The Ritual of Rot:

04 - 12 - 25 / Day 6

“Quiet!” The priest said through his clamped wooden teeth. Spittle flew from the forceful breath that part his lips. His white knuckles looked like they would rip apart if he gripped the crucifix any tighter. His green and brilliantly blue robes quaking exposed the tremors he tried to suppress. Even when he stood the furthest away from the nest of bones laying in the middle of the room, and behind a solid wooden table with the deacon at his side. A younger man who hadn’t even reached his twenties.

The room was cleared of all unnecessary clutter; no extra chairs, lamps, wardrobes, cabinets, nothing could be in the way – save for the table that they had ‘needed.’ The only items on the top of it were a single smoking pipe and the scripture itself.

Bermudo pulled on his dark skinned earlobe. He was standing next to his apprentice – Jorge – A gruff, short, but wide brown skinned man that had dug up the chalky bones by himself. He balled both of his large fists. Everybody’s eyes were on the nest.

It was assembled in the form of a triangle. Inside were the ashes of God knows what. The priest had brought a clay urn that he shattered inside of the nest itself. Bermudo put in black leaves and placed two dried out pieces of oak wood to form a cross of sorts within the carefully placed bones. The two younger men were forced to spit into it. Wads of tobacco mixed with phlegm that muddied pieces of the ashes. The last thing was the red oil that poured like hot wax from a black bottle. It fit in the pink palm of Bermudo’s hands. He had thrown the glass into the pile once it was emptied. The flame had been lit by the priest.

He once again repeated what was laid out on the scripture as the flame was wooshed down to a whisper that glowed into an ember on the wood. Nobody else uttered another word as his cracking voice bounced around in the empty space.

“Listen and open –”

“Eyes, ears, nose, hair, toes –”

“Sense souls on the earth –”

“Wailing, moaning, breathing, pulsating.”

“Fly past the moon.”

“Linger in the clouds.”

“Let our minds see past the stars.”

“Kiss us with your knowledge –”

“Keeper of the deep.”

The priest finished with a whisper. A curse he could barely utter from his own lips.

“putrescera.”

The room darkened as the ember grew from a small glow. It burst into a thick orange lick of fire that spread like veins across the rest of the wood. It sucked the color out of everything. The flame became a writhing plethora of blazing tongues. The ash pile popped and inky smoke rose up to the ceiling like black tendrils crawling from the mouth of the fire itself.

Sweat trickled down the patchy head of Bermudo. It streamed onto his neck and shoulders as he pulled his cotton shirt away from his sticky skin. The Deacons rosary beads jingled together as he extended a shaking image of Jesus Christ to the nest. The Priest was doing the same, but with a tightened look of defiance that held his jaw crookedly. Jorge covered his chest with his arms in hopes to keep the fear trapped to his heart.

“Do you hear that?” Bermudo stopped pulling on his earlobe. He locked eyes with the Priest.

Jorge answered him, the only one who heard him. “No, what?” He kept his voice low.

Bermudo took a step away from the burning nest. “Screams.”

Everyone’s eyes closed as their ears popped like they had been sucked down to a lower elevation. The smell hit them first, even before the ringing subsided. Singed hair blended with the smell of fresh copper and sweet maggots. Their faces were curled in disgust as they rubbed the ash from their eyes. The nest had exploded. In its place, within the frozen and shining bones, was a shadow. The mere glimpse of one. The one out of your peripheral vision that vanished when you looked up.

The group started looking amongst each other as the ringing turned into silence. The kind that stuck itself like plugs into your ears. Each one attempted to speak, feeling their vocal cords vibrate, but no voice coming out. The priest pointed to his ears and did the sign of the cross. The young deacon did the same motion. Sweat beaded on the tip of his nose and hung in suspense.

Sound returned in muzzled squeaks.

Bermudo heard whispering from the front door and spun around. Soft lamentations.

Jorge felt the screams run along his nerves. More than screams. Uproar.

The priest and the deacon brushed against each other as their sins laughed back at them.

Its visage began as an opaque form. The outline of a man. Its head reached the ceiling as the bones splintered into pieces. They swirled around until they flashed into black and burst into the thick and tight skin of a hulking demon. It was in the image of a naked man, whose flesh looked charred beyond belief. It still possessed frizzy tufts of hair on its head like a wild beast and its manhood was surrounded by more bush as well.

The horns appeared when it looked the priest in the eyes. They popped out like stakes rising from the ground. The old man’s crucifix went flying into the wall to his right. It shattered in two pieces at Jesus’ waist. The demon’s hands were in the shape of a bird, its thumbs twisted around each other while the other eight fingers acted as wings. It held the formation close to its chest. Nothing moved except for its head like an owl prowling the night.

The smile was cleaner and whiter than any they had ever seen. It spoke, but the grin stayed ever present. It replaced the stillness in their ears.

hear us now. weep upon your own chest later.

Alexander Peramas. The priest crumpled to his knees as he finally let the fear overtake him.

Xavier Trujillo. The deacon stuck his crucifix out in the face of evil. The drop of sweat finally fell from his nose as the beads began to sear themselves into his skin.

The small image of Jesus melted like ice. Waves of heat rippled upward. The molten metal blistered his skin and he cried out in pain. He opened his hand as tears replaced the sweat on his cheeks. The stretching of his skin caused the blistering boils to pop in puss. The young deacon’s eyes rolled into the back of his head as he fainted from the blazing white shock. His head hit the edge of the table and a distressing moan left his lips as his body coiled onto itself.

Jorge had reached the front door and opened it. It swung open into a pitch black void. He fell onto his own bosom as he jerked backwards at the sight of — nothing. The demon’s head swiveled like it had no bones to worry about. Its chin jut out over its back muscles as it grinned at the apprentice.

Jorge Ruiz. we are no longer where you thought you were. Jorge balled up and covered his eyes like he was a child. He hugged his knees to his chest and muttered words of comfort to himself.

Bermudo clasped his hands together. He attempted to speak while keeping his eyes on the demon’s feet. Black, red, and scaled with five gnarled toes. The words were allowed to come out.

“Putrescera! We need your aid in the disease that covers the earth. No matter the cost.” His dark eyes flashed over to the priest, who was silently praying to himself through the flood of snot and tears that filled his wrinkles. The old man was too worried about his own life at that point to care what Bermudo’s intentions were.

He dropped onto one knee, never looking at it in the face.

oh Bermudo Guillermo. look at us. Its moon-light eyes pierced into his.

the disease is you.

the rot of the earth is you.

the reaping of your flesh is this world taking its course.

it is Noah’s flood.

it is the ashes and sulfur of Sodom and Gomorrah.

the embers and lava of pompeii.

the hurricane of mankind itself.

know where you lie on the pyramid of life. Twinkling tears bulged in his eyes.

you need pruning.

do you not see the visage before you.

Putrescence is the image of man.

Bermudo’s ears popped again, sending him into darkness.

---

(Did Bermudo survive? Also thinking of this as an addition to The Abyss. Not sure. This story was inspired by the image at the very bottom of this post. Thank you for reading. All edited and written in one day. 1500 words.)

(James via Unsplash)

Fritz Schwimbeck!