Unholy Trinity: The Last Note by F.P. Jones
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.
Drawn by an inexplicable allure, Amelia steps into the forbidden room in the crumbling mansion. Her heart pulses to the rhythm of a haunting melody only she hears. Inside, she finds an ornate, dust-covered piano. She plays, tracing the eerie tune that called to her. The air thickens as her fingers dance across the keys. Beautiful figures materialize, circling her. They whisper, their voices both chilling and compelling, urging her to continue playing. Realizing her grave mistake, she jerks her hands away. Still, the figures remain–Amelia’s eyes betray an unnatural glint; the spirits have found a new home.
In a secluded European village, Viktor, the piano maker, crafted a grand piano from wood sourced from a cursed forest. Ignoring warnings, he embellished it with arcane symbols, seeking to harness the forest’s dark energies for unparalleled sound. When he played the first note, the piano’s timbre was surreal, almost otherworldly. But that note also served as an invitation. Spirits from beyond the veil seeped into the piano, infusing it with malevolent sentience. Viktor vanished mysteriously, but the piano was found untouched and sold. A wealthy patron of the arts purchased it–the piano awaited its next opportunity.
We sat dormant, an elegant relic in a forgotten chamber. Then, a curious musician named Oliver arrived, intrigued by whispers of Amelia’s madness. Unlike her, he was not swayed by our haunting melody but by ambition—eager to uncover our arcane secrets for fame. When his fingers touched our keys, we felt the voracity of his intent. He played, and we unleashed not just ethereal figures but twisted reflections of his avarice. Our insatiable greed made Oliver one with us, his essence captured within our wooden form. Now, we sleep, harmonizing in sinister silence for the next curious soul.
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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.