The Eighth Day

I found the sealed apothecary jar deep in Grandfather's estate, labeled 'The Eighth Day' in fading cursive. The instructions were sparse: 'Submerge the seven clay effigies in the solution. Seal tightly. Do not interrupt the Work.' By day three, the crystal-clear liquid had turned into a nauseating, opaque crimson swirling violently, as if boiled by an unseen heat. Shards of something brittle clicked against the glass walls. By day seven, the liquid settled, pristine once more. The seven clay figures were gone. In the center of the jar sat... something else. It no longer held the rough texture of dried earth but glistened with the wet, pink sheen of exposed muscle and newborn skin. I brought a magnifying glass closer to inspect its face. It seemed to sense me, slowly tilting its head back. Its mouth was disproportionately wide. Suddenly, it convulsed and let out a bubble of gas—a silent burp. A small, grey, jagged arm slid out from its throat. With a look of panic, the creature frantically shoved the limb back into its mouth and swallowed hard.