Tagged: Unholy Trinity

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.

Trembling With Fear

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Unholy Trinity: “The Magic Tree,” “The Dead,” & “Rebirth” by Fariel Shafee

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 Magic Tree

 

“In the morning, we shall find that tree.”  His voice was deep, confident. The book on the table was fully illustrated.  The picture of a tree resembling the torso of a senile lady stared vividly.  Its head was filled with thin grayish leaves and vines shot to the ground like locks of uncombed hair.  The branches looked like crooked hands with long fingers.

In the morning, he was nowhere.  The police searched.  Nobody believed me when I said that a two-legged monster with antlers, a body filled with dark long hair, stared at me ominously before disappearing in the haze.

 

The Dead

 

The tree was more alive and darker than what I had imagined it to be from its picture.  The roughness of the barks, the silky leaves, the subtle smell that was sweet and rotten simultaneously, made me nauseous.  Yet I felt addicted.

The crack in the bark was the entrance to another world and I walked along, surrounded by moss and rodents, bones of rotting corpses.

He lay at the end, now reduced to a skeleton.  His eye sockets were two holes gaping at the universe.

It was the tree who had devoured the hunter.  Now it was my turn.

 

Rebirth

 

Encased by the mythical tree of death I weep at the skeleton I know belongs to my beloved.  “You shouldn’t have pursued this tree!” I curse.  The tree is silent, but his emotions prevail: “ It called me.”

Now I’m sensing the darkness of this world beneath.

Suddenly, I see a shadow, the same two-legged monster I had glimpsed when he had disappeared.

I am ready to die.

Then I hear a howl with a familiar humanness buried underneath.

“You?”

“Mankind gave me nothing.”  His silence mocks.

“This tree gave me a new life,” he derides as I cry out hysterically.

 

 

Fariel Shafee

Fariel Shafee studied physics. However, she loves to wander in the land of impossibles. Her writing has been accepted by 34 Orchard, Black Hare Press anthologies, Sirens Call etc. She has also exhibited art internationally. Her writing credits and art portfolio can be seen here: http://fshafee.wixsite.com/farielsart.

Trembling With Fear

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Unholy Trinity: “The Hospital of Saint Cecelia” by Tim Law

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.

 

Part 1: The Patient

 

Songbird they called me, showering me with gifts and praise. I sang for everyone, even the Pope. What God giveth, sadly, He must also taketh away.

That was how I ended up at Saint Cecelia’s, a patient of my uncle, Dr. Francis Robertson.

“I will return your sweet song to you,” he promised. “Or I shall die trying.”

I certainly sang, as two hundred and fifty volts passed through me. Six seconds, then ten, and when that did not work Uncle pushed us both past breaking point.

One of us died that day; it sure as hell was not him.

 

Part 2: Dare

 

“I’m bored,” complained Suzanna.

The boys loved the arcade, but it wasn’t her scene.

“Where do ya want to go then?” asked Gary.

“Saint Cecelia’s?” suggested the girl, smiling mischievously. “It’s supposed to be haunted.”

Ben shook his head, arms crossed, but Gary and Suzanna would not take “NO” for an answer.

 

That was how they found themselves wandering the cold, dark halls of the asylum.

“Did you guys know Suzanna Robertson was a patient here?” Suzanna whispered.

“The Songbird?” asked Ben, surprised.

Suzanna nodded.

“She was my aunt, my namesake, I love coming here to listen to her sing.”

 

Part 3: Song

 

Will my torment ever cease? Cursed am I to wander these halls, to remember the pain, never to rest. The joys of life, the wonderful memories of a time when my voice gave pleasure, not pain.

Now, when I open my mouth all I release is fury and woe. Those who bear witness to my song have their very souls stripped away.

All but one, she who brings them, time after time. I sense my uncle’s spirit in her, his madness now hers to own. I try to warn the two beside her, but all I can do is scream.

 

 

Tim Law

Timothy Law is a writer of fantasy, horror, detective and general fiction from a little town in Southern Australia called Murray Bridge. Currently working at the Murray Bridge Library he has dreamed since high school of becoming a fulltime author. His stories can be found at http://somecallmetimmy.blogspot.com.au/ and other platforms.

Trembling With Fear

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Unholy Trinity: “A Room in Hotel Purgatory” “He, Them Like String” & “Running Backwards” by Andrew Buckner

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.

 

A Room in Hotel Purgatory

 

The blood will wash off, but the indignity will not.

I was going in circles. My hotel room, an undug coffin, had already morphed into a rundown home. The home was previously a diner.

But, I did kill him. He was abusive. He wasn’t going to stop any other way. 

The ghostly, alien creature with my abuser’s face told me to leave my hotel, run around in the daylight, and stop to let everyone see the blood and I would be forgiven.

His body would walk again. The blood would wash away.

I just had to find my hotel room.

 

He, Them Like String

 

The rage red planet he landed on was a set for a television show of his life.

In the corner, his mother, an eight-legged spider, knitted another him.

In the living room, his two sisters, four-foot gray alien spiderlings, took the freshly knitted version of him and set it on fire. 

A script turned its pages in front of him.

It read: “THE FIRE SYMBOLIZES THE PASSION HE LOST IN CHILDHOOD. THE STRING REPRESENTS HIS SELF-ESTEEM. PRIMARILY, HOW THOSE CLOSE TO HIM USED AND MANIPULATED HIM.”

A mass of rendered flesh, string, a web connected, unspooled bones, those around him.

 

Running Backwards

 

The tarot card flipped over. It revealed a creature running backwards, a strange symbol the psychic had never seen before.

The psychic started to speak but her eyes said it all. She’d never seen this card before.

“The circular movements seem to suggest…,” she started.

An animal-like rage built in me. Was this part of the fate forecast by the unknown card?

A growl was heard far away.

A glass broke.

Was the creature in the cards some type of ghost or demon?

“No, it’s running backwards,” I thought. “They are terrified of me. A power I had all along.”

 

 

Andrew Buckner

Andrew Buckner is a multi award-winning filmmaker and screenwriter. His recent dark comedy/ horror script “Dead Air!” won Best Original Screenwriter at the fourth edition of the Hitchcock Awards in 2023.

A noted poet, critic, actor, author, and experimental musician, he runs and writes for the review site AWordofDreams.com. Twitter/X @moviesforlife09. 

Trembling With Fear

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Unholy Trinity: “Frank Harrow, Discount Occult Detective” By Joshua Ginsberg

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.

 

Frank Harrow, Discount Occult Detective

Got a supernatural crisis on your hands, but short of funds? More people than you could possibly imagine turn to Frank Harrow and The Four-Pointed Star Discount Occult Detective Agency to get the job done. Frank Harrow is a name you can trust. Mostly.

 

New Business Maybe

 

Frank Harrow appraised the couple through a hangover fog and five o’clock shadow that was getting on to midnight. At least they’d called ahead, giving him time to run a load of laundry.

He read the subtext of misery and desperation in their story and etched in their faces. It was all that ever brought folks to The Four-Pointed Star, Discount Occult Detective Agency.

“We just need to find our son,” the willowy blond said.

“…wherever, …whatever, he is now,” her dark-haired wife finished.

Frank didn’t want the case, didn’t like it. But he needed it.

“Give me twenty-four hours.”

 

Meeting at the Greenwood

 

It was for a favor that Frank had come to seek his former partner.

He refilled their rocks glasses, watched his old friend lift it to his blackened lips.

“Hey, remember that ghoul that couldn’t keep a low profile?”

Dylan laughed a cloud of dust. “Dumbass kept snatching bites from Hollywood Forever. Look folks, there’s Judy Garland! Oh, wait, there goes Valentino.”

The laughter faded. “Look Dylan, I got a new case, maybe. Can you run a background check for me?”

“Yeah, but you still owe me,” Dylan replied, poking a bony finger through a bullet hole in his shirt.

 

Case Accepted

 

The couple sat waiting on Frank’s decision.

“I’m different from other firms,” he began, “in that I’m a lot less money and a lot more still alive. I plan to stay that way.”

He gauged their reactions.

“Discount don’t mean free. Cash only, upfront. No credit, no souls, no exceptions. You want some other kind of help, there’s a crossroads down the way…”

 

From the cavernous, candle-lit cellar of a decaying mansion nearby, four hooded figures watched the deal conclude through an ancient mirror. 

“He’s taken the bait,” grinned the high priestess.

And the darkness whispered a promise of vengeance.

 

Joshua Ginsberg

Joshua Ginsberg is the author of Secret Tampa Bay: A Guide to the Weird, Wonderful and Obscure (2020), Tampa Bay Scavenger (2021), Oldest Tampa Bay (2022), and co-author of Secret Orland: A Guide to the Weird, Wonderful and Obscure (2023). His work has appeared in numerous print and online publications including Trembling with Fear (The Horror Tree), The Chamber Magazine, The City Key, 365 Tomorrows, and Atlas Obscura. He currently lives in Tampa with his wife, Jen, and their Shih Tzu, Tinker Bell.

Trembling With Fear

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Unholy Trinity: “Jumping Ship” “In Charge” & “Tourist Season” by Evan Baughfman

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.

 

Jumping Ship

 

There was life for Benny back on land! A future! He had to save himself!

If the others were meant to survive, they would’ve dodged Benny’s blows, would’ve grabbed the life preserver before he did.

As desperate pleas submerged under dark, roiling water, Benny thanked God, clinging to his circular savior. 

Nearby, a keeling vessel slumped to its grave, bow jutting moonward. 

Torrents of screeching rats spilled overboard.

Frantic for a flotation device, the stowaways swam for Benny. Gnashing, red-eyed waves overtook him, smothering his cries.

Bobbing in the wake of disaster, Benny choked on vermin in search of sanctuary.

 

In Charge

 

Bright sunshine. Flourishing foliage. Wonderful hike.

A roar shook me, silencing birdsong.

A grizzly exploded from green cover, straight ahead. Charged.

I shouted, aimed a cannister of protective spray. 

Irritant struck the animal’s eyes, snout. Even so, the beast barreled forward, swatting me aside.

I soared into briar, dropping spray. Landed on my backpack, overturned tortoise, powerless in a thorny thicket.

The bear continued its race. Vanished between trees. 

That roar, however, still approached. 

Not a grizzly’s bellow.

Something else’s. Something larger.

Heavy footsteps found me. An impossible figure loomed.

Bears fled this fanged abomination, true ruler of the woods.

 

Tourist Season

 

Well past midnight, the newlyweds cuddled lakeside across from Congress Avenue Bridge. Pierre marveled at tiny silhouettes twirling in moonlight. Anais shivered in the Texas heat.

She said, “Sorry, didn’t come to Austin for rabies. Let’s grab another drink…”

“We’re perfectly safe. At dusk, there would’ve been a huge crowd here, watching a million-plus bats leave their roosts all at once.”

Four creatures banked toward the couple. Encircled gobsmacked Pierre and cowering Anais. Transformed into imposing pale figures.

“Love taking holiday here,” one hissed.

“So easy to blend in,” another agreed.

“So many tourists.” 

“So many new flavours to try.”

 

Evan Baughfman

Evan Baughfman is a Southern California teacher, author, and playwright. A number of Evan’s plays are published through Heuer Publishing, YouthPLAYS, Next Stage Press, and Drama Notebook. Evan has also found success writing horror fiction, his work found recently in anthologies by Critical Blast Publishing, No Bad Books Press, and Grinning Skull Press. Evan’s short story collection, The Emaciated Man and Other Terrifying Tales from Poe Middle School, is published through Thurston Howl Publications. His novella, Vanishing of the 7th Grade, is available through D&T Publishing. D&T has also published his novel, Bad for Your Teeth. More info is available at amazon.com/author/evanbaughfman.