ORDEALS CATATONIC AND CREATORS UNCOUTH: AN EPISTLE FOR VICTOR VELEZ

By Quillon42

Dearest Victor,

I know it has been a spell since we have last talked, and that I said the last time that I saw you that we would never speak again at all.

However, there have recently arrived certain…circumstances relevant to me and to you, specifically concerning my daughter Lily (and you know that she has to be referred to as "my" and not "our" given that 1) she was never yours to begin with as she was conceived through my union with another man and 2) you pushed her out of your life with your business and your busyness and your ways otherwise).

(I must pause even this early in the letter to sigh from the exhaustion and exasperation I already have from writing that last paragraph).

Anyway, I am not sure if you know, but it may be of interest to you that Lillian is alive and well. At least now she is well. My baby girl, she was deemed free to go and returned to me after the hospital authorities gave her something remotely in the neighborhood of a clean bill of health. She certainly isn't anywhere near one hundred percent recovered from what she went through, but she's on her feet.

Because you have been incognito for so many weeks and months, the hospital reached out to me after the detectives did some snooping and found out where I was. Believe me, it wasn't as if I was going to duck my daughter anyway here—I just was never aware of the depths to which your obsession sank, and how much danger it put our family and everyone else in our neck of Prosperity.

When I reached Lily I almost couldn't stand after seeing how she looked. Set up there in that bed, put out basically catatonic with a towel over part of her face. The specialists told me she had a thirty percent chance of coming out of it. I kept vigil.

Grace of God, it took about another five months of endless picking at my scalp and nearly tearing hairs out at the roots in the process, but she emerged from it. My Lily, she came out of the coma quivering, shivering as if she'd been impaled on the North Pole itself. I took her out of the hospital and despite what the physicians said regarding her ostensibly being good to go, she was still shaking and couldn't stop for about another couple of hours no matter what I did.

Lily was nonverbal that entire time and when she came out of that she embraced me, harder than she ever had or wanted to before. And I felt the full extent of that coldness that was inside her. A byproduct of what you put into her from that whole wretched experience.

She didn't want to talk about it, so we kept away from it in our conversation. But there was someone else…someones actually, who insisted on filling me in. This time it was me who was free from consciousness when all this happened, when those things came to me all while I slept.

What they showed me all those times, so many consecutive nights while I tried to recover my strength to support my baby the following day…the images and sequences that they all presented ever haughtily…the alleged "pleasures" of death and torment that featured Lillian front and center in every frame…You really cannot conceive of the slightest inkling that the effects of your meddling in the Antarctic occult have had upon our family of late, in particular upon our…I really mean, again, upon my daughter.

Some horrid…creatures…have been communicating with me of late, Victor. They don't give their names, I suppose of course that would be the case…but they knew mine and were taunting all the while, Julia, Julia…baiting me and wanting me to join in their torment of you and Lily. Seems that these ethereal beings basically have had their jollies getting off on torturing the both of you…

…But the visions they have shown.

It was one thing seeing you get dragged backasswards away by the one girl who looked dressed like Lillian, with the exception of the bloody burlap sack on what was supposed to be her head…and then the abominable manner in which you went stalking her with every desire in mind of ending her life to purchase your own freedom. I cannot say that that shocks me here entirely; I know that you always resented, again, that she was not of your own genetic contribution, and I am also aware that given the situation it was either her or you, so it all seems so consistent of you to act in that way when the predicament became that desperate. That doesn't mean, of course, that I can forgive such narrow-mindedly megalomaniacal behavior.

Yet, beyond that, everything else I saw, everything that was visited upon my daughter herself…

I don't think my descriptions can do justice in all honesty. But damned if I don't try.

The same Burlap Freak winching Lily off the floor and wrenching her head off to place it on its own vacant neck, as if trying on a new cloche. Telekinetic controlling of some clumps of spikes in the floor, by some other monster apparently, aiming to impale ever so abruptly. Oversized infant faces leering and leaning at every corner in to devour my daughter.

Images of those babies sometimes succeeding, biting pieces off her as if she were some…chocolate Easter bunny, but with blood and bone where it should be hollow.

And in between each of these horrific sequences what's left of Lillian recedes into the ground, disintegrates…then reincorporates flutteringly from the air like so much errant snow. She comes back into being just to be shunted out of it again, each time more graphically than the last.

There's a long passage occupied by some…some thing that at first glance looks like Theodora Cauls, you know, that old maid living down the other end of our neighborhood…but then another closer look and it's a hideous mockup of herself instead; the long ratty black hair here only encases a face comprised almost of teeth—of tusks, nearly. And, almost again unspeakably, there is another mouth where her, let us say, Altar of Venus should be, the nether maw lined with disgustingly sharp teeth as well.

Both mouths snap and crunch, eager to take a person and split her to share appallingly equally between themselves. I've seen it dine on Lillian in the nightmares these creatures have dumped upon me, it splitting her down the middle horizontally so that the top teeth have the torso and above, and the bottom one the thighs and all below; the monster pulling her arms off like that "She loves me (not)" game with pulling petals one by one off the daisy but here it is only "it hates her, it hates her so, it hates her…"

…The abomination completely and utterly…shucking the whole entirety of Lily's skin, degloving her and leaving before it only a gibbering mannequin of meat kicking uselessly on the ground before being split longways like the most woeful of wishbones. I almost choked to death on my own vomit while sleeping after having such reaction from all the sights to which I was exposed. Sights which you made possible.

Beyond that, immodest facsimiles of our gentle delicate flower, parodies of phantasmagoric lethality devoid of clothing except for blood red pumps, they all stalking down darkened hallways, occasionally finding my baby and savaging her features out of some kind of insanely fatalistic jealousy. Pulling the strings behind it all is some chintzy demented cunt, (you see the lengths I'm going to here and now, with this language), calling herself some kind of "Artist" when all it really is actually is garbage of gore, collages of corpses and most frightening of all then, the lurid scene littered with likenesses of Lily.

My little baby having to reexperience the horror of nearly taking her own life in our very home. I mean, thankfully Doctor Thompson was later there to counsel her (though I thought that Bowie tune was rather strange of him to play, even if Lillian does have those rare gray eyes). He was really just what she needed and a great influence generally then. Really helped her emerge even more from the cocoon of despair in which Lily had deposited herself while we were fighting with one another without cease.

Anyway, my daughter eventually manages to fly from all the unholy that is accosting her and end up in some other nightmare down the line, from which she becomes coerced to abscond from as well…but not before she is many times over mashed up and maimed and torn apart only to be put back together to be torn apart once more, by unspeakable terrors unmatchable with any species you have ever researched.

She made it out altogether in time, though she had to basically disembowel herself in order to make it out. The scene the creatures showed me, it featured her alone before a table into which was driven this machete…the demons wanted her to use it to carve out that…trinket you went to the end of the Earth for. Turns out you had it sewn into her impromptu, perhaps as a way to keep it from them.

Maybe it was that ghastly gewgaw itself, with its living eye looking all around, that gave Lily the ability to detect the various traps and terrors threatening once and again to vivisect her. Maybe you did her a favor by implanting the thing inside of her. I'd really like to think that was the case, that you did it for her and not to protect your egregiously-gotten gains.

As it would turn out, obviously, you managed to emerge from that Hell also. I'm not sure how or why they let you go, as you were such a source of sustenance for them. Being their errand child and retrieving body after body for them to take down greedily, all the people that were in our section of Prosperity just about, is that correct?

So many were subjected to victimization at the hands and claws and appendages otherwise of those… things. That one poor soul about two miles from our estate, the one who lamented time and again about the agony in his liver and his guts. That one man living a mile in the other direction who took up taxidermy, to make at least inanimate companions to keep him company in his solitude, but who then suffered sight-stealing cataracts in his eyes not long thereafter. Perhaps it was the Universe punishing him for embracing something going against the natural order of things, in his taking creatures and stuffing them to make posed figures.

But manipulating bodies like that, that's not something with which you're familiar at all now, is it?

I have pretty much half a mind to try and take this story to the authorities, but the problem is that it's just that—a story…at least that's what it would be to them. I mean, it had to have really happened, between Lillian's trauma suffered and the vivid subconscious visitations I've had…they're too graphic and detailed to have been fabricated by my own brain. What it essentially boils down to is that I have no hard evidence to get at you. And this despite the fact that the writings Lily made in her journal, as she has been wont to do more or less perpetually, have actually materialized again even though they had inexplicably disappeared from the book when she first came back to this world. That's what the cops said anyway when they first happened upon Lillian all bleeding out on the floor of your study—only a blank diary in her hands as well as a letter which she could not let go of for anything.

It might be just as well, as really I'd like you to remain outside the justice system these days…so I can get at you.

What you likely are not aware of, beyond all the obliteration your occultist obsession has occasioned, is that lately there has been some good amount of shall we say…collateral damage that this experience brought about for Lily. Consequences that she cannot and never will be able to efface.

Some of it is benign actually, and really quite impressive in terms of the tributes that have been paid to my daughter given her bravery and resourcefulness in coming through as she did with her predicament. Other forces from beyond our world, more pleasant ones…they have illustrated interesting likenesses of Liliian that are dignified and make her out basically to be a local heroine, almost a local legend really. Cutesy depictions showing her with poise and strength and authority, as if she were meant to be taken into that infernal world to exorcise it of its spirits as only she could.

But then there are the…less delectable effects that have been brought about. I don't think I can prepare you for this, so I will just be plain and come out and say it, regarding this atrocity to which I have traumatically borne witness.

There is an image out there of some dragon-crocodile person, fucking Lillian in a kitchen! My poor baby, being explicitly accosted by some infernal scaly creature…it is disgusting to me. (NB: This actually exists out on Google if you just type "House Of Velez Rule 34"). A dragon-crocodile person, Victor! You know how I feel about those.

Then there are some cads who apparently have had Lillian's manifold moments of explicit expiration revealed to them as well…and have therefrom catalogued these phantasmagoric happenings through compilation videos online. It is all done in the name of some anathematic concept that is called "Ryona" and color me ignorant but I cannot grasp what kind of inhumane mind would watch traumatic sequences such as those and consider them to be some great and satisfying brand of entertainment.

What is perhaps worst superlatively, worse than could possibly imagined otherwise, worse even than that randily-acting reptile, or the villains of video…there is this jerkoff out there, some ass muncher who calls himself "Quillon42," who has taken it upon himself to clone Lily and make the living photocopy what he calls his "Wife-Foo." I don't know what this "Wife-Foo" means really, but it doesn't seem very healthy or congenial at all. He then makes an alias for himself which he insists is not some kind of self-insert, but with a name like "Selvyn Sertington" as he gives his new identity, it's kind of hard to swallow.

This totally fecal sort of individual took it upon himself to invent some alternate version of Lily's horrific journey, wherein he appeared on the scene not far from her and guided her through it with superhuman abilities that he just happened to obtain upon reaching the monsters' realm. Then, after, as he says, "karate-ing" everything from Burlap to the fleshy zombie in the wheelchair near the end of Lily's ordeal (I didn't mention him before, but I gather you know who I'm talking about), he ends up saving not only my daughter but also you and bringing the two of you along with himself back into the world of the living. Lily then automatically falls in love with him and he of course reciprocates. It's all pretty damn sickening.

I tell you this, Victor: If those creatures ever approach you in your own nightmares, and offer you a view of this utterly masturbatory narrative that this pseudo-literary moron "stars" in, I would make a suggestion paraphrasing the main character in J.D. Salinger's most recognized novel:

"Don't see it unless you want to puke all over yourself."

Now too there's yet another distorted duplicate of my Lillian, dressed all the more sharply and seemingly with a facelift to boot. You ask me, I think my baby always looked just fine. But this one…there's portrayals of her profile through a shower curtain while bathing, presented all suggestively as if she's that Chase harlot from the funny books I told Lillian never to buy…J. Scott Campbell's "Dangerous Girl" or something like that. Putting on her outfit and lipsticking up real close like some kind of uncouth prostitute.

Apparently Queerass42 thinks this newer, "Remake Lily" is abominable too, as he comforts his cloned "Wife-Foo"…yes, the hapless xerox of the Lily that you and I have been used to all this time.

"Well, there goes 'Hot-Me'…" says the cloned original Lily, regarding the newer and inferior model as the same is shown gallivanting around on some screen viewed by said original and her execrable "savior."

"No way, Lily!" cuts in the Quillon cretin, reassuring her. "More like 'Ho-Me.' …Er, or 'Ho-You,' I guess. Don't you EVER put yourself down, my lady, as you are the 'Ain't Broke' and that other silly You is the 'Fix It' and all. I look at you, and then I look at her, and then I look back at you and I say to myself, 'Can't improve on perfection.' There's no one more radiant than you…not even 'You' if you know what I mean."

Then tears of gratitude and adoration well up in the faux-original-Lillian's eyes as she looks upon this "man" who claims he is her self-proclaimed "soulmate." Her lips tremble then as they part to utter the awfully unbearable words.

"Oh, Quillon…um, I mean, Oh, Selvyn…"

And then they embrace and I lose every meal of the day to regurgitation, as it all makes for a portrait far more ghastly than any of the devils in the dreams have presented to me. This fool, he speaks of my daughter in Courtney Love-like Doll Parts as he goes on to describe the intimate gambols they share together; it is gross and graphic but I will suffer to share one description, to illuminate the extent of this insanity: he has spoken of her midriff, for an instance, as "that sacred stomach, that angelic abdomen, that most hallowed House Of Bellies."

I would almost welcome being mauled by the mutated Miss Cauls after experiencing this.

Then, after professing his eternal unexpiring adoration for this poor iteration of Lillian, the hypocritical douche makes a declaration regarding the made-over edition of mu daughter:

"Forsooth, the balance of the universe stands in jeopardy on part of the very existence of this hussy who would pretend to be the most iridescent Lillian Velez. Out of concern for humanity's continued welfare, yea, I will take this 'Remake Lily' and place her in my Personal Harem Dungeo…er, in my Precautionary Containment Facility, so that the rest of the world will remain safe from the machinations of this devious harlot."

How exceedingly and irrepressibly noble of him.

All of this is why I may need your assistance, as at least like a hired sword, or machete to take this fucker down. If you can find and wipe him away from Prosperity, then the real Lily, and I, might consider taking you back. But I will also do you the favor of advising that you may want to meditate on whether a reunion is worth your health and sanity.

See, my daughter and I have over the past weeks fashioned a sort of replica of the Artifact, took an old kettlebell and lent it to your favorite neighbor—you know how he loves his job as a metalworker—and yep, sure enough, Tim Scheward screwed with it so the handles were removed. Now it's just a heavy, heavy ball that Lills and I painted reddish brown, just like your prized plaything.

Again, consistent with your constant pleas, I am honestly talking with my daughter about allowing you back into our lives…but there's going to be some terms with which you will have to be in agreement. For starters, you may need to so establish a new wing of your study so you can house the tomes and tomes of written punitions and apologies dedicated to my daughter and myself. For another condition, you set aside at least two hours a day for family time with me and Lily; you know you owe us at the very least that much for us to be a real family.

Further, for all you put us through, my baby girl and I get to take turns bouncing our very own "Artifact" off your cranium on a daily basis.

You think those monsters from another dimension were misery…or that Quillon Selvyn jackass is infinitely worse and such (which he is…but still)… all of them're going to feel like the nursery's rather creepy baby dolls in contrast to what you would be walking into now.

Your loving wife,

Julia Velez