Cystic Detective Update #11
A book on wandering bishops, a missing UFO keymaster, and assorted (very normal) reactions to military action in the Middle East from the fringe community.
Other Cystic Detective Updates can be found in the Table of Discontents.
Moira stood mystified at the Cystic Detective. Still, she sought to enlist his services to locate a missing acquaintance—one of the many. But before her slouched a being of pure melanomic misery, pustules of unidentifiable substances seeping from apparent sores. Some pools collecting upon the poor, metastasized soul seemed to glimmer in the incandescent light.
“I just,” she stammered. “I hoped you could help find her. At least put me a step in the right direction.”
Cystic Detective attempted to meet Moira’s insistent stare, but blisters of the vertical continued to pop and crackle in his peripheral vision. “I do want to,” he said. “But I worry the next faucet I touch will eat the last of my lunch.”
His attention darted to a soft-soled shoe trampling wet concrete. Water, water everywhere—every drop a solid gold ingot in his eye sockets.
“I can hear my mother call, late at night I hear her call.” Cystic Detective assumes Moira spoke those words, though he may have imagined it.
Cystic Detective Updates are special reports for paid subscribers, documenting research efforts, personal thoughts on recent news, or other, loose tidbits and recommendations. It is a small offering for those who support the longer, denser, free articles and the ongoing book project. For access to this update, (as well as those in the past, other archived articles, and special podcast episodes,) you can take advantage of a running offer: 25% off for life with the iconic “Reads to the End” discount. My thanks to those who help Getting Spooked live to fight another day.
