Black Holes Whispering in Tongues

Tag: horror

  • The Ophidian Eucharist

    In the rotting heart of this world, where the church bells had long since rusted into mute hulks, a woman bled out her grief into dirt. They thought It was dead, a whisper could be heard from someone else in the room, but she wasn’t interested. The village barely fed the living, let alone another dying mouth. The tiny form was buried into another unmarked grave, no shrine, no epitaph: orthotanasia they say.

              That night, a cry was heard, and it wasn’t from the mother, it wasn’t from the field. It was her womb. She clawed at her hollow belly, screaming as something rippled beneath her skin, not a kick but a nail, and teeth. Dragging inward toward her spine, the pain split her vision and for a moment she saw a pulsing wound and something eyeless pushing from the other side. Then it was gone.

    The Next morning a corpse was found kneeling in the confessional, it was the Village’s father, his eyes were missing, and the ribs were burst outward like a grotesque nest, the villagers gathered around, then harvested his remains for meat. But the hunger remained. Also, no one spoke about the tiny bite marks inside his collarbone.

    The woman looked down, umbilical veins had grown from her ankles into the soil rooting her to the dead field, the shallow graves were breathing. She had a vision of a choir of stillborn cherubins, their wings were stitched from placenta and human remains. Something unholy was uncoiling from those grounds. Her recently buried child was hovering the ground and from its bleeding mouth a rift started opening.

    A Hymn of Hollow wombs: It wasn’t buried deep enough. One by one the villagers started puking their own unborn. Decades of miscarriages, misery and hunger now were back into this world squirming alive on the dirt. They crawled toward the rift; their fused spines formed a ladder. The woman’s skin split as her missing womb partially regenerated, now a gate of putrid tissue. Inside, she felt the thing that had been her breed pulling both realms apart like burning curtains.

     The Last thing she saw before the village started bursting into formless flesh was her own hands, knitting a new flesh door over the rift. It was saying: “Do Not Mourn the Dead, Mourn the Never Born, They Remember, They are Coming.”

    She Started praying but not with words as from their eyes, viscous, hissing things started dripping. People who still had tongues started screaming something like Latin but backwards, slithering out between their teeth. Her eyes burst, not with tears, but with serpents. The final miscarriage, a titanic worm with a thousand infant mouths, peeled raw and screaming bound in umbilical chains.

    Her Jaw Unhinged; the throat became a tunnel to the rift. She tried screaming, but the sound hatched into swarm of winged beasts. They carried her final plea to the ruins of heaven: “Please, forgive me”. As Heaven’s regurgitated back a single, calcinated stillborn cherub folded into a noose. She cradled it into her waiting arms.

    It bit her, poisoning her senses. And now there lies the mother of gates and her womb as thresholds. Her tears the key, turn away. Her body turned into serpent’s nest, even god’s answer becomes an abomination. Her heartbeat was replaced by the sound of hatching eggs. Now something prays back, now using her voice.

  • The Ascension of Betelgeuse

    I – Welcoming the Crimson Dawn

    The first sign was the bleeding sky. Betelgeuse, in the raging heart of Orion, had pulsed for millennia, a dying god exhaling its final breaths into the void. Then, it expanded. Not gradually, as stars do in their death throes, but hungrily, stretching tendrils of scarlet light across the cosmos like a waking Leviathan. Despite all human despair and incredulity, the star was moving. And yet, there it was… swelling, approaching. By the time we realized, it was already too late.  

    II – The Swallowing

    The oceans boiled first. A tide of blood-red light washed over the planet, searing the atmosphere into a swirling vortex of plasma. The seas erupted into steam, revealing the cracked abyssal plains below. Mountains melted like wax under a candle’s flame. Then, the voice. It was not a sound, but a quake in the cells of every living thing, a whisper older than time itself: “You are now the sacrifice that will cleanse the cosmos.” The sky split open. Betelgeuse unhinged, not as a star, but as a maw. A chasm of teeth (were those teeth?) wider than the solar system, yawned above Earth. 

    III – The Tide

    The Earth did not simply burn; it dissolved into a river of molten flesh and souls, sucked into the star’s gullet like nectar. Human blood, billions of gallons of it,evaporated into a crimson mist that swirled into Betelgeuse’s core. And the star drank. With every drop, its light grew brighter, and its hunger grew more insatiable. Across the galaxy, other stars flickered, afraid. For this was no natural death. This was ascension.

    IV – The Removal

    Betelgeuse pulsed once, a heartbeat that shattered reality. The blood of Earth, now atomized and sanctified within its core, erupted outward in a wave of purulent radiation. It washed over Mars, then Jupiter, then the outer planets, each dissolving into slurry as the star’s rage rewrote them. Soon, the tide reached Alpha Centauri, then Sirius, and finally Andromeda. Worlds burned. Civilizations that had endured for aeons crumbled into pastless dust, their atoms filtered through Betelgeuse’s newfound divinity. The universe was being purged, and human pain was the catalyst

    V – The Revelation

    In the end, as the galaxies trembled into nothingness, Betelgeuse spoke again: “You were never the infection. You were the antibody.” And with a final, thunderous pulse, the star collapsed into a singularity of perfect, blood-red silence. A new universe was born. And now, it was sterile.