Unholy Trinity: Laundry Day by Debbie Paterson

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.

Laundry Day

The laundry pile is larger, spilling into the bath. She sighs and grabs an armful.

 She heads to the kitchen, loads up the machine and switches it on. At the window, a shadow passes by.

 She’s alone in the house, her husband working again, more overtime. More time away, more time she’s alone. It used to bother her, the empty days, empty nights. It doesn’t anymore though.

 The lurking shadows bother her more. Creeping, stalking, there.

 As she sits, a shirt sleeve tightens around her throat, followed by shadowed fingers from behind. She didn’t notice the shadow that followed in.

Missing

It takes a few days for him to notice. The laundry basket is steadily filling up, a smell permeating the hall.

He’s too busy with work, overtime, bills, rent. He’s spotted her several times, wandering from one room to another but she doesn’t stop to speak. He guesses she’s angry at him for something, though he knows not what.

Instead the basket is full to overflowing, and the smell is getting worse.

He’s run out of shirts then trudges to the hall. He grabs an armful of dirty washing and there, in the laundry basket is his wife’s severed head.

Notice

He finds the body in the bath covered in clothes and she’s buried underneath.

There’s a shadow, holding his wife’s head. He’s cold, so, so cold. It walks away out the door.

He stares, not quite believing. Not quite sure what he’s looking at, that his wife is lying dead in the bath. And something has been in his house for days and he hasn’t noticed.

Something has been living there and he didn’t notice. Something killed his wife and he didn’t notice.

Like most of his marriage, he didn’t notice her and it’s only now he notices her absence.