Unholy Trinity: Bigfoot 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 print in the mud was enormous, and the sight of it made the hikers pause. “Is that, like, a bear?” A.J. asked. No one answered. Theo, the closest, bent down to inspect it. Rico turned around to look down the trail behind the group. They all felt something watching them, waiting. A smell like rotting meat, body odor, and fecal matter wafted over the group. Rico gagged. A branch snapped under an enormous weight. A shape appeared between the trees. Dark and enormous, it resembled a tree trunk at first. The thing began sprinting towards them. The men ran.

II.

Angie heard the dogs barking out in the barn. Not barking; losing their goddamn minds. For the third time since she moved onto this sixty-acre lot bordering the Gifford-Pinchot National Forest, she thought she should get herself a shotgun. Homesteading as a single woman was no joke. She grabbed the flashlight and headed out. The remains of the goat stopped her short. Entrails stretched across the yard from the pen to the barn. A dog yelped in pain while another growled. Angie reached for her cell phone. The wall of the barn exploded outwards, carrying a dog’s body with it.

III.

Dispersed camping offered everything Beau wanted without bullshit rules and nasty outhouses. Nothing compared to waking up in the fresh cool morning and pissing into a mountain stream. He felt eyes on him and reached for the .357 revolver on his side. His fingers brushed the handle and something slammed into his body and sent him flying into the water. He gasped, and his face plunged into the rushing water. A huge reddish-brown animal walked closer, upright on two legs. It lifted his body, pained seared through his hip. It had taken a bite, and lifted him again for more.