Read the last chapter before this one
***
Chapter 12
Malthus my boy,
As much as I hate to admit it, you are increasing in wickedness. Your amelioration has certainly taken its effect. The most recent episode of sleep paralysis inflicted on the mother has produced results of the highest degree. Not only has she grown in her anxiety of falling asleep, but she and the husband spent a number of hours in a meaningless spat over an issue that was irrelevant to him but the most relevant possible thing to her. To watch her plead with him as he stumbled out of his dormant stupor was highly comical. His immediate emotion was that of annoyance and anger, which she intuitively understood without him saying a word. A textbook paralytic attack therefore laid the foundation for a marital dispute that was a mind-numbingly boring back and forth. He insisted that he “didn’t say anything wrong,” and she countered with “I shouldn’t have to explain my feelings to you.” It is amazing how long the dimwits can yammer on about idiotic nonsense without growing tired of how futile it all is. They are exceptionally stupid creatures. They never did end up discussing the spiritual torture, and when she attempted to explain it he told her she was crazy and that she must let him sleep. Sometimes the battle between the sexes is so witless it is like watching a political debate.
It was cunning of you to direct her to one of her friends more initiated in the New Age for advice on what to do about the paralysis. Doubtless her friend will recommend she employ the help of a “dream catcher” or to consult a medium. If we are lucky, she will make such a fool of herself that she will walk around her house burning herbs as if the igniting of a salad could ward off the demonic. Now, whichever method she chooses (hopefully a variety), you must actually lay off the attacks for a few nights. The trick is to implant in her the seeds for a growing superstition that natural objects are potent against the spiritual realm.
A dream catcher for example is just a collection of feathers and string. By placing it over her window or on the rearview mirror of her car she will accomplish nothing more than an addition to her home decor. If she does consult a medium—even though it will be only virtual due to the state ban on gatherings—it does not really matter whether the person is actually a conduit for our information or merely a fraud. If they were to meet in person I would perhaps suggest a truly possessed witch or wizard so that we could perform more parlour tricks in hopes of inflicting further dread. However, as the meeting will not be in person, a simple liar is all we need. Women as gullible as her can be fooled by the most banal of frauds. All it takes is for the so-called psychic to begin the meeting with idiotic mumbling: “Don’t tell me, I am getting something. You live near a bank or a railway track, oh wait I am also seeing a large field.” Practically everyone in the civilized world lives near all of these in some way or another. Generations of public education have certainly not created an educated public.
Moving on. I did some reconnaissance on your behalf, and the devils who handle the colleagues of the father have informed me that his place of work is closing down. Apparently due to the closures, his is one of the professions hit hardest. This is very good news indeed. He has not mentioned it to his wife as she is under the impression that his time at home is meant to be temporary, which of course it was at the beginning. But as the effeminate and perfectly possessed morons who handle most decisions of public welfare have continued this exciting house arrest, various businesses have failed. He will receive a small sum of money, but it will run out relatively soon, and he is nowhere near his retirement age.
You did mention a tad uptick in his alcohol consumption, which has frankly emboldened your efforts to create marital chaos during the tricks you and your confreres have played on the woman. He has been especially groggy during these episodes as of late, which is doubtless due to the half water glass of rye whiskey he seems to hoover down just before bed. We can assume that he is self-medicating his stress level and furthermore, he is trying to deaden his conscience. As desirable as many of his qualities are for our purposes, he does have this nasty habit of sticking to his word when it comes to his wife’s demands. This is why you encounter continual frustration in tempting him to pornographic evil; although it does seem his resolve is weakening with all the idle time he has.
His wife will continue to leave for work even throughout the government’s blissful assault on its people; her job is “essential” even though it pays hardly enough to support the family. She believes he works while she is gone, but he has known for a fortnight that his position would be axed, thus he spends most of the day following your carrots down the rabbit hole of idiotic distractions. By the time the lunch hour rolls around he barely snaps himself out of an imbecilic stupor, only to realize that he has barely finished a single message of correspondence. You have done well to order a combination of anxiety and shame to swirl about his mind as the day of his termination approaches. There are of course other occupations available that he could enter to make a living, but he cannot bring himself to work in an occupation he “didn’t go to school for.” Fortunately the vast majority of institutes of higher learning have embraced our suggestions with an unmatched zeal. Thus, the laureates of these institutions are often unqualified for the majority of practical life skills, and they believe themselves to be of a higher crust of society. In addition, we inundate them with that philosophy from our devoted son Karl Marx, albeit by different names usually, so when they leave the universities they see themselves as enlightened champions of the struggle against a class-based society… only with the expectation that their education will garner them a life of comfort in a wealthy strata.
The man is too proud to admit to his wife that he has failed, and his ego is so pompously inflated that he will not look for work in a less sophisticated arena. Instead, he will take the meagre scraps of money thrown at him by the useful idiots of the Legislature; the amount of money will hardly suffice, and the financial overextension of the family will now be laid bare for all to see. Then any shred of masculine fortitude will be swiftly ripped from his soul. The combination of pride, despair, financial ruin and an increase in drinking will make him a veritable human puppet for you to guide around the stage by strings. Perhaps you can wrap those strings around his neck.
If only we could silence the excruciating sound of those children and their awful beads! No matter. If we can simply finish the parents off, we can finally reach the miscreants.
Until next time,
Quelle
To be continued next week.
Editor’s note: this serialization is from the novella Lockdown with the Devil.
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