The Unholy Trinity: Bad Neighbours

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.

Crime

Someone’s in the house. I’m not imagining it; I heard the floorboards creak. I stare at Tom’s broad back. Should I wake him? No. He won’t believe me.

I slip out of bed and creep down the hallway, bumper hands out. Something clunks. Someone swears. I freeze, wanting to dart back to safety. This is too much after what happened tonight… the accident.

A huge man covered in blood advances. Road rash disfigures his face.

“You left.”

His dirty hand clamps over my mouth, stoppering a scream.

It’s the neighbour Tom hit with the car. He’s not dead after all.

Guilt

“Get your hands off her!”

Tom is here. Red-faced, he pulls on a constricting python arm. But it isn’t enough to free me. I kick backwards and spin myself away.

“It’s him Tom. The guy you hit.”

Tom stares at the slumped, bloodied man like vomit is on its way. “Shit.”

“You left me in the street to die like a dog.”  

A mangled arm reaches for Tom. The man’s bloodshot eyes bulge, and then he collapses.

“What’s wrong with him?” I ask.

“How the fuck do I know?” Tom runs both hands through his thinning hair. “This is bad.”

Evidence

“Should we call an ambulance?”

“And tell the police what?” Tom snaps. “We drove off. You played a part in that, and you played a part in hitting him.”

I start blubbing. When it happened my hand was down Tom’s pants.

“We’re going to bury him,” he says looking unhinged.

“He isn’t dead.”

Tom scowls. “Grab his legs.”

Once we drag the unconscious man outside Tom crawls under the house to dig a shallow grave. The rotting smell should stay trapped, and our Labrador won’t be able to dig him up.

He stirs. I call for Tom and don’t watch.