Writhe

Tis' the time of year, Lulu, to make use of any creepy you contain. Don't let anyone tell you not to dwell on this or that. This and that are the things to interrogate with exceptional focus. This and that have the most interesting tales to tell, even if they are harrowing. It was never not going to be harrowing.

Oraclular Gleanings of Groove

Mirror world bibliomancing amorn yields but one conclusion, Lulu. It's an ectospheric rave in this manufactured night so don something appropriately absurd and splash some of that psychic groove spaceward.

Hauntings Aplenty...

in the Many Waters these darkening days, but this was always expected. We never really paid much attention to the stuff that they say anyway before embarking upon this path of ill-advisement with our a hurricane regard for caution, starting conflagrations and raising storms. Sure, it's harrowing, but 'tis the season. Most things go wrong, but that hardly matters. It's all process.

An Uninteresting Beginning

The day was considerably unbalmy, decidedly deluminous and mostly damp. Widows in the windows worked their tangled webs without consternation while moths flitted soundless in dim. It was a day colored intensely ordinary by underseething anticipation, a day that makes one wish for any event to relieve the tension of the nothing happening, but about to.

Even if it was also the kind of day in which the anticipation eventually seeps away, leaving vaguely slimy stain to dull the drab. Waiting is never easy, though sometimes it's harder than others. Depending upon what is awaited and how the waiting is to be performed. It's been posited that napping abed is a better way to wait, for instance, than lying upon fire ants or walking across hot coals. These positions are likely correct, but that has nothing to do with a dull day that Lulu wished could just get on with it, whatever 'it' was.

What, you might wonder, would Lulu have been anticipating in such torturous suspension? It was hard to determine, but she'd thrown the bones and cast the charts. She'd consulted the dead and uttered the enchantments and considered the omens, but the answers were strange and not really answers at all. Wishful thinking is the definition of anticipating excitement in Walla Walla, but still, sometimes things happen because not even Walla Walla is immune to events. Not really. That's just an illusion spun by the bucolic surroundings and the grid. Illusion, true, but durable and dull enough to provoke little real probing. Such an ecosystem is, it has often been observed round these parts, sometimes fertile ground for a new sort of critter. But we digress. October starts so innocently.

Everyone knows, though, that this is the season for the most terrifying dance hexes imaginable. Lulu was mulling the drabness of already dry paint when this ditty came across the airwaves.

 

Tis the Season (Baile)

 Such glamour colors the hauntings this season in El Mansion Negro.