They taught it to sit.
I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own dismayed eyes. From my safe—for now—position on the observation post, I looked on in horror as my large, fat human used a combination of verbal commands and hunks of chewy flesh of questionable origin to first get the demon’s attention and then bend it to his will. The abominable thing, consumed by its lust for the sinews of unknown beasts, obeyed. I shall endeavor to study further the means my human used in the hopes that I may be able to master this technique for my own purposes. Perhaps I can obtain some of these “treats” and somehow lure the beast outside, find some way to trap it.
Besides, the strange foodstuffs look tasty, and I am so hungry.
The humans sacrificed this bear cub to the demon shortly after he arrived. I fear I may be next.
I have seen little of my old enemy, the one named Sprocket, since the monster arrived. I had vainly hoped that she would see reason. We could set aside our ages-long rivalry and ally against this common foe. The experience of her years could be valuable in my war against the demon known as “Rorschach.” Failing that, she could always be useful as cannon-fodder, allowing me to solve two problems at once. To my regret, this has not been the case. The coward spends her days in hiding, making forays into the open only when she thinks it is safe.
She is a fool. Nowhere is safe. Her lack of vision has sealed her fate. Perhaps it has doomed us all.
My former servants have erected some sort of enclosure made of thin metal for the beast. When they retire to the Forbidden Rooms at night, they place the demon in this arcane structure. The loathsome creature seems to hate this. His howls and yelps betray his anguish, and listening to his cries has been my only pleasure these last few nights. Perhaps the wires are made of some alloy that is proof against his vile machinations. Perhaps it is a holy relic, but of what god, I shudder to imagine. Still, this material may prove useful in my efforts to banish this abomination, and I cannot discount its possible utility. I intend to investigate this further, if I survive long enough.
Other than the comfort of knowing that the monster can indeed suffer, there is another benefit I have discovered during these periods of demonic imprisonment. It has allowed me to further my study of the beast itself. When the howls begin, I can venture out into the darkness and observe the terror in relative safety. I will not speak of the blood-chilling horror that grips me during these sorties, only that the work must be done, if ever I am to regain my freedom.
Those eyes. Bast save me from those eyes.
The demon is covered in dense, course hair, black and brown in color. While its features are as ebony as the unknowable void from which this creature no doubt spawned, patches of lighter brown can be found upon on its head, just above the eyes, and give the spine-tingling impression that it is watching you, even when it’s asleep. Perhaps it is. Sometimes, when I retreat to the noisy room to rest, this visage haunts my nightmares. I see those brown eyes-that-are-not-eyes, phantasmagoric in my fitfully dreaming mind.
They are watching. Waiting. Growing in power.
The demon now controls the couch. Note the glazed look on my human’s face. She has become gripped in its thrall.
Of the beast’s mind-controlling ability, of which I wrote in my previous report, I am no closer to learning how it functions. I can only attest to its efficacy. I’ve seen it in use, from my lonely eerie upon the shelf. He simply looks at one of my humans, and they are gripped in its power. One moment, they are normal, rational servants, and the next, they are reduced to gibbering idiots, scratching the anathema’s misshapen ears, or rubbing its repugnant abdomen, and repeating the phrase, “Who’s a good boy? He is!” My current theory is that the “Rorschach” requires worship. Could it be that this is how he extracts it?
One thing is certain. The demon has not yet attained its full size. It’s cruel paws, with their unnerving claws that don’t retract the way claws should, are far too large. Surely whatever malevolent, eldrich craftsman designed this abomination wouldn’t leave such a blatant flaw in its design. This thing is meant to be bigger. Much bigger.
I must find a way to kill it before that happens.