Thing

Here is a working draft of a piece by Daniel Mignault: 

The ground shuddered, and the face rose, an impassive death mask shifting to sudden surprise - sudden fear - before the thunder from my copper wire wracked its features and dragged the humanity out of him (or it). The rest, arms crossed, slowly arose, totem-like, from the earth, and soon I had a corpse - standing straight up, rigid, awaiting my command. The hole in my hand crackled, and the shed tooth (not mine - my new friend's) in my mouth melted away like enamel ice cream. "Come on," said I, "Little no-more-dead friend." He groaned, but complied, voice not yet coming and body still stiff as a rod.

As I walked, more new friends - decaying, crumbled, a few without eyes - came out of the earth as I ate more teeth. The flavor, sweet and bitter, like honeyed wine and parsley in my mouth, was at once horribly saccharine and disgustingly acidic, but I persevered. The same came when the night watchman entered the circle, shouting, and I cut him down with the sharp end of my rusted shovel. And my sweet dead scions fed on his remains, which I graciously gifted to them. Consciousness would return in three days, and they might be horrified at that point - at needing flesh to live - but they'd thank me later, because they'd need flesh to live forever.

I was a messenger now, bringing immortality, and the world would not be returning my gift. They'd learn to love it. Eventually.