#132315 - ” Audrey snapped as the planchet settled it’s splintered tip on the letter ‘X’ and completed the phrase that some ‘ghost’ had pressed through the fabric of reality out into land of the living in order to convey. Confirmation of her misunderstanding came immediately; when she released Hunter’s head, the oxygen-starved dicksleeve sprung backwards and collapsed onto her back, coughing up a mixture of her own spittle and mint-green ectoplasmic babybutter onto the floor. Something was holding Hunter’s head back; or, rather, Audrey was pressing Hunter’s lips flush with something.
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