Unholy Trinity: The Thing in the Attic by Marcus Field

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.

The Daughter

Daddy says he killed it but he still locks the pulldown stairs. Mommy says it sleeps, dreaming of gobbling us up. Mommy’s mean when daddy’s drunk.

At night I hear the locks rattle. Something cries above my room. I think the attic must be cold and lonely in the winter. 

On Christmas Eve while daddy snores on the big chair I steal the key. I stand on a stepstool with a blanket and teddy bear. The locks fall away and the stairs come down.

Something in the darkness snuffs the air.

A shape lopes to the stairs.

Somewhere, mommy screams.

The Bride

It’s always there. A creak overhead. A scratch. A shifting shape behind the boarded up attic windows. From above, it follows my wife from room to room. My daughter thinks it’s a kitten, a puppy, or a lonely critter. My wife calls it Megory. When my wife was a little girl, it lived in her house and told her stories.

Once I beat Megory to death but it returned like a weed in a garden.

One Christmas Eve, I wake up to see my daughter disappear into the attic. 

Something in a wedding dress of shadows spills down the stairs.

The Bargain

“You’re comfortable with the history?”

“It’s a fair price. I do wish they were found.”

“Don’t we all?”

“They searched the whole house?”

“If they were here, we’d know.”

“And well, it’s a fair price. A house can have so many hiding places.”

“Indeed.”

“The police found the attic stairs down?

“Nothing there, of course.”

“Of course. And the basement?”

“No basement.”

“At least the daughter is fine. Poor thing. I noticed pest control across the street?”

“Rat problems in their attic, they think. You’ll want to trim back the trees but nothing to worry about.”

“It’s a fair price.”