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The Host With the MostPaul staggered out into the early morning fog like a drunkard.

He hunched into the raised lapels of this too-thin jacket and wandered away from the hotel, disoriented, shivering--panic gnawing at his gut like a cannibal. "I need help," he thought, "but where?" The nearest hospital was the obvious answer, but the thought of what the doctors would do filled his mind with images of hospital beds with straps, extended isolation with no answers and needles piercing his flesh.

The mass on his thigh was growing--that was certain. Paul could feel it writhing and pushing against his flesh as he walked.

Skin Glowing From Within Lysanna felt a sudden change in her breathing, and knew than that something had happened to her Progeny. Though the organism was still very small, she shared a psychic link with it that would remain as it transferred from host to host. When the growth cycle was complete, the bond she had with the tiny bit of life would be severed as it emerged from the host with its own consciousness.

She looked in the mirror at her gaunt face, the colors of her life force faded and barely moving under the surface of her tightly stretched, translucent skin. Her time in this world was diminishing and with every dying moment she hoped that her progeny woul

Dreams of the DeepPaul's whole world was spinning. The Proxitol made it incredibly difficult for him to think clearly. Maya? Yes, her name was Maya. She had told him it would only be a few days, that the thing inside would dissolve. She'd been wrong, and she'd been surprised that she'd been wrong, not that it mattered. Resting his head against the cool porcelain of the toilet in the cell he called a room, Paul
could almost laugh about how this all seemed like some ridiculous dream. But the pain, the disorientation, and the feeling of...something inside...assured him it was anything but.

The growth had started spreading again, but it was different this tim

Odyssey II with Clive BarkerFAQ
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A Man Reborn
"Go."

Somewhere, Lysanna clawed at the shards of mirror, using the last of her strength to send the message. The words came to Tal'shen as needling pain, piercing her mind. "Forget them," her mother said. "Go now and do as I've created you to do!"

Tal'shen felt her mother die. It did not matter. There was no feeling of attachment; only the drive to carry out her purpose. Growing still, her monstrous form filled the room. She shot two massive tentacles upwards, rending a large hole in the ceiling. Outside, she blinked in the fog. London, that was the name of this city, wasn't it? A good a place as any to begin.

Inside, Maya coug

Odyssey II Ch.8 Entry: BrethrenMaya wore confusion on her face.

Paul had always been short with words; this time would be no different.

"I know everything now."

Maya watched as he floated upwards through the hole in the ceiling.

There was no time to tell her what he had seen. What it was like to die while psychically connected to another being and how, in that moment, the mind-soul rides that tether like a roller coaster searching for the end of the track. That he rode that tether through the mind of Tal'shen and then into its mother, witnessing their lives, truths and stories.

No time to explain that he knew her race, perhaps better than her. That for millennia these

Techno-Colored PsychosisPaul's eyes came into focus just as Maya walked into the room, but something was different about her. Her face looked sunken and her eyes seemed glazed and black. The whole of the roomed looked as though it was changing color, flipping from one monochromatic scheme to a neon rainbow and back again. Paul began to pant and panic as she drew near him, he'd never been so terrified. He crawled away into the corner of the room, shivering, barely catching his breath, twisting his head back and forth as he flinched at every shadow.

“Paul? What's wro-” Maya 's jaw dropped at the sight of Paul's transformation.

Large glossy scales crept u

Odyssey II Submission: Chapter OneCHAPTER ONE: WORLD'S END

God gave us memory so that we might have roses in December. – J.M. Barrie

The young redhaired woman was admiring herself in a full-length mirror. The vintage dress she was modeling reflected her fondness for the antique. She still laughed to think of how as a teenager she'd wandered from Victoria Station all the way down to the World's End area of the King's Road, somehow naively thinking that some glittering remnant of a 1960s storefront would magically appear.

A casual observer might have placed her in her late 20s or early 30s, with a sly smile that suggested a rare intelligence bubbling just below

Odyssey II Chp VI: Something Worse than NobodyPart of his foremost tentacle spun across the room, followed by a trail of shimmering black ichor. Maya’s blade brought a paradox to his senses. His injured limb accepted the cold steel. It felt right when she cut him, as if his flesh knew it was being purified. At the same time, pain screamed through him, reeling from the touch of the metal, causing what remained of the tentacle to spasm.

A seizure. The memory of the subway surfaced, and for a moment he wasn’t in the room anymore. He clung to those little flashes of memory, grasped at every word he remembered in order to keep his mind working, to keep himself. The creature shari

ConvergencePaul hid behind the darkness of his eyelids summoning the courage and strength to open them. The pain in his head was clearing but he watched the room spin as the churning in his stomach made him retch.

"Good to see you awake."

The voice snapped Paul from his delirium and he pushed himself to sitting. A frightfully well-dressed man sat in a large leather chair near the foot of the bed.

"Who the fuck are you? Paul demanded.

"I'm Doctor Bailey." he said.

Paul fought back the urge to vomit as he scratched at the IV needle taped to his arm.

"Where am I? How long have I been here?"

"It's rather...complicated." Bailey replied. "Yo

Drawn Together"–a fit! A seizure! There must be some kind of police report!"

"Sir, any such information would be confidential. But there has been no report of anyone having a 'fit' or 'seizure' this morning. Now, please step aside!"

"No, no. I'm sorry." Paul backed away, suddenly aware that the queue behind him was becoming a small, angry crowd. A policeman stood nearby, radio held to his lips. Someone coughed, "Nutter," as he staggered away from the kiosk and up towards the London streets.

He scanned the crowd surging into the station, hoping to see the shock of red hair and the deep brown of the jacket. A hand gripped his left forearm.

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A Shower and a Change

by ~markmywords85, Oct 18, 2012, 6:34:02 PM
Community Projects / Projects / Odyssey Project / Clive Barker / Chapter 1 / Writing

"Ah, damn.  God damn."

The stain was small, no larger than a coin.  It fell near his right hip, nestled in the dip between crotch and thigh.  Still, it was nauseating.  Paul stripped off the trousers and walked to the sink, hoping the sliver of hotel soap would take out the spot.

He began running the hot water and paused, staring at the vomit.  Resisting the urge to gag, he grazed his fingers over the stain.  It was purely liquid and slick like dish soap, but the sickly brown could only be vomit.  He slowly raised his hand to his face and sniffed his fingers.  Nothing.  It seemed, for a moment, odorless.  But no, he suddenly caught a faint scent of metal.  Like a cup full of coins.  Or a bloodied nose.

"Shit!"  A stream of blood ran down his nostrils, over his lip and down his chin.  Paul dropped the trousers to the bathroom floor and watched the blood and water run down the drain, pink and cloudy.  He grabbed a tissue and clamped his nose shut.

Catching sight of himself in the mirror, Paul started to laugh.  Half-naked, clad only in a t-shirt and briefs, nose bloodied and trousers stained with vomit.  He stopped laughing when he noticed an ugly, reddened patch of skin creeping out of his underwear and down his leg.  It was raised and it shined like a blister.

Paul threw the tissue into the toilet, thankful that the bleeding had abated.  He touched the spot, wincing at the sudden pain.  Carefully, he removed his briefs, and saw an uneven, ugly rash, emanating outward from that tender area where the vomit stain had been.  Thoughts raced: had the redheaded man ingested some kind of poison?  Had his stomach acid burned Paul's skin?  It was probably a simple rash, but Paul was frightened.  He turned off the sink, rushing now to the shower, running a lukewarm mix before stepping in.

Paul worked up a lather in his hands and gently started to wash the rash.

Flakes, like scales, began to slough away.

Underneath whirled a mass of colors.  Indigo.  Vermilion.  Rust.  Mahogany.  And they were… moving.  Swirling.  Copulating with each other.  Buds of new, unseen colors exploding from the trysts.

It was beautiful.  It was obscene.
It was spreading.

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