Sunday, 6 June 2010

I write this message in desperate hope that help will arrive in time

Or that some may yet be saved.

I cannot speak for long, I know the Thing has heard me and the door is a flimsy barrier at best. Already it’s tendrils surround me

It began when Beloved declared he didn‘t need my help in the kitchen. I should have known better, I should have known!

When Beloved opened the bread maker, the Thing was born in a giant overflowing mass of pure malevolence bent on absorbing all within it’s grasp. I should have tried to kill it then – but it wanted to live! It wanted to live and Beloved was sure it could be tamed… The last I saw of him he was covered in the Thing from head to toe, hopelessly unable to escape it’s sticky clutches.

It was probably too late the moment we opened the lid and it rushed out in one huge, sticky mass. It stick to the cabinets, it adhered to the walls, it desperately clung to the doors and the windows and even the ceiling. I tried to escape but it’s in the hallway, on the wallpaper, it leers at me from every carpet, cackles at me as it slowly covers every surface in the house. I can’t escape, it’s everywhere. I look outside, through the clear patches of glass that remain, and it’s even in the garden, clinging to the patio and wall with eerie malevolence.

I can only imagine that this vile force will continue to spread in a greasy wave of evil. Perhaps if you flee across the Humber – across the Channel maybe, maybe you will escape it’s sticky, pervasive clutches.

Pray for me.. for I am already lost…

Why, oh gods, why did I believe Beloved could make pizza dough?