The Bone Architect

by Ian Woodhead

  “I don’t want you to see me in one of these disgusting paintings, Clarice.” He wrapped his arms tight around her stomach. “And if I lost you again, I would rather kill myself than see you like that.”

  “But you fucking deserted me!”

  “No, he didn’t,” whispered Mavis. “We found a way out. The only reason why we’re still in here is because he came back for you and Tommy; it was me who was convinced you had perished, not him. Don’t take it out on Joshua, he’s done nothing wrong.”

  He felt some of the tension leave her body. She rested her hands over his. “The only way we’re going to get out of here is by being stronger than him.” It seemed capricious to repeat Mavis’ words, but it felt like the right thing to say. “There are three of us and three of them now, but I think that it’s only Bryan who we have to worry about.”

  “You’re suggesting that we fight back?”

  He turned to Mavis and nodded. He released Clarice, keeping hold of her hand. He reached out and took Mavis’ hand too. “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m suggesting. It’s only Bryan who’s killed anyone; I bet the other two are incapable of hurting us. In fact, the more I think about it, the more I’m convinced that they just part of the furniture and about as dangerous as this disgusting painting.”

  “So we wait for them to come to us?” said Clarice.

  “Yeah, why not. Look, Bryan’s not invulnerable; a few well placed blows to his bollocks and he’ll be as helpless as a newborn baby.”

  “He’s got a sword, Josh!”

  He nodded, “Yeah, I did notice that. It’s not like he brought that bloody thing with him though. That fat clown must have found it in the house, meaning there could be more. Even if there isn’t, there’s bound to be something in here we can use.”

  “He’s right,” said Mavis. “If we keep running through this moving maze, he’ll catch us and slaughter us one by one.”

  Clarice looked down at Joshua’s hands noticing as if for the first time that he held them both. “You do know that if any part of Bryan is left inside that killing machine, he’ll be after you next, Joshua. You’re the one who stole his girl off him.”

  “What?”

  “He’s been after me for years, way before we got together.” She squeezed his hand. “He’s the one that I lost my cherry to, back when I was only fourteen. Oh, we were both drunk on cider that I stole from my dad, but, even now, I still look back on that time with fondness.”

  “Why are you telling me this, Clarice?”

  “Because I want you to feel the hurt that I’m feeling right now!” she yelled. “Because I want you to know that if we do get out of here, it’s over with.” She pulled her hand away. “It’s finished between me and you.”

  “For crying out loud,” said Mavis. “Do you really think that this is the right time to have a domestic?”

  “This has nothing to do with you.”

  “Seriously?” Mavis laughed out. “Bullshit. You’ve just insinuated that I’m trying to steal your boyfriend.”

  “Look, all I wanted to do was to clear the air.”

  Paint peel, patches of black mould and wooden slats now showed through the blood red walls. The more he stared, the clearer the genuine state of the house appeared through the false veneer. Joshua could even see where the real window was, the ghostly image of Tommy’s broken hung up corpse competed with a flock of birds dancing from one branch to another. Their voices continued to flow, harsh accusations flowed freely. He found himself just listening to the rhythm, ignoring the content, silently encouraging them to continue arguing. With each outburst, the nightmare world faded down one more hue, allowing the grey rot of reality to show through.

  Two black clouds of matter with no defining shape neared the room. Joshua blinked in confusion as they struck the now transparent door, their mass flattening like two slabs of raw dough beneath a chopping board.

  He backed away from the door, pulling Clarice with him, watching those two shapes now seeping through. Joshua had no idea what he was looking at; whatever it was, he didn’t think they meant to hand out ice creams. He moaned softly as the nightmare room regained its previous solidity, banishing reality and that beautiful window, hiding it behind that vile painting.

  “Do you really want to see him up there, Clarice? No, I didn’t think so.” Mavis shook with fury. “You need to grow up.”

  He shook away the sensation of dizziness, not sure of what had just happened to him; whatever it was, he knew he was the only one affected. Joshua spun around, seeing only a solid wooden door behind him, no sign of those jellyfish type creatures. “Look, lets just be friends, if only until we find a way out.” Joshua looked at the pair of them before he found his eyes drawn to the painting above Clarice’s head. Tommy was now missing in this one. The picture now showed the head and naked torso of their masked killer. He frowned. Apart from the obvious difference, the body looked different now, older.

  Why had the house started to revert? It must be something to do with the way they were acting, it was the only thing that made sense.

  A violent scream erupted from both Clarice and Mavis. He yelped himself when he saw the painting come to life, the killer was leaning out of the painting and pulling Clarice’s struggling body through the rectangle. He jumped up, trying to grab her ankle, but all he received for his effort was a handful of dried paint.

  He reached up and ripped the painting off the wall. Mavis wrapped her arms around his. Causing him to drop the frame.

  “Calm down,” she said, “She’s not in there any more.”

  “What am I going to do now!” he cried. “Where the fuck has that animal taken her?”

  “The cellar,” she replied. “Where else could she be?”

  “Then that’s where we go, right now.” Joshua clenched his fists. “We can find something on our way there. It shouldn’t be that hard to get to; after all, it’s the only room in the house that’s never moved.”

  He turned and jumped back at the sight of the two men blocking the door. Both Conner and Arnold were now whole, both dressed in their original black tuxedos, both holding a length of thick copper piping.

  “Our mistress wants some time alone,” said Conner. “You do understand that, Joshua.” He smiled at Mavis. “After all, it’s not like you need Clarice any more, is it.”

  Joshua screamed out. Lunging forward, he dropped under his clumsy swing and brought his tight fist up, striking below his chin. The man dropped like a sack of potatoes. Mavis jumped on Arnold’s back, her fingers wrapped around his copper piping, stopping him from striking Joshua.

  “Get out of my fucking way” Joshua booted the man hard in the ribs, gaining immense satisfaction at the sound of his bones cracking. Conner groaned and curled up into a tight ball, rolling against the door, blocking their way out of the room. “You bastard!” He screamed, stooping to pick up the piping. Joshua’s scream turned to utter shock as the piping softened before whipping around. Bright red eyes glared at him, a jaw sprung open, and four fangs sunk into Joshua’s wrist.

  He shouted in shock and ripped the thing off him, grimacing at the sharp pain running up his arm before slamming the writhing creature against the wall. Its skin split open and covered the surface with foul smelling lumps of the grey matter.

  Mavis joined him. She grabbed the man’s foot and pulled him away from the door as if he weighed no more than a bag of feathers. “Time to go!” she said, pulling the door open. “Oh god, this is all my fault!”

  Joshua raced out of the dark room, catching up to the fleeing girl, noticing her hands wet with blood. It wasn’t hers. Joshua cast a glance behind him. The long shadows obscured most of the interior, but there was enough light bleeding in from the hallway to see that the creature that had attacked Mavis was lying just behind Conner. Were his eyes playing tricks on him? From where he stood, the man looked like a huge worked over mound of crimson clay.

  His guts rolled over, imagining the force of violence she must have used o
n him; what the fuck had she used? He averted his gaze, wondering why he even cared about the man’s fate. Hell, it wasn’t even a man anyway. For all he knew, resembling a butchered carcass could be its natural form.

  “I don’t believe this,” he murmured, realising that the door had led them out onto the ground floor.

  “Don’t question providence,” she replied, pulling him into the kitchen. She ran over to the drawers, ripping them open, moaning in frustration as each one held nothing but dust. “What kind of a kitchen is this?”

  He pushed past her, dropped to the floor and smiled at the sight of silver, hidden under the dining table. He reached under, the tips of his fingers finding a smooth handle. Joshua pulled out his find, a five inch cooks knife. Compared to that thing that Bryan had found, it looked about as deadly as a potato peeler, but it was better than nothing at all.

  “I don’t know what you did to that other guy, but do it again to Bryan,” he growled, running towards the kitchen door. He paused and turned. “And no, it wasn’t your fault. We’re stronger together, Mavis. Remember that.”

  Act Ten

  The cloying darkness denied her the ability to inspect her tiny cell. She was glad of that. From what her fingers and toes had felt when that bastard pushed her in here, the less she saw the better she’d feel.

  Clarice pushed her naked, filthy body tighter against the corner, her skin and the metal reaching equal temperatures. She heard noises in here, scuttling, and scurrying. She imagined rats pushing through the mess of clothing, white bones, and other unidentifiable items that she caught sight of whilst that bastard carried, dragged, and pulled her along the floor of the cellar. Somehow, Clarice believed that rats were the least of her problems.

  She held back the tears of desolation, still not allowing herself the luxury of giving up and hoping her death would not hurt. Clarice wasn’t going to give up, not without a fight. There was still time for Joshua to find where she was being held; he would never give up on her.

  Clarice lifted her head, catching the sound of footsteps and shallow breathing. She cried out in shock as the room exploded in deep blue light, filling her vision with images of stars, moons, and rocket ships. The faint smell of polish mixed with a strong citrus scent filled her nostrils. Tentatively, Clarice opened her eyes, blinking in bafflement. What was going on? She was no longer in that filthy cage that smelled of animal decay. She took her eyes off the children’s wallpaper and turned around, seeing a small bed in the corner of this familiar bedroom. Next to it she saw a wooden dresser with a Mickey Mouse alarm clock showing the time of half past seven. The citrus smell came from the bed sheets.

  For the first time, Clarice found voices making their way through the carpets. Somewhere in this house a television was on. Why did this bedroom look so familiar? She sighed loudly, walking over to the window. The curtains were drawn; they too displayed pictures of moons and stars. She pulled them open, her own naked body reflected back at her. Clarice leaned forward, pressing her face against the glass. She saw nothing but blackness.

  “Oh, Jesus, please, what is going on here, what has happened to me?” She staggered away from the window, tripping up and falling on the carpet. Clarice curled up into a tight ball and shivered while sounds from a distant television found their way into her ears. It all felt so real. The carpet fibres pressed against her cold skin and those mellow sounds of two people talking about the state of the economy continued to travel through her mind. Her dreaming state had never conjured up anything so detailed. “Am I dead?”

  The very real possibility that she really had passed over to the other side began to firm. Clarice only remembered him pushing her into that cage, with fragmented snippets of feeling cold, as well as deep dread suffocating her heart.

  She crawled over to the bed, pulled off the top sheet and wrapped it around her body, then sat up, leaning against the dresser. The steady ticking from the clock helping her to pull out just enough calm from turmoil to allow her to plan what to do next. Considering the nightmare she had endured, climaxing in being thrown into the cage to await her torture, Clarice felt remarkably calm.

  That oasis of tranquillity dramatically shrunk to a pinpoint when she saw the blackness beyond that window now seeping through the glass, the window frame, then the curtains vanishing into the abyss of dark. Clarice pushed herself against the bed, picking up the alarm clock, getting ready to throw it.

  The black mass shrank, its form coalescing, taking shape, turning from smoke to flesh. The dread returned with a passion, a moan of despair leaving her dry mouth as her captor stood in front of her shivering body, the mask in still in place, but his hands devoid of any weapon.

  “Bryan, please. Don’t hurt me.”

  The masked man reached forward and gently picked her off the floor, the sheet falling away. He ran his calloused fingers down her spine before pulling her against his hard body. She smelled citrus again, this time coming from him.

  He grabbed her wrist, pulling it down to his hips. She struggled but found him too strong. His other hand was now snaking up her inner thighs. Clarice gasped out when one of his fingers entered her. Coldness spread out through her torso like a web of ice, filling her, reaching into her arms, legs, and neck. She found her movements slowing, taking ages to move her head. The coldness now filled every part of her body.

  What Clarice saw when she looked past her breasts to his moving fingers caused a deep shriek to bubble up through her freezing system, her jaw opening in slow motion, the noise of utter terror leaving Clarice’s mouth, and with it a mixture of semi-solid blood, slush, and bile, the stuff spattering the man’s naked chest.

  She wanted to close her eyes, yet her eyelids refused to move, forcing her to watch him continue to push his fingers inside her while the thorns covering his digits ripped her sensitive area into flesh confetti.

  He pulled out, dug his gore-filled fingers under her chin and pushed up her head until her eyes found those two black entrances to her own personal version of hell. She saw her father marching into this bedroom, the sight of his enraged expression setting off dozens of triggers to other suppressed memories. This room was where her older brother used to sleep, the boy whom her father had killed back when she was just a baby.

  Clarice watched him rip the covers back, reach down, and pull the sleeping boy up, his huge hands tight around the boy’s frail neck, holding him at arms length as his son’s body spasmed, his legs kicking out whilst the boy’s slim hands found and lost purchase on the back of the man’s hands.

  She screamed and shrieked as the mask sank into the man’s flesh, revealing the snarling face of the man she never knew, of her father, the man who’s own life was taken several years ago by an armed robber and a gang member whom the guard had sneaked into the man’s cell.

  The man grinned, displaying a mouth full of sharp teeth. He walked backwards, throwing her naked body onto the bed, blood from between her legs soaking the sheets.

  Her very bones now felt like Antarctic rocks, and the numbness was complete, the aesthetic effect making every pain receptor resistant to any violation he could inflict upon Clarice’s tortured body. The man now knelt between her legs, his thick penis limp, lying against her thigh, leaking pale yellow fluid from the tip.

  The agonized memories from her forgotten childhood continued to batter her as this vile facsimile of her long dead father pulled those serrated digits down her thighs, ripping through skin and muscle. She saw her mother through the crack between the bedroom door and the wall, naked, bent over the bed while a strange man cracked a thick leather belt across her back, both adults crying out in ecstasy with every contact. Clarice remembered several burly policemen crashing through their house as she sat in the corner with her two favourite crayons whilst her mother, dressed in two week old clothes, pushed needles into three strangers, two men and a woman. She saw the faces of a clean shaven man lifting her off the floor and carrying her past her mother who lay face down, her mouth crushed into their stai
ned carpet. The man smelled strongly of oranges.

  Through eyes blurred with tears, she gazed at the face of the huge figure on top of her, his fingers, now devoid of those thorns, pinning her arms tight against the bed with his thick shaft, now solid, pressing against the shredded flesh at the top of her legs. Her drained mind now felt as numb as the rest of her body. It didn’t matter what this monster did to her now, she could feel nothing; this fiend had broken her spirit as well as her mind.

  The full spectrum of agony slammed into her body, the raw pain scraping along every single nerve in her arched back as the monster held her while he pushed himself inside her. Her mouth stretched as she shrieked and shrieked, his body restricting her writhing.

  The full spectrum of utter agony slammed into her body, driving out the numbness. Raw pain scraping across every nerve cell as the monster entered her, his huge shaft tearing through even more tissue as it stretched and expanded, the organ pushing further into the girl’s torso.

  Her screaming intensified when his fingers formed hard claws, the points breaking through the skin and muscle, digging down, reaching the bones in her arm. Clarice saw the bedroom dissolving away, showing walls streaked with blood, dry and wet.

  The creature let out one long roar before volcano heat detonated inside her guts. Clarice’s last view of the monster before finally leaving this realm was of him pulling his fingers out from inside her flesh and reaching for his blade.

  ***

  The sound of his girlfriend’s scream tore right through him. His legs collapsed and only the intervention of Mavis grabbing his waist stopped him from tumbling down the cellar steps.