Tag Archives: timey-wimey

The Myconet, Part 52

Posted on February 14, 2017 by

“I told you there was nothing down here, Hatboy,” Creepy said, putting his hands in his pockets and grimacing at the mouldy old table. Sure enough, there was nothing lying on the tabletop. The Barnsley Yard Cookhouse Trumpet had, after … Continue reading →

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The Myconet, Part 51

Posted on February 12, 2017 by

In any case, regardless of the actual meta- or possibly ultraphysics of the situation, the universe had hard-reset while my back was turned, at least from the critically flawed perspective of my own senses. That hard reset had completely nullified … Continue reading →

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The Myconet, Part 50

Posted on February 11, 2017 by

Now, here’s the thing about time travel. You don’t understand time travel. There, I said it. Don’t get me wrong. I don’t understand it either. It’s entirely possible that nobody understands it. Our brains evolved in a certain set of … Continue reading →

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The Myconet, Part 49

Posted on February 10, 2017 by

There was a strange strobing flash of darklight, the smell of burning toast, and I distinctly heard one of Creepy’s silly newt-person friends dolefully muttering somewhere in the distance. Real-time timeline changes may very well be my biggest beef with … Continue reading →

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The Myconet, Part 48

Posted on February 6, 2017 by

The eerily fused space-time event that had once been – or would be, maybe – Colonel McOldentimes or Colonels McOldentimes directed me out of the administration office and back through the yard. It was a direction I hadn’t really gone … Continue reading →

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The Myconet, Part 47

Posted on February 4, 2017 by

Colonel McOldentimes was sitting at the desk, and he looked up as I appeared. “Yes?” he said. I stared for a moment, then – more as a means of self-defence against what I was seeing than anything else – turned … Continue reading →

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The Myconet, Part 46

Posted on February 3, 2017 by

The building I stepped through into – building, or cave, or something – was dark and dank and reeked of corpse-bog. The floor was sludgy underfoot, but not actual swamp. I slipped and slid through it, holding up the torch … Continue reading →

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