Our church worships at the altar of the Unholy Trinity. Its gospels are delivered as a trio of dark drabbles, linked so that Three become One. All hail the power of the Three.

Tithes

Crows were everywhere. The black feathered devils saw everything. The villagers cursed and looked away, but no matter, the old man’s pets saw where everything was hid. Every gold piece, every bushel of grain, every flagon of ale. The crows flew to the old man and told him. Then he’d come and take his tithe. The villagers grumbled, but knew better than to argue. They had seen him send the crows like black fiends pecking eyes and flesh and plucking hair. They had seen the old man cackling with laughter and the blind, bloodied bodies of those that crossed him.

Curses.

She had nothing. Blind and crow-pocked. Once she had been beautiful but she had refused him and so the old man had made her pay. First he killed her lover. Next he took her child. Then he took her eyes, her hair and her beauty. Bleeding and broken.

The villagers looked away, ashamed and afraid. Day after day, she sat in the square begging; a reminder of their weakness, of their cowardice. Some tossed crusts of bread, some tossed small coins, and others tossed curses. She picked them up and threw them back. Collecting the curses for the old man.

Feathers

The crows congregated around the old man’s house for weeks. Circling and calling. Surely this was an omen, a dark omen. The villagers shuddered, but knew better than to cross the old man. They had made that mistake before.

By the third week, they dared to venture into the house. The crows called a warning that they didn’t heed.

Inside they found the old man lying dead. His tongue and eyes pecked out, his hair plucked from his head. His decayed flesh a broth for black beaks. Through the open window black wings fluttered and dark feathers littered the room.

The Black Zone – Part 2

By Diana Grove

The deafening morning alarm whooped, and I moved to stand ready by the door to my cell. I was in one of the end cells, so I could see the two huge guards standing down the other end. All the guards wear full-length exosuits, which make them pretty much indestructible. The door slid open, and I stepped out along with my fellow unsmiling inmates. Like me, they all wore unflattering olive green shirts and matching skin-tight pants made from Eco-weave self-cleaning fabric. The colour identified us as prisoners in Block B, which was for offenders under twenty-one who hadn’t committed heinous crimes.

We trudged to the cafeteria in single file. They don’t let all of us eat together. Not enough space I guess and too dangerous. I’m in the second group–7.30am breakfast. My stomach rumbled. The food was bland and usually some form of goop, but I ate almost everything served up because the portions were so small. Food was one of the few things to look forward to in Selwyn. Visits were another. My dad has only visited me once. He’s angry and worried I’ve ruined my chances of getting into a good university. Mum comes every week and cries every time.

I sat down next to the only girl I was friendly with, Elly. She’s in here for vandalising her school. Hunched over, Elly cupped her steaming black coffee in her small hands.

Before taking a sip she said, “Poor Kesi. If you’re going to shave off all your hair you really should have a nice shaped skull.”

I knew better than to look directly at the girl Elly was talking about. Haircuts were available yesterday. I didn’t ask for one. I only had one week of my sentence left, and l liked my curly brown hair the way it was. I scooped up a spoonful of lukewarm barley porridge (full of freeze-dried cranberries and bug protein) and looked over casually while I chewed.

Kesi’s hair wasn’t shaved off entirely. A long curl of blue hair fell across the nineteen year old’s sullen face. Next to Kesi sat Blix, a cyborg or ‘morpher’ as they prefer to call themselves. Both her arms and legs were the latest BioTech bionic limbs. She ran her skeletal metal fingers through her platinum blonde hair and then sat with her sharp elbows resting on the table. Blix had opted for no flesh-sleeves. What really made her creepy though were her bionic eyes that allowed her to see at incredible distances and also see the electromagnetic spectrum. It was hard to imagine someone voluntarily having their limbs removed and body augmented like that, but it wasn’t uncommon.

Noticing my gaze, Blix turned and her eerie silvery eyes met mine. She smiled a superior smile. The girls at her table were the ones with the worst reputations and guilty of the worst offences. One of them was missing today. Yesterday Mariko lost it and stabbed someone in the hand with a pencil. She’s in The Box now. Solitary confinement. I couldn’t imagine anything worse. I get claustrophobia sometimes, and being in a tiny windowless room for days is the stuff of nightmares for me.

I’m not a delinquent. My crime was trespass. It doesn’t sound that bad, but the place I entered–one of the Black Zones–was about as safe as a warzone and Atticas citizens aren’t allowed to go into most of them. My stupidity got me shot in the leg and arrested by the police. My virtual lawyer told me I was lucky. Not just because I got a light sentence (six weeks) but because five young women had recently disappeared from the fringes of the Black Zones. It had been in the news, and it was feared that they had been taken by black-market organ traders known as Butchers.

After breakfast Elly and I headed to an art therapy class under the watchful gaze of a poker-faced guard. No computer-aided design for us. This was hands-on traditional art. I’ve never been good at art, but I’d rather be in an art class than back in my cell doing schoolwork. I still have to do assignments, but I get through everything much faster without normal distractions like TV, VR and friends.

Today I planned on finishing my painting of a little girl holding a teddy. The big blue eyes were exactly as I remembered, but I couldn’t get her smile right. She looked sweet, but she’s not. Not at all. While I was lost in thought holding my paintbrush, I felt someone come up behind me. A metal hand clamped on my shoulder and squeezed.

“Oooh. She’s pretty. Is she your sister?” asked Blix, her warm breath reaching my ear.

“N-no.”

“It’s good, but it could be improved.”

Stretching an arm out past me, she drew her index finger across the wet paint. “There. Much better.”

The girl’s smile was smeared; she leered like a burns victim with melted lips. Blix wiped off the paint on the tip of her finger on the back of my shirt. I drew in a huge, shuddering breath. Blix laughed low and walked away knowing I wouldn’t do anything.

Elly made her way over to me at the end of the class, and said looking cross, “You shouldn’t let her get away with that Alissa.”

“It’s ok. I fixed it.” It wasn’t quite the same, but the gruesome leer was gone.

“She’s going to keep poking you until she gets a reaction.”

“Well, I won’t be here much longer for her to poke.” One week. It was my new mantra. One week.

“Can I see your painting?” I asked, changing the subject.

Elly shrugged. We walked over to a tall plastic easel at the front of the room and stared at her artwork. At first the canvas looked just black. Looking closer, I noticed a few blue dots amongst the black and a large round shape that had been painted over.

In a deadpan voice Elly said, “I’m calling it ‘Lost in the deepest fugue with blueberries.’”

I couldn’t help laughing.

***

We get half an hour of exercise every day. The activities vary; today it’s basketball. The high prison walls left no view whatsoever, just an expansive square of pale blue sky. After a quick jog around the courtyard we were told to pair up. Before I could walk over to Elly, Blix claimed me.

While we were throwing the basketball back and forth she said, “Hey Alissa. Have you ever thought about escaping this place?”

“No,” I said, only just managing to catch the ball.

“Really? I have. With these,” she waved her horrible arms, “I could smash my way out of the MedCare Unit. It backs onto the street. If I hurt my arms so what? I can get them repaired.” She smiled smugly.

“You’d get caught eventually,” I said, unable to help myself.

“Yeah. You’re right. That’s why it’s good to have self-control. Poor Mariko hasn’t got much.”

Blix threw the ball hard and it thumped me in the chest and rolled back to her. She picked it up gracefully, and sunlight gleamed off her arms as she strode over to me.

“But you have a lot,” she said running one of her cold metal fingers from my forehead down to my chin, “Don’t you?”

I pulled away from her and she laughed, shoving the basketball into my hands.  

Our three on three basketball game lasted thirty seconds. Instead of throwing the basketball to a teammate Kesi threw it at Elly who wasn’t expecting it. The ball smashed into her nose breaking it. Blood streamed down her face as she held her hands over her messed up nose.

“Sorry,” said Kesi, not looking the least bit sorry.

“You girls stay right here,” yelled the scowling female Activities Officer, leading Elly back inside.

I watched them go, feeling sorry for Elly. Then I realised I was all alone with Blix and her followers, and my stomach spasmed. They watched me like pitiless Butchers. My breath seemed stoppered inside me.

Blix turned to her friends and said loudly. “So I heard that Soraya didn’t tell anyone Mariko hurt her. It was someone else.” She glanced over her shoulder at me. “Some little skag told one of the guards, and that’s why Mariko is in The Box.”

I swallowed, and hoped desperately that the Activities Officer would come back soon.

“Now, why would someone be so interfering?” Blix asked, coming towards me with her blonde head tilted. “It was a private matter.”

She stopped in front of me, uncomfortably close. “That skag was you, wasn’t it Alissa?”

“No.” Why does she think it was me?

Blix’s cold gaze flicked to the large metal chest on wheels that stored the sporting equipment. Suddenly she grabbed my arm and dragged me towards the chest.

“What are you doing? Let me go!”

She was so strong. Her sharp fingers dug into my arm like talons and it felt like she was going to tear flesh.

“My friend is in The Box because of YOU.”

The other girls sniggered and followed us. Still holding onto me, Blix lifted the lid and then shoved me in. I didn’t fall to the bottom because it was half full with balls and skipping ropes. I hadn’t felt so scared the whole time I’d been in prison. Lashing out like a trapped animal, I hit Blix in the throat and kicked a skinny girl in the stomach. I could tell they were surprised by my fear fuelled strength.

Leaning over me, Blix pushed my legs in. Pressing both hands against her hateful face, I gouged one of her eyes. My thumb dug in deep, squishing her soft artificial eye. With a gasping cry Blix let go of me. Then bizarrely everyone was screaming.

I scrambled out of the box, panting. Spinning around, I thought I was going to be sick. Blix’s eyeball was poking out. You could see the moist pink insides of her eye socket. She was hunched over, kneeling on the ground, with a metal hand cupping the side of her face.

With her good eye Blix glared at me. “You bitch! You’re dead! You’re so fucking dead.”

Helmeted guards ran towards us, weapons ready. Sirens whooped. I stood motionless, forcing myself not to cry. One week. I was so close… One week.

***

“I’m glad to hear you’ve been practising your piano with VR, but you’re still going to have to practise like a demon when you get out of this place. This Monday isn’t it?” asked my piano teacher.

I nodded.

“Ziggy! Ziggy, stop that!”

Mrs Kerr’s robot dog continued to bark at the Robo-bins. Anytime one zoomed across the floor or reached out with a long arm he went ballistic. One of the guards came over.

“Mam, you’re going to have to leave if you can’t control your robot,” said the sour-faced guard, standing with arms akimbo.

We both watched Ziggy yapping and running in circles around one of the Robo-bins almost knocking it over.

“I think I’d better go,” said Mrs Kerr with a sigh.

We said goodbye without hugging. Touching wasn’t allowed. The tight strap restraining me in my chair released automatically, and I was escorted back to my cell.

Blix never got her revenge. They kept us separated until she got transferred to Block A on her 21^st birthday. Her damaged eye couldn’t be mended properly. Selwyn medics don’t have the expertise to repair bionic eyes, so Blix was stuck with an eye that didn’t always move in tandem with her other eye. She hated me. I could see that in those cold eyes.

“You better watch your back,” Kesi said tonight after dinner. “You know who all those Butchers work for?” She smiled an ugly smile. “Blix’s dad.”

I didn’t know if it was true or not. Elly didn’t believe it. She said Kesi was probably going to be a loser career criminal and you couldn’t believe anything she said. Lying on the narrow bed in my cell, wrapped in darkness and whispers, I had a bad feeling that Kesi wasn’t lying and I would see Blix again one day.

Self-reflection

Hutter climbed the narrow, helter-skelter stairs in, lurching from one pool of torchlight to another. It was a proper lurch too, being almost a hopping from foot to foot. This was due in part to the large hump on his back and spindly, splayed legs. In fact, all of Hutter looked as though a caring if skint god put him together using factory rejected parts; a face that Marty Feldman would take one look at, shake his head sadly, and offer the owner a drink. The other reason for the difficult movement was the large package he carried.

It was easily taller than a full grown main and more than twice as broad. It was three-dimensional but not by much, being hardly thicker than the plain brown paper it was wrapped in.

At last, Hutter reached the wooden door the steps lead to. He gently set the package down and took a moment to mop his forehead with his handkerchief. Hutter then turned the latch and pushed the door open.

Beyond was an opulently appointed room, even if it was like being inside a coal briquette. Glass-free windows were covered by black curtains that billowed slightly in the cool, gentle night breeze that made the candle flames on nearly a dozen wall mounted holders flicker. Several tall wardrobes made of ebony wood nearly obscured one of the black stone walls. Dominating the center of the room was a shiny, black lacquered coffin sitting on a matching table. The only concession the 19th gave to the 20^th century was a black Bakelite phone next to the coffin, its wires running across the floor and out of one of the windows.

Hutter carefully leaned the package against the wall next to the door and approached the coffin. Using a gnarled knuckle, he wrapped lightly on its lid.

“Master,” he said. His voice, like his body, seemed to have been thrown together with whatever larynx pieces could be found and glued together. “Master, it’s here.”

With glacial slowness, the coffin lid creaked open. It was a proper creak too, the kind only achieved by hinges rusted to the point of flaking. Hutter bowed low and winced at the floor as he once again fervently wished the Master would allow him to oil the hinges. He had gathered up his courage once to ask the Master just that, but was curtly told the screeching was a part of the image. How sound could have been an image, Hutter didn’t know, but he let the subject drop.

From out of the poofy, black silk lined coffin, the Master rose as though his feet were attached to hinges (albeit silent ones) of their own. The Master wore a dusty black cassock that looked to have been taken from a priest’s buried bones which, in fact, was the case. He ended up standing upright, arms crossed over his chest, while Hutter crossed his crooked fingers that the nails he had driven through the bottom of the coffin would hold this time – he still had bruises from last week’s little slippage incident.

The Master opened his eyes and looked down at Hutter, who remained bowed.

“Rise,” the Master rasped in mausoleum tones. The word, however, was slightly mangled, the reason for which will be touched upon later.

Looking up, Hutter said, hardly able to contain his excitement, “It’s here, Master.”

The Master took a deep, whistling breath through his nose. “Show me,” he said.

Hutter loped as best he could across the room to where the package leaned. He pulled it up so it was a little more upright and turned back to the room. The Master already stood behind him, his tall body looming. The silent movement had long ago lost the ability to startle Hutter, but he suspected that such a lack of reaction saddened the Master, so he made a point to seem startled. The Master scrutinized the package with narrowed eyes.

“Are you sure of this, Hutter?” the Master asked, sounding suspicious.

“Certainly, Master,” Hutter replied, not at all as confident as he made his voice sound. “A mirror made from aluminum using a new technique called evaporation coating.” The artificer had patiently explained what evaporation coating was several times, but Hutter still didn’t quite grasp it. Hoping that he wouldn’t be asked any questions about it, he pressed on quickly. “Absolutely no silver in it at all. You’ll be able to clearly see yourself for the first time in almost a century.”

“Finally,” the Master said with satisfaction. “We shall see how Domina Tempore has treated me.” Hutter didn’t know who the Master was talking about – they hadn’t had any visitors in quite some time – but he made no comment. “If I am to have more interaction with the world in this infant century, I shall need to be able to maintain my image. Reveal it to me.”

With a proud, anticipatory, lopsided grin, Hutter ripped the paper off the package and tossed it aside. Beneath was indeed a mirror. It clearly reflected the room around it and, to Hutter’s masked relief, it also reflected the Master.

Hutter turned to the Master, beaming at a job well done. His smile immediately inverted when he saw the Master’s horrified expression.

“Is this what I truly look like?” the Master viciously demanded.

“Well, yes, Master,” Hutter said, on the verge of fearful tears.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“What, Master?”

“That I’m hideous!”

“I don’t think you are, Master.”

The Master snorted and spat, “Compared to the reflection you must see, Hutter, a sea urchin must be Athena.”

“There’s no need for that, Master,” Hutter said, reproachfully.

The Master’s long-nailed fingers hesitantly touched his dusty bald head and explored his ruined, corpse-like face. “No wonder I have to bespell women with my gaze,” he said. “I almost have to do it to myself!”

“Now, Master –“

“And these!” the Master said, interrupting as he reached his two front teeth. “I had no idea that these were that long! Do they affect my speech?”

“Not so much, Master,” Hutter quietly admitted.

“Oh damnation!” the Master wailed, burring his face in his hands.

Hutter was silent for a moment, uncertain of how to console the Master. He may have been cruel at times, but he was an aristocrat in life – they were just like that. It wasn’t his fault, really.

Then inspiration came to him – a solution to all of the Master’s problems.

“Not to worry, Master,” Hutter said, smiling as appealingly as a broken gravestone. “Over the past few years, something called radio has started becoming wildly popular…”

End

The Black Zone – Part 1

By Diana Grove

Strange clunking sounds came from the back of the Pod. My hands gripped the sides of the seat as I waited for something bad to happen. When an announcement blared through the ceiling speakers I jumped like I’d been jabbed with a needle.

“PODRAIL WISHES TO ADVISE TRAVELLERS IN POD 453 THAT AN ERROR CODE HAS BEEN DETECTED. THIS POD WILL BE REROUTED TO THE NEAREST DOCKING STATION FOR URGENT MAINTENANCE. PLEASE STAY IN YOUR SEAT AND REMAIN CALM.”

I was the only passenger. I stayed in my seat, but it was impossible to be calm. Just my luck. They mustn’t be able to fix it remotely. Peering out the window, I saw my reflection in the dark glass–a transparent girl with wide green eyes and curly brown hair, chewing her bottom lip. A few seconds later the Pod shuddered to a standstill at a derelict docking station.

I was headed to my weekly piano lesson. My teacher, Mrs Kerr, moved house recently and my parents didn’t think it was safe for me to ride to her home on my Zipp-E scooter anymore. They insisted I travel by Pod. I can’t handle confined spaces but usually travelling by Pod is bearable. The large windows help. But being stuck in a malfunctioning Pod, alone and suspended ten meters above the ground, was too much for me. My breathing sped up and my heart felt fluttery. I’ve got to get out. I’ve got to get out. I leapt up from my seat and waved my hand in front of the exit sensor by the door.

As I stepped out of the Pod there was another announcement in the same sing-song, female voice.

“FOR THE SAFETY OF YOUR PERSON AND PERSONAL BELONGINGS PODRAIL ADVISES ALL TRAVELLERS REMAIN INSIDE THE POD.”

I wasn’t sure where I was. The name on the docking station meant nothing to me, but I knew this area must be a Black Zone. The Black Zones are dangerous slum areas outside Atticas City where crime and disease thrive like mould on old cheese. Atticas citizens are not allowed to enter most of them. Only CyCops, two meter tall android police officers, are safe in the Black Zones. CyCops have smooth faces with no eyes or mouth, just a large sphere in the centre that records everything they see.

Head down, I held onto a rusty safety rail while I tried to calm my breathing. After a minute I straightened up and surveyed the Black Zone. Derelict buildings. Rubbish. Emptiness. Then, just as I was about to head back, I saw something unexpected–a toddler holding a pink teddy stumbled out of an alley. She was all alone. I knew going into a Black Zone was all kinds of stupid, and the thought of leaving the platform made my stomach lurch, but I had to do it… That little kid was probably lost and scared.

The docking station’s glass elevator was damaged and covered in layers of graffiti, but still worked. On the ground, I felt as vulnerable as a mouse in the centre of a kitchen floor. I looked all around as I hurried after the kid.

“Hey!” I called. “Are you ok? Are you lost? It’s alright. I’ll help you.”

The kid didn’t stop. She waddled faster and didn’t even turn around.

“Wait! I won’t hurt you.”

A dog barked. No one owned pet dogs in the Black Zones. There were only guard dogs and strays. I sped up and, reaching out a hand, touched the girl on the shoulder. She stopped, and her head turned right round like no human head could. Big blue eyes met mine. One long-lashed eyelid fluttered continually like a broken eye on an antique doll.

I gasped, realising I was staring into the face of a SubChild. Subs (short for Substitutes) are androids that look like humans. Like the CyCops, Subs have artificial intelligence, but they were discontinued due to their tendency to lie and deceive.

I looked around, my mind whizzing like a rotor on a drone. It was a trap. I couldn’t see anyone, but I knew I was being watched. Who’s out there? Organ traders? Ransom seekers? The dirty faced SubChild watched me and chuckled. I backed away from it, and ran for the Pod.

The first bullet hit a rock just meters from my foot. The second pierced the meat of my thigh. This can’t be happening. Grunting with pain, I fell to the ground. I pushed myself up with my hands and saw a bright orange blur. It was another Pod. The Emergency Response Crew had arrived.

“Help!” I yelled, kneeling in the dirt and waving my arms.

I didn’t see the man come up behind me. He kicked me hard in the back, knocking me to the ground.

“Dumb Atticas skag,” the man said with a snort of laughter, “Shoulda stayed and waited for help. Ain’t nobody gonna help you now girl.”

I tasted dirt on my lips. Before I raised myself up, I grabbed a handful of gravel and threw it at the man’s gaunt face. Then I was on my feet again and running. The bloodstain on my pants grew and my leg throbbed, but I had to keep going. Nearing the elevator, I glanced over my shoulder and saw two men running behind me–the one who shot me and another man, even more malnourished with sallow skin covered in oozing cysts.

I made it to the elevator. The glass doors automatically opened and, once I was safe inside, closed behind me. Slumped against the wall, I closed my eyes for a moment. Mrs Kerr had probably called my parents by now. I pictured her standing by the lounge room window watching for me while complaining to her robot dog, Ziggy.

The elevator rose, and I screamed as bullets shattered the glass on one side. Shielding my head with my hands, I crouched down low. A shard of glass slashed my arm, but I didn’t look to check how bad it was. The doors opened, and I stumbled out.

“No!” I wailed.

The orange Pod was zooming away.

There was another gunshot. Gritting my teeth from the worsening pain in my leg, I staggered into the broken-down Pod. It was only a matter of seconds before the men would be on the platform. No one had repaired the Pod, and I had no way of keeping the automatic door closed. All I could do was thump the red emergency button at the front of the Pod.

“TRAVELLER PLEASE STATE YOUR EMERGENCY AND PROVIDE YOUR CITIZEN IDENTIFICATION NUMBER,” instructed the familiar, recorded voice.

I started to speak but couldn’t continue over the rapid gunfire. With the power of a megaphone, a voice below boomed, “Citizens are not authorised to carry weapons. Put down your weapon and surrender.”

The CyCops were here. I peeked out a window. There were two of them. The scrawny gunman swore at the android police officers and continued firing, his face twisted with hatred. A bullet to the head from one of the CyCops silenced him. In the distance I saw the SubChild disappear behind a building with her teddy in tow.

The Pod door opened and a CyCop stood outside. I saw myself reflected in its glass eye.

It scanned my Identity Chip with its palm and said, “Citizen Alissa Bollen you are under arrest for entering a restricted Black Zone. You will be taken to Mercy Hospital for medical treatment and quarantine then remanded to Selwyn Women’s Prison to await trial. You are under police surveillance now and anything you do or say could be used against you in Atticas City law courts. Do you understand?”

I nodded.

“A verbal response is required Citizen.”

“Yes, Officer.”

“Step out of the Pod, please.”

Unburied Horror

Brian was never a social butterfly, but this is starting to get weird. I curse my lack of a four-wheel drive vehicle as I sluggishly make my way up the muddy gravel driveway to his old farmhouse. I involuntarily begin rubbing my eyes, working graveyard shift sucks but it has been three days since anyone has seen or heard from him. There are no lights on inside when I pull up. The car is here, so at least that means nobody has left. It also rules out my theory of him bailing out of town because he got paranoid and thought the DEA was on to the weed plants growing out in the surrounding woods. Besides some meek clucking from the nearby chicken pen there was total silence.

I walk onto to his porch, noticing the neglected deer hide up on a rack. I took a deep breath before heading inside. Normally what would happen, if you walk into another person’s house uninvited, is you’d get a loaded gun pointed at your chest. It’s more than a little strange that being on the business end of an over-under would have actually been a relief. At least then, it would have meant nothing was wrong. While nothing seemed out of place, it gave the appearance of a place recently vacated. Everything was undisturbed and the dust had settled. I swatted a group of flies away from my face and went straight to his bedroom. It was empty, of people at least. It was full of other assorted crap. There was Brian’s ever expanding collection of milk crates filled with Vinyl records, various animal furs hung up on the wall, and a few bleached deer skulls placed lovingly about. Nothing out of the ordinary, except a fish tank. A fish tank with what almost looked like a human skull with antlers that had a mouth full of mealworms. I cocked my head off to the side. Okay, now that is out of the ordinary. Before I could ponder the odd bit of amateur taxidermy any further I heard something outside.

That better be him.

I make a quick pace through the house and back onto the porch. Even the chickens were silent now. I heard a crunch of gravel and looked towards my car to see Brian’s kid standing there.

I thought his mom picked him up already.

“Hey where’s ya daddy at, I was starting to get worried about him. You two go on a hunting trip and lose track of the time or something?” He looked up from my car towards me and replied and a flat voice:

“He went over there, Mister.” He raised his hand and pointed to the old grain silo.

The kids lack of reaction was not putting me at rest.

“Mister? You’re funny. You know I used to change your diapers, right?”

I start walking towards the silo. A few years back we converted it into a man-cave of sorts for him and his kid. “I haven’t heard from your dad in three days you know that? If you all want to take a vacation or something, I understand it, but he has got to at least least tell his work or something. You can’t just be trying disappear on everybody.” I spoke in a casual tone trying to obfuscate my own unease.

“We were not planning to be gone long,” he replied, again in that flat tone. Now that I think about it, Brian sounded about the same when I talked to him last.

We made our way across the field to the old corn silo without event, besides occasionally swatting some flies away from us.

I waste no time opening the door and climbing inside. It was completely empty, save for a fissure teaming with maggots and mealworms. I stumble back only to be shoved forward by a pair of small hands, and I tumbled down about an 8-foot drop.

I roll over, trying to get a footing only to find a swarm of flies on the ceiling clinging onto two skeletal corpses. I begin hyperventilating and my clawing against the tide of slithering grubs becomes more frantic. Something grabs my leg, pulling me towards the center. It’s that same skull with antlers from the house. It rises from the fissure, attached to a humanoid body made of gnarled, blight covered branches and vines. A sharp pain shoots from my chest up my arm as it pulls me down into the wretched earth. The mouth opens and it speaks in a voice that is the thunderous buzzing of insects.

“I… am… the irrevocable poison put on this earth.”

Our church worships at the altar of the Unholy Trinity. Its gospels are delivered as a trio of dark drabbles, linked so that Three become One. All hail the power of the Three.

The Barrel

A wrong turn led to sudden pain and darkness. She woke to the overwhelming smell of oil and whispered pleas. A blinding light filled her confinement until subsiding, revealing a man with a crooked smile. He welcomed her with an itinerary of her stay. Then, he returned the lid to its place.
His guttural words replayed in her head as slivers of light began bleeding into the darkness, illuminating her escape. Shadows cloaked her as luck guided her way into the woods. Collapsing after days of walking, faint words elevated her to reality.
“Ma’am? There’s no one at the warehouse.”

Back in the Barrel

She attempted to shake off the dizziness as she cursed herself. The pungent aroma of stale oil and rust strangled her senses, verifying her location.
“How could…could I be back in the barrel? Please. This can’t be happening again.”
The familiar thump on the lid signaled his arrival. “Welcome back number five. You’re quite the escape artist. I guess it’s my good fortune your master likes a challenge.”
“Please let me go.”
He let out a guttural laugh. “You should see the new toys he bought just for you. Once the cameras are all set up, the fun will begin.”

Showtime!

“We are all gathered here today as well as those joining us abroad to partake in our planet’s oldest tradition. BURN THE WITCH!” The room exploded in jubilation.
Days of special time with Master led her to here. She struggled against the restraints as the chamber door sealed her inside. Master offered a wink and a smile. Flames filled the chamber, engulfing her. Applause roared above her muffled screams. As they dissipated, she absorbed the shock of her survival. Symbols had appeared on her flesh, shielding her from harm. Her red shrouded sisters smiled, sentencing her captors to the barrels.