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A forgotten memory emerged from the blacked-out spaces
of my mind, and spoke. Vincent, what a fine collection of
cherubs you’ve led me to. That raw sugar of innocence! Oh,
how I admire the sweet crudity of childhood, its vast potential
mixed with little limbs and soft skin. They will do nicely, my
boy. Very nicely, indeed. There’s a showing next month, in
a gallery not far from here, and my mind is already alive
with the art from another world. Those lovely little ones will
brighten my paints and bless my canvas, allowing dreams
to flow like blood from the deepest wound, and all the world
will love me for it!
My body trembled as poison memories began to master
my body. What had been done to me? What had I done? The
man’s voice belonged to no one I could clearly remember.
Tom was laughing again, holding my secret in his hand and
squeezing it over my head, allowing its terrible juices to fall
over me, seasoning my soul for the eating. I knew that once
I remembered completely, I would be over, just an unhappy
tenant of Tom Hush’s churning bowels.
“Poor little Vincent, all alone with your terrible truth. No
mother to whisper to you. No fiery father to save you. Your
sisters all but lost to their darkest passions. Where, oh, where
has your family gone, Family Man?” Tom almost sang the
words.
I looked to where my sisters whirled and laughed,
splattered with death, having forgotten me within their wild
red dance. I looked to my father, where he struggled against
the power of his captor, apparently in vain. I was almost
entirely the property of the antlered god. I was no longer a
Wolf, but merely a caged animal—and perhaps, given my
recent memory, quite ironically so.
I could feel the finale of my once-forgotten memory fast
approaching as the maw of Tom Hush widened. I could feel
myself falling across the bloodied alter of ancient stone,
where man sacrificed to the horned god of darkest secrets.

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