Bone White

by Ronald Malfi

  “Getting breakfast,” Danny said, hoisting the cage as he approached so that Paul could see the critter inside. It looked like a marmot. “You feeling okay?”

  “Danny, what the hell are you doing out here? What’s going on?”

  Danny set the cage down beside a tree stump, the stump’s flattened surface dusted with snow. He slid the rifle strap from his shoulder and leaned the gun against the stump so that the barrel pointed skyward. He looked at Paul, seeming to study him. “It’s complicated,” Danny said.

  “Complicated? Have you actually been living out here?”

  Danny didn’t respond. He pulled off his gloves, then, kneeling in the snow, pressed one palm against the top panel of the cage. He applied pressure and the top panel lowered on springs, closing in on the large rodent inside. The marmot began to squeal like a pig as Danny lowered the spring-loaded roof of the cage onto it, its claws clacking against the aluminum bars, its frantic breath misting the air.

  “Have you been living out here for the past year, Dan?”

  “For a while, yeah,” Danny said. He pulled a long, serrated hunting knife from a scabbard at his hip and, in one practical thrust, rammed the blade through the bars of the cage and into the marmot.

  “Jesus Christ, Danny . . .”

  Danny looked up at him. The pupils of his eyes were as small as pinheads.

  The thing in the cage started making a terrible clicking sound that, to Paul, sounded like the engine of a lawn mower conking out. A spurt of blood had shot out and arced across the snow. Danny withdrew the knife and thrust the blade into the ground. There was blood on his knuckles.

  “There’s some firewood beneath a tarp on the far side of the cabin,” Danny said, laying both hands down on the top panel of the trap now and squeezing the life out of the dying critter. “Grab a couple of logs and toss them on the fire, will you?”

  “Are you fucking serious?”

  Danny glanced up at him again.

  “I want to know what the hell you’re doing out here, Danny. I thought you were dead. I came out here ready to identify your goddamn corpse in some morgue, and here you are, playing Robinson fucking Crusoe in the middle of the goddamn woods.”

  Danny just stared at him, his face expressionless.

  “I’ve been through hell because of you. I’ve had a knot in my goddamn stomach ever since you disappeared. How could you just cut off all ties with me like that?”

  “You need to calm down,” Danny said.

  “Calm down? Are you kidding me? I think you’d better start explaining yourself.”

  “We should go inside.” Danny glanced over his shoulder and through the meshwork of tree branches beyond the line of crosses.

  “I’m not going back in there,” Paul said. “Start talking. What’s going on?”

  Danny took off his knit cap and stuffed it into the pocket of his coat. His long hair draped down over his shoulders, damp and flecked with snow. He rubbed his bare hands down his face, then propped them on his hips. Paul could see the scabbard of the hunting knife hanging from Danny’s belt. It was stained with dried blood.

  “Remember when we were kids,” Danny said, “and we used to take turns skateboarding down Penniman Hill Road? One of us would stand at the bottom of the hill to make sure there were no cars coming through the intersection, because you couldn’t see them from the top of the hill. You’d wave to me when the coast was clear, and I’d skate down the hill and burn right through the intersection. Then we’d switch, and I’d wave to you when there was a break in traffic, and you’d do the same. Remember?”

  “Yeah,” Paul said.

  “Well, this is like that. I’m at the bottom of the hill and I’m waving at you. I’m telling you I can see things you can’t, and that it’s okay to come on down. But you gotta trust me.”

  “Yeah, all right,” Paul said. “I’m trusting you. I’m listening.”

  “Past few years, my life’s been shit, man. I mean, yeah, I’ve always been a little all over the place, but I hit some real dark times. You have no idea. I came out here hoping to catch a new beginning for myself, maybe find myself. Maybe put some of the pieces back together, you know? And if I couldn’t, then that was it. There would be no going back if I couldn’t get my shit together.”

  “You came out here to die,” Paul said. It was not a question. “To kill yourself.”

  “My head wasn’t so clear about anything back then, so I can’t say for sure what I would have done. I think I was just gonna keep going until I hit the goddamn North Pole, I guess. By the end of last summer, I’d heard about this place—Dread’s Hand. I dug the creepy name and I thought it might make as good a last stop as any before oblivion, so I drove out here and stayed a couple of days in town. I went up to the old mine on the hill, and I walked the trails. But I got lost. I was wandering around out here in the woods for a day and a half, dehydrated and sick. At one point, I sat down under a tree to rest and I guess I fell asleep. When I woke up, I was lying on the ground. I had a nosebleed. My head hurt, too, and I wasn’t sure where I was. Next thing I know, this old guy came out of the woods. He took me to this cabin and gave me some food and water. He let me stay awhile. I even took a selfie and sent it to you.”

  “Tell me about it,” Paul said. “It was the last I heard from you.”

  “I didn’t know it then, but we were setting things in motion,” Danny said.

  A strong wind funneled down from the mountains and rattled the tree branches. The boughs of the firs shook, raining snow down onto the ground. Danny cast his eyes in the direction of the wind, his long hair billowing back off his face, as if to interpret something in it. In that moment, he looked every bit the isolated survivalist he had become.

  “Where’s this guy now?” Paul asked.

  “Like I said, it’s complicated.”

  “How’s that complicated? Is he coming back? Is he living here, too? This is his place?”

  Another gust of wind shook loose branches down from the trees; they clattered down the trunks, some getting snared in the pine boughs below. Others planted themselves like spears in the snow.

  “Yeah, this was his place,” Danny said. “But it’s mine now.”

  “What’s this guy’s name?”

  “Joe,” Danny said. “Joe Mallory.”

  “Mallory!” Paul cried. “Are you fucking kidding me? Do you know who the guy was? He was a goddamn serial killer, Danny! He killed a bunch of people out here, then turned himself over to the cops. That monster is the reason I came out here looking for you.”

  “You’ve got it all wrong,” Danny said. He was shaking his head, but his voice was calm, steady. “Joe Mallory is no monster.”

  “Mallory was a murderer!” Paul shouted. “He killed eight people, Danny. He cut their goddamn heads off and buried them in the woods.”

  “Yeah, I know about the bodies,” Danny said.

  Paul opened his mouth but then shut it again. His headache pulsed like a beacon. Almost in a whisper, he said, “Tell me you had nothing to do with those people buried out there. Tell me that, Dan.”

  “I had nothing to do with it,” Danny said. “That all happened long before I came out here. But the impression you have of this whole thing is wrong, Paul. Mallory wasn’t a monster. Mallory wasn’t a serial killer.”

  “Are you out of your mind? That guy killed innocent people.”

  “No.” The word launched out like a slap, yet Danny’s face remained stoic, impassive. “You’re wrong, Paul. They were not innocent. They weren’t even people.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “They were evil,” Danny said. “They’d been corrupted by evil. This has been going on for years out here, Paul. Centuries, even. It’s nothing I can explain, and even if I could, you’d just think I was nuts. But this place is evil, and there’s something out here that can touch a man and corrupt him. Possess and poison him.”

  “Please,” Paul said, shaking his head.

  “There’s
always been someone—a gatekeeper—out here to fight that evil. It’s a calling. Joe Mallory was chosen, and he prevented those monsters from leaving this forest and going back to civilization, where they would have done heinous things.”

  Paul took a step in Danny’s direction, pointing a finger at him. “Listen to me. This guy was a self-confessed serial killer, and you’re saying he was some kind of savior. Do you know what you sound like right now?”

  “You don’t understand.”

  “What’s there to understand? You meet some psychopath out here in the woods who tells you ghost stories . . . and you believe them. And now you’ve been out here . . . what? House-sitting for a year? Listen to me, Danny—Joseph Mallory is dead. He was arrested, and he killed himself in his jail cell. Whatever you’re doing out here is unhealthy, and you need to come home with me.”

  The look on Danny’s face wasn’t one of surprise, or anger, or shock, or even resignation. In fact, there was hardly an expression on his face at all. “I don’t expect you to understand, Paul. I didn’t understand at first, either. And I’m not an idiot. I don’t just believe whatever people tell me. But I stayed out here and I’ve seen things. I’ve seen things that have convinced me beyond a shadow of a doubt.”

  “Like what?”

  Danny waved a dismissive hand. “It doesn’t matter what I tell you, because you’ll just think I’m crazy. I would, too. There’s nothing I can say that will make sense to you, or clear any of this up in your mind for you. I know that. All I can say is that I’ve seen things that have made me understand all of this, and accept it. I’ve become a true believer.”

  “So, what does that mean?” Paul asked. “You can’t believe this stuff back in Maryland?”

  “I’m not going back to Maryland.”

  “What have you been doing out here for a year, Danny?”

  “I told you,” Danny said. “Important work.”

  “Danny.” He took another step closer to his brother. He could see the crow’s-feet in the corners of Danny’s eyes, the scant few silver hairs in his beard. He could smell the sour perspiration on his unwashed flesh. “Have you killed anyone, Danny?” The words juddered out of Paul’s constricted throat.

  Calmly, Danny said, “I believe everyone has a calling. I think I was destined to come to this place and do what I have to do.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Paul muttered. “Jesus Christ, what have you done? What have you done?”

  “You’re upset because you don’t understand. You don’t believe.”

  “Who are you to play God and pass judgment on people?”

  “They’re not people.”

  “You’ve killed people, haven’t you? Haven’t you, Danny? My God . . .”

  “They’re not people,” Danny repeated.

  “Those bodies the police dug up were human fucking beings, Danny. They had families who were out there looking for them, just like I was looking for you. They were people!”

  “That’s how they looked to you,” Danny said. “I see them differently. I can tell a regular person from someone who is bone white.”

  “Bone white! Danny, you don’t think that this sounds crazy? Look at it realistically, from my point of view. You come out here and disappear for over a year and cut off all contact with me. No rational person does that. You say you’re out here fighting evil, but I say spending a year out here in the woods by yourself has screwed up your head. This place—this town—is only exacerbating your problems. I’ve only been out here a few days, and it’s messing with my head, too. It’s a freaky goddamn place, Danny. So let’s just go home. We’ll work all this out at home.”

  “I’m not leaving, Paul. I’ve been in turmoil my entire life, and now I’m at peace. I’ve finally found my place. I’m doing good work out here. I won’t leave.”

  “You have never committed yourself to a single goddamn thing in your entire life,” Paul said, “and now this is the thing you choose? Some backwoods psychopath convinces you to sit up here and watch for demons, to fucking kill people, and you do it?”

  “I used to be just as lost and confused as you,” Danny said. “But once I understood, I found inner peace. It made sense. My eyes were opened. I feel better than I ever have in my whole life.”

  “Then tell me what you saw that convinced you,” Paul said.

  “Nothing I can say will convince you, Paul. Just like there’s nothing you can say that will convince me that I’m wrong.”

  “Then show me. Show me what you saw that convinced you. I want to see it, too.”

  “It doesn’t work like that.”

  “Mallory convinced you, but you can’t convince me?”

  “It’s not a magic trick,” Danny said. “I can’t snap my fingers and make you a believer. It wasn’t anything Mallory showed me. It was stuff I witnessed on my own after staying out here awhile.”

  Paul turned away from him, running his shaky hands through his hair. He realized he was breathing as if he’d just run a marathon.

  “You’ve known me my entire life,” Danny said. “I know I’ve always been a little flaky, but I’m not an idiot, Paul. I didn’t just walk into this thing blindly. It didn’t happen overnight and it didn’t happen all at once. It’s not one big thing but a combination of many little things. I could sit down and tell you every little nuance of what I saw, but it would mean nothing to you. In fact, it’ll only reinforce your belief that I’m nuts and need to get out of here.”

  “You’re right,” Paul said, turning and facing him again. “Your words won’t change my mind. I need to be shown these things.”

  “Then you have to stay here with me,” Danny said.

  It was a laugh that erupted from Paul’s throat, but there was no humor in it. It was a sad, defeated wail, and it had come from deep inside him where all the soft things were easily hurt. “Yeah,” he uttered. “Yeah, sure.”

  “I was brought here for a reason,” Danny said. “I think you were brought here for a reason, too.”

  “I wasn’t brought here. I came out here looking for you.”

  “No,” Danny said. “That’s wrong. You were brought out here to help me on my journey. You’re needed here, just like I am. You’re meant to help me fulfill my destiny here.”

  “Ah, Dan. Goddamn it.”

  “No one else knew I was out here except Mallory. Yet you came out here and you found me. And it wasn’t just dumb luck that I happened to come across you out here, either, half-dead in the woods. Isn’t that miraculous? It’s all part of the plan.”

  “Come home with me.”

  “Stay here and see this thing through with me.”

  “For what? A week? A month? So I can eat barbecued groundhogs and wipe my ass with pine needles?” Another humorless laugh erupted out of him.

  “I’m not going home with you,” Danny said. He pulled the knit hat out of his coat pocket and tugged it back down on his head. “If you want to leave, I won’t stop you. But these woods aren’t safe. You’re being watched right now.” Danny turned from him and looked at the surrounding woods. He gestured toward the circle of crosses that formed a perimeter around the cabin. “If you leave here, you risk exposing yourself again to the evil. It came close to taking you last time.”

  “Jesus Christ.” Paul swiped at his eyes, but he was too dehydrated for tears. His palms were cracked and dry, like old shoe leather. “You’ve lost your mind. You’re lost, Dan.”

  The wind gusted through the trees again. Powdery clouds of snow blew off the pine boughs and swirled around them. Paul could hear the bones of the skeletonized beast hanging from the tree clatter together, foreboding as a death knell.

  “I’m perfectly found.” And then there it was—the trademark Danny Gallo grin. Only there had been an alteration to it over the past year. There was a stark assuredness to it that looked foreign yet comfortable on Danny Gallo’s face. “I’m not going back with you. What you do from here is up to you, Paul. What will you do?”

  Paul said nothing
. His entire body quaked.

  “At least get some food in you before you make up your mind,” Danny suggested.

  “You’re gonna cook that big rat?” Paul said, suddenly desperate for levity. “Probably tastes like chicken, huh?”

  “More like duck,” said Danny. “I love you, Paul. You know that, right?”

  Paul could only stare at him. His face felt stiff and inarticulate. The marching band in his head was going around the block yet one more time.

  “Love you, too,” he said, then went around to the side of the cabin to get some firewood.

  29

  Paul was sitting on his makeshift cot, an animal hide draped over his shoulders like a shawl. The potbellied stove at the center of the room pumped heat into the air, but his bones felt like they were made of ice. His left foot was soaking in a pail of warm water, which Danny had prepared for him.

  Paul had choked down a few gamey chunks of marmot before his stomach threatened to betray him. Danny kept coming into the cabin to check on him, insisting that he eat some more, but he mostly stayed outside.

  Paul used the silence to formulate some game plan in his head, and wondered if he could come up with a scenario that would enable him to take Danny away from this place with him. He didn’t think that was possible. And if he tried to find his way back to town on his own, could he call the cops and have them haul his brother to some mental institution? What if there was a struggle and Danny was killed? Could he live with himself if something like that happened?

  What about all the things he’s been doing up here for the past year? How many more bodies are buried in these woods and beneath these hills? How many more families crowding into police stations, year after year, searching for their loved ones? Danny is my brother and he’s lost his mind, but that doesn’t mean those people should have to suffer.

  It was his father he thought of then, and his instruction that Paul look out for Danny after they had gone.

  Bang-up job there, he thought, and found his vision growing blurry. He fought off his grief and instead focused on the pain in his feet. If they didn’t get better, he doubted he could walk out of here at all.