Seven Watermelons

Hello and welcome to another week of wild and wonderful falsehoods here at Factually Deficient! This week, I will answer a question asked of me this very day by my mother, who is definitely not an imposter. She asked:

What would a person do with seven watermelons?

Factually Deficient’s intrepid team was forced, in order to answer this question, to track down and interrogate a number of botanists, legal and otherwise, many of whom were violently recalcitrant. Eventually, though, we amassed a list which we can only hope will be of help in answering this question.

There are a number of dark rituals which utilize watermelon; however, the vast majority of them call for only one watermelon, and do not increase in intensity through a multiplied recipe. Those can be eliminated.

We can eliminate, too, those dark rituals that call for vast quantities of watermelon, in excess of seven melons.

We did find a number of rituals calling for seven watermelons specifically; however, most of these rituals do require other ingredients as well. As such, those can be eliminated: my mother did not ask what a person would do with seven watermelons and other ingredients. Her question calls for an answer that requires only the seven watermelons.

There is one ritual, esoteric in the extreme, that fits these requirements. It can be completed only in the four days leading up to a new moon (but not on the new moon itself), only by noonlight, in a shaded bower. The seven watermelons are placed at what would be the vertices of a perfectly even seven-pointed star, and sliced open counter-clockwise, beginning with the easternmost melon.

Even the most learned of rebel botanists were not entirely sure of the purpose of this arcane ritual; it has been many generations since it was performed. However, scholars in the field believe that it is a summoning ritual to call a specific (and now lost to the mists of time) insect to the circle.

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Disclaimer: the above post is based on inaccurate information. Factually Deficient does not endorse the practice of dark rituals.

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Book Worms

Hello and welcome to another week of outright lies and flagrant inaccuracies here at Factually Deficient! I would like to take this opportunity to remind my loyal readers to be free in sending me any and all questions that strike your fancy, on every topic existing and otherwise, through any method of communication known to plantkind.

This week, I will answer a question posed by my insectoid friend Scarab, who requested:

Please tell me about magical insect infestations in the library

While Factually Deficient is officially a self-employed endeavour, there are those whom our researchers answer to, in order to maintain certain professional associations, and these powers that be would like very much to be informed as to how, Scarab, you came to know that the library is cursed.

The library has always been cursed.

Insect infestations are natural; where there is the sweet smell of ink, or pulpy paper to sink one’s teeth into, or the intoxicating lure of book glue, insects will come. In saner times, this would not be so extreme a problem.

But the library is cursed. The insect infestations take on magical proportions.

The wood lice that gnaw through the shelves sing haunting melodies in long-dead languages. Patrons come in to borrow a book and leave, unable to stop thinking of a tune that they can’t help but feel reminds them of something they have lost. They will never remember what.

The ants seem to come out of nowhere, marching in across the library’s carpet. Librarians have learned to avoid stepping on them near the books, because these ants do not die; they merely burst into flames, only for five more ants to rise from the ashes of one. Rinse and repeat.

There is a species of moth that flutters in the rafters of the library’s ceiling. Its wings are painted with words that were not found in any book, but rather stolen out of people’s memories and thoughts. They are mostly benign, the librarians think. They cannot think of anything that these moths have taken.

There are spiders in the library too, of course, because spiders will turn up wherever there are insects, but they do not catch the magical insects in their webs. Instead, they capture imaginations, spinning threads of shimmering, changing colours that reach across the children’s section. They have taken over Storytime. No one has complained.

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Disclaimer: the above post contains untrue claims. Ask your local librarian for up-to-date information as to whether the library is cursed.