The Bone Architect

by Ian Woodhead

  “There is no way on this planet that me and you are going to be an item. Deal with that right now. You want hot sex, fine. I can sort that out. Just not for a couple of hours. Get back to town and I’ll patch things up with Trixie. That silly girl will believe anything I say.” Mavis pulled on her trousers, feeling so much better once they were fastened. “Only if we leave this place now, I mean like straight away.”

  It took effort not to breathe out a sigh of relief when Nigel stood up, dropped the towel, and began to dress. He still looked baffled but Mavis could deal with that as long as he continued to dress. She saw no point in explaining why they had to go, basically because she couldn’t explain it herself. That didn’t matter; he’d do whatever she said as long as he received his reward.

  “How do you know she’ll still be in the club? More likely, she’ll be getting holed by some other fellow right now.”

  Nigel looked at her with the sullen look that she’d seen on the face of him from the waking dream.

  “I am a considerate lover, you know, babe. I can promise you a good time.”

  “Finish dressing, Nigel. Let me worry about her.” She picked up her purse, opened it, and dropped ten pounds on the table. “That’s to cover our inconvenience,” she replied. “Now if you’re ready, let’s get out of here. The sooner we get back to Radfield, the quicker you can get back to the girl of your dreams.” Without prompting, Mavis took his hand. She held it up to her face and kissed the back. “You two will look so good together, you know. I’m telling you right now, Nigel, that you’d better prepare yourself. Trixie won’t let you out of her bed.”

  His eyes widened. “Seriously?”

  “Time to go.” Mavis hurried over to the door, now feeling like she was about to take an over-excitable dog for a walk. “And I’m really sorry for squeezing you so hard.” His bafflement only increased.

  “I still don’t get why you want to leave, Mavis.” He giggled. “Not that I want to stay here any more, obviously.” He swiped the note from the table and pushed it into her other hand. “Look, whoever does own this place has more money than sense. He’ll probably see it as an insult. Believe me on this one.”

  She only listened with half an ear. The hallway just beyond the open door took up most of her attention, particularly the painting hung opposite the door. She squinted, pulling the still jabbering man along. “Shut up a minute, Nigel and look at that.”

  His whole body shuddered. “No fucking way,” he whispered, pushing past her body as he ran into the hallway. Nigel grabbed the frame and slowly shook his head. “How the fuck can a picture of me be on this wall?”

  The situation would have knocked her sideways if she already hadn’t experienced one Twilight Zone episode tonight already. Yet he took it all in his stride, his voice never wavered. He sounded more curious than terrified. Her heart did start to hammer out a loud beat when Nigel’s fingers sank into the picture frame.

  Crumbs of gold and white drifted to the floor, some sticking to Nigel’s wet clothes. “Okay, so I didn’t expect that to happen,” Nigel held out his hands, turning them around, his eyes looking at the thin layer of crumbs coating his thick fingers.

  “Don’t do it!” she yelled.

  Nigel grinned at Mavis, ignored her warning, and pushed two fingers into his mouth. “It tastes of cinnamon. It’s really nice.”

  His gormless face showing no indication that cinnamon tasting picture frames was anything but normal.

  “For crying out loud,” she shouted. “Isn’t there a single bell inside that thick skull, sounding out the general alarm?” Mavis took a deep breath. “Never mind, come on, we need to get out of here.” She paused. “Is that jam?”

  Scraps of ragged bits of red jelly slid down both sides of his mouth.

  “It tastes of cinnamon,” he repeated. “It’s really nice.”

  Nigel dragged his hooked fingers down the side of the frame, his digging revealed thin white bones connected together and to the wall with purple and yellow tendons. That looked like raw meat. The man greedily pushed what he’d scraped out into his open mouth.

  The other paintings had begun to change. Wood transformed to meat, hanging off the pictures like wet scarlet rag. Mavis ran up to Nigel, slapped the shredded flesh out of his fingers and grabbed his wrist, pulling his limp body towards the only door that remained open.

  Through the choking gloom, worn grey stone steps led down towards absolute blackness. She slammed her hands hard against the door frame. Even with her options down to only this route, there was no way she was going down there. The stench lifting out of the darkness stripped the breath out of her throat. Mavis turned away, imagining that she just saw the entrance to hell.

  Nigel’s milky eyes gave no indication that the mind was still in there. “Come on, there’ll be another route.” She pulled the man around, trying to remember through which door they found the towels. Her companion shadow followed her without prompting as she ran over to the next door on her left. She wrapped her shaking fingers around the handle, fear and frustration bubbling over when it failed to turn in either direction. “Fuck you! She screamed, smashing her boot against one of the lower door panels.

  “He’s just a herd animal, Mavis.”

  She spun around, her heart in her throat at the sight of a grey coated man framed in the open doorway. She instinctively grabbed Nigel’s wrist and pulled his body against her. The man turned his masked face, his black eye holes finding her terrified stare.

  “Yet even the most placid of animals can show a streak of violence if pulled from their routine.”

  Mavis kicked at the door again, crying out in triumph when she saw the panel crack. The stranger took a step away from the doorway; his movement gave her the first sight of a thick bladed weapon hanging from his waist. He chuckled whilst his fingers curled over the brown handle.

  “Wake up, you big ape!” she gasped, violently shaking his arm. She felt like a dog with a rag doll in her mouth. “Fuck this!” Mavis saw the man take another step closer, the weapon now held in both hands. She pushed Nigel into the door. The wooden frame cracked just above the handle. She heard the masked man mutter a silent curse. A savage grin found a place on her face as she pulled Nigel away from the door and slammed his large body forward, a large cry leaving her mouth when the door flew open.

  As she ran into the room, all she heard was an animal roar of anger from the hallway. Mavis pushed the door shut, holding it with both her hands. “Nigel, come on, please snap out of it, find something to protect ourselves.” No sounds slipped through the door; even so, she dare not move. “Please, wake up!”

  “Cinnamon.”

  A soft moan escaped her mouth. That word had not come from Nigel. She slowly turned, the light dimming, changing from white to soft red. Stonework pushed through patterned wallpaper, the stench of decay followed. Two figures faced her when her back fell against the wood.

  The masked man’s gloved hand gripped Nigel’s hair, holding his head up, the weapon gently resting against Nigel’s neck. The walking slumber had left the big man. Mavis saw utter terror in Nigel’s eyes.

  He was tied to a thick pole stretching from the stone floor up to the ceiling. Stone steps climbed up to a rectangle of white light behind the two men. “Let him go,” she growled, sliding to the floor, her hands searching through the detritus there in search of anything she could use to hurt their persecutor. “Don’t you dare hurt him!”

  The man laughed out loud. He dropped the weapon, its clang drowning out the choked gasp from Nigel as the man chopped him in the neck with the edge of his hand. He lunged forward and grabbed the top of her blouse. “Fire that burns the brightest gives my spirit the most fuel.”

  He threw her past Nigel’s slumped body, both her arms hitting the edge of the stairs. She clenched her jaw tight, not allowing him the pleasure of hearing her cry out. Mavis got on her shaking legs. Seeing the huge sword by Nigel’s feet, she staggered towards it, despite knowing she wouldn’t be able
to even tighten her fingers around the handle, let alone lift it. She refused to give up though.

  The man laughed again, marching over to her. Mavis shrank back, “Get away from me!”

  He picked up the weapon by the handle, dragging the sword across the stone. “I might even save you until the last, Mavis. The wait will make you all the more sweeter to taste.”

  Mavis reached the corner and shrieked when the wall opened up. She fell backwards, landing in an untidy pile on soft green carpet.

  The warm fire, thin chair, and Nigel’s shoes greeted her when she opened her eyes. There was no sign of either of them though. Mavis staggered over to the door, not surprised to discover it locked.

  “Turn around, my pretty.”

  Mavis spun and saw the walls lined with paintings, each one showing the same moving image of the scene from the cellar. Silently weeping, Mavis watched in horror as the masked man sliced Nigel open from chest to stomach before sliding his hands inside the rent, his fingers clasping the flesh and pulling, the sound of the tearing even drowning out Nigel’s agonising shrieks.

  Act Seven

  Smothered in a blanket of dead emotion, Clarice pushed her back harder against the corner of the wall, wanting the stones to dissolve, giving her escape from this nightmare of lament, fury, accusations, and wretchedness.

  They had yet to find Joshua. Her poor boyfriend was lost somewhere in this house of fucking madness. Clarice lifted her gaze from the heavily patterned carpet, watching the two brothers both unleashing anger and grief.

  They stumbled over Barbra’s torn clothing a few minutes ago. There was no doubt in any of their minds that the girl had met the same fate as the hanging carcass upstairs. Whoever had removed the material also peeled off her skin, dried blood gluing it to the inside of the dress.

  Clarice hoped Joshua was still okay, and against all feelings, she hoped he’d stay away at least until Bryan had calmed down. That fucking moron had already convinced himself that her boyfriend had done the deed. His brother, the man’s only stabling influence crouched, unmoving, still holding the hem of Barbra’s top in both hands. He seemed oblivious to Bryan’s outspoken threats, each one bursting out in hard breaths as he paced the dining room.

  She pushed her back harder against the wall as the big man stormed past her. Clarice wanted to close her eyes, only opening them once Josh had returned and he’d got them all out of here.

  “Where the fuck is he?” Bryan turned around; he saw her as if for the first time. “Call his name, Clarice.” He paused. “No, fuck that shit. Yell out the bastard’s name as loud as you can. Me and him are having words.”

  “No,” she whispered. “You’re going to hurt him.”

  He smiled. Clarice saw those fine white teeth and shuddered, seeing a shark in human form. He wasn’t going to just hurt her boyfriend. This maniac intended to rip him apart, taking out their shared fear, sorrow, and frustrations on him.

  “Wrong answer, bitch. You see, if you don’t start shouting like somebody is beating on you, somebody really is going to beat on you.”

  Clarice got to her feet. “You lay one finger on me and I swear to God that I’ll…”

  “You’ll what, shout for your weakling dickhead boyfriend to rescue you? Fuck, more likely he’s already found a way out of here and scurried back to the car.”

  “Leave it alone, Bryan.” Tommy gazed at the pair of them. “I want to find Josh as well.” He caught his breath, gently laying the clothing behind him. “We need to stick together. I don’t want to lose any more of my friends.”

  Bryan turned away, a disgusted sneer wiped across his face. The man stalked over to the large window, pressing his face against the glass. “I’m really sorry about your Barbra,” he muttered, staring through the window. “Trusting Joshua is going to be the worst decision that you ever make though. I’m sorry, but it’s true.”

  “How do we know that you didn’t do it, Bryan?

  “Are you having a fucking laugh?” he yelled, fury etched on his face. “Clarice, you really think that I’d murder my own brother’s woman, you twisted bitch?”

  She carefully shrugged, attempting to keep her own temper in check. “Why not? We were all apart from each other when Barbra disappeared.”

  Tommy walked up to his brother and grabbed his arm. “Come here, Clarice,” he said softly.

  She looked at both of them. Bryan was a coiled spring, a torrent of violence ready to release. Could Tommy really keep him in check? “No,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, Tommy, I mean no disrespect, but that brother of yours needs caging.”

  Before she could react he lunged forward, Tommy’s big hand folding over her wrist. He pulled her away from the wall.

  “Your words, as distasteful as they are, shouldn’t be disregarded.”

  “Have you lost your mind, Tom? Come on, it’s fucking obvious. He isn’t here, so it must be him. Wake up, man!”

  Tommy sighed. “You yourself called him a weakling. Could a weakling do that to Barbra?” he looked into Bryan’s eyes. “It would take somebody of considerable strength.”

  The insinuation took a moment to sink in.

  Bryan struggled in his brother’s iron grip. “Wait, you ain’t going to do it. Are you seriously suggesting that I murdered her? Christ, I’m your own brother; you must be as fruity as her to think that.”

  “And Josh is my best friend.”

  “The other man said there was a mask, whoever wore it was compelled to kill.” She looked into Tommy’s eyes, wondering if it really was a good idea to repeat the man’s words, considering she had no chance to getting out of Tommy’s grip.

  “So, this mask makes people kill? It’s not that original. Send your Daughter to the Grinder and Faceless Dismember both used that idea in their movies.”

  She gazed open jawed at Bryan, seriously questioning if the man was beginning to lose a grip on reality. The built up aggression vanished like smoke, as if the opportunity to show off his film trivia overshadowed the fact that all that remained of Barbra was some tattered clothing with attached skin.

  “You two are the only ones who went into the cellar.” The look she received from Tommy made her wish she had kept her mouth firmly shut. The menace she saw in those eyes had no place on the man’s usually calm face. He now looked just like Bryan.

  “I think that was a very brave speech, young lady,” he replied. “It is considering your situation. If it helps at all, I saw no mask when I went down there, and if I didn’t see one, then how could Bryan be our killer?” He paused. “Who’s to say that it was even in the cellar?” He released the pair of them.

  Bryan rubbed his wrist before hurrying over to the window. He pressed his face against the glass. “It’s dark outside,” he muttered. “How long have we been in here?”

  His features still hadn’t regained the familiar snarl; to Clarice’s eyes, the lad was almost unrecognisable. “Let’s go find Josh,” keeping her voice low, not wanting Bryan’s hackles to rise again. “I don’t think he will be that far.”

  “Who’s to say that the guy wasn’t just feeding us a line?” Bryan moved back from the window. “I know there’s been some pretty freaky things that have happened in here, like these fancy clothes and the house suddenly going back in time or something, but don’t you think it’s more likely that our scruffy pal is really the killer, or maybe there’s a few of them? That’s not beyond the realms of bullshit.”

  Bryan left them standing and left the room; he peered around the door frame. “Are you two coming or what?”

  Winding through Clarice like two serrated vines, unease and fear had already ripped apart any hope of staving off despair, but at least the consistency gave her a tenuous rock to cling to.

  His charge into an ocean of surreal took even that away. Clarice numbly followed the brothers into the hallway, her eyes tracing Tommy’s rippling muscles beneath his sweat-soaked shirt. Somewhere else in this house a female scream overlaid the sound of their footsteps
on the wooden floorboards. She dismissed it as just another sick illusion and from their reactions, both Tommy and Bryan felt the same. Odd how such a simple thing as a shared action could drastically turn around Clarice’s dire prediction of her immediate fate.

  “Why do I feel as though we’re walking through multiple scenes from your horror movie collection, Tommy?”

  His steps slowed down to a stop. Tommy turned, staring at Clarice, his eyes as flat as a still pond. “Teenagers in some reality changing house, unable to get out. Then add in a couple of extra characters, one to act as a convenient plot device, and the other to sow seeds of confusion?”

  She nodded. “Like someone has gone through your minds, picking out a suitable scenario?”

  His legs collapsed from under him, falling forward, crashing against the wall. She yelped and dropped down beside him, placing her hands under his chin, lifting his head off his chest.

  “I want my Barbra back,” His whole body shuddered, and Tommy wept.

  She held him tight, feeling his hot tears soak into her top. “Nothing in here is what it seems. Hold onto that thought. She might not really be dead, Tommy, just as these clothes might not really be here. Someone is screwing with our minds, making us doubt ourselves, our surroundings, even our sanity.” She placed her hand around his and squeezed. “We find Josh, we find Barbra, and we find a way out of this place. Nothing else matters. Agreed?”

  A reluctant smile formed on his wet face. “If you say so.”

  She nodded, returning the sentiment, yet deep down Clarice still felt that she couldn’t trust him, she couldn’t trust either of them, but what other choice did she have? Until Clarice was back in Joshua’s arms, she wouldn’t feel whole. She looked past Tommy’s head. “Wait, where’s Bryan?”