Wattin

I have a strange white blob, about half the size of a pea, perched on the tip of my finger. It is pasty pale and has a consistency akin to cooked pasta. Has it been in my mouth – did I taste it? It seems to be, ever so slightly, shifting and contorting, gently buckling and folding in on itself. There is a huge piece of almond-shaped, treated and stained wood and I carefully transfer the blob with gentle brushes – it must have some sticky, adhesive quality – from the tip of my left pinkie finger and into a suitable split in the surface of the timber (which is covered in such rends, scars and openings, presumably for effect). Once I am sure the blob is settled I- 

It is the next day (?). I am peering into the piece of wood and can see, via a sizeable split, that it is in fact hollow and that the small blob has grown and is roaming inside it in a fearsome tangle. It now resembles a mass of pasta more than ever, tumbling from side to side restlessly- 

The next I see the blob it has been removed from the wood and is dead, attacked and hacked into two pieces (using a spade?) by Kay Emm's boss. (It seems all of her work are there and we might be inside, or near, her office.) Gee (her boss) is shoveling each half into separate black binbags, explaining that the mass had killed someone and that-