MicroHorror

After several attempts He made me stop. It seemed important to Him that I get it right.

“There,” He said, snaking a tentacle down my throat, “now try.”

I’ve never had my stomach pumped, but can imagine how it must feel.

“Close enough,” He said, withdrawing.

I stared at Him across the empty table. “What does it mean?”

“The meaning is somewhat lost in translation. Something like, ‘He Who Cannot Eat Until You Speak His Name.’”