Unholy Trinity: “Reversal, Ritual & Refusal” by CD Francis

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 hunter suppressed his pain through gritted teeth. His grimy fingers clawed desperately at the bear trap, the shattered ankle upon which it had closed oozing blood. He attempted to prize the jaws apart, and for some tantalising seconds it appeared they were wide enough to release his useless foot. His fingers slipped. The jaws met with a snap and the foot fell away, hoarse screams echoing into silence. A rustling; he looked around, nauseated. The Grizzly, upright and tall, stared down at him with malevolence. It raised the shotgun it held, clicking back the hammer. The hunter whined softly.




A frantic din of bleating presses in on all sides as the Druid struggles to find a gap. Hooves kick and horned heads butt in a tight semicircle, forcing him into the hulking wooden cage. Those inside clamour wildly, unable to escape, lamenting their fate. One ram gives a last kick and retreats, another secures the cage door. Another drops a flaming bough from its mouth onto the pyre’s edge. Flames ascend the structure, which comes alive with screams overwhelmed by the flock’s rising cacophony. The rams look on, rearing, stamping their adorations to the Great Sheep of the Moon.




Miss Grunt, line manager at Springtail & Sons Organic, looked into the pen from the mezzanine, trotters on loins. The creatures inside paced dismally, squatted in corners they’d soiled, and fought over a three foot square of sunlight pouring through a hole in the roof. They enjoyed the warmth, never having felt it before. 

Grunt wouldn’t believe the experts this time. The idea of these creatures experiencing the world similarly to pigs was absurd, and everyone knew it. Not to mention everyone ate Springtail sausages; they were the leading domestic brand. She snorted.

‘I must get that roof fixed first thing.’


CD Francis

CD Francis is a ‘moonraker’ (someone from the folklore-rich county of Wiltshire in the south west of England). They have lived and worked in Wiltshire, Cornwall, Devon and Somerset, and they love this part of the world and all of its folk history. This makes its way into their writing, which they have recently decided to focus on over their current tedious existence.