Hekate Station Book 1 Transcript

Raw document here. Might make mirrored upload someday. Password: Mercury
Note 1: Layne Krusz (born December 29th, 2005) is an autistic, transphobic gooner that spends all of his time indoors and fapping to robots to the point where his nuts experience sharp pain. In September 2022, he began to be trolled on the internet for his schizo-like behavior. Layne, knowing the lolcow ancestors before him and their mistakes and still talking anyways to cope, fed into the trolls by making YouTube videos calling out their behaviors. To this day, he has never made a single friend that stuck with him through-and-through, and everyone he has ever known since September 2022 has been a troll or hated him.
Note 2: Currently, visiting this book will only give you page 1 as well as the extra lines I put in parentheses. 
Page 1: Intro: Libro Primera 77. The following text is my first major automatic writing. It bothers me far more than the other texts. I'd even go as far as suggesting it be read last. Yet, I felt I had to include it first in the interest of maintaining some sense of chronological order. Earlier automatic writings I did were not reversed text and just boiled down to me writing fast until I got tired. I found it impossible to stop thinking about what I was writing. Those texts didn't say anything new to me. Then one time I found myself writing in mirror text, my hand just moving to record symbols, the results were "Libro Primera 77". It was written in one sitting. I was exhausted when it was finally over and I had no idea what I had written. I tried to read it holding it up before a mirror but I would give up after a page or two as it deeply bothered me to even look at it. I ended up scanning it and mirror flipping the p d f to read it, it still bugs me for a number of reasons. There seemed to be at least 3 voices involved. One voice is hard to take seriously, like it’s explaining a game it’s tired of playing to me. One seems kind of ticked off all the time and wants to share alternate insights into topics it cares about. And another voice, the one that bugs me the most, sounds like something pretending to be me. (I still can’t handle Libro Primera 77 as a text. I’ve removed it for now. Other texts have some merit, this one was just a jagged whirlwind, awkward and lost. The fact the second word listed was Smyrna is the only part that intrigues me anymore.)
Page 2: Hispera. Smynra. Fuque. I think that this may be a bad sign. A fairly complete break with the way things are supposed to be. Someone else is doing the writing. They seem so matter of fact about it, that is the scary part.
Page 3: Where to begin my tales? It seemed as well not a joke, not a hoax, but as an art project of admittedly demonic herding. Golems, an army of them, what’s not to like? Counterfeit slaves, unreal little anti-elves. It’s not graves that I dig for them, I think of them as wounds in the side of the womb we call the world.
Page 4: There are these adults up there on Emethill, Mtemet Ip wish you. It started centuries ago, maybe more, a generational curse. They didn’t think of it as such, more of as a deal, a couple centuries of souls in exchange for endless decodes of cold cash.
Page 5: The eldest male of each generation would be richer than all others pulled together. It must of seemed a fair deal, the loophole now too evident in poverty for all the others, leading to a net family loss. I, your humble host, am the richest of my era, since the others are so poor. But I have the, let’s call it a ghost so I won’t be too scared.
Page 6: A note for the statistically confused. The first generation was very rich already when the deal was made. Then the slippage began. I seem to be the end of the line by basing my design mind… Mind you it’s not… I am deliberately childish… Nowhere for the helger to go but free.
Page 7: The mother skeleton was the crown of degradation. It’s not her litter breed made to seek. The infants tore not too soon, but at just the right time to insure her bonding with them, her hand severed and kept with the welps so they’d too miss her touch when they are dispersed about Emethill.
Page 8: How I came to this knowledge of how to shepherd them to undead status? T’was not I, t’was the family that the family curse occurred. He knew the path, the words, and the ways. From it’s past to my… Wait. I have no future, so that can’t be the source. Maybe from outside time. Bottomline is… act according to a script written by it.
Page 9: Have phantoms not out of choice? I want to believe their flickering flesh untouchable, but enticing all the same. I react all the same. They coldly look my way with flat interdimensional eyes while bearing shadows of holes, illusions of mounds, arms that can’t hug but sport hands that part bits.
Page 10: It approves of this. I wonder why. And Smynra, this town? It has a fixation with something that happened there. Something bad, Smynra. A horse oddly enough.
Page 11: Tomorrow I will try something new. Dependency drives me here, and fear. The first major golem may lie in a bad spot and is not interned enough. I will go survey and move or rebury. I hope to just dig it in deeper.  I worry how he’ll take this sudden return to a world where air and not dirt is the bathing medium of all one’s surveys. He may fight it.
Page 12: More of the unborn are arriving each day. They know the world below awaits them. I think not on a conscious level. Hell, I don't really know what. The familiar informs me they will know and wish to be part of their new family of sailed soldiers. Sans souls for reasons of their own reasons. I'd be happier not fathoming that I sense a trap being said to ensure a future I wanna be here for.
Page 13: Some pages can't be unturned. The dirt of mother chokes them not. It's the embryonic fluid of the newly damned and the eternally unresting undead, alike darkness of the below that fills the nose and lungs palpably. Feel it now. A mouth filled with dirt forever, then the slow itch of a worm moving across a bone. You can't move or breath or see. They live there.
Page 14: He seemed more dazed than angry when I dug him back up, so I reburied him much deeper and covered him with large rocks. I gave him a friend this time and a gopher skull. Hekate watched usually. It's Mab. I found a sword for the newly buried friend (unburied for the next 10 hours) to hold.
Page 15: I let the red sword yielding golemite show his blade to the others. That sounds kinky. While it was disturbing, it wasn't sexual. Then I buried him like the rest. He is the lowest, black cat lover is the highest, at this writing. So popular were the swords I ordered more black ones, a whole crate of them. There's spiders and pumpkins and errors of judgement and taste but there is no promise of peace, let alone joy for love.
Page 16: I'm guessing when they awaken they'll gravitate towards the totems they're buried with. This may cause some surprise to those they visit, those whose yards they gravitate to gawk open mouthed at waving their sabers around in a mockery of glee. 
Page 17: Skirt of swords.
Page 18: The thought being that things that surround them in sleep they'll gravitate towards once awoken. Exactly why this is desired has not been revealed to me as of yet.
Page 19: 52 souls lie in wait on Emethill, some armed, some tormented to dangerous levels of unstable rage. When they are allowed to emerge, they'll seek their totems. The trails I need blaze next trip are very steep. I hear a dirge farther afield. I go. Darkness hugs my eyes. Gray dust makes mud in my lungs, above ground burial alive.
Page 20: A doctor's wife dies of the disease he is paid to study. Snow falls. A pirate in the desert. Sand. Sand everywhere. But not a drip. The back of my hands are turning to crepe paper. My thighs with patches of red precancerous mass lichen unto me. Soon, my skin will make me want out of it. I'll die.
Page 21: 6 of them. That is my goal. Okay, her goal, or him? I'm confused about that. Not confused about the gender of either of the 2, but at times unsure of who wants it to be 6. Mab lives up there. I need to leave her regals. The family familiar directs the golem's future, but the desire for 6 like now? I shouldn't wonder. I'll take the gifts gladly and not notice. I need to not seem ungrateful.
Page 22: So there I am, burying a body and I look up and on the ridge west of me are these 2 vacos in the white tees and dark shorts. One of them is atop a boulder waving his arms about like a surrounded sailor, but I'm not sure if they saw me. They were outlined by the horizon atop a crest. (Wearing white extra extra extra large tees.) And I was below them amongst some rocks wearing all black.
Page 23: But they could've been watching me for a while. I'm not sure. I was busy with the interning. If they'd been looking my way and had noticed me I think they'd have got an eyeful. But I don't think they saw me. They advanced to a hillock and passed on the west side of it away from me. I took that opportunity to skedaddle downhill, putting distance between me and the plot.
Page 24: Then, weirdness. Around the hillock from the southside, the direction I was going, came a pair of mule deer. They halted when they noticed me. I keep descending. They shifted position slightly uphill, then kept coming my way, and when I was there, we warily passed each other. Only much later did I realize the 2 vates had turned into deer.
Page 25: Up on Emethill, I was above the fog the city was hid beneath. The cold bluegray, the freeway sound, now divorced from visual concentration of it's source, seemed instead to be the roar of a mechanical leg breaking below me, below the clouds.
Page 26: The goal seemed to be 51 golems. As it falls right now, there are 3 camps. 1. The ancients small, but very strong and hard to damage, may have been wealthy. Not sure where they came from. Some have actual tombs, buried up weapons, but with treasures strength old wisdom. Tough for size. Weaknesses: Few in number some crypts already robbed.
Page 27: Some seem cursed, buried, yoked to beasts with or without heads. Note: They are the elder race. They know something. They are wise, but beware they have, while many have angered someone or something powerful enough to blind them, what the hell was it? Do they even know? Will they tell alignment? Neutral for now but probably not a good open ally until the past is understandable. This may be never processed at your own risk. In bearings.
Page 28: 2. The 3 and their children: Where to begin? The 3 are by far the largest and strongest, plus they are intelligent to the extent of sentience. They have a great deal of will, much smarter than the alleged levels of the ancients unknown lore. Strengths: Strong. Can take huge amounts of damage. Smart boarding of animal life. Cunning. Have loyal children as allies, some armed.
Page 29: First among the 3 oldest, only one to have been exhumed and interned burial site precarious hands on favorite for first to be found. Reinterned with a child and a gopher skull. Made with guide fetishes unclear. Plain. Eats gold? Second among the 3 is the sky wizard, blue. Note: First's color is black. Wizards made father to all of the 3's spawn, unclear why 1 child with number 1? Still 3 blue headed. 
Page 30: Children exist that are accepted as his prodigy. He watches the sky, rumored to know spells and words and lore, most likely if anyone knows how the ancients should be approached, it's him. The Mother: Angry and wants those kids back. Wrathful, violent, one arm seeped in blood, unsleeping. Not to be trifled with. Most feared in a fight of all, only golem known to have procreated her colored red.
Page 31: The children: Ripped too soon from her womb. The children number 16, they have the talisman totems. Some are: The spiderlord, she of the cats, a couple of disciples of Heeta, a number of guard toting neo-druids. He of the red sword: the twins in their fencing ballroom that's only 13, 3 are for now forgotten. 3 look to be sons of the stargazer. [Note: Forgotten 3 are datura bound.]
Page 32: They are the smallest. They are the most brittle than their peers, but they have unique charms with spells. Some are armed. Their main strength: the aid and watchful eyes of the 3, lending them equal parts of the strength magic and rage. Destiny seems to favor them. They have enemies. 
Page 33: The enemies didn't start out that way. It was not the plan. They were just to be the next, something went wrong, but it may not be an irreversible state. At least they all may have a common enemy so they'll not be at odds.
Page 34: The Anti Three: Bloodmaw. Like all of the anti three, Bloodmaw is much larger than the children or the ancients, but not as tall as the 3 nor as strong. They aren't as durable either, but can take a beating too in a collapsible way. They aren't as smart as the 3 and are barely alive compared to the free willed 3.
Page 35: On the other hand, the anti three have steel rocket blot weapons (Melee) and it is rumored they can fly in a cloud floating away, Zeppelin like maneuvering. Still, this is a handy feature. Back to Bloodmaw in particular. Colors red and green. He knows where the twins' hideout is and the layout of some of the land, he says. 
Page 36: He was first to fly his head damaged. He is always hungry, but aren't they all? Green The Corruptor: Perverse, sickness, tainter of all he molests. Said to ask victims to bind themselves with a red cord. Not to be confused with Green's topknot which is in fact black like those of all the anti three. Color decay is in his eyes, like the other 2. Also yields a pair of golden bolts.
Page 37: Firehead: Weapons master of the 32 thrallen. Other than that little else is known to me. Color red like knives. The 32 thrallen slaves of the anti three kept bound when not in martial arts training. Some devote early to one of the anti three, as voted by outward manifest. Yet those that choose a separate path can follow it within the limits of the anti three need.
Page 38: The 32 are just slightly larger than the children, and a tad sturdier. It is hoped they have a yet writ flaw. Strength: Numbers. Factor: Most spend much time training berserk from red Firehead, and being bent badly by Green in ways unnatural.
Page 39: The offspring of decay and the night blood spawned weird sisters, their site nutless by the uneaten, who brought his siblings to light in a sea of vomit. Father Time began unwillingly. An Earth mother, a maiden, and a hag. They enter little into this tale. 
Page 40: I feel I need to take the Green and the Firehead up early. I had planned on the last, but, well the Green is corrupting, which is his nature. True, I dunno. It just seems best. I don't want the 32 fighting with the children, and green is just a bad influence. Firehead is going for symmetry.
Page 41: The curse of legions that they're laid with is working too well. "I have leprosy's" younger brother is growing everywhere in a garden state I could do without.
Page 42: That motion is magical. Keeps entering my mind as I bury them. They are, yes, now fixed in one spot, but that is viewed as bad reinforcement. This higher energy states roads as parking lots. Death is ever so low energy. It seems to us that we can move as we will. It's amazing. Not a planet locked in some droll orbit. Not a rock 20 feet underground. Not even aware of the precision of stars. 
Page 43: But time remains the most important ingredient. Try making some or finding some. You've lost. It's relentless. It's Chronos, the destroyer of all. We waste it. It doesn't miss a beat. When we die, it marches on. I doubt that I am dead. Imagining this to keep from getting bored.
Page 44: Things are changing. The curse was expected. The body attack that you'll soon learn of first hand, but it's the other side effects. For one thing, I'm starting to write like this all the time. And there's the falling things, itty bitty things at times materialize and fall to the ground from thin air, then it's not. Poof! Then there's a thing most I can't find. 
Page 45: When they hit the ground, one I did was a jack-o-lantern, one of the children's items.
Page 46: Eldritch creatures have begun visiting. They seem to find my suffering amusing. The oozing sores the infernal itch. The files. Their faint "help" is reminding me others will too be afflicted. Their reward for unearthing the army sailed. Tattoos I never had before are appearing on my hide. Are they from a past life?  
Page 47: They fade as quickly as they appear. 3 armed wheelish barbs angular as if the sides of a cube unseen. A box full of woe. This shape keeps reappearing.
Page 48: The past seems now not only unchangeable but also more unknown, less referable if you will, harder to verify something happened. This is agreed upon, but what? Lies before me, yet spoken to await too. The present. Not a refuge. Just a place. I am at a place I'll only ever be. No one visits it for long other than to verify I'm still here on suicide watch.
Page 49: I am adrift in one way. Streetwise, the term would be wordless.
Page 50: Above ground they were each unique, obviously now in the obscuring embrace of Earth. They are uniformaily dark and incredible. Like before, they were spawned, unchanging, nonexistent, immobile, immortal, pre...
Page 51: The asexual manner in which the golem army is generated is oddly nonmechanical. The earthen womb of the nine year incubation. (Nine decades?) The going from the wait in the warm dark to the light, these seem an almost antimechanical way of coming into being. Not born but able to kill and die shadowy viral like borderworld existence. The "mother" ruse so elaborately foisted on the "children." Golems in all of this seems a hint for perpetuating it.
Page 52: It's hinted they are more dangerous if they think they were born. Guns don't commit suicide. Like a strapon bomb designed to more than maim innocents out of hatred. You need to have a mother to be capable of that. 
Page 53: Generated this, the golems are more like the undying protocells copies of one thing. They are just like it, but have never seen it. He who has commissioned the burials let slip an interesting detail. I was explaining to him that the small dropping things have developed the ability to turn into bees. He found this most amusing. One event was manifested long enough for me to kill it. I took care not to get stung.
Page 54: He said the names of the divisions: Mother, children, enemies were all intentionally bland and common. So then came the time. It would have been hard near impossible for people not to inadvertently beckon them. So near their Earth blanketed beds lie to human homes. Oh, and it was clarified that the golems are lead not so much to think they are alive, more that they once were, so they'll be upset this calamity has bent all of them, envious now of those who are whole. 
Page 55: Just as souls are independent of bodies (they rarely die at the same time) so bodies can more independently without souls. Whose soul is your clone? Be content to play as children with the things that litter this prison world, but delve not too deeply if at all into the magics that control. You are told there are 3 levels man has not passed through.
Page 56: One before history of ideas and things confused. Next, the controlling shall nots of religions. And last, an exalted reign of science. The will of man deconstructing matter to rearrange in images more fit. But of which age did the immortals and gods learn their craft in? Not the age of science, and they were incalculably old at the time of the religions' birth.
Page 57: The flittermice of Mab, the croaking clamant ouzels, black and larger than cats watch. At night of late, I awaken to the twin sounds of the neighbor lady's screams of sexual abandon and a dog barking. At first I thought perhaps the lady's moanings awoke and agitated the dog, then the mattress back was awoken by the nocturnal dog barks and then, well, went to town. But not I realize the truth. She's fucking the dog.  
Page 58: 13 black swords, each a noose remnant. One a torso, bloody, one the pelvis and legs also reddened, the third the head and a length of spine impaled up his rectum. All in a morning's work. A huge stunk came to watch the proceedings. I maintained eye contact with the beast. He thumped his hind feet and then continued on his way.  
Page 59: The rocks kept getting larger. Slabs would be torso sized. I welcome the coming rains to dull the married edges and scarred face of the soil where I dug and moved the Earth. The more subtle are against plants with no noticeable meaning of the world where it meets the sky. Other places with huge huge piles of boulders. A caring.
Page 60: Fyrir Woft. Is that the plan? To hope the mother confuses one of the 32 enemies with her own brood souls? Their zombic simulative blood spilling invokes furies? I'll be long dead when the plots open, ghoul that I am.
Page 61: With marks in their foreheads burned, they should pack. Grave advice this is. Yes, the latter has a place for his others offer. Other ghosts live as such by will of more elder ones. Some totem observers become, for a while, dwellers. They become a zorilla, a flittermouse, a wolf, a raven. One can't become a demon. They have always been formless, back when everything was. 
Page 62: The more the saving power, the greater the danger. The saviour is a menace. Once you hear his words, he considers you bound to adhere to them, write a spell hear, heed, or Hell. Help to think it's negation and not fire forever? You just blink out if you've not a sponsor or a guild. You're apprenticed to.
Page 63: Who do you serve for dinner each mass? Waver thin wafer, flesh, tongue, vampire drank, a zombie raised from the grave.
Page 64: 2 on Christmas day itself, wait, scratch that, on Christmas Eve rather, both in yellow matching bags, one day 3 buffalo coins, one with my age number of swords, 60 in all, 3 real big, 3 medium, oh and the one with the red sword, one with another's head, one with another's legs and pelvis, one with the ribcage and arms of another all in one day as well.
Page 65: This that very Mab that plaits the manes of horses in the night, fine bakes the elflocks in foul sluttish hair, which once untangled, much misfortune bodes. This is the lady loved, when maids lie on their backs, then presses them and learns them first to bear, making them women of good carriage. This is she.
Page 66: Ghosts want bodies so that there will be repercussions. If you kill them, as a spirit they can be extinguished and well, with no corpse there is no crime. Blinking out a nonmaterial isn't easy. Try killing an idea, but doing so isn't the crime. The crime is generating ideas deemed dangerous thoughts. Crime is for harboring a bad idea, an outlaw concept to the uncorperal. You offer service as a shield, it's illegal to kill you, not so with elusive shades. 
Page 67: Born of the smokeless fire, shapeless, Jim of the dancing flesh. When they so choose humans seem at once very dense and squishy socks of walking crap to them, but with their animal cunning and erratically implemented wills alternating between fear of and obstinate denial of their so near deaths, their blinking out to become but remembrances themselves. 
Page 68: Interned the last of the 60 today. Weird feeling. It's over in one way, my part of now at least. It's supposed to pour rain hard for the next few days which is kinda good. Quickly the drops and resulting itty bitty plants mask the sites, ones I've seen after a rain blend in very very well. I worry the coming currents will expose some corpses.
Page 69: But most are really fucking deep with standing stones or subterranean flat granite lids on them. The 3 largest, 2 of them may not be deep enough. I fear still though. One is severely outta, off the beaten path. Anyone, no matter how Migud might take one, the shallowest has some rocks above. I think I should revisit them after the storm, but not really sure I can find them in one try.
Page 70: It's best to leave it in Mab's capable hands. I think I see now, hear her role in this more clearly. It's her land. She's to guard them until whenever "then" is. The plot itself is the familiar's planned doing. Mab and more… I don't know how to explain it. It's beyond me and my words, which doesn't make it any less real. The familiar is a tentanet of foramen of souls of Mab's land and I, the self.
Page 71: Grew fond of her creatures.Tried to make their lives a bit cheerier. Others involved the slain Time. His 3 daughters, an aspect of the moon. Erebus? The night? New? I shouldn't wonder.  
Page 72: Dream like it became at times. The disconnect from the real sleepers in the houses below in the warm beds in the cold wind wrapped hills, blueish sky, Black laying the little skeletons to rest in the fucking dirt around them, a comforter of stone. Some saw their surroundings before going down. A few had been selected to lie in torment. I did as I was hidden in that regard. Glad I'm not them.
Page 73: Sometimes she driveth o'er a soldiers neck and then he dreams of cutting throats of breaches, ambushes, and Spanish blades.
Page 74: So it seems those on that long nightmare ride are in part of Mab's rent. I shouldn't wonder. Still, the key phrases to turn over and over again. As I said, her dreams are her own that she shares. You have done as asked as well as you could for the most part, they are now out of your hands. We note you have held back a few scraps. Toss them. Won't you like a good boy? We'll wait here. 
Page 75: Much better. It is impossible to achieve the aim without sacrifice. There is no need to do more on the hill, the stage is set, the dead are cast. You are not the audience. 
Page 76: I await the storm, not a participant. Rocks slide on their own. My role is over. The soil will settle. Time has come for me to move on. Seeds may sprout. Not down here. I don't know what will happen next. Who does?
Page 77: To me tis' given the wonders of the world to keep the secrets of the immeasurable past.  
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