The Girl Who Was Buried Pregnant (Part 6)

2nd Jul, 2025 Views 98

????The Girl Who Was Buried Pregnant (Part 6)

No one came to Ifeoma’s grave.

Not even the wind.

But something else did.

From the soil above, a long, wet cry echoed—a sound that wasn’t made by lungs, but by roots vibrating with hunger.

Beneath the earth, Ifeoma no longer had a body.

She was becoming.

Her spine was no longer bone—it was bark. Her veins pulsed with sap so black it moved like smoke. Her womb had stretched far beyond her corpse, a cavern now, where light had never entered. Inside it, the child twisted and bloomed like a tumor.

Not once had it cried.

It only clicked—in rhythms that cracked teeth and splintered the silence of the dead.

And now it was opening its mouth to feed.

But not on flesh.

On memory.

It began to drink everything Ifeoma had ever loved.

Her father’s voice—gone.

Her mother’s lullabies—turned to cinders.

Even her name began to unravel.

She tried to scream, but her throat had been stolen by the roots. So she prayed. But the forest doesn’t hear prayers.

It devours them.

Above ground, strange things were happening.

A midwife in Umunna village went blind during childbirth—but kept seeing faces stitched to her walls, whispering “She births the eater.”

A priest opened the Bible to preach—and maggots spilled out from between the pages, forming the word “RETURN.”

A newborn in the neighboring village opened its eyes and spoke, in a voice like snapped branches:

“I was born without a future. She will give me one.”

Back in the grave, Ifeoma's fingers grew longer, curling like vines.

The thing inside her belly began crawling up her body—rearranging her ribs into a cradle. Her face peeled open from the inside, like a rotten fruit, revealing dozens of smaller mouths forming within.

They began to sing.

Not songs. Rituals.

Each word pulled another soul down into the soil.

A child drowned in a basin.

A girl vanished from her sleep.

A pregnant woman stabbed herself—then stood up laughing.

The forest grew thicker.

Hungrier.

The First Mother returned, her body now taller than trees, and her belly open like a portal of thorns. Inside it—more children. Not crying. Chewing.

She reached down to Ifeoma’s blooming corpse and whispered:

“You are the new cradle of sorrow. And you will carry us into the world above.”

Suddenly—

CRACK.

The soil split.

The roots trembled.

And from Ifeoma’s grave… a hand burst out.

But not hers.

Small.

Gray.

Twitching.

Then another.

Then hundreds.

The dead children were crawling back up.

And behind them… Ifeoma.

But she wasn’t walking.

She was being carried—by her own umbilical cords.

Her head twisted backward. Her belly still moving.

She had returned.

Not to live…

But to harvest.

— TO BE CONTINUED —

Would you bury the forest to stop it… or let it walk in your skin, wearing your womb like a crown?

#TheGirlWhoWasBuriedPregnant #DarkWomb #HorrorInTheSo @top fans.