Oh mate, that's rough. Some people do feel a bit under the weather when the veil is lifted. Raging headaches, stabbing pains, debilitating existential thoughts. One of my chums chundered right there on the floor of the dormitory when it happened to him. I feel for you, @finfin.

Reminds me of the time Doctor Barmy released the Runes of Aktholik on the telly that night. Through a shell company, he had purchased a series of adverts that flashed the runes at a flickering speed while he droned on about Doctor Barmy's Comfort Clinics. Blasted the minds of all the viewers to smithereens. It was the only time I was glad my mum never let us have a telly. Plus, the castle is poorly wired.

It took the Forever Cabal a good three issues to find Doctor Barmy's secret lair, which turned out to be in a cave in Slovenia. But in the end, Nacht Bird, Thumberbolt, and Manitou Cop (who had all spent months training with monks in the Karakoram) were able to make it safely through his monstrous Alphabet of Doom and apprehend him. Well, all except Thumberbolt. One of Doctor Barmy's intelligent hieroglyphs was able to squeeze in under his right eye and infect his mind. Now both he and Doctor Barmy are residents of the Forbidden Fort, under the finest psychic care that the Forever Cabal can provide. Issues #94-97.

Blimey! All this "waking" and "reviving" talk has unearthed my memories of the Sleep Canals! Any of you ladies and chaps remember them? Seems a few my Children's Circle mates and I got a bit cheeky one day and wandered off behind the curtains, where the sleeping pods get shunted around like train cars in the tube. A bit like being in a broken down amusement park ride, wot?

Those terrible little Gobelin beasts were hard at work, keeping the pods moving through, fishing out rubbish from the canals with their big sticks. Oh, my did we get lost -- I think we were wandering for a good two issues (29 and 30?) till Doctor Nite and the Catmancer finally rescued us. I'll bet they left us there so long just to teach us a lesson. Which certainly worked, because let me tell you we never wandered back into the Sleep Canals again.

Ah, Children's Circle. Takes one back, doesn't it? Some of my fondest memories are of those shadowy halls, strewn with leaves and twigs, smelling of peat, getting lost trying to find the loo...

In England, the Children's Circle was run by the Forever Cabal, and Sinestra, the Almond-eyed Mother of the Night, was the head childminder. She staffed it with her pointy-eared minions, the Gobelin. Around issue #23 I believe.

When I was there, Sinestra's sister, Sancia, the Snoozing Senorita from Spain, would come in for story time and of course we all fell asleep like bombs. But oh how we loved Sancia. So still, so perfect, lying in her protective glass coffin. I'm sure she hasn't aged a day.

Has anyone else been disturbed by the incessant screaming? Crikey what a racket!

Seems to be coming from at least one enchanted statue gone off on a crank. It was posted outside my psionic ceramics class today, screeching to beat the band! Belongs to a one @Anna Fate, who happens to be enrolled in the same class. Seems she's got a whole trove of these poor creatures turned to stone who do nothing but sing death metal, which solved a certain mystery for me.

You see, last summer my hometown chums and I went on holiday to Germany, visiting the ancient sites. We happened through a small village that was overrun with something called the Wanker Festival, or "Dark Wanker," which is a convention of sorts for practitioners of the dark, doom, drone and other metal magics. We used our skills (boys will be boys!) to slip in without paying, but quickly found ourselves cornered by a squad of death-growling stone statues! Quite eerie let me tell you!

After some hurried excuses (I'm afraid none of us spoke a bit of German, beyond "Kartoffelsalat" and "umweltfreundlich") we made our way back out of the festival, ran speedily to our car, and left town immediately. How exactly those stone statues moved so quickly to cut us off like that none of us could explain. Nor did we wish to speak of it, and made a solemn oath, bound by pin pricks and spit, never to tell the tale.

Oops!

Well, I wonder if they weren't a type of the "Stoner Music" which @Anna Fate has acquired a collection of. Though thankfully hers is rather immobile, and takes a wheelbarrow to move around. Perhaps she could consider locking it in the boiler room, or deeper into the catacombs? I believe it is also bothering @Nobody, at the very least.

Dearest chums,

As I was taking my brisk morning walk through the environs of our delightful campus, I had the terrible misfortune of walking down to the lagoon. Bloody hell what an ill-smelling, putrid, pongy pit of despair that is!

It reminded me of a spot of trouble we had back at the family estate once upon a time. Uncle Rebo was going through his cultist phase and spent all his time locked in the attic, gibbering to himself and moving furniture around. Didn't bathe for weeks. Then one night he broke out of the house and ran to the ancient stone circle in the nearby hills, where he conjured up some kind of unspeakable, writhing horror from beyond. It was loose in the countryside for some time, destroying crops and villages. Like an elephant, it was, but invisible, yet there were reports of giant tentacles of course. Gave off a smell just like down at your lagoon.

That was another case where the good old Forever Cabal came in to clean things up. What a bunch of proper gents they were. And ladies. In fact I think it was Miss Fortune herself who saved the day on that particular adventure, after the boys were driven drooling mad. Issue #47 I believe.

I do think it is something that @Blach could certainly help out with, either in identifying this foul abomination from beyond time and space, or perhaps fessing up to getting a little too enthusiastic with his extracurricular activities?

Blimey! I was afraid this "ghost craze" had the chance of going completely off the rails, and now I'm afraid to say it has, what with the Murderous Ghosts, and the Malign Ghosts, and the downright Cacodemonic Ghosts all wandering the grounds. It's all a bit of a cock-up, wot? Frightening people literally to death left and right like that.

Back home we'd just send a call to the Ghost Control Association and they'd be here in no time, hoovering them all up into the vast green tanks on their lorries. But here in your country, I'm not exactly sure who you're going to call.

But I do hope it's soon, because my own personal reliquary is just about exhausted in terms of bottles and whatnot for binding them. This school is bloody well crawling with the dangerous, nightmarish ghouls. Quite a problem, really.

Oh dear. I quite hadn't realized just how inappropriate The Psych of Mind and Other Realms, Unexplored, by Helga Von Lutz might have been for our little book club. I encourage everyone to continue to apply direct pressure to their nose and ears and other orifices to staunch the bleeding (I do have a set of freshly ironed hankies should anyone's become to sodden), and I do believe we've been able to pin down, hog-tie, and otherwise neutralize any of our fellow students who became a little too... enthusiastic let's say. DO NOT LISTEN TO THEIR GIBBERING MADNESS! Ahem. By that I mean, do please use the ear plugs I've provided and don't pay too keen attention to the things you might hear emanating from their gaping mouths.

I'm sure I can find the proper soothing incantations in my personal library. I'll return spit spot with the proper manuals!

I must confess I was a bit lazy and only skimmed The Psych of Mind and Other Realms, Unexplored, myself. Color me chagrinned!

ttfn!

Gadzooks! I'm pleased as punch to see my long-lost American cousin @Cassandra Carter here at ol' Psyhigh. We'd lost touch with the American Carters after the scandal following the Antarctic expedition, but Cassandra I will let you know I harbor no ill feelings about leaving Uncle Maurice in those icy caves as his condition was likely incurable. If he had half a chance it was no doubt living out the remainder of his life with those horrid, leathery winged trapezoidal creatures he was so quickly coming to resemble.

Cassie, I wonder if you wouldn't be interested in joining our book club this Sunday. We'll be discussing "The Psych of Mind and Other Realms, Unexplored," by Helga Von Lutz. You remember old Helga, don't you? You were younger than me, still in your swaddling clothes, being disguised as an especially large oyster to avoid the attention of the fey, but I do believe you were at the estate that summer that Helga was conducting her doomed research.

If you don't have a copy of her book, just drop by and I can loan you my signed edition!

Toodle-oo!

Smashing suggestion for our book group, @Aubrie - "The Psych of Mind and Other Realms, Unexplored," by Helga Von Lutz is a terrific tome for us to discuss and keep our minds sharp in this summer heat!

I remember when I was just a little pea sniffer and old Helga spent that summer at our family estate doing her research, as we had in our library at that time a first printing of the 16th century Latin edition of "The Book of Very Difficult to Pronounce Cults," which as you know was central to her work. It all went rather pear shaped, however, and after she refused to leave the library and barricaded the door we had to call in the Forever Cabal (Remember them? They were an occult British super team popular at the time) to have her removed. Quite unfortunate.

The last I saw poor old Helga she was wrapped in a straight jacket and the Violet Bands of Oomlu, being shoved (none to kindly) by the Forever Cabal into their Fantastivan, presumably to become a patient at their interdimensional asylum, the Forbidden Fort.

But, all's well that ends well, wot? At least the old bird got to publish her work, and I know we can all learn a lot from "The Psych of Mind and Other Realms, Unexplored."

How about this Sunday? I'm sure we can all pick up a copy at the bookstore, or download it online, or perhaps even the Self Aware Library will let us have a copy?

Pip pip! Cheerio!

What-ho, mates!

Egads! A bloke can't take a short trip across the pond to visit his dear old mum without this place being overrun by a whole zoo full of eldritch horrors, now can he?

What with @Nobody's run in with the Horrific Plastic Clowns, and the demon lord Cabhan's minion hoards that @Sorcha Dark Witch is attending to (and I have no doubt will be taken care of posthaste!), the evil beasties are crawling out of the veritable woodwork.

With all this devilry going on, I felt it was time to check my glue traps. Rather old school, wot, but with the right mix of carpet glue, Tibetan Silver Nightsbane, and a generous amount of ice cream jimmies, you can end up trapping a battalion of the creatures of unspeakable horror in just a few short days.

The trouble is, making my way down through the catacombs that riddle the ground beneath the school, I took a wrong turn and walked straight into on of my own glue traps! Luckily I am the only creature thus trapped, but unluckily I am now unable to move, with my wellies stuck tight in the field of glue I spread out just nights before. I feel like such an idiot, standing in the middle of this dark tunnel, unable to take a step, furiously typing into my phone!

If anyone would care to scare up old Groundskeeper Tom (he's not picking up) and let him know that I'm down here, I'd be ever so grateful.

Cheers!