The Bone Cell

by Richard Futch



  THE BONE CELL

  RICHARD FUTCH

  THE BONE CELL

  Copyright 2013 Richard Futch

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  Chapter 1: Wake Up Call

  There was still about a half hour until dark and Ian came over the Mason's back fence, through a cat-tail-filled ditch, and then down a seldom used path to where the trail widened. Connor pushed his bike behind a bramble hedge and made his way through a cut in the tall grass off to the right, passing beneath the overhanging branches of an old oak. They came together at the discarded length of sewer pipe that had been there since forever and from there it was nothing to the tree.

  Neither said a word as they broke through the remaining grass fringe that encircled the stand of pine, willow and water oaks. They looked up at what was left of the tree house. That summer was long gone. Now it hung there like a loose, broken tooth, just a jumble of dangerous jags of warped wood and long-lost fun. The last hurricane had really done it in.

  “Well, what do you think?” Connor said.

  “I doan know,” Ian replied and kicked at the ground. He looked into his friend's face. “A gopher maybe?”

  “You ever seen one?”

  Ian admitted he had not.

  “It had wings. You din't see 'em?” Ian shrugged. “A bat, maybe?”

  He shook his head, stared into the tree, said, “I doan think so...”

  Fifteen minutes later, just before the streetlights were due, a peculiar rustling whispered down from the upper reaches of the closest pine. As both boys strained to pick through the shadows up there, one suddenly took the shape of a gigantic black bird, as big as a Labrador puppy, inching its way into the dying light. The only thing that broke its perfect, midnight hue was a pair of brilliant yellow eyes like honey in a dark barrel. It blinked down at them and cawed. Then, incredibly, it said, in English, “I'm glad the both of you could make it.”

  The boys looked at one another and took a coordinated step back.

  The bird shrugged its wings into a hunch along its back and bristled the feathers along its spine. Then it fanned its wings, revealing for a split second a large hole through the middle of the right one. It hopped down to a lower, thicker branch and fixed its eyes back on them. “Please don't be alarmed,” it said. “I wish neither of you any harm. I hope you will forgive my dream-intrusion last night, but desperate times call for desperate measures.”

  They managed a nod.

  The gigantic crow uttered a short, throaty caw and ruffled its ebony feathers again. “I know you think you should be going soon, but please give me a moment. I have a few tricks that tend to make Time a bit...flexible, ” and with that it dropped down to eye-level and began its tale.

  Chapter 2: Where the Road Ran

  Down past the pond, according to this strange bird, you could still see where the Old Shadow Road trailed weakly back into what had long ago been the Deep Back. This road had been built for logging initially, and later on, had been the only link to a spur of the Illinois Central rail line. But now, if you didn't include the few scattered, rotting cross-ties here and there that poked out of the ground like stumbling-block tombstones, you'd never know it ever existed at all. “And I was young then, my lads,” it said in its strange, sad, almost human voice. “Fresh from the egg. I remember learning to fly as log wagons carted cypress stumps out of the swamp ages and ages ago.” It made a dry click in the back of its throat and scratched its beak quickly back and forth on the branch where it stood as if sharpening a knife. It was then the boys noticed that one of its claws was useless, crippled, and pulled into a tight knot at the ebony underbelly.

  It was also then that the boys noticed another more disconcerting strangeness. There was no breeze, no other sound really, other than the bird's voice. A cloud bank that had been skirting across the face of the new moon had gone no farther. There was no sound of crickets. The boys stepped closer together and another step back.

  The crow noticed and said, “As I told you, I know a few tricks with Time, which proves lucky for me as I can't tell you everything you need to know in one regular moment.” It cocked its head to the side like a dog and the eyes seemed to grow even yellower, verging to the tip of orange. “But you have to understand I would not have called you had it not been absolutely necessary.

  “You see my companion and I have a problem, a very bad problem. However, not insurmountable, so I don't think we're done just yet.” It shook its feathers out again and let them ride back smoothly into place. “I'll cut straight to the facts. Your talent has not gone unnoticed.” It paused as the look of wonder spread across both boys' face. A dry cackling laugh escaped it. “You thought you held this in secret?” It cawed again, that weird half-laugh they recognized now as some bridge between mirth and amazement. “Doubtless, you had to think others suspected, your mothers, your friends?” It ruffled its wings again, shaking itself out until it was roughly the size of a grown beaver. “Ahh, but you were not certain...”

  Connor managed to find his voice. “What was that about we?” he said. The only thing he could think of at the moment.

  “Oh yes, my companion and I,“ the crow replied. “She's shy...uncomfortable around people. Perhaps you'll meet her later.”

  Ian, a ball of tension, could control himself no longer. “What is this all about anyway!” he stammered, grabbing hold of Connor's arm at the elbow. For a moment it looked like they would bolt off into the paralyzed twilight.

  “Please listen and I will tell you,” it said. “You have a very great talent, boys. I know you can feel it. But I beg your patience. Rest assured, you'll soon know my point.” It glanced up at the frozen cloud bank stuck to the moon. “If you're still interested, that is.”

  The boys looked at each other and struck a mental bargain. “We got a little while,” Connor said.

  “Good!” the bird squawked. “First I must tell you about the Church.”

  Chapter 3: The Church

  “Now it sits broken in ruins deep in the forest about four miles from here, but once boys, it was simply magnificent! All marbled stone and brick, scrolled woodwork and stained-glass windows! And to top it all, beneath it an endless system of tunnels and corridors that wormed underground beneath the thick foundation for reasons unknown. It was built a very long time ago by a foreign woman in fulfillment of a promise to God she'd made years before.”

  The boys looked at one another, mystified and a bit unnerved by the thread of this strange tale that sounded a lot like something out of the Brothers Grimm. They'd seen the movie about these German storytellers and had a book of their tales hidden in a small box and buried beneath the drip-line of an old gnarled maple not far from here just because it felt right. And knowing what they did about witches and goblins and other creatures known to feed themselves on waylaid children, they began to be a little afraid.

  But the crow continued on, seemingly unaware. “The problem was the woman's husband. He was a round, boastful, lazy man who hated work, having never done any. And even as he whined and complained, his wife secured them passage on a ship leaving for the New World, as they called it.” Something silent passed between the boys. New World? What was this crazy bird talking about? “As far as she was concerned,” the crow continued. “Her mind was made. But to help satisfy this lazy wretch she also purchased a huge tract of land for logging.” This last word c
ame spitting out as if it tasted bad and smelled worse.

  “Her plan was to build a great church in the wilderness, and no expense was too great. She hired architects and masons from far and wide, had stone imported from quarries deep in the Black Forest and the Tantagal Range. By the time she arrived with her family one fine spring it was almost complete, and she was delighted to find the small town that had sprung up along the outskirts of the church alive with happy workers and their families. When the services finally began, all these people entered in a great, hushed awe. Children talked in whispers. Sweet old couples bowed their heads as they entered through the huge, oaken doors...”

  Here the crow stopped and stared out into the strange stillness as the boys watched it. “But only for a while,” it whispered, closing its eyes as if concentrating on the glory that had come and gone. When it opened them again its voice was damp with sadness.

  “And now I need to tell you a little about myself,” it said.

  Chapter 4: The Crow's Story

  “As you may have guessed, since I've made no introduction, I have no name. In fact, I've never known any animal or bird that did. I was born the last of five chicks, the runt. But oddly enough, I did not stay as such. I can leave no mystery alone; it is my weakness. And this church was something like I'd never seen. So when I wasn't hunting or perfecting my flying skills I would sit atop a sycamore and watch the work going on down there. It really intrigued me, all that order from chaos, not to mention the steady stream of men in and out of a sort of cellar door, shovels and lanterns grasped in their sweaty, dirt-grimed hands.

  “Let me add, curiosity has made me a collector, boys. We, crows I mean, are known for our hoarding of trinkets, and even though I know it makes little sense stockpiling worthless objects, I still can't break the habit. Regardless, by the time the Church was ready, I had a beautiful little hole in the crook of a hickory where I kept a lot of things I found. Not much more, really if the truth be told, than wooden nails and bits of colored cloth, but occasionally I would turn up an actual coin or belt buckle. Many was the night when I would nestle down in the hole and root through my things until daylight.

  “It was also around this time I first saw the woman and her brood. She had a high, bright laugh and twinkling eyes. An attitude of confidence and calm. I thought it would be fine to have her looking over me and I envied the children.

  “When the services finally began I would sit high in that same sycamore, amazed by the sounds I heard coming from the huge stone building. I had never experienced anything like it before! Sure I was familiar with all the songs of other birds, but being a crow, I tried not to pay much attention to something I'd never be any good at. Better to stick to thievery and bullying because as you can tell, my voice is rather throaty. But the music I heard now paled all that I'd heard before. It brought images to my mind I'd never known existed,” and here it paused for a moment to gauge its audience. Ian seized the opportunity to ask a question that had been burning in his mind ever since the bird had first begun its tale.

  “So how do you do it?” he asked, stepping suddenly forward.

  The crow again tilted its head in that weird mechanical way as its feathers slowly settled about it. “Do what?” it asked.

  “Stop Time.”

  The crow actually threw back its head this time and barked out an eerily human laugh. “Is that what I said?” It fixed its yellow eyes hard upon them.

  “Well, at least you said something like that,” Ian replied. “And just look around...you've got everything stopped around here! Everything except us! And from what you're sayin', you're hundreds of years old too!” and with that Connor stepped up to his friend's side.

  The crow raised its wings and patted at the air as if requesting quiet at an unruly town meeting, even though a glint of humor played in its eyes. “First of all,” it said. “It's not actually stopping Time. It's more like stepping into a fold in Time. Imagine the inside of a tightly spun knot. You're in no danger, and you're not missing anything on the Outside. And as to the uhh...other thing, I am very old. You have to believe me, these things I tell you are true. Don't forget I have a favor to ask, one of the utmost importance.

  “What sort of favor?” Connor asked.

  “Well, my friend, that part takes a bit more explanation.”

  Ian looked at Connor and the older boy scratched his head. This was all getting too weird, but then they spied the cloud bank, right where it'd been the whole time the crow was speaking, frozen in place against the moon, and nodded in agreement. Wasn't weird where the wild things were? This time it was Ian who spoke. “Go ahead,” he said.

  The crow dropped from the branch to the ground. “I have to tell you how things went bad...”

  Chapter 5: The Fall

  “The Fat Man wasn't necessarily evil at first, but laziness oftentimes opens the door for evil things which follow. And it wasn't his laziness alone that set what has become our problem in motion. His character simply made him easy prey for people who were already, to their very core, evil.

  “Remember, he only agreed to come to the New World (again that phrase) after the purchase of the timber enterprise.” The crow spoke the last two words with such venom that the frozen cloud bank actually slid a little farther to the left, but then the huge bird ruffled its feathers in agitation and the motion ceased. The bird nodded at the dim moon and continued, the anger in its voice cutting rents in the air.

  “This operation murdered huge tracts of forest and all the unnumbered multitude of animals and birds that lived within its depths. Oh, it was a horrible time for the birches, the oaks, all the maples and pines, the huge pecans and delicate chinaberries! A terrible time!

  “I lost many close friends.

  “But as, again, frequently happens when laziness is involved, the whole thing slowly ground to a halt. And although gutted, the forest lived on. The town flanking the edges of the Church was mostly clapboard shacks filled with masons and lumberjacks, and although many of the tree-killers filtered away when the logging business failed, the ones who stayed behind proved the worst of the lot. They began hunting and trapping for meat and skins. Many more of my friends and acquaintances disappeared. Many more of the good people moved away.

  “Luckily, though, for the remaining few like me, many of these killers sold their bloody wares at a trading post closer to the river's mouth and stayed there. The wonderful woman forbid the sale of alcohol anywhere near the Church and town, and since many of these scallywags stayed glassy-eyed with spirits most of the time anyway, they chose to move along rather than face her and the law troop she commanded. But she unfortunately turned a blind eye to her husband. Who stayed around.

  “He ate and drank to delirium. Some feared him on the edge of madness, remaining indoors for large stretches of time, becoming a pale, though fat, shade of the sloth he'd first been. Now, I believe he was simply biding his time. Perfecting his poison, so to speak.

  “Because, you see, the youngest boy, their son, disappeared while swimming one day. His body was never found. And with his disappearance, the woman's health soon declined. And with this decline the newly-built Church with its wonderful music slid into disrepair. Sometimes when I close my eyes and concentrate, I can almost hear it as it was. On some dark nights I can almost see it! I picture her now, the woman with her two remaining children scarcely reaching her shoulders, entering the Church with the townspeople flowing in behind like a tide pulled along by the moon.

  “And then she was dead.

  “One day I spied the oldest daughter coming alone to service, wrapped in a grief that hung so heavy and thick around her I could scarcely breathe. The crowd that followed looked defeated. Grown men held their hats in front of their faces like shields, tears coursing down their faces. Women crying openly into handkerchiefs. And that was the last of the music. Later in the week a small area was fenced off in a grove of elms and they buried her in the late afternoon shadow of her beloved Church.

  �
��Things got worse immediately.

  “No one came to the services any more, as if it represented what was forever lost and they could not bear it. The priest left with the children, realizing the drunken wreck of a husband would do nothing for them. More and more, dangerous-looking men began making their appearance. The remaining good families moved away.

  “The churchyard grew wild and unchecked. The shrubs cast gangly spines above the stained-glass windows and scraped the dormers with long, bristled thorns. Brambles and honeysuckle overran the lone headstone in the cemetery. A sudden storm late one night sent a huge water oak branch crashing through the priest's study. And as the newly-built Church withered and died, so also did the town. Houses stood vacant and open to the weather. Sheds collapsed upon themselves in storms, wells became inexplicably polluted and stagnant. Rumors of ghosts and werewolves proved enough to stop the few remaining vagrant children from venturing too deep into the forest.

  “And soon the church was lost to the world.

  Chapter 6: A New Season

  “As you probably figured, regardless of the hunting and trapping, it was quite impossible to be done with all of us. Up until the woman's and then the town's death most had moved to the deeper parts of the forest, well away from the racket and danger. All except the most curious or foolhardy left the business of Man to Man. I, however, was of a different mind.

  “I could not stay away. I watched as the grass grew high around the massive front doors, as the trails became choked and impassable, as the Church wormed its slow way to obscurity. I watched for many seasons as it sat abandoned, squatting deeper and deeper into the wilderness that crept back with the slow deliberation of a stalking cat.

  “I still lived in a maple not far from the graveyard. I heard occasional whispers in the forest but paid little mind. But in saying this, but don't get me wrong. I readily believe in spirits. Even then I did. But I'd seen no sign. As I said, all was silence. At night the Church was nothing more than a darker shadow set among the many others. And on some nights, when the moon cast down a gentle, velvet moth-light through the trees, it looked neither haunted nor dangerous. It just looked sad. Forgotten.