Dear god, I’ve found it. After all these years and all my haunted dreams, I’ve found it. The document at the heart of my destruction.
I had a soul as a boy, before I watched The Amazing Cosmic Awareness of Duffy Moon. I’m sure of it. I have no proof save my long-dried tears, but I am certain.
They showed this to me. Do you realize? The television people. They showed this. To all of us. We were children. I know now what I could only guess then, that there are hells beyond human ken, and so my last hope —as I teeter here upon my sanity’s fine edge— is that the monsters responsible for this Afterschool Atrocity have each found diverse damnations in which to churn.
So many years, so many decades. Trying to drown Him out, to quiet the memory of His eldritch assertions, to wash from my recollection all trace of the words that He burned into my rotting heart. Even now, I tremble to transcribe the terror.
“You can do it, Duffy Moon.”
This world is His, and I am lost.