“The thing I remember most about my mother is her hands.”

Dawkin nodded. “It explains a lot about this manifestation. The mask is also telling. Trust issues?”

“Something like that.”

“I think it’s coagulated enough for now. We can take it off.”

Shirley reached up and undid her chin strap while Dawkin took the weight of the helmet. The copper made it heavy and the light-bulbs made it fragile. All the tubes and wires coming from the headset were easy to tangle. She ran a hand through her hair, fluffing up her curls while he placed the elaborate contraption on a wig stand. She got out of the chair and stretched.

“How long was that?” She asked.

“A little under six hours today.” He replied.

“Not bad.”

“No. Certainly not. It’s coming along.”

She walked over to the tank and looked at the spectral embryo. Coming along indeed.

The apparition was floating in a floor-to-ceiling glass tube that was lined with iron bars. There was a door in the side of it, like the kind you’d see on a submarine; thick and adorned with a circular crank. The tank itself was filled with a bright lilac fluid. It was thick, had flecks of vibrant red tissue throughout, and slow bubbles rising in the viscous stew. It was a blend of ectoplasm, amniotic fluid, and base organics in the form of meat shredding. A complicated system of tubes and pipes supplied these ingredients.


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