The Bone Architect

by Ian Woodhead

  “Have you heard anything at all while I was out of it?” Joshua felt his heart sink when shook her head.

  “Just the occasional murderous howl, creaking floorboards, and random knocking from inside these walls. You know, the sort of crap that you’re likely to hear in some low budget horror movie.”

  Cold fingers of déjà vu caressed Joshua’s spine. His admiration for this girl went through the roof. How this girl could make light of her experience while he was out of it knocked him for six. He tried to imagine himself in her place, hiding out in some terrifying house, unable to get out, with some half dead stranger for company. Joshua would have lost his marbles within the first five minutes. “Mavis, what happened just now?”

  “What happened between us had to be done, Josh. Apart from it being fucking incredible, our coupling made us stronger. It gave us a resilience to help us fight this thing.”

  “Jesus, you make it sound so clinical.”

  Mavis pulled him over to the door and pulled it open, resting her hand on the edge. Her grip on his hand hurt but he kept quiet.

  “Believe me, Joshua, we are both going to need that strength more than anything if we expect to get out of here in one piece. Tell me what you see out there.”

  Her out of the blue question caught Joshua on the back foot. Was this some kind of test? “I don’t get what you mean. What am I supposed to be seeing?” He sighed heavily. “I don’t know, a bunch of closed doors, a lot more of those freaky paintings, a few bits of furniture, and some stairs at the end of the hallway leading down to the next floor.”

  She nodded. “So you agree that we’re on the top floor?”

  “Yeah, I’d say so.”

  She held his gaze steady, still gripping the door and keeping a firm grip on his hand. “Mavis, you don’t have to hold on so tight, you know.”

  “Yes, I do,” she sighed. “You see, the room that I dropped your sleeping body was on the floor below, and the last time I opened this door I saw the kitchen directly opposite.”

  “Oh great, so the rooms keep moving about.” He gently pulled her fingers off the edge of the door and pulled her back into the room. “And you think that if that door shuts between us, we might never see each other again?”

  “We need to go.” Mavis pulled him into the hallway, jumping as the door slammed shut behind her.

  He took her other hand, wondering what he’d just said. She was acting as though they’d just met again, as if that door really had shut between them. “Mavis, what’s wrong?”

  She grabbed the door handle and pushed open the door. He blinked, looking into a completely different room.

  Mavis looked down at their coupled hands. “Isn’t it obvious, Josh?”

  He shook his head, not having a clue what she was talking about.

  “Jesus, you can be thick. You want to find your Clarice more than anything else. Then let’s get the hell out of here. Just how do you think she’d react if she saw me and you holding hands?” She moaned softly. “No, scratch that, it’s me who’s an idiot. I haven’t thought this through.”

  “Stop it, Mavis. I’m not going to leave you, no matter what happens.”

  “It isn’t your decision to make though, Joshua. Don’t you see? This house wants us to be alone so it can pick us off one by one. As soon as you let me go, it’ll do everything to put a door between us.”

  She fell against his chest and wept. “It isn’t fair. I don’t want…” Mavis slammed her jaw shut.

  He gently stroked her hair. “We’re all going to get out of here. Nobody else is going to get hurt.”

  “Listen to me, whining like a bitch. So much for being strong.” She closed her eyes. “God, how embarrassing.”

  Despite so enjoying her proximity, Joshua gently pushed her warm body off him and stepped back. “Let’s go try the front door again,” he suggested, looking past her head at both walls, following the lines down to where the banister started. The atmosphere felt different, calmer, not as volatile. He thought back to his vision, remembering the last few moments; he hadn’t told Mavis everything about what he saw, deciding to keep the images of the sculptures to himself.

  The beautiful women pulling those bones out from those corpses weren’t doing it for no reason, they were all collecting construction material. Mavis had already told him how her male friend had died and the moments preceding his death.

  He walked over to the nearest painting, placing his hands on the frame, not surprised to find what he felt didn’t match what his eyes showed him. His fingers traced along contours of dips and rises, even though the frame looked smooth. Joshua dropped to one knee and performed the same action on the skirting board with the same result.

  Everything in here was made from bones, and he believed that the only reason why his touch revealed as much was because the owner, one of those women, must be resting. Perhaps when he was out of it he somehow tapped into her dreams. As crazy as it sounded, it did make sense.

  “Come on,” he whispered, walking past her. “Let’s get down to the ground floor.” He turned around. “Try not to talk, calm your thoughts, and watch where you step.” Joshua leaned forward and gently kissed her. “I think that our host is asleep.”

  She shot him a quizzical look, but kept quiet.

  Joshua could almost read her mind. She wanted to know why he appeared to be deserting his friends. He made his way down the stairs, keeping his eyes fixed ahead and his ears alert for any sounds other than their shallow breathing. The house still felt empty, very close to how he felt when they first entered the place. If she really was sleeping then this had to be their best chance to get out of here.

  They reached the next floor. He leaned over the banister, a smile splitting his mouth at the sight of the outer door. A fan of bright daylight showed the reception hall’s true colours. From where he stood, Joshua saw creepers, nettles, dock leaves, and dandelions covering the forgotten garden.

  “The door is wide open!”

  “Yes, just like I left it.” He raced down the stairs, holding on to her wrist. “Listen to me. I need you to stay in the garden keeping that fucking door open while I go look for the others, and keep quiet!”

  His dad’s files had pictures of the house, both interior and exterior. Although in those photographs the rooms were as they looked when they first got here, he still believed that he’d be able to match this false vision of opulence to the faded, peeling, and neglect shown in the photos that his dad took. With three floors and ten rooms per floor it shouldn’t take him longer than ten minutes to check each room. Joshua reached the outer door, turned around, placed his hands on her shoulders, and kissed her once. “Please, don’t leave me here. I promise I won’t be long.”

  She nodded, her face wet. Joshua didn’t want to imagine what she was thinking this time, in case they matched his doubts. Mavis stayed quiet, just stroking the back of his hand with her index finger. He walked back into the house, keeping her lovely form in view, framed against that beautiful blue sky.

  The silhouette ran forward, a single unarticulated cry leaving her mouth. Mavis dived forward, her body crashing into his. They both fell hard onto the carpet. She climbed off him before reaching for the chair next to the grandfather clock. She picked it up and threw it over Joshua’s head. He turned to see it smash into Bryan’s body.

  Mavis grabbed his hand, pulling him back onto his feet. “The bastard was waiting for you; one more step and he’d have rammed that sword straight through your back!”

  “Where’s he gone?”

  “Who fucking cares!” she growled, pulling him over to the outer door. I’m getting out of here and you’re coming with me this time.”

  Joshua reached out and grabbed the banister. “I can’t leave them in here,” he cried. “They’ll both end up part of the house if I go.”

  “Come on!” screamed Mavis. “Haven’t you worked it out yet? They’re already dead. We are the only ones left. If we don’t go now we’ll never get out of here.” Th
e girl turned her head, an anguished moan leaving her.

  He watched in horror as the door began to close. “Save yourself, Mavis, leave now.”

  “I can’t, Joshua. I love you!”

  With a heavy thud that echoed through the very woodwork the door slammed shut, banishing natural light, replacing it with its own vile yellow illumination. Joshua felt her grip loosen and Mavis dropped to her knees. Her quiet moans pulling his heart down a cheese grater. The rent only widened when she lifted her head, those dull eyes devoid of any hope.

  “What are we going to do now?”

  Joshua shook his head, he dropped down in front of the girl, wrapping his arms around her back. “I don’t know any more.” The malevolence had returned, he felt the sickness seeping through the walls and the floor, its foulness wanting to suffocate the pair of them. He stood up and lifted her onto her feet. “Mavis, we almost made it, meaning that it isn’t impossible to get out. Come on, we’ll find another way out.”

  “There is no other way.”

  “Yes, there is. Everything you see is an illusion. This place is just a tumbledown ruin.”

  Joshua steadied himself when the floor shook. He grinned. “What’s wrong, bitch?” He yelled. “Don’t you like folk calling your home a fucked up shithole, just like you?”

  A deep roar blasted out from every open door. He slammed his hands over his ears, feeling his insides vibrating. “Fuck you, bitch!” he snarled. “You cheap tart, you ugly cow, haggard fishwife.” The noise stopped, leaving him shaking like a leaf in a gentle breeze. Joshua, opening his eyes, saw Mavis shivering. He crawled over to the girl, almost falling back when she threw herself at him, wrapping her arms tight around his back. He followed suit, holding her.

  “I love you, Joshua”

  Her declaration echoed through the structure, only the echo grew in volume with each passing second. Joshua whimpered, pressing his face deeper into her soft hair, feeling as if he really was losing his sanity. He shut his eyes, wanting the noise to cease.

  “Joshua?”

  He blinked, finding himself sat cross-legged in the middle of the reception hall. Mavis lay sleeping on his lap while his fingers were intertwined in her hair. The voice came from above him. Joshua turned his head and saw Clarice standing on the stairs, leaning over the banister with Tommy behind her.

  “I thought you were dead,” he stammered.

  “Who the fuck is that?”

  Her accusing eyes drilled into his skull. The girl in his lap stirred, stretching out, her arms reaching up and finding his. Joshua moaned softly, not sure what to do.

  “Answer me!”

  Tommy took a step closer then stopped, his head jerking back. Joshua’s cry dried in his mouth at the sight of that familiar blade sliding along Tommy’s throat. Clarice shrieked, spinning around and falling back, the wall saving her from tumbling down the stairs.

  Mavis’ head slipped onto the carpet when Joshua scrambled backwards. Jumping up and racing over to the bottom of the stairs, he saw the huge figure standing behind Tommy hook two fingers and push them into Tommy’s eye sockets, dragging the juddering figure backwards, Tommy’s feet slamming on the carpet, the only sound as the thick-set man pulled Tommy out of sight.

  Clarice released a single mournful cry. Joshua looked at her terrified form shaking against the stairway before his eyes settled on Mavis, lying slumped against the grandfather clock below him.

  Act Nine

  His lower jawbone eased away from the skull, like a foot pulled from thick mud. She sighed in delight when she found the dimensions were exactly right. The woven back rest lying on the work surface vibrated, filling the cellar with a low hum as she flicked the thick forefinger across the dozens of thin ribs tied at each end with dried gut. Constructing a chair to replace the one that the girl had destroyed seemed like such a waste of material, but the bones she’d used in the chair destroyed were hundreds of years old, brittle, and weak. She wouldn’t be able to repair it; besides, once a piece was broken its magic was gone forever. As for wasting material, perhaps she should change her thinking. From what she had learned since awakening, the world beyond the house had become even more overcrowded. There was so much material available; she’d probably be able to replace every piece within a few years. Now that prospect did excite her.

  She pulled out Tommy’s teeth before fixing the jaw in place at the base. She intended to use this as the key-bone, holding the entire structure in place.

  She settled back in her own chair, running her critical gaze along her main construction slowly taking shape in the corner of the cellar. This piece would be her finest achievement. When she’d dispensed with the rest of the players, she’d have more than enough material to complete it. The only decision to make after she’d polished the bones to perfection was where to display it.

  It seemed fitting that the bones inside this host should contribute to this masterpiece too. After all, the body was coming to the end of its use. Already she felt the earlier pliant mind beginning to question, to throw out rebellious thoughts, and attempt to regain control. Not that any of this was much of a surprise, they all showed signs of rejection after an extensive period of use, and she had used this host way beyond its tolerance.

  She enjoyed this body though, the strong muscles and pleasing exterior made her feel so good. But she wasn’t that attached; she knew this body would fully reject her spirit sooner or later. It was better to leave on her terms than his.

  It was ironic that through this host’s rebellious actions, her next host had stood out like a beacon. She wanted to inhabit a female body next. She so missed having the flesh to match her spirit, but allowing Joshua to peek through the window of her beginning and his subsequent actions had made the decision for her.

  She reached down and picked up Tommy’s severed head, looking into the bloodied eye pits. “You have such an impressive bone structure,” she said, running her fingers across the cartilage, remembering how she felt when Joshua did the same on her picture frames. Those intense feelings she experienced watching the human’s rutting were still running through her system when Joshua caressed the bone, igniting a passion she thought had long since burnt out.

  As she peeled the flesh away from the skull, those old passions grew stronger, remembering how her species used to so enjoy allowing the men from that ancient land to ravage them, crying out in utter joy as the men’s moans turned into screams of agony as they tore into their bodies at the height of the act. The only downside to the performance was they ruined the bodies in their excitement. Bones were broken and crushed, a complete waste of effort.

  She dropped the waste skin, muscle and hair beside her, holding the skull, glistening in gore, in front of her face. This skull would sit opposite Barbra’s. She only needed two more skulls, meaning there would be spare.

  “Perhaps it is still possible to relive the old times.” She stood up, placing the skull next to the lower jaw. “It has been many, many years since I have fucked a human to death.” She undressed, ripping away the bloodied clothing until her host stood naked and proud, his thick penis already responding to the thoughts of sex. She gazed past the heavily muscled body, nodding in approval at the rigid shaft. She wrapped her fingers around it, gently masturbating; it would certainly be pleasurable for her anyway.

  The two lucky enough not to engage in her little game would need alternate entertainment to stop them from interrupting her. She activated the house avatars, and fed them enough instructions to suitably distract the players. Now the real fun would commence.

  ***

  Joshua’s fingers dug into the edge of the dresser, trying to halt his momentum. His digits sunk through the illusion of polished, dark wood. He pushed away disturbing images of crushing snail shells with their dead owners inside and crouched down in front of Clarice’s fallen body, wiping his fingers down the side of his top.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, holding out his hand. They’d managed to lose their pursuers on the floor
below, but he didn’t think it would take those two freaky fuckers long to work out they weren’t travelling via the stairways any more. “Let me help you up, honey.”

  She turned her back on him. Clarice lifted her head as another shadow passed over the both of them. Mavis bent over her, grabbed Clarice’s outstretched arm, and pulled her off the carpet.

  “Can you walk?”

  Clarice nodded. “Yeah, I’m okay,” she replied to Mavis. “I just tripped over my own feet, no harm done.”

  Mavis looked past Clarice, rolling her eyes when she caught his attention. Joshua mentally shrugged, putting a little more distance between him and them. In the greater scheme of things her feelings of betrayal could wait, at least until they’d found another way out of this fucking slaughterhouse.

  He turned around, watching the bank of paintings hanging on the blood coloured walls to his left. Each one now showed a different picture, starting with the masked man binding Tommy’s wrists and hanging him from a ceiling hook, followed by slicing a line around his chest. The paintings, each one a progression like a film reel, continued with showing his cut away flesh hanging over his stomach, looking like curtains of torn, bloodied rags of meat. The next gruesome painting displayed Tommy’s exposed stomach with the flesh scraped back from the bones of his ribcage, the white line cutting through the glistening shades of red. Joshua averted his gaze, unable to continue as that fucker peeled his best friend like a piece of fruit.

  He heard Clarice’s furtive whisper, her words not clear, only the intent prominent. Joshua felt his temper leaping past every other emotion. He spun around, wrapping his fingers tight around her wrist.

  “What the fuck are you doing?”

  It took effort to stop himself from breaking out in a fit of harsh laughter. “So now you speak to me. That’s nice.” Joshua pulled her in front of the last painting, spun her around and gripped her shoulders. “Look at it, Clarice. Drink in the exquisite detail.” The last image, the one he couldn’t face, showed the masked murderer holding up Tommy’s flayed flesh in his right hand. The poor man must have died when this fucker punched his fingers deep into his brain, certainly before he started to detach his skin, but in this painting, Tommy’s eyes were intact, his jaw stretched, muscles taut, his agonised shriek filling the blood spattered room.