DREAM LOG: PATIENT 402 (BLUE RIDGE)
TRANSCRIPTION OF POST-FILTH RECALL
[Written in the margins of a seed catalog found in an abandoned nursery on Solomon Island. Smudge on the page smells of lavender and ozone.]
I was in the garden again, but the roses weren't roses. They were mouths. Lilith was there, her fingers trailing in the dirt, and where she touched, the soil turned to blackworm jism. It bubbled like a tar pit and sang in the voice of my dead mother. She told me the "Old Ones" were just the roots of the world that we’d forgotten to water.
"The Shadow Self is not a reflection. It is the garden where the truth grows in the dark."
Every time I pulled a weed, it screamed. The weeds were made of human hair and oily feathers. The "Black Signal" was the sound of the lawnmower, a rhythmic, grinding noise that told me I was a "heroic cog" in a septic machine. I woke up with my hands covered in black oil, but when I looked in the mirror, my eyes were the color of the abyss. The Anima is fading, and the "Filth" is the only thing that’s still growing in Kingsmouth.
— Recovered from a burnt briefcase in Agartha, Branch 7.