historically attested: The Beast of Gévaudan, a creature reportedly the size of a lion, or bigger, and in the form of a wolf, sighted in the Margeride Mountains at this time; Tararre the grotesque everything-eater who was employed as a spy in the French Royal Army just prior to the revolution; the ergot-poisoning outbreak which made sufferers feel like their skin was changing into a hairy pelt; and the revolts which resulted from this psychological disturbance.

It is also well-known that the Marquis de Sade was imprisoned in the Paris Bastille until he appeared on the rooftop shouting that the prisoners were being massacred, an incident said to have inspired both the storming of the Bastille on the 14th of July 1789 and the subsequent September Massacres of royalist prisoners in 1792.

There has been no attested meeting of the Marquis de Sade and the revolutionary leader Jean-Paul Marat, but it is known that when Marat was murdered in his bathtub by Charlotte Corday on 13th July 1793, de Sade, going by his ‘revolutionary name’ of Citoyen Louis Sade, was invited to deliver the eulogy by his section of the Jacobin Club.

Therefore this text is offered to the reader and researcher as is, with no prejudice as to its veracity or otherwise. Read it as a fanciful tale, or read it as a historical document.

As the Marquis himself would say: What you will is the whole of the law.

PART 1 – The Correspondence Between the Twins

My dearest sister,

When you were taken away from us, I lived a while alone with father but he wearied me with his eternal complaining by day and his unwanted attentions at night, and so I soon left that place never to return. Left separated from you at only ten years old, I had no inkling of what to do next - you were always the clever one with a plan while I was the one with a flame of passion inside but no sense of where to aim that fire of mine. I was, then, a lost child.

As I wandered the highways and forest paths I told myself I was seeking you, but really I was seeking something else. I don’t know how to say it clearly, but I know you’ll understand since we are of the same womb, the same blood, the same mind and soul. I was looking for something not-you, and by the reasoning that you and I are the same person, something not-me. A refuge from the burden of being a person, is the best I could express it.

Later I found what I was searching for, and I will tell you all about how that came out. It may lead to one death, or it may lead to many deaths. But there will be death at the end of it, surely. The path I’m on is hard. I don’t know, it may in the end lead to deaths that will become a new light and life for us. Perhaps a life for many. If so, it will be like the stories the priest used to tell us about Jesus and his agony on the cross, which apparently cleansed us of our sin; but I don’t see many clean people as I go about in the world. What was the point of taking away our original sin, the one we are born with without choosing, only to give us free will to sin again and again? Will the deaths we cause ever change anything? But enough of that.

I’m in prison, and I hear that you also are in the women’s prison at Delboutville, to which place I shall address this letter. It took me much bribery to locate clues of your whereabouts, and much more to secure pen, ink and paper with which to write you. I do not worry so much that this will be read by my captors, as the jailer here, a brutal troglodyte called Gérard (though I don’t know if that’s his first or last name, perhaps it’s his only name) cannot read. What I fear is that he will take my bribe, take my letter, and then throw it away unsent. I promised him another payment on receipt of your reply, so that inducement might encourage him to mail the thing.

That’s all, dear sister. I’m well of body, but unhappy of course, plagued by the melancholy, but that won’t be news to you as you sense what I sense. By the same token, I know you’re well and alive, I’ve always known about how you are, but I don’t know your circumstances. Some I’ve heard say you’re a witch, others that you’re a wolf woman and you eat babies. You and I know the truth of these accusations, so I won’t put anything on paper, and I suggest you likewise are discreet and speak only in our private way about those things to avoid incriminating yourself. They say you are to be burned in the public square after the assizes and condemnation in the spring. But I know it won’t be so, and so I send you courage.

At nights I burn like a candle - with jail fever, they say, but also with a strange need I have. To hold you, perhaps, but maybe also to be like you, to run as you do and know your knowings. That’s enough.

With wishes and a thousand kisses

Your ever-loving sibling

Joseph-Marie

My Heart,

If only you knew how hard I tried to get back to you. Father sold me to that merchant. The one with the blue wagon that had little partridges painted in gold on the sides. He was always jealous of me. The old brute. The merchant was a brute, too. My sweet Joseph the world is full of them, brutish men to whom we are but objects. That merchant kept me chained inside his cart. I was to cook for him and keep his washing done. Among other horrors, as you can no doubt imagine. Hours I spent on the road, trapped inside that dark, roving prison. Merely a morsel in its greedy belly, earning a new scar for every mile the wheels turned.

He kept me until I splashed scalding water in his eyes and broke free of him. Like you, I too wandered the forest in search of something. I had no idea what. What I found was an institution of learning, framed by birch and oak, and with teachers of many kinds, who taught me many trades. I have been so many things. I am still so many things. But always, always, I am your sister.

Of course I’ve always known you were still alive, but to have a letter placed into my hands with your name and your scent upon the paper… I cried for hours, joy at your finding me. Sorrow at all we’ve lost. All I’ve lost. I cannot write too much to you of what I’ve been through. Not until I’m sure of the security of what is within. Suffice it to say, I am no longer the innocent you once knew. I am a woman now of hard wrought talents.

They treat me so wrong here. For days and nights on end I do not sleep or eat until I am so overcome with deprivation that I chew at the plaster walls and sing tuneless melodies of madness that I’m certain do me no good in their judging eyes. They refuse me a chair and make me stand until my legs give out. I am forced to walk endlessly for hours back and forth upon the same tedious road, my guard forever changing as they tire. But I am rather lifted or dragged if I grow weary. Never allowed to rest. I can receive no rest in this castigating place. Yet I will not confess. I will not. Though death take me, I will not.

My guards come hither, I am to take more torture today. Of what manner I know not…

With all my blessings,

Your dearest,

Marie-Joseph

Sweet Sister,

I suffer with you I feel your torments and I always have. It’s the only thing that keeps me from perfect equanimity, the tranquil serenity of the warrior who has already given himself up as a dead man and now only awaits the date and time of his fate’s culmination.

Let me briefly tell you how I came to be here, like you a prisoner, like you awaiting a final condemnation. I told you how I started off on the road, knowing you were out there somewhere. Sometimes I felt your sufferings, other moments I felt your joys, but you were always there like a whisper in my innermost ear. I joined a group of travelers as they went around the country selling their trinkets and doing whatever else they could to survive. You could say they adopted me, or you might say they abducted me. Kidnap or care, what difference does it make in the end? We survive and we learn, and the circumstances of our learning are given to us by fate and the world.

It was a good enough education for me to see the ways of the undertrodden all over this land, the weavers who craft beautiful cloths on their looms while they themselves dress in patched rags, the miners who dig coals for the fires of the rich but who huddle without warmth in frosted hovels. I learned much of life and also of thievery, and Papa Moritz our clan chieftain was a man of letters and some learning. He taught me reading and the ways of speaking like the rich and educated, and he lent me his volumes of Voltaire and Diderot.

Much later, after I became a revolutionary, he would pass me his hidden volumes of the Marquis de Sade, that strange man full of passion for wanton excess. His writings haunt me still; how can such an animal be so human? How can a person of such intelligence be ruled by such base pleasures? How can such a man attract me so?

For eight years with the gypsy band I travelled the length and breadth of France, also the Austrian Netherlands, Navarre and Switzerland. I had my childish loves and got into my childish scrapes. It shames me now to say that I tried to put the whisper of you out of my head, to consider you my dear sister as lost to me or even dead. Yet I know it was I who was the lost one during those times when I denied our deep connection.

All changed in 1784. We were passing through the Gévaudan country, a land much disturbed with rumors of some strange Beast wandering the forests and mountains. There were soldiers all over the countryside then. One night as we camped in a clearing by the King’s Highway, the soldiers set upon us gypsies in a surprise attack. They moved through the camp bayonetting children and pulling up young women by the hair, intending to ravish them. Papa Moritz faced the sergeant who led those men then, and his calm and his dignity cowed them utterly. He offered the sergeant gold in exchange for being left in peace. The sergeant accepted the offer of gold but said he wanted more.

“What more?” said Papa Moritz. “A girl for our pleasure,” said the sergeant. “It gets cold and lonely and boring out in our forest camp.”

“I can’t spare you any women, my dear sergeant” said Papa Moritz. “We need them simply to continue our race, you see. It’s nothing personal, it’s a matter of survival for our people. I’m sure you understand.”

The sergeant shrugged. “What can you give me instead?”

“Why not this boy?” said Papa Moritz. He gestured towards me and gave me a look that said you are not of our blood but you are of our people -- do this thing for us.

I understood then that there was more than one way to comprehend an unspoken message and from that time I began again to hear your whisper in my head.

From this moment as well I became the King’s man -- the King’s soldier to fight and die for His Majesty as well as the King’s Catamite to be used by his rough soldiery.

Soon I will tell you of what happened in the army and out of it. For now the unlettered jailer comes, and I must send you this letter through him. Of course there is more in this message than appears at first sight, but this you understand without my even telling you.

With love

Your devoted brother,

Joseph-Marie

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Dr. Jack, November 4:

There is an epidemic of insomnia at the base. Insomnia itself is not unusual, the sun doesn’t set from October to February… newbies usually struggle for the first month. Add to that stress, overwork, homesickness, rotating shifts, and well, I’ve seen my fair share of sleepless scientists.

This is different. John Hoy’s been the facility manager for a decade, hasn’t slept in three days. Dr’s. Mako, Begam, and Mikula are going on a week now. Two research assistants, and one of the cooks, as well. Dr. Mako’s symptoms are the most severe as I think she’s been infected (?) the longest. What can this be besides a pathogen of some kind? These are scientists and professionals, not hysterical types. They don’t stamp your approval to an Antarctic mission if you’ve got bats in the belfry. The brilliant Dr. Hal Wright was denied for being “too mercurial.” Had to send an assistant. We all breathed fucking a sigh of relief…

The point is, I don’t think this is some fit of mass hysteria.

I’ll walk through Dr. Mako’s case up to now, supposed patient zero. She came to me last Wednesday, blood-shot eyes, dark circles, a slight tremor, heightened anxiety, and the curious belief that she could feel the base sinking into the ice. She hadn’t slept in two days. These are all normal symptoms for sleep deprivation. She hadn’t been able to fall asleep, but couldn’t say why. She’s a three-year veteran of the team, unlikely to be affected by the novelty of being in Antarctica. I quarantined her in the med bay and gave her some melatonin. No sleep. Upped the dosage to as much as was safe to give her, nothing. She was unable to sleep. We tried Quazepam, still no effect. It had now been seventy-two hours.

During this time, the other two doctors, Begam and Mikula had both also been admitted to the med bay. All three had been working in mud cores drawn up from the lakebed beneath the ice, another reason to suspect pathogens. Those mud cores have been quarantined and the lab cleaned, but it appears to have been too late. This pathogen spreads somehow or other, I’m still not sure how.

By day three Dr. Mako had to be restrained. She had become quite aggressive and hatched a belief that the base was sinking and the only way to stop it was to kill everyone inside. Something nonsensical about the weight of souls being too much for the ice. She’d have to set the souls free to save the base. I administered near dangerous levels of Quazepam, but to no avail. She was raving and her slight tremor had become more of a constant quaking.

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Being centuries old, it can feel at times as though the universe began with me. That the beings who infuse me with their power created me before the Earth and that, as a consequence, I am the only wise one here. This is not true. Not at all. The magnolia, for example, is millions of years wiser than I. Each flower holds an eon in its cup. In my cup, I hold but an evening.

Let’s begin.

Mental Health

They are, as one might expect for a being so ancient, poised and possessed of a powerful equanimity. At one point or another, we all feel the unsettling imbalance of depression. The world is dark, the light is dark, your mind is slow and savage. It’s a persistent anti-existence that the magnolia finds deeply troubling. It has lived for millennia, thrived despite the Earth’s many upheavals and cannot abide this state of wishing to actually not. Merely standing in its presence is enough to undark one’s outlook, however, a tea of fresh petals is most helpful. Drink daily until the brain improves.

This tea is also useful for anxiety, when one has swarms of bees in the chest, both painful and pressing. They want to burst out, the body does not want to rupture. Hot magnolia tea dissolves the bees into a nutrient rich relaxation brew. Just hum hum hum hum and drink and thrive. Drink at the first sting. Drink until those bastards die.

Can’t sleep? Sit cross-legged on your bed in the dark, cup a magnolia flower in one hand. With the other peel off an outer petal, eat it. Eat slowly, petal by petal. Think of expanding in soil. Your shell splitting, roots digging down, shoots pushing up. As you eat each petal imagine a different stage of growth. You’ll awake refreshed with a sheen of pollen on your skin.

Shapeshifting

Some caveats: shapeshifting is painful, dangerous, requires intense concentration, and can be permanent if you’re an idiot.

With that said, let’s begin. You will need a magnolia leaf and some part of the animal that you want to shift into. Hair, shed skin, or a feather is typically the easiest to collect as you don’t need to be in proximity with said animal to collect it. There’s no need to be gruesome or go overboard with slaughtering an animal… unless it’s a fish, hard to collect parts of a fish without catching them and at that point you may as well eat the thing. Set the animal detritus on your head, cover it with a magnolia leaf. Suffer for a few minutes, figure out how to function in this new form, then do whatever it is you wanted to do. When you’re ready to become human again, you’ll have some trouble. The leaf merges with you when you shift, so you can’t exactly doff it like a cap and regain your form. Instead, you’ll need to overcome the animal brain swiftly taking over your consciousness. Picture the leaf in your mind, picture it separating from your skull. This takes intense concentration. As you visualize it, the leaf will begin to separate from the animal you’ve become and come to rest again on the top of your head. Shake it off. Then wait for the agony.

Beetle Lure

Beetles have been pollinating magnolia for millions of years and the two are inextricably linked. Ergo, one can use magnolia to control beetles. Why would one want to? Beetles are quite industrious, great at getting rid of evidence, devouring your old self and brining about a new iteration (literally, by the way- they will eat you alive, then reconstruct you again on your old bones), they’re great company, and can help you contact the dead through intricate tappings.

To summon them, you’ll have to perform the magnolia dance. Fasten a magnolia flower to the top of your head, walk widdershins in a circle while moving your arms up and down in tandem. Do this at sunrise. Do it again at sunset if you wish to keep the beetles over night.

When you have the beetles, convey your intensions verbally, they’re ancient, they’ll understand. Then watch them get to work.

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There was an intruder in the forest this morning. I was drawing up this year’s garden plan, snow’s melting faster than expected so I was irritated at the interruption. Winters are getting shorter and shorter and I can’t say I like it. I need my rest. Feel like I oughtn’t harp on humans burning the planet down in every entry, but damn if they aren’t making a hell out of this paradise.

The dogs alerted me to the interloper. They could, of course, take care of such a threat themselves, but I like to know what kind of human is wandering off the path in my forest. Who would dare? Who could break the wards? Who is that monumentally stupid?

While the dogs rested, had water, and a snack, I looked for my preserved magnolia leaves. I had them pressed in a book somewhere. Going through the bookshelves I pulled out several old tomes: La Mort Aquatique, Trancendental Altercations, La Grande Dame, Nachtfresser und ihre Verwendungszwecke, Insect and Dream Manipulation, but finally found a pile of them in Fylgja Höggormi, which made no sense… regardless, there they were. From a jar in my cabinet I took a strand of fox hair. Outside, I stripped naked, put the fox hair on my head, and then the magnolia leaf over that.

If you’ve never shape shifted before, I don’t recommend it. The pain is intense, you’re going to piss yourself, and for at least two minutes afterward you’ll stumble around like an idiot while trying to figure out how to get any of your body parts to work. The wolves no doubt enjoyed watching me figure myself out. But once I did, off we went.

It took an hour of traveling deep into the slushy, melty forest before the scent hit me. The bland internal rot of fast food and carcinogenic beverage dyes, refined sugar, sweat, microplastics, and overconfidence. We were in a small clearing, at the center of which stood a large, mossy boulder. The sharp tang of pine and the cloying, buttery scent of peeling birch bark mingled with something else, too. Something darker. The goading scent of hot, bloody saliva.

Whispers filled the air, “I’m here on Witch Mountain, where the deadly prehensile-tailed tree slugs are said to live. No one has ever been this far off the path here before, but I’ve been studying and I know what I’m doing. I’ve been following a huge slime trail for about twenty minutes now, and it heads up this tree right in front of me. Now, as long as I don’t get under the tree, I should be safe.”

I let out a yelp, the wolves split around the boulder, one to the right and one to the left. I scrambled up and over. Huddled on the other side was a man in his late forties, camera in hand. I barked at him, he startled and looked up, stumbling backwards as he did, but recovering quickly and aiming the camera up at me.

“Got surprised by a cute little fox. Hi there fella.”

Might not want to be demeaning when your enemy has the high ground, nonetheless, I stood still. Geri and Freki both took noisy steps toward the man. He swung the camera quickly right then left.

“Oh shit. Do wolves and foxes hunt together? I might be in trouble here,” he laughed nervously. “Ok, ok, no, I have bear spray.” He swung his backpack around and set the camera down, aimed at himself digging through his bag. About to die and still worried about creating content, humans never fail to astound…

“Probably should have packed this better. Oh wait! I got it.” He held up an aerosol can and waggled it at the camera. He muttered something about the range of the spray, then took to reading the back of the can. While he read I jumped noiselessly down from the boulder and circled him, coming around behind. I wanted to know how he got through my wards, he had to have a talisman or an amulet, something. I nosed through his bag, but found nothing. Just as he looked up from the can and into the camera I put my paws on his shoulders and my muzzle to his ear and licked, deep in there. It’s only gross when you’re in human form. In any kind of canid form it’s a very special moment with a taste particular to each person. Inner ear flavors kind of burst in your mouth and swim like shrapnel-fish through your brain. So exquisite.

He didn’t like it.

“Fuck! Shit!” He spun and hurled the can of bear spray at me. I dodged. Geri and Freki advanced, but I had already seen what I was after, on a leather cord around his neck hung a shard of black tourmaline with a zigzagging line carved around its middle. The symbol of a broken boundary. No doubt with some other witch’s magic behind it. Irritating, but we are what we are, and loyal when we need money isn’t always it.

He kept crab walking backwards until he bumped up against a very solid Geri, who opened wide and took the man’s head in his mouth. He was as gentle as he possibly could be, but the message was easy to receive. I, a fox and much smaller than a wolf raised from a pup on demon milk, climbed up the man’s torso and rooted around in his shirt for a good grasp of the tourmaline, then severed the leather with my teeth. It isn’t often that I have such sharp teeth. Or that I’m so close to a vulnerable man’s jugular. I licked his neck, licked deeper into the sweat and salt and oils, the bitter taste of fear. He whimpered. I bit down into hard neck muscles, feeling his jugular roll out from under my teeth. So elusive. Hot blood ran down my throat. A rare treat.

But I wasn’t trying to kill him. I leapt off him and barked at the boys. Freki took hold of one arm and Jeri took hold of the other.

The man blubbered and moaned. Nothing comprehensible. They dragged him up under the tree he’d been so interested in and we all stood around him to ensure he didn’t run. We do not call them prehensile-tailed slugs, rather dull. We call them gastrosnaps. Within a few moments there was a rustling in the tree above, a few fist-sized globs of mucous dropped with undignified splats into the leaf litter. I gekkered in anticipation, I couldn’t help it. Foxes are terribly excitable.

The man looked up into the leafless tree, his eyes wide, searching. Gastrosnaps can be tricky to spot, even with no leaf cover. They have excellent camouflage and can mimic branches. More mucous slopped down from the tree, they were getting excited. One of them broke cover and moved, the man screamed and lurched away from the tree trunk. Like slimy yo-yos, the gastrosnaps unfurled, bulbous heads charging for their prey. Five of them, with enormous, hook-like teeth, bit into the man at various points along his body. He writhed and screamed, but the slugs held him fast as they hauled him up into the tree.

They really are amazing to watch, quite muscular, and they work together so well. Using their own bodies, they lashed him to one of the bigger branches high up in the tree. He screamed and pleaded for help, but witches help those who help themselves. He could have helped himself out by not sneaking into my woods. I’d love to say I felt horrible for him as each slug then latched onto him with their hooked teeth, but the most I felt was hungry. The slugs, curiously, feed more like spiders, having syringe like tongues that they insert into their prey, digesting and sucking out the goop. Once the tongues go in, the screaming usually stops, the digestive juices must have some kind of anesthetic. I’d love to get a sample, but I also love not being eaten alive.

Once he was dead and the gastrosnaps were quietly slurping, we headed back for the cabin.

Unfortunately, I had to become human again.

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Magnolias are some of the most ancient flowering plants on the planet, with fossils dating as old as ninety-five million years. Scientists have used computer models to trace flower evolution back to the first flowers, and they think these flowers would have had a structure similar to magnolia flowers.

Here’s a little plant timeline. Life on Earth began in the water, and plants are no different, with photosynthetic algae giving rise to mosses and other bryophytes that would have lived close to water, but not in the water. To colonize the land, plants needed a vascular system that could carry water from sources underground to stems, branches, and leaves. The first vascular plants were called gymnosperms, these are today’s conifers and cycads, like pine trees and sego palms (not actually palm trees) respectively. Gymnosperms don’t have flowers or fruit, instead they have cones. Each cone is made up of scales that protect a seed. When the seeds are mature, the cone will open so the seeds can be dispersed.

Magnolia fruit looks very much like a gymnosperm’s cone when it first develops from the flower. As it matures and dries, the cone-like fruit will open at each scale and a seed pops out. These fruits are classified as aggregate fruits, like blackberries, raspberries, or strawberries. None of these are actual berries, by the way, a berry must have several seeds inside a fleshy fruit, like blueberries, tomatoes, and oranges. If you picture a strawberry, those little seeds are on the outside of the fruit, ergo, an aggregate fruit.

So it’s the flower that differentiates the magnolia from the early vascular plants, conifers and cycads. These early flowers would have been pollinated by beetles, because bees hadn’t evolved yet. This is probably why magnolia flowers tend to be cup or bowl shaped and have thick tepals.

Ok, quick aside, tepals are more evidence that the magnolia was one of the first flowering plants. In flowers that are evolutionarily younger, there are structures known as sepals underneath the flower’s petals. While the petals are white or brightly colored, sepals tend to be green. When it isn’t possible to differentiate between the sepals and the petals, then both structures are called tepals.

So back to the beetles. Magnolia flowers have some interesting behavior to aid in pollination. They will open during the day and attract beetles with a strong scent. As night falls, the flower closes, trapping any beetles that are resting there. Magnolia flowers are hermaphroditic, meaning the flowers have both male and female sex organs. Flowers close up at night and as the tepals raise, the female sex organs open to accept any pollen that the beetles may have carried in from a different flower. As morning approaches and the plant senses that it’s getting lighter, the female parts will close and the male parts open to deposit pollen on the beetle. Then the flowers open and release the little prisoner, who will hopefully fly to another flower and pollinate it.

Magnolias are native to both East and Southeast Asia and North and Central America and have a long history of both medicinal and culinary use. As far back as at least two-thousand years ago, the Chinese were using magnolia to treat anxiety, depression, insomnia, asthma, seizures, allergies, and chest colds. These uses are also supported in Japan, and on the opposite side of the world in Mexico and by several indigenous peoples. Magnolia’s neuroprotective effects have been studied by scientists and seem to validate these uses, but more studies are needed to determine the best use for this plant.

Magnolia buds and tepals are said to have a spicy, sweet flavor reminiscent of ginger and cardamom and they are used in a wide variety of ways. They can be baked, fried, added to salads, pickled, used to flavor sugars, made into cordials… pretty much anything you can think of. You can also chew on the bark to help relive the symptoms of withdrawal from things like cigarettes and sugar.

Having such a long history, it’s no surprise that magnolia are found in folklore and myth all over the world. In Plant Lore, Legends, and Lyrics by Richard Folkard Jr. (1884), the author, perhaps conflating the plant’s use as a sleeping aid, says that the scent is so strong that one flower placed in the bedroom at night is enough to kill a person. It isn’t, but I love to include these silly bits of folklore, especially when I can find other folklore that directly contradicts it. As in Cunningham’s Encyclopedia of Magical Herbs which states that one should put a magnolia flower on or near the bed to encourage your partner’s faithfulness. I suppose it’s difficult to step out on a lover when you’re dead?

In one Japanese folktale I found, a fox tricks a man into becoming a priest by placing a large magnolia leaf over its head, thereby turning itself into a woman. It then used duckweed to form a baby. The man had been watching this and threw a rock at the duckweed baby, killing it. When the (fox)woman broke down in hysterics, the man scoffed, telling her that he knew she was a fox. But she continued sobbing, mourning her baby with such intensity, that the man started to doubt that what he’d done was right. The (fox)woman, in culmination of an epic gaslighting session, convinced him to become a priest to atone for his crime. The woman took him to a temple where another priest shaved his head as part of his initiation. The shaving was intensely painful, brining the man to his senses. The priest disappeared, the temple disappeared, and the woman was gone. The man was bald, however, because the fox had chewed off his hair. I guess… don’t throw rocks at babies, even if they’re made of duckweed and their mother has a magnolia leaf on her head.

Also in Japan, certain miko, or Shinto shrine maidens, called Zatokaka, would use beads made of magnolia wood to heal sick babies.

They also used the bowl of water and dead leaf, plus a rosary called mokorenji -magnolia. If a child was born and was sick, it was placed under the protection of a Zatokaka. A rosary bead from the miko’s rosary was attached to the child’s clothing and became the protector of the child.

-From a 1962 issue of the Journal Folklore Studies, written by William P. Fairchild

This certainly invokes the long-held belief in the healing power of the magnolia.

In an Indian folksong, a woman laments that her husband has brought a co-wife into the home. She says she could understand him doing this if she were ugly or barren or had a sharp tongue. Or:

If I had crippled arms, you could have brought a co-wife,

I have arms like the branches of magnolia, why have you brought her?

From a 1985 issue of the Journal Asian Folklore Studies by Manju Bahtnagar

Here the magnolia is meant to evoke grace and beauty. And they certainly are as beautiful, and useful, as they are ancient. Co-wives (or husbands, I don’t know your life) I feel like should be a joint decision, though…

And that’s the magnolia, ancient, lovely, and useful.

Hey there! Here’s how plant horror in the coven works:

First week of the month - The Lab (that’s this post!) - Free for everyone.

Second week of the month - The Witch Lab (a short, horror piece from a plant witch’s journal detailing one of her experiences helping (I use the term loosely) a client using the featured plant of the month - New episodes are free! The back catalogue is going to remain paywalled largely because un-paywalling it is time consuming and I am busy doing horrifying things.

Third week of the month - The Grim Grimoire (an entry from The Witch’s spell book detailing how she uses this plant for her dark magic including spells, chants, recipes, instructions, and more). The text version of this will be free, but a digital zine version will go out to paid subscribers. The back catalogue will remain paywalled for the reason stated above.

Fourth week of the month - 100% Plant-Based Horror story featuring the month’s plant. These are longer stories that include everything from ghosts, to parasites, aliens, experimental supplements, monster trucks, extinct species, serial killers, and more! - Paid subscribers only, here’s a freebie you can read to check it out!

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Kira stood at her window and watched the police helicopter circle in the night sky, its red and blue lights flashing. The message blasting from its loudspeaker was muffled behind the duct-tape framed window, but it didn’t matter, she’d heard it before. The message played on her phone, as well as on the TV, and the radio, every hour, on the hour:

This is Vector Control, due to abnormal Vector levels, all citizens are ordered to stay indoors. Citizens caught outside will be arrested and sent to quarantine. Stay indoors. Vector Control repeats, stay indoors. All violators will be placed in quarantine.

Kira let the curtain drop from her clenched fist. One hundred and sixty-three days of seeing nothing but the inside of her own apartment. One hundred and sixty-tree days of feeling nothing but the same carpet under her feet, the same coffee table, sofa, and bedsheets under her fingertips. One hundred and sixty-three days of hearing Vector Control say twenty-four times a day that they were shit at their jobs and there was going to be a day one hundred and sixty-four. It was supposed to have been a few days. That’s what they’d been told at the beginning of this nightmare. Vector Control would contain the threat and normal life would resume.

But that had been one hundred and sixty-three days ago.

Kira’s fingers twitched.

She pulled the curtain back again, lately she’d had a perverse urge to watch them. In the daytime they swirled high in the sky in massive clouds, thick and black. Like an oil slick in the blue ocean, they shouldn’t be there. Not in those numbers. At night they massed and swirled at street level, drawn to the light and snaking in black swaths through neighborhoods and around homes, seeking entry at doors and windows. Kira waited, holding the curtain in a white-knuckled grip, until she heard the whine, a high-pitched, tinny drone. A billion wings searching for a bloodmeal. Not for themselves, for their broods. Kira put her hand against the glass and felt it vibrate with the whine as the ribbon of black came undulating across her view. This close, she could see the individuals that made up the ribbon as they brushed up against the glass. Their syringe-like mouths, their black and white banded legs… their eggs were ravenous. They’d sucked every living thing dry for miles. And they were spreading across the country. Cities in their path were scrambling for a deterrent, a control, a barrier, anything to keep them out.

One hundred and ninety-seven days

I am God and these my creatures squirm inside the yellow void. Infinite they wriggle, I see messages in their movements. Protect. Kill. Protect the squirm. Kill the human. Kill the human. Protect the squirm. I am God and my squirm pleases me. My squirm seed shall multiply and cover the Earth. I shall give them the land. I shall bless them with bloodmeals and sweet nectar for all of their days. And I will protect all of my squirm, from this day forth.

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Take me back…

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Quite an interesting shrub, not much going on magically, but what we do have is very powerful. With scents that both repel and attract, it’s a coy trickster, good for some, disaster for others.

Let’s start with the good scent, a heady, sweet perfume that creeps right into your soul. You’ll feel it tickle those gaps between bone and emotion. Between what’s solid and what’s ephemeral. It’ll draw you in, get you feeling a little slippery, loose, might start to lose yourself a bit, swaying to nothing, like you’re a blade of grass in the breeze. It’s pleasant, a little weird when the wind changes and you can’t remember what you’re standing there for, but I say enjoy it while it lasts.

Breathe it in deeper and you’ll get dizzy, visions of your own blood running through your veins, your own cells dividing and pulsing with life, visions of disease, of cancer, of imbalances will waver before you. It’s a scary, disorienting, panic-inducing health check, but cheaper than a doctor.

This only works if you’re standing under or near the shrub, picked flowers lose all inward eyesight, but they still smell nice.

The bad scent dwells within the wood. This tree does not like to be cut or pruned… or eaten. It likes to keep what it’s made of, keep itself intact. Harvest seeds only, and only once they’ve dropped from the tree. No amount of begging will get you out of the consequences of cutting P. tobira. You cannot whisper it sweet lovelies. You cannot flatter it, or caress it until it forgives you. It will not forgive you. It will haunt you with fetid nightmares and the feeling that there’s always someone looking over your shoulder. You’ll just never feel right in your skin again.

However, you must cut it in order to obtain its most potent magic, so how does one safely do this? First, an apotropaic, walk widdershins nine times around the shrub, you’ll unwind some of its hostility. It will still want to protect itself, however, so you’ll want to douse your pruning knife in rosemary oil. This oil serves the dual purpose of protecting you from the shrub, and helping the shrub feel protected as well. Open wounds on any plant are entry points for disease and pests, so it’s easy to understand why this one is unwilling to be wounded. (It’s taste for vengeance is less understandable…) Rosemary oil will keep it safe. Now, it will still be very angry with you. So after you’ve taken what you need AND NO MORE, light some incense, stick it in the ground (being wary of fire season and ignitable debris of course), and use the smoke to obscure your escape.

Now you have your stinking bit of shrub, what do you do with it? The foul smell contains a powerful spirit repellent (I mean no one really likes it, but spirits are physically repelled). To that end you can do a lot with it, hang it over your door like the Japanese, wear it in an amulet bag, put it in your pocket, in your hair, in your car, doesn’t really matter. Just know that once the scent wears off, you’re going to get attacked. Those bad spirits will be kept out of scent range, but not gone for good.

Gone for good is a whole different entry….

Mosquitoes also hate it, but that’s not really magic, just good to know.

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It began in the garden. No one noticed at first. The tiny vines. A flowering weed. They shrugged it off. The gardener will take care of it next week. Getting their hands dirty was above their status.

By mid-afternoon, the brick walk-way was covered in green. The grass was knee-high. The flowers looked almost like mouths.

Maybe we should call the gardener to come tomorrow. As he spoke, a bee landed on a petal and was instantly snapped up.

Have them come today, she said.

Soon, the vines had reached the door. They slithered against the wood. Long thorns scratched the glass like nails. The light in the room darkened as leaves covered the window. The house groaned.

What do we do?

Call the gardener! Order him to come and take care of the garden now!

Will he be able to come so quickly? She didn’t dare take her eyes off the door. A crack shot through the glass and the tip of a vine squeezed through.

Screw it, he said. Let’s get out of here.

Taking her hand, they rushed to the front door. Leaves covered the glass. The door knob rattled. They retreated from the door to the sitting room.

What do we do? Tears filled her eyes.

He didn’t answer.

Behind them, something crashed to the floor. They whirled around. A potted plant lay on the floor. The leaves grew before their eyes, the stalks thickening to that of a muscular arm. It gripped the carpet, dragging its roots free of the busted pot. They scrambled back. She choked on a sob. He pulled her into his arms, burying her face against his chest.

Glass shattered and green poured into the home. The floor buckled beneath them and the wood cracked and split, roots throwing dirt into the air. They clung to each other as they were swallowed whole.

About the Author

A paranormal and fantasy junkee, Patricia J.L. loves to craft young adult and new adult stories about vampires, mermaids, angels, demons, zombies, and other mythical monsters. Aliens might even appear in her stories. No matter what creature you crave. Patricia J.L. has a story for every imagination!

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Ko-Fi

Hard to believe it’s been a year since we had the pomegranate-fueled monster baby boom. Very glad to have sorted that out. Of course, I’m still buried in snow in March, but I hiked down to the pomegranate tree yesterday to make sure the shield over it is holding. Fecund bugger is glowing like it’s inhabited by the Virgin fucking Mary herself and drooping with fruit. In March! Not a speck of snow around it. The shield is still holding though, so that’s good. I gave it a little boost. On my way back to the cabin I found a patch of Crocus vernis peaking out from under the snow. They are wonderful for divination. They have a particular talent for identifying thieves. Not something I need often, but you never know when a client will. So I harvested a few. I only took one bulb, though, that way the patch will still grow and thrive. Would be lovely to find some Crocus sativus in the autumn, but that might be hoping for too much, but it’s hard to get saffron these days what with The Holy War and all.

I was only around for the very late crusades, against the Ottoman Empire, but I can tell you they’re pointless and expensive. For some reason meatheads with swords really seem to love them. Back then the meatheads couldn’t actually end the world like they can today though, so that’s fun.

Crocuses.

Crocuses are nice.

Never been more happy to have Hell as my eternal destination. Lately I can’t help but wish He’d finally come and take me home. But I know if I’m here there must be a reason for it. Lucifer sees much more than I do, He has a plan, gnarled and twisted though it might seem. Every cog I destroy, weakens the machine. Our work must go on, we must continue to fight.

When I got back to the cabin a man was sitting in my Adirondack on the porch. Another cog, no doubt. The boys barked him right out of it. I’ll have to sanitize it later. Don’t need any gross spiritual energy clinging to my relaxing chair. He was a small, nervous type, with a faux-expensive look. Too young to be as bald as he was.

“Finally,” he whined, huddled against the porch railing, where the dogs had pinned him. He checked the enormous watch on his wrist. “I’ve been waiting for an hour.” Imagine being backed against a wall by two huge wolves and still being a prick.

“Should have made an appointment,” I said as I shrugged out of my coat.

“They said you don’t take appointments.”

“I don’t.” I kicked off my boots and looked at the dogs, “Keep him here for a bit.” I walked inside to the sound of him protesting and the dogs growling. I took my time with tea and had myself a little snack.

Then I let him in.

“You know you should breed those dogs, bet you’d make some serious money. I can see them in every mansion. I could do a little leg work for you if you’re interested in doing business together.”

“They’re wolves.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m saying, they’re like, tame though.” Geri and Frekki took mortal offense and started snarling at him. He tried to pet Geri and almost lost a hand. I raised an eyebrow. This man was not great at comprehending what was literally in front of him. It’s some form of psychosis, I swear, ignoring reality so you can still say whatever dumb thing is in your head. I sent the boys outside to cool off and sat him down.

“What can I help you with?”

“I have bad luck.”

“How do you know that?”

“I never win anything. I gamble all the time, play the lotto, never win.”

“Gambling is not about luck. And winning the lottery generally destroys people’s lives, not sure why you’d want to win it. Additionally, how much money do you spend on all this gambling?”

“Gambling is not about luck? Like you know anything.”

“Where do you gamble? Casinos? Because those places are rigged against you, has nothing to do with luck.”

“Online. There’s this place where you can bet on stuff besides games, like who’ll win an election, or whether two celebs’ll get married, if wars will start, how the world will end, if aliens will land before someone goes to prison, whether or not someone will get prison-“

“Ok, I get it. You are bad at being evil and would like some help.”

“What? No. That’s not what I said.”

“Yes it is.”

“I just have bad luck.”

“All of those things you just mentioned, you have to research to be able to win. But who bets on how the world will end? That’s… you know I was going to say sick, but actually it’s just pointless. In order to win, you’d have to be dead along with all the rest of us.”

“It’s just for fun, for people who don’t like sports. That’s all. I’m bad at cards, too.”

“So, how do you think the world will end?”

“What?”

“If you were going to bet, what would you bet on?”

“You have to give me options…”

“Swallowed by the sun, climate change triggers intense warming, or an ice age, nukes, pandemic, space clowns, space virus, what?”

“Space clowns.”

“See, you don’t have bad luck, you’re just an idiot.”

“Wow.”

“Well sometimes people need to hear it.”

“Can I revise my answer?”

“Already lost your money, you going to bet again?”

“Of course.”

“Idiot.”

“Space virus. Why would there be clowns who go to space and then come back to Earth? I didn’t think about that at first. Would be so cool though with their laser squirt guns. Pew pew pew.”

“I’m going to get you something that chases away bad spirits just to get rid of you, because I really don’t like you.”

“When you say chases away bad spirits…”

“Yeah it doesn’t bring you good luck, because that’s not a thing. Good luck is just preparedness, intuition, and timing. Bad luck, isn’t a thing either, it’s just bad decisions, never being prepared for anything, and having zero intuition…. and sometimes shit just happens. Then, sometimes, bad spirits are out to make your life suck. I don’t think that’s your problem, I think you’re an idiot, but maybe this will make you feel better for a while.”

He nodded along, not hearing anything I said. I went to my cabinet and got some Pittosporum tobira, a cute shrub that demons… and mosquitoes, hate. I put it in a little green amulet bag for him.

“Anyway, it has a scent bad spirits don’t like.”

“So what, I just hold it when I place bets?”

“Yeah, sure.” I was rummaging through the fridge, still feeling a little hungry.

“Do I need to like, blow on it or say anything?”

“Oh yeah, definitely, just say whatever comes to mind.”

He snatched the bag from my hand and held it up to the sunlight streaming through the window. “Hello my beautiful good luck charm!” He kissed it.

I bit my tongue and nodded, slamming the fridge door. “Ok, bye now.” I all but shoved him out of the cabin. The dogs chased him screaming down the hill. We all had cookies because we deserved it.

It didn’t take long. As soon as he got to his car and had cell reception back he thumbed open the betting app on his phone. I watched him through the obsidian ball. He kissed the amulet bag, for a long time, then rubbed it all over his face and all over his phone.

He started his car and pulled off the side of the road, setting his phone in its dash mount. He scrolled while he made his way down the winding mountain road, periodically rubbing the phone and his face with the amulet bag that was not for good luck, but instead to drive away bad spirits he didn’t have. Unfortunately, there’s just no magic or medicine for people who refuse to look anywhere but inward, at their own desires and experience. Say, at the road they’re driving on, for example. It isn’t bad luck if you’re on your phone, trying to bet on who will get raptured after The Holy War, and you miss a curve and your car barrels through a guard rail, sailing over a ridge and into a canyon. You might scream curses at the witch who gave you the good luck charm (not a good luck charm) you’re clutching, but the Universe knows the tally. The Universe knows you charge through life expecting everything, but never putting in the work. The Universe will put you in the bottom of a canyon in the belly of a hot, twisted metal beast. One lung exploded, your legs crushed, blood pouring from the gash in your head. One wrist shattered. Your phone screen a dark spiderweb. Cooling engine going tick tick tick. And that amulet bag, it’s sitting on the windshield as you hang upside down, it’s doing its job. Because there are bad spirits all over this mountain, they’re circling your steaming pile of metal and plastic, they smell your body shutting down, hear the choked gasps coming from your shattered mouth. But they can’t come anywhere near you.

Not that it matters.

You’re just about dead. Because you refused to really look at the world around you.

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Native to Japan, China, and Korea, Pittosporum tobira is also known as other things, but most weirdly, Japanese cheesewood, for which I could not find an explanation, but I do have a theory, though more about that later. Its scientific name Pittosporum comes from the Greek pitta meaning ‘pitch’ and sporos meaning ‘seed’ because its seeds are covered in a sticky resin. The seeds are a favorite of birds and it’s likely that the resin helps with distribution. In fact these plants are considered invasive in many places because they escape cultivation so easily.

The second part of its name, tobira comes from the Japanese tobira no ki which means ’door tree’. Here we’ll take a quick detour to Japan to help explain this curious name. Every year in early February the Japanese celebrate Setsubun, which literally means ‘seasonal division’ and celebrates the day before the first day of spring on the Japanese calendar. During this time the spirit world is thought to be very close to the physical world. Rituals are performed to drive out evil spirits or any bad fortune that is hanging around from the previous year. Some rituals include mamemaki or ‘bean scattering’ in which roasted soybeans are thrown out the door or at a family member wearing an oni mask while shouting “Devils out! Fortune in!” Sounds fun idk... also I’ve never had roasted soybeans but they sound delicious.

Another custom is hanging roasted sardine heads with either Pittosporum tobira, because it apparently stinks when cut which will drive away bad spirits, or holly, which will frighten bad spirits away with its thorns, over your door, hence the name ‘door tree.’

So this bad smell, I should note that P. tobira only stinks when cut, presumably to discourage predation. Although it is still eaten by the sika deer. I have one of these trees out behind my apartment and two inside and a suspicion that the smell might be what puts the cheese in cheesewood :( but I can’t cut a tree for something so silly. So I’m going to pretend that P. tobira smells like Roqueofort and sika deer like cheese.

Now, cheese-scented wood aside, another of P. tobira’s common names is the mock orange because its creamy white blossoms smell similar to orange blossoms. This I can confirm, they smell incredible in the spring.

Possibly because it’s inedible and smells bad when cut, I couldn’t find any folk medicine uses for this plant, but in science Pittosporum tobira has been shown to protect against glutamate-induced neurotoxicity, which is when the neurotransmitter glutamate overstimulates neurons and causes cell death, which in turn can lead to neurodegenerative diseases. It has also shown antibacterial activity, cytoprotective properties against various forms of cancer, and antioxidant properties. A 2019 study published in The Florida Entomologist stated that the mosquito Aedes albopictus laid fewer eggs on Pittosporum tobira than on other plants in the study.

The top 5 plant species that resulted in the most egg production were as fol-lows: A. grandiflora, L. chinense, V. odoratissimum, E. japonicas, and P. fraseri. Mosquitoes exposed to P. fortuneana, P. tobira, and L. quihoui produced significantly fewer eggs per female than mosquitoes from other groups.

Aedes albopictus aka the tiger mosquito, is a known vector for yellow fever, dengue fever, Chikungunya fever, and usutu virus in humans. Also, it’s a vector for heartworm in dogs and cats. Fewer of these monsters is definitely a good thing, I say plant more P. tobira.

These plants are often propagated from cuttings, but they’re also really easy to grow from seed. I have two that I grew from seeds from the tree behind my building. The seeds were really sticky when I found the open pod on the ground, but I just popped them in the dirt that way and put the pots under a grow light. They grow pretty quickly, look cool, and take a fair amount of neglect. Probably two of my favorite plants.

The tree I grew them from, as you can see (ok I forgot to take a picture), is variegated. I’ve been watching and it looks like new growth stays dark green for a while before it develops variegation, so it’ll be interesting to see if that happens to my baby plants or if they’ll just stay green. I’m happy either way, I love these guys. Mature trees bloom in early spring, so watch for seeds at the end of summer if you have one around you and want to grow your own. They are pretty popular landscape plants in the warmer parts of the world, so you just might.

Hey there! Here’s how plant horror in the coven works:

First week of the month - The Lab (that’s this post!) - Free for everyone.

Second week of the month - The Witch Lab (a short, horror piece from a plant witch’s journal detailing one of her experiences helping (I use the term loosely) a client using the featured plant of the month - New episodes are free! The back catalogue is going to remain paywalled largely because un-paywalling it is time consuming and I am busy doing horrifying things.

Third week of the month - The Grim Grimoire (an entry from The Witch’s spell book detailing how she uses this plant for her dark magic including spells, chants, recipes, instructions, and more). The text version of this will be free, but a digital zine version will go out to paid subscribers. The back catalogue will remain paywalled for the reason stated above.

Fourth week of the month - 100% Plant-Based Horror story featuring the month’s plant. These are longer stories that include everything from ghosts, to parasites, aliens, experimental supplements, monster trucks, extinct species, serial killers, and more! - Paid subscribers only, here’s a freebie you can read to check it out!

Subscribe now

Share

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I do have a job, but it’s mostly an exhausting, soul crushing, Kafkaesque affair… so it’s probably best to skip forward to when I get home.

When I open the door to my apartment my catdemon, Aphelion, will howl from some hiding spot or another and so I call in that general direction, “Hello bébé? Oú est mon homme?” He prefers French or Russian. Catdemons, you know, such polymaths. So demanding. I don’t really know French, just some remnant words from college. I ADHD impulse bought a lifetime subscription to Rosetta Stone about a year ago so I’ve been casually learning Russian, periodically popping back into French, and last week decided to start Spanish.

And catdemon will be demanding food of course, right when I get home. Before I even get into comfy clothes.

I usually read while I eat dinner and for the purposes of this missive, I took count, I’m in the middle of about ten different books right now. I might need to focus on one at a time until I whittle that down a bit, but I do like the rubbing together of ideas that happens when you’re reading several things at once. You get strange friction.

Then we water plants. I usually listen to podcasts while I water plants. I follow a few different history, true crime, folklore, and science podcasts, so there is always something interesting on tap. More idea friction. Sometimes, in addition to watering, I’ll do some repotting, seed planting, or pest control, always we talk to the plants, ask them what they’re up to. Plants are crafty, you know? Catdemons are terrible with plants, in case you were wondering. If you leave catdemons in charge of your nursery, your plants will stage an insurrection, you’ll get poisoned, stabbed, strangled, and smothered all in one night… and catdemon will be forced to eat your corpse. Not ideal.

Then, finally, it’s time to settle down at the coffee table and write. Between 7:30 - 10:30 to 11:30 I work on various writing projects, with lots of breaks for playing with catdemon. Two days a week I do beadwork instead of writing.

Then sleep if I can get it. Usually with nightmares… I don’t sleep with catdemon (he’s nocturnal) so I sleep with my teddy bear instead (he’s not alive).

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Connor stood under the twisted, sprawling tree of… some kind and surveyed the rest of the backyard. He’d worked hard on it, well, he’d slaved over the design, the landscapers had done the manual labor. He now had a nice redwood deck with grilling station, fire pit, jacuzzi, lap pool, pebble garden, some well manicured shrubbery, plus an area to showcase his future bonsai collection, a hobby he planned to start now that he finally had a place for it. A few of the guys at work, when they weren’t nipping from flasks after failed ad pitches, had showed him their trees and given him tips. Seemed to be relaxing.

The one point of contention in this new yard was the tree he now stood under. Thuja, that was what the landscapers had called it. They had been instructed to pull the thing up but had refused, even after Connor had threatened to withhold fifteen percent of their fee. He’d paid them in full, eventually, their excuse, that the tree gave them the creeps, was unfortunately valid. It also gave him the creeps, which was why he wanted it gone. Initially he’d been thrilled to see it in the backyard. It had great structure and with a little TLC he felt he’d be able to turn it into a true beauty.

But then he’d stood under it, as he was now, and it had touched him. No, it had caressed him. No wind, no squirrels, no explanation for the gentle rustle and the branch that cupped his cheek with soft, scaly needles. Just, creepy. That had been two months ago. Now the yard was finished and still, here in the corner, stood this creepy tree. So why was he standing under it now? He turned, backed up a few steps and yeah, it was glowing. Not like neon nightclub kind of glowing, more like a subtle Jesus dwelleth here kind of glow. Connor had left Jesus in the dust long ago; it probably wasn’t the divine light of Christ. Nor had the landscapers installed any physical light underneath the tree.

No, it was just glowing.

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Azazel:Deadwater:9/22/2025

The whole earth has been corrupted through the works of that were taught by Azazel: to him ascribe all sin.

-The Book of Enoch

Go ye after him through the city, and smite: let not your eye spare, neither have ye pity: Slay utterly old and young, both maids, and little children, and women: but come not near any man upon whom is the mark; and begin at my sanctuary. Defile the house, and fill the courts with the slain: go ye forth.

-Elohim

I am, and always will be, no matter that I have been cast out, ben Elohim.

It is late. I have been on a killing spree. Five men tried to break through the police guard at the hospital this evening to capture the sea people and throw them back into the sea. I was already at the hospital, I’ve been keeping an eye on the protests, interviewing people for the paper, that kind of thing. When the assholes with their pussy guns started shoving the cops around I stepped around the side of the building and shed my grub suit. Not that I care about the pigs, but the sea people and the doctors I do. Miriam, too. She can’t light up in a place full of O2 tanks. I need to teach her to fight. She has the lust.

In my demon form, cloven-hooved with furred legs and bare chest, dreadlocked hair and twisted beard, curved horns atop my head, and a long tail above my asshole. Yes, I have claws and a carnivore’s teeth. Yellow goat’s eyes, they always cower at my yellow eyes.

I am true beauty.

The first one to spot me paused as I marched toward him. Unsure if I was in a costume, no doubt. Before he could decide, my fingers were massaging his heart through shards of ribcage. Aerated heart blood is a delicacy not to be under appreciated. The next one put a slug in my back. Takes a certain chemistry to slay a demon, lead ain’t it. He lost an arm, and then an eye. I love an eyeball, like gummy candy with a liquid filling. The cops had, wisely, taken to shepherding the non-combatants to safety. The remaining three stood with weapons drawn, facing me down. The cacophony of fevered blood rushing through panicked hearts. Adrenaline and cortisol scented air. I shook my shaggy mane and roared. The middle one dropped his gun and turned to run. I leapt at him, twisted his head off and felt the hot spurt of arterial blood drench me. I lapped up what I could. The last two just stood there, weapons hanging forgotten from limp arms. Too shit-stained to move. I stood between them, arms outstretched, and ripped out their throats. I drank my fill of blood and walked to the sea to clean up.

Miriam sent me a text: AZ I WATCHED THAT FROM THE WINDOW, YOU’RE A BEAST I FUCKING LOVE YOU!!!

There were a lot of heart emojis. I hope she at least feigned horror to everyone else.

Miriam:Deadwater:9/22/2025

Az killed like five guys in the hospital parking lot tonight. So based. Nothing too interesting happened with the Sea People today. I’m working on an alphabet for their language. They don’t have writing so it’s very difficult, but I need to be able to pick apart the sounds. Eventually, I’ll be able to teach the doctor and others, they’re picking some stuff up, but with writing it’ll be easier. One of the kids has been really helpful in this regard, her name means something like Frostbubblesparkle. Her sister, Horizonstorm, is more angry at this entire situation, understandable for sure. FBS is in for the adventure. Hstorm wants to save her home. I love them both. I’m scared for them both.

The main thing I need to write down is that I’ve located the blob. Marge has it at her lab. She gave me keys so I can experiment with it. I told her my theory and she thinks I’m kookoo bananas, but idc I’m doing it anyway.

So the blob is in a big freezer on a double rollout table. It’s sort of deflated and smells sooo bad. I almost threw up when I first opened up the freezer. I’ll get used to it I guess. Marge has a DNA sequencing machine she’s going to teach me to use, plus a bunch of other equipment. She’s so cool. Very weird… but I suppose that’s an accusation she could lob right back at me so, maybe we’ll get to be friends.

I asked the Sea People if their dead could be raised from the blob… I think they might have been offended, but I played dumb and pretended that I asked the question wrong… If it works, I hope they’re not mad that I’ve resurrected their dead. IF it works. Probably won’t.

August:Hell

There are so many women here. I had no idea this many existed. They definitely outnumber the men. And they’re so happy. Free even. Many just wander around naked. It’s… I’m very- they’re all so beautiful.

Evelyn is quite popular.

As am I… in such a short time.

She’s explained that there are no relationships here, so I don’t need to worry about that. It is a relief, to be freed of the burden of her care and comfort. She’s quite independent, we’ve agreed to meet up for coffee and sex every morning. Otherwise we’ll b both be free to do as we please.

The scenery is quite different. Very dark forests, misty fields, skies filled with lightening and thunder, but it never rains. They don’t have gift shops like in heaven. And there’s no admin, which is greatly appreciated. I never saw an angel in heaven until I was arrested, here the demons walk around and mingle with people, party, chat.

There are horrors yes, but they are quite artistic. I might take up painting in order to capture the brutal beauty of it all.

Oh and I’ve run into Hellbunny. He’s not a bunny here… or a he… or a she. Its name is frankly unpronounceable for me so we’ve agreed I can still call it Hellbunny. How do I describe it? Rather tall and with little hands all over its body. As though it had smallpox, but each pustule can grab and caress you. It’s quite an experience. Its face is still that of Hellbunny, it liked the bunny face and so removed it and had it surgically grafted over its previous face. Apparently it does this occasionally… one wonders if they can be peeled back like layers of wallpaper. Incidentally, the plastic surgeons here are top notch. Personally I’m happy with my current form, but I’ve seen some incredible modifications. I have always wanted antlers…

I must put the pen down for the night. I’m quite tired from all the exploring, and other things.

Next episode…

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The Tree of Life, a well deserved title. Not with the same fecund fertility as the Pomegranate, but in the sense that it will support a life, usually many lives, by sacrificing its own body. Of course, not killing any tree is always preferable, so don’t get all sapthirsty.

We will not speak of practical uses, although there are many, for woodworking has never been our speciality. One who is skilled in the crafting of amulets, vessels, staves, and other magical objects will find the wood and bark of this tree very useful. But this is, alas, not our bailiwick, we are much more versed in the art of conversation with trees, a crucial art when it comes to Thuja.

While most trees are subject to the occasional indwelling spirit, Thuja are more susceptible than most because the tree is by nature so helpful and hospitable. It will generally give itself as home to any stray spirit.

It is, of course, polite to ask any plant for permission before you harvest from it. Most plants won’t mind if you don’t, but there are a few varieties that will withhold magic if permission is not gained before harvesting. Others will taint the material they give to ensure random or bad results. As I can never remember which species are the feisty ones, I always ask. A simple “Green child of The Mother, may I harvest of you for magic?” Wait for that warm feeling or for the quiet spiritual whisper, then say, “I thank you for your generosity and I wish you well.” If you are harvesting roots, which will result in the death of the plant, say, “Green child of the Mother, will you give me your life?“ Again, wait for the sign, and then thank the plant for its sacrifice. I suppose it’s possible a plant would say no to your polite requests, but it’s never happened to me.

Thuja requires the same deference, however, as ancient and kindly trees, they also like to hear about you, what you’re up to, how life is. Just a little light small talk. Be sure to ask about them as well, they may have stories to tell, listen politely and find joy in the telling.

Now, if a spirit lives in the tree, the process will be different.

First, how do you know a spirit lives in a tree?

There are usually Signs.

Bad Spirits in a tree:

-bleeding bark
-foul odors
-withered or many dead limbs or branches
-creaking or other strange noises
-a malaise surrounding the tree
-mist that really shouldn’t be there
-rude words appearing in the bark

How to Speak to bad Spirits:

“Excuse me, I need to use part of your vessel for magic, is this permitted? And will you guarantee I’ll get the magic I seek?” Listen, bad spirits love to talk, you’ll hear the response, probably along with curses or jibes, keep your cool. Be prepared to walk away empty handed. Do not harvest if you’ve been told anything other than a clear yes. You will likely not make it out of the forest alive.

Good spirits in a tree:

-very healthy
-a bit of a glow
-light, airy music
-giggling
-very touchy, as in will reach out to touch you, caress, or hold you (be patient here, do not try and run)

How to talk to good spirits in a tree:

“Hello there, you’re looking well, may I harvest some of your vessel for magic, and will you guarantee I’ll get the magic seek?” Good spirits are less chatty, they tend to open their boughs, stretch a branch toward you, glow brighter, sparkle. They always say yes.

Thuja Tea

Use in moderation, can cause convulsions. In small amounts, will open the mind and the senses, lifting the spirit and facilitating second sight. To make the tea, gather a handful of fresh leaves, put them in a mug or tea pot and pour boiling water over them. Allow to steep for five minutes. Then wait, you’ll either feel wonderful or terrible, such is magic sometimes.

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And there appeared another wonder in heaven; and behold a great red dragon, having seven heads and ten horns, and seven crowns upon his heads. Revelations 12:3

Forest boughs stretched over my head
Shield to heaven’s surveillance
Unshielded, my feet slipped into familiar, cloven treads
Probing each smooth hollow
I found promise in the path
Sulfur fingers, in pungent evanescence, drew me onward
Toward the Morning Star
Where red firelight flickered
Dancing shadow trees wove welcome
Arching lithe backs over the mouth they bade me enter
I knelt at the maw, and touched forehead to cold stone
Within, The Dragon prowled
Seeking one to devour
And I entered
Roaring, his chorus, a serenade, a command
He Is
Tenebrifer
H
S
T
N
I ran through his shadows
The echo from his chambers a beating drum
Fire brightened, I stopped at his cavern
I stepped into his snare
Red flesh glistening
Seven heads for seven pleasures
Twin flames flickering in each
Through the smoke ten horns stood virile
I rode the dragon
Seven crowns
For seven triumphs

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