The Bone Architect
Page 8
***
The oppressive shadows followed Joshua through every empty room he entered. Not once had he encountered resistance to his flight from Conner’s sprawled body. Yet the illusion of freedom gave him no comfort as he knew that it really was just that, one big fucking illusion. Like a hamster on its wheel he pressed on, finding more of the same in every part of the house his tired, aching feet took him. He only paused, finally stopping and deciding not to continue when he entered a large room, paintings showing the same torture scene lining all four walls. He cast his eyes down, not wanting to look at the grotesque images, shivering; instinct telling him that what they displayed hadn’t been scraped out of an artist’s warped imagination.
This wasn’t the first time he had been in this room, only the last time the paintings assaulted his eyes, Joshua had been on the top floor. “No more bullshit,” he muttered, picking up a damp towel lying by his feet. This had been sprawled on the carpet too; he recognised the colour.
He sat on a thin chair and dropped the towel. Staring into the fire, Joshua attempted to control his breathing while considering his next move. He stared into the red and yellow flames licking the charred logs stacked at the base. “This hamster is not going to play any more. Whoever, whatever you are, you can go fuck yourself.”
His forced bravado got him nothing but silence. Joshua shut away the feeling of frustration, tension, and stress when he found that the house truly was silent. The clock hung on the wall, crunched up between two of the paintings, still moved but no longer ticked. The flame continued to consume the wood without noise. What concerned him more than either of those inexplicable events was that he no longer heard his heartbeat or his breathing. Joshua opened his mouth, no words came forth.
He discovered that only his head moved, everything under the neck refused to obey his commands. He was paralysed. His panic had no time to solidify as one sound did push through the blanket of quiet. Joshua jerked his head away from the flickering of colour and stared at the open door, the sound increasing in volume, becoming more recognisable, turning his guts to liquid as the noise signified that his fleeing had done him no good.
Joshua knew he was whimpering as his imagination filled in the blanks, painting a picture of what was heading towards the door, the noise now unmistakable as wet flesh slapping against floor, walls, and ceiling. The light cast from the lights beyond the room retreated as moving shadow reclaimed the patterns of the wall. He wanted to shut his eyes, knowing his imminent silent scream was likely to stop his heart, yet even his eyes now refused to move.
The sound outside the room stopped. His perception slowed down, the fire’s movement ceased. He saw two paintings, one at either side of the door, blur into a medley of blues, greens, and reds, but mainly reds, the swirling patterns losing their definition, slowing down and reforming. Two drawn faces screamed back at him. Joshua saw himself frozen in mid shriek, his flesh hanging down in ragged strips, thick blood filling his mouth.
The bubble of stillness burst apart, sound detonated through him. He heard himself screaming out, the noise only intensified as the picture to match the sounds slid around the door.
His frozen body watched as both Arnold and Conner, their flesh combined, fused together, climbed into the room; four arms, two fully fleshed, and the others stripped of skin clung onto the wall, their claw-like nails digging into the plaster.
“I’m sorry,” he shouted out, total fear gripping his heart in a cold grip, his eyes bulged out, still unable to move the rest of his body as the amalgamation of dead human meat dropped onto the floor, leaving puddles of gelatinous crimson mess as it neared Joshua, both its mouths opening, the lower jaws stretching down like hot toffee.
He moved backwards. His body was still paralysed, but he could see his location shifting. It took a moment for his terrified mind to catch up on events. Somebody was behind the chair moving him away from the monstrosity. “Oh God, thank you, thank you!” It had to be Clarice, who else could it be? His prospective attacker lunged forward, three arms whipping forward, the longest one catching his ankle. Joshua howled in agony as those long, black claws dug into his flesh, finding the wounds from his fall outside. He thought he was going to pass out from the pain, the ordeal made worse with him being unable to move away.
His rescuer performed that action for him, violently pulling the chair and his body away, the claws pulling out of his flesh, shreds of skin and material still sticking to the claws.
“Can you move anything?”
“No,” he replied, thinking that he’d just heard the voice of an angel. His weight shifted and he yelled out when the chair collapsed and he found his legs, body, and arms smashing into carpet while dozens of human bones fell on his head and chest. Joshua looked up, the light blocked by the face of a young woman. He had no idea who she was, nor did he care. She held out her arm and he grabbed it, whooping in joy when he found his legs now worked.
“Jump!”
He threw himself forward, kicking up his legs as two distorted heads whipped around, their jaws snapping on nothing but air. Holding on as tight as he could, Joshua allowed this vision to pull him out of that room.
***
The young bones bent down, forming a wide arc. She nodded to herself, holding the ends between her knees while her bloodied fingers expertly tied and knotted the thin strips of hide holding her latest additions in place. Already the piece had taken form. It needed more work; a full month of drying, followed by a light kiss in a few essential places with her scalpel before she could even start thinking of assembling all the completing pieces. Time didn’t matter, not for her. Once her last players were still and ready for processing, she could allow the true pleasure of creation to guide her fingers to compose whatever direction the spirit took.
She lay back, the rough bed made from the contents of the girl’s insides cushioned her against the stone floor. Those cooling organs felt so comforting against her naked skin. Wrapped in smooth, wet meat, she sighed in contentment. It had been much too long since she’d allowed herself to take comfort in the simple pleasures that work with the animals brought.
The forced containment had dried up her house, dried up her seed, and almost rendered her mask inoperative. No more would she take from beyond the confines of her territory. She brushed her fingers along the front of his mask, tracing the edge, vaguely wondering what dreams her host was enjoying whilst she used his body to disembowel this apparent abundance of food. This strong male body was blissfully unaware that she hid inside him, the way it should be always. Leaving the house before allowed her host to become aware; to share her enjoyment of the eating of the meat as well as the joy brought from her growing skill with the bones.
She’d been so close to joining her long gone sisters in the other place from where none of her kind could escape. Allowing a human to experience had been the height of her folly. Her host eventually dispensed the fine arts as triviality, only focusing on the kill, not caring the arts were why she took the lives, the brutal animal mind only craving for blood.
Enough with dwelling on past events, the lesson was learned. Right now, her guests needed a little more stimulation. It was time to up the game, to allow her two avatars a little more freedom. The house flesh-slaves could be remarkably inventive if she loosened their chains.
She sat up, sighing as coils of pipe slid off her skin, leaving a cold trail of jelly in its wake. Her preparations were already in place and in truth, there wasn’t much more she needed to do; even so, it didn’t hurt to verify.
With caution built in to her species, she traversed the cellar floor, dancing through piles of unused bones still inside their meat jackets, around pools of congealing gore, reaching the back wall with only the stain from the intestines drying on the host’s skin.
“You have to go back now, my pretty,” she murmured softly. “We need to keep up the pretence.” She looked into the only mirror in the house that didn’t contain any surprises. The strong face, his lines exacti
ng the classical profile, so reminiscent of the times when she and her sisters filled the world with such magnificent buildings. Thousands of humans sacrificed for their art.
Those times would never return. Still, she was long way from joining her sisters, she’d learned her lesson; the compulsory hibernation denied the art from her, that could never happen again.
She pulled off the mask, her spirit staying with her artefact as the host stepped into the wall, its pliant material embracing the body, pushing the man back to where she took him. Until the trigger inside her host compelled him to don the mask again.
Act Eight
The comfortable weight of his find made Bryan feel complete. He’d caught sight of the thick two foot pole lying against the edge of the wall a few minutes ago. Looking at the two screw holes in one end, he guessed that this used to be part of a curtain assembly. Why it was just by his feet was anybody’s guess, but he was the last person to look a gift horse in the mouth. The smooth grain did slip in his wet palms, but a piece of material ripped from the bottom of his t-shirt took care of that little matter.
Suitably armed, he now believed he was ready to tackle anything that this fucked-up house would throw at him. Bryan would have preferred a sword, or even a large knife, but he had yet to find one of those. Come to think of it, he tried to remember if they had even found the kitchen.
He frowned; the past hour or so had blurred together. He’d been in so many rooms already he forgot which ones he’d already explored. Bryan ground to a halt. This house was large, yet he felt that he’d been in not a dozen rooms but hundreds. “That’s got to be bullshit,” he growled.
Whatever, none of that mattered. All he cared about was to find out where that weasel was hiding. Joshua was the one who’d killed Barbra. That fact was as obvious as the nose on the front of his face. The little shit had been trying to get into her panties for frigging years. He could see it right now. Those two all alone, him seeing the chance to take advantage that the girl was fucking terrified after seeing that skinned bloke, hung like a pig in a butcher’s shop. He must have put his arm around her neck and whispered a few sweet words of comfort in her ear.
Like she’d fall for any of that nonsense. He twisted his fist around the base of his improvised weapon, seeing the reaction as if he had been an invisible observer in that room.
The girl wasn’t a fucking idiot, she had already found her true love. That sad excuse for a man wasn’t fit to lick the shit off his brother’s boots. The lad was a class one dickhead, simple as. Bryan sighed, wishing that Clarice shared his opinion of her current boyfriend. Still, there was time enough for her to change her mind.
He ducked into the first open door that he came to, thinking about how to go about this. Oh, he was going to beat ten bells of crap out of Joshua as soon as he found the murdering bastard, but he still needed him to look recognisable as a human being. If he dragged a bloodied and battered mess of rags back to Tommy and Clarice then it wouldn’t matter what the fucker confessed to, all they’d see was a snivelling boy that Bryan had tortured.
He needed Joshua looking undamaged; just to watch their faces change when he admitted Barbra’s murder would be enough reward for him. Oh sure, the inevitable fallout would definitely be a popcorn event. Tommy would kill the slimy little fucker and Clarice would be his. He grinned to himself, knowing that this version of the future could well happen. He just needed to find out where the little shit had hidden away.
Bookcases stretching from floor to ceiling covered every wall in this room. He wandered over, resting his weapon on one of the dusty shelves while pulling out a thin volume. What looked like chicken marks scratched in dirt covered every sheet of the cracked, yellow parchment. Bryan dropped the book and picked up his weapon; this room would give him no clues to Joshua’s whereabouts.
He stopped in the middle of the room when his foot trod on a length of rope. “Hold the front press,” he said, smiling. “Maybe I was wrong, my quarry has been in here.” He bent down, his thick fingers wrapping around the end of the rope. The last time he’d seen this was when Bryan had passed the makeshift lead to Joshua, telling him not to let go under pain of death.
Could this mean that perhaps the stranger had killed Barbra? He shook his head. No, he couldn’t accept that theory. If Joshua was innocent then he’d never get Clarice. “Maybe they did the deed together?”
Yeah, that one damning thought struck a chord all right. That cowardly shit-stain wouldn’t have the guts to do anything like that himself. He darted his eyes along the lower bookshelves, noting not one of the books were missing or dislodged. It was obvious to him now that the two men hadn’t been fighting.
Bryan could see what must have happened. The stranger’s slimy voice, plying Joshua with suggestion after suggestion, had finally caused the chicken legs to stop right here where Bryan stood.
They must have agreed on a deal.
“That fucking little worm,” he snapped. Of course, how could he have not seen it from the start? The stranger had obviously wanted Barbra, for whatever his perverted purposes. Joshua had let him go on the proviso that the stranger would show him and him alone how to get out of this house.
His new pal might have been the one to do the deed, but the other’s would see that the freak was only the gun. It was Joshua who had pulled the trigger. He nodded to himself, satisfied that he now had all the answers. Bryan left the room, intending to track them down. He paused, his eyes squinting on the door opposite, specifically the length of rope wrapped around the handle. The other end was tied to a pipe on the floor. “Okay, so this is way beyond fucked up.” The rope was identical to the one he still held in his hands, right down to the dried blood coating the end.
“No, this has to be bollocks. That Joshua is just trying to throw me off the scent.” He turned away, not wanting to look at that offensive image any longer. He had his plan and the facts. The last thing he needed right now was his self doubt to eat into his head. “You can’t fool me, shithead,” he growled, marching along the hallway. “I’m coming for you and your pal.” Bryan tightened his grip around the thick wooden pole. “I’m going to wish you were never even born.”
Every light fitting along the hallway flickered, threatening to plunge him into total blackness. “Bring it on, bitch,” he whispered. Unlike those other fairies, Bryan had no problem in hunting down his quarry in the dark. Hell, he looked forward to it. He was a big lad, but he could move real silent, as quiet as the ghost. He stopped by the top of the stairs, keeping his eyes fixed to the lights directly above him, keeping his breathing shallow. No doubt the others in the house would be doing the same as him. Meaning that if they were close by and they started to panic like the frightened bunnies they were, he’d be able to use their squeaking to locate them.
The lights all flashed, flooding the house with intense red light before they all popped. Bryan blinked twice. Although his eyes no longer functioned, he was confident enough to navigate through this house with ease. All he needed was some indication that they were close by.
He felt along the wall until his fingers found the banister. He gripped it tight and shuffled forward a couple of inches until the edge of his shoes found the first step. Bryan’s hearing gave him his first clue when a clatter broke the silence. To him, it sounded like something falling onto a hard surface. The object that fell didn’t matter. Bryan made his way down the steps, taking his time, making sure that he made no noise. Even his breathing sounded too loud. He told himself to stop fretting, guessing that his two little bunnies would have more important things to worry about.
Those fools were hiding in the kitchen; there were no other hard surfaces down on the ground floor. Oh, they had just made his job so much easier. He guessed that one of the clumsy idiots had probably knocked a spoon or fork onto the tiles. Bryan so wanted to grin like a loon as he glided across the hallway, his feet making no sound on the thick carpet, instinctively knowing that he was heading directly for the kitchen door.
Bryan stopped by the door and waited, knowing that they couldn’t mask their presence forever. A light breeze brushed past his cheek followed by a low, inhuman moan. Every hair growing up Bryan’s back stood erect. He spun around, sensing movement behind him. The sound of heavy footsteps made him crouch, making himself into a smaller target. He leaned back against the wood, listening to his heart thud against the inside of his ribcage. There was something on the staircase, and by the sounds of those footsteps, it was twice the size of him. It moaned again, definitely sounding more animal than human.
Not daring to make a single sound, Bryan peeled his sweat-coated back off the frame and shuffled across the tiles, painfully afraid that the sound his shoes were making on the floor had already given away his position. He wanted to scream out in frustration. To change from hunter to hunted made his blood boil.
Whatever the fuck was out there growled, its noise travelling through Bryan’s bones. He reached out, desperately searching for the door. He had doubts that even this thick door would be able to keep that thing out, but there was no way he was going to lay down with his feet in the air and allow it to eat him like some doggy treat.
“Move out of the way, Bryan.”
He spun around lashing out at the owner of the strange voice. “Who the fuck is there?” Bryan had no idea who that unseen voice belonged to, nor was he in any mood to be asking questions. He felt penned in now, being attacked from both sides. Bryan swung the weapon again, determined to put the person out of commission before he did have a chance to do him any harm.