Severn Valley, England 1924

Willhem
has always been wary of the swamp behind the hills. Sighting of strange
lights at night, unsolved disappearances and the general creepiness of
the place kept on alert all senses of the locals. So when he noticed a
black stain between the reeds, he cautiously bend over the edge to
investigate, without setting as little as a toe in the dark water, ready
to jump back at the slightest move.

It was not enough. In the
blink of an eye a tendril pierced his chest. stronger than steel and as
black as the void between the stars.

He tried to call for help
but only manage to emit a faint gurgle as his own fluids filled quickly
his lungs. Soon he couldn’t breathe anymore and he felt his heart stop,
his body shook and struggled a brief moment to finally lean on the black
rod in a final convulsion. He died, but did not fade. His thoughts and
his senses were still there, and his mind was struggling to understand
why.

– “Am I still alive ? Why I am still alive ? What is happening ?”
– “You are dead. You are mine. You will serve me”

He took a look around, but see no one.

– “Who’re you ? Are you in me head ? Whaddya want from me ?”
– “I am Glaaki, Lord of the Lake. My seve runs now through you. Obey and be rewarded, Resist and be destroyed.”
   

Pencil doodle on A6 sketchbook