Goetic
The beginning of October, 2011.
I was laying on a hospital bed, twitching. I don't know how I got there. It was glowing and dark in the room, in my confused state I imagine the lights flickering on and off.
My skin felt cracked..like sandpaper. I couldn't speak, only growl. There wasn't any fluid left in my body for speaking, just enough to keep my heart and internal organs from shriveling into dust. I couldn't think. My brain was a big blur, only coming in from the fog long enough to have a quick animal-like impulse. I was tired. I was hurting. I was thirsty. I was so fucking thirsty.
Every cell in my body was screaming for blood.
I tried to move my arms, and couldn't. Straps? Did they strap me down? Where the fuck was I? How did I get there? I couldn't think. I couldn't process information because there was no lubrication to carry my thoughts from point A to point B. Then I saw him.
He smelled like oil and smoke. He looked like me. He walked like me. I wish I could say he wasn't me, but to this day I'm not sure.
He stepped forward from the far corner of the room towards the bed I was strapped to. Tendrils of smoke came off his face. He looked almost mechanical, like he was made of shifting, interlocking points, with pastiches of my own face. His eyes were glowing amber-colored, with cat-like slits in them. He put his hand forward to wrap itself around the rails surrounding my bed, ending with little clink! sound as his fingers coiled around the metal tubing. He introduced himself.
He was The Engine.
****
Five Hours Before.
I woke up screaming. I stumbled into Gerards bathroom, vomiting blood into his sink. I was in intense pain. A few seconds later I feel Gerards arm drape around my waist, to keep me from falling down. He's asking me questions I can't answer. I'm not even making words at this point, just trying to signal to him that I'm in intense pain and need to go to the hospital RIGHT FUCKING NAO, lack of medical insurance be damned. I remember being led out to the porch, almost falling again. I couldn't feel anything through my skin. Everything was numb.
I was in a car. Brian and Gerard were trying to keep me talking, making sure I was still conscious and could respond. I remember being asked which hospital to take me to, and me responding "OnE I hAveN't beEn to BeF0RE," in a cracked voice. Almost dead, and I was still worried about medical insurance. I think the current me would laugh at that. I have thousands of dollars worth of medical bills on my desk, right now.
I was in a waiting room. Gerard was twitching, not taking well to hospitals. I remember almost falling out of my chair when the receptionist was taking my info. She asked me a lot of questions about drugs. I was getting very angry with her because I was trying very hard to not vomit the rest of my guts up at this point. I think she was chewing bubble gum. At least I imagined she was.
I was thrown on a metal slab. Gerard and Brian were gone. There was a nurse nearby, mumbling about fluids and trying to get in contact with someone else. I twitched again, then curled up into a ball. I remember being told to lay down. I almost fell off the slab because I couldn't sit still. Everything hurt so much. I remember a nurse/doctor/whatever who looked a lot like Ben Stein. Hell, I may have imagined he was Ben Stein in my fevered state. Anyway, he slipped a glove on and stuck his finger up my ass. Nope, no fluid up there either. Or maybe they were checking to see where all my blood went. Hell if I know.
I was in a hospital bed, with IVs hooked into my arm. One nurse has a small computer thingy, trying to get my information. She tells me to calm down, and that they'll send a social worker to see me, because I'm screaming about lack of insurance. She berates me for not coming in sooner. "You almost died," she says to me. I remember several people later expressing amazement that I was still conscious with a blood level of 4.5. "Most people pass out and die at that point."
****
Sometime in early 2012
"What's 'goetic' mean?" I asked Gerard. We were sitting around the house waiting for other people to show up for our Friday night gaming session. I had heard the word. used loosely in a religious context, and seen it a lot in some gaming products (mostly White Wolf stuff, like Mage: the Awakening). I didn't really know what the word meant, though, and was curious. Gerard was a virtual treasure trove of religious and spiritual information. He eats that shit up.
Gerard struggled to put the definition in terms I'd understand, since I'm not really a student of such matters myself. I had a similar problem when I went to therapy at a church once, I adored my therapist, but he ran out of material to console me with early on because I didn't understand the language.
Gerard told me of 77 demons, and how they all had names. He told me about a supposed ritual that a man would use to summon an inner demon for himself, and that he would embrace the demon, so that he could gain he attributes of that demon, or expel its attributes from himself. As Gerard always emphasizes when he tells me these things, the mindstate and the symbolism are the important things. But, basically what I got out of it was, 'goetic' was a term used for when someone summons a demon that is a part of themselves, to gain power of some sort.
"Oh, okay," I replied.
****
The beginning of October, 2011.
The Engine looked down on me as he talked. I began to hear the small hum of a motor.
"Danielle is glad you're gone." he told me. I twitched, trying to turn over through the straps. I looked at him, angrily. "She relates the tale of the horrid wreck of a loser that she dated so many years ago. She knows peace, now. A peace she'd have never known with you." The Engine rubbed my forehead with his metal claws as he spoke. I was sweating now, and breathing hard. "You're a story she tells to younger women when she meets them. A warning...the good news is, Karen barely gives you any thought at all, you were just a minor blip on her life." I twitched.
"I wish I could say your parents were rolling in their graves, Joey, but the truth is that they haven't paid you much thought either. Your father favored your older, more manly brothers. Your mother favored your sister, who would go on to try and carry on her legacy. They too, did not give you much thought at all." Wobbling droplets of water appeared at the corners of my eyes. I was too dry to produce proper tears.
"You haven't done a goddamned thing with your life," he went on, "And you likely never will." I began to shake. Black fluid dripped from his own eyeballs, swimming down his face in a mockery of my own tears. "Whats that you say? Yes, you do have a great number of friends that 'love' you. You didn't actually 'do' anything to earn their love. Nothing real. They have spouses and children for that. Families. Careers. They have lives, Joey. They have very fulfilling lives that don't include you at all. You wouldn't understand."
I let out a guttural scream at him. He kept his hand on my forehead, and held me down after I was done. His face softened for a moment, almost looking smug. It lost its mechanical look, many of the features became rounded. He showed me a face I'd seen before, on political pundits and people who were about to roll their eyes. I knew what that face meant. It meant you know I'm right.
"I'm your anger. I'm your frustration. I'm your resentment. I'm your envy." he said. "You need me now. You can't finish this on your own. You're almost dead right now. You need the boost"
"Take my hand, right now," he said to me, "...or die right here in this bed. Your choice, Joey." I stared at him for a few moments. He kept talking as he slowly unrolled his hand near my right one. "If you chose the former, you'll get a nice funeral. People will cry. People will post. And then it'll be over forever. No muss, no fuss." His hand was fully open now. "If you take my hand and accept my help, you're gambling. I'm not going to sugarcoat it, Joey, you will go through worse hell than this. Yes, even worse. You may end up losing every friend you've ever made. And you will be angry for the rest of your life. You will die angry. But you might just get what you want."
"Or you might die knowing you tried."
I took his hand. I heard a motor running. Full blast.
The beginning of October, 2011.
I was laying on a hospital bed, twitching. I don't know how I got there. It was glowing and dark in the room, in my confused state I imagine the lights flickering on and off.
My skin felt cracked..like sandpaper. I couldn't speak, only growl. There wasn't any fluid left in my body for speaking, just enough to keep my heart and internal organs from shriveling into dust. I couldn't think. My brain was a big blur, only coming in from the fog long enough to have a quick animal-like impulse. I was tired. I was hurting. I was thirsty. I was so fucking thirsty.
Every cell in my body was screaming for blood.
I tried to move my arms, and couldn't. Straps? Did they strap me down? Where the fuck was I? How did I get there? I couldn't think. I couldn't process information because there was no lubrication to carry my thoughts from point A to point B. Then I saw him.
He smelled like oil and smoke. He looked like me. He walked like me. I wish I could say he wasn't me, but to this day I'm not sure.
He stepped forward from the far corner of the room towards the bed I was strapped to. Tendrils of smoke came off his face. He looked almost mechanical, like he was made of shifting, interlocking points, with pastiches of my own face. His eyes were glowing amber-colored, with cat-like slits in them. He put his hand forward to wrap itself around the rails surrounding my bed, ending with little clink! sound as his fingers coiled around the metal tubing. He introduced himself.
He was The Engine.
****
Five Hours Before.
I woke up screaming. I stumbled into Gerards bathroom, vomiting blood into his sink. I was in intense pain. A few seconds later I feel Gerards arm drape around my waist, to keep me from falling down. He's asking me questions I can't answer. I'm not even making words at this point, just trying to signal to him that I'm in intense pain and need to go to the hospital RIGHT FUCKING NAO, lack of medical insurance be damned. I remember being led out to the porch, almost falling again. I couldn't feel anything through my skin. Everything was numb.
I was in a car. Brian and Gerard were trying to keep me talking, making sure I was still conscious and could respond. I remember being asked which hospital to take me to, and me responding "OnE I hAveN't beEn to BeF0RE," in a cracked voice. Almost dead, and I was still worried about medical insurance. I think the current me would laugh at that. I have thousands of dollars worth of medical bills on my desk, right now.
I was in a waiting room. Gerard was twitching, not taking well to hospitals. I remember almost falling out of my chair when the receptionist was taking my info. She asked me a lot of questions about drugs. I was getting very angry with her because I was trying very hard to not vomit the rest of my guts up at this point. I think she was chewing bubble gum. At least I imagined she was.
I was thrown on a metal slab. Gerard and Brian were gone. There was a nurse nearby, mumbling about fluids and trying to get in contact with someone else. I twitched again, then curled up into a ball. I remember being told to lay down. I almost fell off the slab because I couldn't sit still. Everything hurt so much. I remember a nurse/doctor/whatever who looked a lot like Ben Stein. Hell, I may have imagined he was Ben Stein in my fevered state. Anyway, he slipped a glove on and stuck his finger up my ass. Nope, no fluid up there either. Or maybe they were checking to see where all my blood went. Hell if I know.
I was in a hospital bed, with IVs hooked into my arm. One nurse has a small computer thingy, trying to get my information. She tells me to calm down, and that they'll send a social worker to see me, because I'm screaming about lack of insurance. She berates me for not coming in sooner. "You almost died," she says to me. I remember several people later expressing amazement that I was still conscious with a blood level of 4.5. "Most people pass out and die at that point."
****
Sometime in early 2012
"What's 'goetic' mean?" I asked Gerard. We were sitting around the house waiting for other people to show up for our Friday night gaming session. I had heard the word. used loosely in a religious context, and seen it a lot in some gaming products (mostly White Wolf stuff, like Mage: the Awakening). I didn't really know what the word meant, though, and was curious. Gerard was a virtual treasure trove of religious and spiritual information. He eats that shit up.
Gerard struggled to put the definition in terms I'd understand, since I'm not really a student of such matters myself. I had a similar problem when I went to therapy at a church once, I adored my therapist, but he ran out of material to console me with early on because I didn't understand the language.
Gerard told me of 77 demons, and how they all had names. He told me about a supposed ritual that a man would use to summon an inner demon for himself, and that he would embrace the demon, so that he could gain he attributes of that demon, or expel its attributes from himself. As Gerard always emphasizes when he tells me these things, the mindstate and the symbolism are the important things. But, basically what I got out of it was, 'goetic' was a term used for when someone summons a demon that is a part of themselves, to gain power of some sort.
"Oh, okay," I replied.
****
The beginning of October, 2011.
The Engine looked down on me as he talked. I began to hear the small hum of a motor.
"Danielle is glad you're gone." he told me. I twitched, trying to turn over through the straps. I looked at him, angrily. "She relates the tale of the horrid wreck of a loser that she dated so many years ago. She knows peace, now. A peace she'd have never known with you." The Engine rubbed my forehead with his metal claws as he spoke. I was sweating now, and breathing hard. "You're a story she tells to younger women when she meets them. A warning...the good news is, Karen barely gives you any thought at all, you were just a minor blip on her life." I twitched.
"I wish I could say your parents were rolling in their graves, Joey, but the truth is that they haven't paid you much thought either. Your father favored your older, more manly brothers. Your mother favored your sister, who would go on to try and carry on her legacy. They too, did not give you much thought at all." Wobbling droplets of water appeared at the corners of my eyes. I was too dry to produce proper tears.
"You haven't done a goddamned thing with your life," he went on, "And you likely never will." I began to shake. Black fluid dripped from his own eyeballs, swimming down his face in a mockery of my own tears. "Whats that you say? Yes, you do have a great number of friends that 'love' you. You didn't actually 'do' anything to earn their love. Nothing real. They have spouses and children for that. Families. Careers. They have lives, Joey. They have very fulfilling lives that don't include you at all. You wouldn't understand."
I let out a guttural scream at him. He kept his hand on my forehead, and held me down after I was done. His face softened for a moment, almost looking smug. It lost its mechanical look, many of the features became rounded. He showed me a face I'd seen before, on political pundits and people who were about to roll their eyes. I knew what that face meant. It meant you know I'm right.
"I'm your anger. I'm your frustration. I'm your resentment. I'm your envy." he said. "You need me now. You can't finish this on your own. You're almost dead right now. You need the boost"
"Take my hand, right now," he said to me, "...or die right here in this bed. Your choice, Joey." I stared at him for a few moments. He kept talking as he slowly unrolled his hand near my right one. "If you chose the former, you'll get a nice funeral. People will cry. People will post. And then it'll be over forever. No muss, no fuss." His hand was fully open now. "If you take my hand and accept my help, you're gambling. I'm not going to sugarcoat it, Joey, you will go through worse hell than this. Yes, even worse. You may end up losing every friend you've ever made. And you will be angry for the rest of your life. You will die angry. But you might just get what you want."
"Or you might die knowing you tried."
I took his hand. I heard a motor running. Full blast.