Tag Archives: Yig

Report 15: Out of the Frying Pan

Sir,

I am currently sitting in the corner booth at the Fat Beaver Inn, enjoying some pre-dinner coffee served up by LuAnn, the Fat Beaver’s lead waitress. LuAnn only has one arm, which you’d think would be a detriment in her line of work. But she handles it with aplomb. She lost the arm, it seems, in a most singular manner: singing accident. LuAnn sang in the children’s choir at her parents’ church. Voice of an angel, the preacher always said. But it was a poor congregation, and the church was in a state of some disrepair. Specifically, they had termites. So one Sunday, the little stage the children sang on collapsed, sending them all tumbling.

Now, this didn’t happen simply because of the weight of the children. There was one boy in particular, a large child (portly, is the sense I get) by the name of Melvin, who stood directly in front of LuAnn in the choir. And Melvin was filled with the Spirit, as they say, always waving his arms and dancing slightly as the choir went through its repertoire. Well, this Sunday, Melvin was particularly joyful, and began bouncing up and down, absolutely hyperactive with the power of the Lord. And (at least according to LuAnn) it was Melvin’s antics which caused the stage to collapse, and Melvin himself to fall over on top of LuAnn. His weight pushed her through the wall (which was also termite-infested), and the two of them went right into works of the rickety disused pipe organ.

LuAnn put her arm out to break her fall, and it got stuck between the pipes, which then broke the arm to pieces as the whole pipe organ structure came crashing down of top of them. Luckily for LuAnn, Melvin took the brunt of the falling pipes. But then she was left trapped, under tons of metal and a bleeding overgrown choir boy, covered in termites. It took them hours to dig her out, and by the time they did, her arm was a lost cause.

LuAnn doesn’t sing anymore. Doesn’t go to church, either.

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Report 14: Knives in the Dark

Where were we?

Right. I asked Alexandra about the knives, then saw the hands coming out of her pillow. I’d hoped to catch her off-guard with the question, and I did, but well… The hands.

They were slender and strong. Bone-white. And unnaturally large. They moved quickly, wrapping themselves around her face and pulling, her head slipping smoothly back into the pillow. She was in up to her neck before I could even react. I leapt onto the bed and got my arms around her kicking legs, but by then she’d been pulled through to the waist, and I couldn’t get enough leverage to fight it. So I just held on for dear life and followed her in.

The other side felt like being underwater. Not wet, but the same muffling pressure on the ears, the same dim, refracted light. Otherwise, it was the same. Alexandra in her hospital bed, me in the chair beside it. As if nothing had happened. Except…

Except that the ill ease she felt at my knife question had dissipated. In its place was an eagerness, a glint in her eye that bespoke some secret thrill. I was disappointed that I’d lost the upper ground in the interrogation so quickly. But then her lip curled, and a different kind of excitement rose in my chest.

“You want to know about the knives?” Her voice was deeper. Husky.

“Yes. Please.” I couldn’t keep the edge of desire out of my voice. Didn’t particularly want to.

“Alright. The first time was on my 13th birthday. Someone… a man… came into my room at midnight. He had this… long knife in his hand. Like a kitchen knife, but bigger. Shinier. More dangerous.” Her eyes flashed. “I was so scared. But he didn’t do anything. Just came and sat beside my bed…” She reached out. “Kind of like you’re doing.”

I took her hand in mine. “I don’t have a knife.”

Eyes level, voice cool. “You have a gun.”

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Report 13: Tell Me About the Owls

“Tell me about the owls, Alexandra.”

“I don’t– What? Listen… Do I know you?”

“I was there when you effected your escape from Jase Peterson’s house. Otherwise, no. I don’t think so. But, please. Tell me about the owls.”

“The owls? Well– They’re the ones who– …the ones who killed Chris. Those women. The lesbians.”

“Lesbians?”

“Well… That’s unfair of me. I don’t know that. They were just so… butch.”

“Butch?”

“Masculine. Broad shoulders, hard muscles… I don’t know. They could have just been athletes, I guess. Body builders. Soccer players. I don’t know.”

“But they had the heads of owls?”

“Yes. They were wearing masks, like… some kind of team mascot?”

“So, you were attacked by a group of muscular women wearing owl masks.”

“Yes. Look, I know it sounds strange–”

“It doesn’t sound strange at all, Alexandra. Now. Tell me more. Tell me about the owls.”

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Upload: The Icke File

Hello, X-23.

This is Denise. Chief Roberts asked me to upload the Icke File for you, which is patently ridiculous. The Icke File fills three cabinets in the Black Library. You couldn’t possibly pick through it all in the field, even with tags and a search option the intra-blog doesn’t have. Honestly. The Chief is a credit to the Agency, but they never should have put him behind a desk. So I’m just going to boil it down for you, concentrating on elements pertinent to the Melmoths. Hope it helps.

Lizards made of sound is the key element here. Malevolent reptile gods that exist at a higher vibrational frequency. We refer to them in the plural because they’ve gone by many names in many cultures over the centuries. But truthfully we have no way of knowing if there really are multiple beings, or if we’ve just seen one great reptilian overlord from different angles at different times. But, trusting to the evidence of our limited senses, we use the plural, and the many names.

The name that should most concern you is Yig. A localized tribal entity from Northwestern Mexico, Yig was a man-eater, offered human sacrifice to prevent the other, more disturbing aspect of his godhead: when angered, he had a habit of coming down out of the mountains and violently impregnating the women of the tribe. They would give birth to horrors, X-23. Wombs splitting open to birth a multitude of snakes. Lizards with the faces of infants. Reptilian monstrosities that would rip their way out from the inside and devour their mothers whole.

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Report 2: Why We Are Here

Sir,

Your suggestion that I keep a dream journal seems prudent, especially if I’ve experienced a genuine Wanageeska manifestation. I will record any significant dreams from this point forward. Fortunately, last night’s sleep was, as they say, deep and dreamless. I slept like the dead, and have awakened early, refreshed and up to the task of making my initial case notes.

I’ve been called in to Pannawau to assist local law enforcement in the investigation of the murder of one Christopher Phillips (age 21), and the disappearance of his fiance, Alexandra Melmoth (age 20). Phillips picked Melmoth up at her family’s house one week ago today, and they never returned. A search was undertaken 24 hours later, which lasted three days and turned up two things:

One, Phillips’ car, submerged in nearby Lake Mammedaty.

And two, Phillips himself, dead of multiple stab wounds and left exposed to the elements on the side of Mount Pannawau.

Of Melmoth, no trace was found. At least, not until the autopsy.

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