Unholy Trinity: A Juvenile’s Tales by Haji M.
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.
Bump In The Night
I used to be a brave lad, not afraid of the dark at all. In fact, I’d often challenge myself, wandering alone downstairs in our basement, groping in the pitch darkness, before my courage failed, and I’d scamper up the stairs.
But ever since that fateful night, when I overheard my Mam whispering to her best friend, I felt my spirit leeching away, never to return.
Of a monster that creeps into people’s basements, grunting as it rummaged for food. What terrified me most was the description of its grotesque visage: half man, half hog.
The dark scares me now.
I awoke in the middle of the night, feeling terribly wrong. I couldn’t move a muscle, no matter how hard I wriggled my body, my mouth clamped shut.
My breath came in short gasps, my lungs burnt fiercely. Something heavy was sitting on my chest. I could feel cold slime and sharp claws digging into my flesh, icy numbness creeping up my neck and jaw.
I screamed silently in horror, as a creature the size of a large cat crawled into my mouth, plunging down my throat.
Deeper it burrowed, homing in towards my fat liver, devouring it from within.
“That road that goes by the old museum? Never travel there by night. If you must, don’t look in the rear-view mirror, ‘cos you’d be sorry.”
Midnight. Eyes glued to the road; I floored the accelerator. Something flashed by, even as my stomach clenched tight in fear. Why did I go this way?
I whimpered at a loud thump on the roof, my car swerving precariously. A shriek erupted by my ear, as a pale withered face peeked in from the side window.
At least its outside, I thought, until a taloned finger tickled the back of my neck.
Throughout my younger years, I’d heard more than my fair share of spine-tingling stories, tales that still resonate with me decades later. Here are three of such stories, interconnected by my own vivid memories of them, entitled: A Juvenile’s Tales.
- About the Author
- Latest Posts
Originally from New Orleans, Shalini grew up with a love for the hauntingly beautiful stories, ideas and folklore that were enmeshed with the city. She also developed a deep love for words and a well-told story. Anytime those two can marry, she’s there for it. She loves stories that lure, that haunt, that pull at heartstrings or that wrap one up in fear, anxious to know what’s going to happen next.