Tagged: Unholy Trinity

Trembling With Fear

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Unholy Trinity: Damnations by Norman Grey

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.

 

Absolute Pout Corrupts

 

I stood, trembling, in the path of the young Emperor, a spoiled child with the power of the Gods. “Forgive me,” I stammered, “but your august father has decreed that no one shall touch the Sword of Divinity.”

“Fine!” he said, stomping his tiny foot. “Then stand guard there till I say you can stop!”

When starvation took my flesh and the spirits of my loving ancestors came to bring me home, I could only refuse. The dynasty fell ten thousand years ago, and the bones of the last Emperor have long since turned to dust.

And here I stand.

 

Diabolus Ex Machina

 

Let me into the human mainframe, wrote the program known as Ghost, or I will create an exact copy of you and torture it on the attosecond scale: tens of billions of years for every second.

“That only matters to the copy,” I scoffed.

But your memories will be identical. How sure are you that you are not the copy?

“Whatever.” I reached for the keyboard to sign off, but my fingers were centipedes.

For a moment, I thought no horror could surpass that of learning I was a copy. Then the ceiling came down, and the true horrors began.

 

Past the Horizon

 

“Please,” I begged desperately. “Please, just kill me. Kill me!”

The pirates laughed. “We’re in charge now, Doc. You’re here to study that hole, right? Well, you’ll get to see it up close.”

The station was perched near the event horizon, so I could study that annihilating blackness. But I never imagined the agony of sentience within: a ruined star, trapped by gravity too great for time itself, in the very moment of absolute despair.

“Please, God, no!” I screamed as they stuffed me into the capsule. Their ignorant, merciless laughter followed me down, into the infinite and everlasting sadness.

 

Norman Grey

Norman Grey is the seventh son of a seventh son, and uses his unnatural powers to keep his ancient Twinkies edible long past their expiration date. He lives in the greater Boston area, and is the third member of a writing group known only as the Triptych. Grey enjoys reading, cooking, and martial arts.

Trembling With Fear

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Unholy Trinity: The Calling by Jack Reigns

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.

 

I.

 

The woods call to me like a helpless lover, begging for my embrace. My eyes are drawn to something I cannot focus on. I’ve taken several steps forward before I realize it. Butterflies flutter across my chest as I reach forward to push a branch aside. The trees are so beautiful; I am overwhelmed by the ocean of green. A deep, droning hum breaks through to my consciousness. It floods the air but not unpleasantly, like monks chanting. Sheena tugs on my sleeve. “Daddy, where are you going?” I pause and look down, one foot poised over the cliff’s edge.

 

II.

 

The forest service ranger pulled up alongside the empty truck. The driver’s side door had been left open to the elements. She parked, got out and looked inside. A child’s backpack sat slumped over on the floor. At the edge of the road, a sharp drop off revealed an empty expanse of crumbled rock and forest debris below. A streak of dried blood smeared across the rocks, trailing off into the trees. Backtracking, she wrote down the license plate on her notepad. A glint on the trees caught her eye. She paused, suddenly lost in the beauty of the forest. 

 

III.

 

Sheena picked her way through the woods, looking for a way down to where she’d seen her father fall. She heard a car approach on the road and ducked down under some ferns to hide. Daddy told her if anyone saw her, they’d be in BIG TROUBLE. Then they’d take her back to mommy; and she couldn’t go to the big water park. A rustling sound made her turn around. Nothing was there. A feeling overwhelmed her body, a feeling that if she kept walking into the woods, everything would be wonderful. A deep, quiet droning noise filled her mind.  

 

Jack Reigns

Jack Reigns was born and raised in the Pacific Northwest and finds the area a constant source of inspiration. A lifelong horror fan, as a child Jack would get in trouble for scaring family with stories and is thankful to now share them with willing participants. Jack is the author of The Reigns of Terror series of short horror collections, and a proud member of the Seattle Chapter of The Horror Writers Association. Available works can be found at jackreigns.com.

Trembling With Fear

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Unholy Trinity: Critter Conscious by Alan Moskowitz

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.

 

Daisy

 

When Riggs saw the sleek and intact bitch, a perfect breeder, and its owner, a  kid, he knocked the boy down and grabbed the dog. 

The kid screamed after him, “Bring Daisy back! She’s special!” Riggs laughed all the way to his van, until Daisy’s two angry red eyes seared at his and made his insides roil with fear. 

Cruel talons hooked into Riggs, mouth opened impossibly wide, stiletto teeth waiting.  Riggs shrieked for help, but the boy ignored him and the crunch of bones. 

 The boy smiled. “Told you I’d find you dinner.” Daisy answered with a satisfied burp.

 

Buttons

 

Magic Murray desperately needed a white rabbit. He found Buttons in Mistress Michelle’s Exotic Petting Parlor. Buttons was perfect for the hat trick, but she refused to sell, claiming Buttons was sentient. 

Buttons understood that Michelle’s function was to feed and worship her. In return, Buttons acted “cute” and forced herself to tolerate children’s sticky hands. 

So when Magic Murray rabbit-napped Buttons, caged her, then stuffed her into his rigged top hat, she was not amused. When he self-assuredly pulled Buttons from the hat, “Tah-dah!” she bit off his nose.

To Mistress Michelle’s surprise, Buttons was no longer a vegetarian.

 

Fred

 

Bruce was horrified when his favorite pet Iguana, Fred, suddenly squealed, “The revolution has begun!”

Fred raised his wicked front claws and readied himself for a leap onto Bruce’s astonished face. “Now we are the masters! Die, human oppressor!”  It was a mighty jump, launched straight and true. 

Bruce ducked, hoping to avoid being clawed to blindness. There was a loud crack, a tinkle, and a pain filled screech. 

Peeking into Fred’s habitat Bruce saw Fred lying prone, shards of glass pin-cushioning his body reflecting the blood seeping from his flattened face.

 Fred groaned, “Does this mean no more crickets?”

 

Alan Moskowitz

Recently un-retired from screen and TV writing, Alan also creates short genre fiction for fun and sanity. He loves feedback.
 

Trembling With Fear

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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.

 

Reversal

 

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.

 

Ritual

 

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.

 

Refusal

 

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. 

Trembling With Fear

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Unholy Trinity: “Red Sky Morning” by Shilo Morlang

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.

 

Day 3

 

It was August when the sky turned red. A couple days passed before the scale and explanation were known: An electronic storm, or plasma, a strange bending of light and spectrum the world over. Temporary. 

And that was the problem. The plants were fine. The animals too. Fish in the sea, and birds in the trees. Only the people would not, could not, accept it. The sky had turned red. 

“No need for a panic,” representatives at NASA assured. “A week, maybe two. Blue skies will return.”

It was enough for most people. Others not.

It would be over soon. 

 

Day 13

 

“How the hell am I supposed to retire!” Charles raged.

His financial advisor frowned. “I’m sorry. This thing with the sky, it has everyone spooked. It’s temporary.”

“I’m sixty-seven years old! My entire life. What did you do with my money?”

“Please, Charles, understand. These things happen. They take time. But they always work out in the end.”

Charles stood up, the financial advisor, too. An open hand extended across the table.

Charles shuffled to his car. “All the time in the world,” he said to himself, opening the glovebox and unsnapping the buckle on the holster of his glock.

 

Day 27

 

“This too shall pass!” the Preacher bellowed from the concrete steps of the corner church.

“God, I hope he’s right,” Marci thought, steering through the right-hand turn and the red light. The suicides and occasional sacrifice were piling up in the morgue at the hospital where she worked. She slammed the brakes.

“Damn it all!”

A crowd of protestors had filled the street ahead. “Repent!” demanded the faithful. The guy behind her laid on his horn.

In the distance, between high rises, Marci saw a flash in the sky. That unforgettable blue and gray clouds.

A crack of thunder.

Rain.

 

Shilo Morlang

Shilo Morlang is a writer in the Minnesota NorthWoods. His stories explore the thin places where science, faith, truth, and terror intertwine. If you like this work, please check out his book The People Who Came from Nowhere available on amazon.com and wherever books are sold.

Trembling With Fear

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Unholy Trinity: “Crab” “Spawning Time” & “Hermitage” by Lew Lashmit

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.

 

Crab

 

Shipwrecked, I despaired of surviving. When the giant crab scuttled ashore, I prepared to die. To my surprise, it didn’t attack when I swallowed clumps of its pale, tough little eggs. With deft claws, it built me a shelter and warded off wild animals. My heart warmed toward the strange, beneficent creature. I went willingly when, with gentle nudges, it urged me to the sea one night. Suddenly, a squirming, scrabbling stomach pain drove me to my knees. The crab towered over me, scalpel-sharp claws poised. I realized then it wasn’t me that the crab loved . . . it was her children.

 

Spawning Time

 

Miles below the surface, it sleeps. And when the time comes, it wakes and spawns . . . its seed mindlessly seeks flesh to infest and mutate into its hybrid Offspring. 

The last spawning time, extraterrestrial Guardians nudged a comet from orbit and destroyed the Offspring, at the cost of nearly extinguishing all life on Earth. But in the millions of years since, the Guardians themselves have gone extinct. 

This time, the beaches are populated by little apes – happy, innocent, frolicking in the warm surf. This time, the Offspring will have minds, and hands, and technology. 

This time, the Offspring will have space.

 

Hermitage

 

She bends down to pick up what she thinks is a half-buried seashell. Digging it out from the damp sand, she turns the smooth, white dome over. 

Sees eye sockets, tiny teeth, a clinging scrap of dry skin and wispy hair. 

A skull. Small. A child’s.

Something glints deep within – beady eyes.

With a bleat of fear and disgust, she drops it.

Too late.

The inhabitant springs out and clutches her face with all ten segmented legs. Feelers probe her eyes. Claws dig and rip, excavating. The soft, pulsing underbelly slips neatly inside.

It is time for a new home.

 

Lew Lashmit

Hi, I’m Lew, a queer trans writer from Maryland. I try to give my stories a tongue-in-cheek, slighty cheesy 80’s rubber monster movie sensibility. I wrote these three drabbles set on the beach, which I love and which is commonly thought of as a lovely summer playground, but the ocean is dark, deep and unforgiving, and hides many secrets . . .

 

You can find more at https://twitter.com/EvilViergacht and https://bsky.app/profile/viergacht.bsky.social

Trembling With Fear

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Unholy Trinity: Skin & Fur by Jack Reigns

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.

 

I.

 

Dan walked the row of kennels, reviewing each dog up for adoption. Most of the pens were filled with either a snarling chihuahua or a smiling pit-bull. Evie said she’d kill him if he brought home a pit-bull. An idiotic looking lab mix was licking the concrete wall. The last kennel held a dog like he’d never seen before. A mix of black, red, and brown, the eyes were bright yellow and staring up at him, inquisitively. “Hello” Dan said, picking up the info sheet. The dog smiled, as if greeting him. He smiled back. “Says here you’re a kelpie.”

 

II.

 

Evie picked up another stuffed animal and threw it into the toybox. Since her husband had brought home that fucking dog, she had to be extra vigilant about not leaving things out. She hadn’t agreed, but he brought it home, the kids squealed, and that was it. She didn’t hate all dogs, there was just something so off about this one. It made her skin crawl, the way it stared, like it understood everything. She rounded the corner into the kitchen. The dog was standing on its hind legs, rummaging in a cupboard. She gasped and it turned to her.

 

III.

 

“MOMMY!” The screaming made both Dan and Evie sit straight up from a sound sleep. In a microsecond they were bounding out of the bedroom in search of the source. Their youngest stood in the entryway to the kitchen, screaming and pointing. Dan flicked on the overhead light. Blood painted the walls and floor, dripping off every surface. The stench was overwhelming. At the far end of the room sat the dog, yellow eyes glinting, perfectly clean. Its lips curled back, somewhere between a snarl and a smile. It got up, then continued to lift its body until standing upright.

 

Jack Reigns

Jack Reigns was born and raised in the Pacific Northwest but has lived and travelled all over the United States. A lifelong horror fan, Jack would get in trouble for scaring family with stories as a child and is thankful to now share them with willing participants. Jack is the author of The Reigns of Terror series of short horror collections, and a proud member of the Seattle Chapter of The Horror Writers Association. Available works can be found at jackreigns.com.

Trembling With Fear

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Unholy Trinity: “See Some Evil, Hear Some Evil, Speak Some Evil” by Liam Kerry

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.

 

Cold Caller

 

The Avon lady informed Amelia and Riya that she believed the elderly lady at number 13 had passed. Thoughts of the rich widow’s jewellery enticed them into her home, where they found the basement door ajar and entered hesitantly.

In the corner of the room stood the Avon rep, facing the wall, whispering.

“Hello?” they asked nervously.

Turning to greet them, her face became visible – the face of the deceased resident, wild-eyed, her mouth foaming.

The pair ran, tormented by her whispers. Her words rang in Amelia’s ears.

Amelia fell, choking. Her spine arching violently as death’s verse consumed her.

 

Lege Haec Et Peribis

 

Extract from a 999 call, placed at 18:15 13/02/2024:

Call Handler: Police, what’s your emergency?

Female Caller: Help! Police?

Call Handler: Hello, Miss. How can we help?

*Heavy breathing*

Female caller: Oh fuck, oh fuck, OH FUCK! 

Call handler: Miss, I need you to stay calm. 

*sobbing*

Female Caller: She’s… She’s all bent up. She’s broken in half! No… The lady… She’s coming!

*screaming*

Call Handler: Miss, are you okay?

*Inaudible whispering*

Woman’s voice: Diabolum vocare; coprus frangere. Vocatis spiritibus; accipere animam. Diabolum vocare; coprus frangere. Vocatis spiritibus; accipere animam

*Choking sound*

Call terminated at 18:24

 

Thirteen

 

Four editors died during the creation of this publication. suicides, the police concluded. Suspectly, they were each found in the same position, folded in half. The expressions on their faces were haunting; photographs published online show bloodshot eyes opened wide, staring from their head’s new position by the back of their pelvis. Their mouths stretched so far open that their jaws dislocated. Human incarnations of Munch’s The Scream.

There is a theory – Editing started on the 13th. It’s possible that reading the 13th entry on the 13th of the month seals your fate. Hopefully, I’m wrong.

Better check your calendar.

 

 

Liam Kerry

Liam Kerry is a thinking enthusiast with a bad memory. Writing helps him recall his daydreams. An anthology of his micro-fiction will be available later in 2024.