Ritual
The ritual had been a success. There it was in the chalk circle, a writhing mass of flesh and nut. It screamed through a thousand orifices which appeared and disappeared periodically like bubbles bursting on the surface of boiling sugar. Then it was silent. Then it spoke:
— Why... have you called me here?
— I have a question to ask you.
— Please, I am beginning to harden... — it was true: a horrible matteness had begun to spread over its form. — If you do not release me, I will perish...
— Why does that concern me?
— Unspeakable horror will be unleashed upon your world. A world... I have sworn... To protect...
— Then you will answer my question.
Cracks began to appear on its surface — a molten mass beneath them.
— Yes... Ask me...
— Why do they call you Mr. Tom?
Silence. Then: the sound of brittle crunching.
19.06.2024