Inktober 2017 #11 – #15

Run was all I could do when I beheld the blaze of infernal mane mantled upon that nightmare head, and even as mine ears filled with the drum thunder of mine bursting heart, I could hear the echo of that terrible cackling bellow.”

Journal entry pending.

“On a moonlit night, I was traveling toward the outskirts of town. Somewhere along the cold, cobbled paths, a low, inky form arose, slinking beneath the shadowed eaves. I steadied mine nerves and quickened mine pace.
The long shape vaulted dexterously over street clutter and debris with silent, aqueous motion.
A vixenly voice slipped out from the shadow, and I drew sharp breath in startlement, but recognition came to mine senses as I listened.
“Alive without breath,
As cold as death,
Clad in mail never clinking,
Never thirsty, ever drinking.
What am I?”
“A fish.” I replied in a moment, as my recollections came together.

“It walks on four legs in the morning,
two legs at noon and – ”
“Man.” I countered, before she could exhaust that ageless riddle.
A shaft of silver moonbeam traced over the path, revealing a flitting image that I had now anticipated: a feminine face with eyes that shone like gold gilded mirrors.

The air hung silent for a moment before she continued:
“What does man love more than life
Fear more than – ”
“Don’t you have mice to catch?” I mockingly cut in.
She swung around to give a resentful hiss before bounding up and across the rooftops with feline swiftness.
The dead silence felt heavy now, and I rather regretted the contemptuous dismissal of my unlikely companion, for any company might gladden the cheerless night journey.”

“First, harvest a plump mandrake root during the equinox when the sun is at zenith. Take the twine from a noose with which a man has been hanged, and bind the root with it to fasion the aspect of a body, and stain the whole with the master’s seed.
In the same day, at midnight, the effigy must be buried over the grave of a dead man.
For thirty days it must be norished wisely with a solution of goat’s milk, man’s blood and sap of oak. At the last, the master is to crop the growth, and gather it into a knot to be carried always.”

– alchemical formula for a golem of mandragola

Journal entry pending.



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