MicroHorror

Twelve people surrounded Liz as she lay barely conscious on the wooden table. With legs spread wide, she firmly squeezed the hand of her beloved husband Jim. The pain of childbirth was excruciating, yet so very familiar.

Pushing harder still, Liz suddenly felt blissful release. Her child’s first cry made her smile, and Jim grinned as the surgical scissors were handed to him.

“Would you care to cut the cord?”

“But aren’t we forgetting something?”

“…Ah, yes, of course.”

Bowing their heads beneath dark hooded robes, the group joined hands for the Thanksgiving Chant. Although too weak to stand, Liz proudly joined in the circle of hands.

“Bless us Old One, and this Thy Gift, of which we are about to Partake.”