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Entering the IKEA dimension

(Fragments of a diary found wedged between two bookcases in an IKEA store.)

…It’s now been a month since we left civilisation to map Ikealand. I had heard the rumours, that no explorer has ever left this country alive or sane, but I blamed it on poor preparation and inadequate, superannuated equipment. This would not happen to me, not with the funds of the Royal Society behind me…
And yet. I am afraid to write it, and will not dare utter it aloud for fear of triggering a revolt: but I fear that we are lost.

…We are entering our second month in the IKEA store. We’ve now run out of frozen meatballs, and the vegans who tried to survive solely on Daim sweets now all have severe diabetes, and will need to be amputed of both feet if help doesn’t come soon. Some whisper that this might be for the best — and talk of roasted lamb’s leg or pork trotters… I know what they refer to, and I shiver: not only because of the suppurating state of the poor vegans’ stumps, but because in spite of this, they still look appetising…

…They came at night. A full dozen of them. They’ve gone feral now, dressed in fur-like acrylic rugs. They also pierced their nose and their ears with wood pencils — one for each kill. They’d made lassos with measuring tapes, and caught Ernie and Ben before we could react. They were instantly dragged into the darkness, their screams ending in a wet thump. By the time we managed to fend them off, we had lost four men. All that remained of them was some blood between a Mälm console and a Billy shelf — everything else is probably roasting over a plywood fire, or boiling in an Oumbärlig pot…
If someone finds this diary: please pray for our souls. I fear we are too far gone for rescue…

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