“Nobody tells you when you’re a fresh, prepubescent ghoul that you have to be careful about how much you eat. When you spend your twelfth birthday scooping handfuls of brain from the gaping skull of the next-door neighbor (Miss Mullens, not Marple, but the effect was much the same) the unpleasant surprise is that your peculiar biochemistry will do its level best to amalgamate what you just fed it. In this case, cupfuls of frontal lobe, corpus callosum and snowflake-unique collections of synapses... that led Miss Mullens to curse out loud with words like “poot” and “jiminy” and yet have internal dialogue like a motherfucking stevedore, as I was to find out to my displeasure when her consciousness exploded into mine as I was lying in the attic, replete, about four hours later. That’s the thing about being a ghoul, there aren’t any manuals to follow. She’d dressed me down, up, and sideways, blistering my consciousness with expletives until it felt bruised by the mental pummeling.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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