Blood and Bone: A Smattering of Unease

by Noble, Shannon Rae

  “I must warn you, however. Once you sign this document, there are certain conditions that must be met. If you dishonor those conditions, you will not only lose hour wife and freedom. You will lose everything else, as well. All of your physical and nonphysical possessions will revert to Dieter, Worth, and Smite, LLP: this beautiful home, your lovely Ocean City beach house, your three cars, everything in your bank accounts . . . and more.”

  And more? “So what are these conditions?”

  “Keep reading, Mr. Kurst.”

  Simon looked back down at the paper in his hand. His lips moved as he read. After a couple of minutes, he said, “I can’t lay a finger on her.”

  “That’s right. Not so much as a fingernail. No punching, no slapping, no choking, no hair pulling. Ever. And you can neither neglect her nor abandon this household. Until you die.”

  Simon could do that. He hoped. He was the epitome of self-control in all aspects of his life – except with Juni. She just had a way of rubbing him the wrong way.

  He thought of all the old stories he’d read where people made deals with the Devil. Simon didn’t believe in God and the Devil. But this situation was too surreal, too ludicrous, to be anything else. After all, the fact remained – the dead simply did not come back to life. And Smite was too polished, too smooth, and the look in his eyes was dangerously cunning. He looked exactly the way Simon imagined the Devil would look if the Devil actually existed. And what about the sulfur smell that accompanied Smite, and the blue smoke that rose from his person in tendrils? What about the roaring fire that Smite had started in Simon’s fireplace – on an intolerably humid summer morning?

  Was this even real? He could be going nuts. Maybe Juniper’s death had triggered this response. Maybe he was feeling guilty, and it had caused hallucinations. In which case, it wouldn’t matter whether or not he signed the agreement.

  “Okay,” Simon said. “I’ll do it.”

  Smite smiled his wide, white smile. “What a wise decision, Mr. Kurst. I’m sure that, going forward, your new relationship with your wife will be very enlightening.” He reached beneath his suit jacket and brought out a pen. “Go ahead and sign on the line. Don’t forget the date.”

  Simon reached out and took the pen. The ink was a dull, brick red against the white paper. It reminded him of the rusty dried blood color in Juni’s blonde hair.

  As soon as he had finished writing the date next to his signature, a new queasiness in his stomach told him he had just made a very big mistake.

  Smite took the paper and handed him another. “This is exactly the same. One is your copy and the other copy is for our records.”

  Simon looked the second copy over to make sure that it was the same thing. Then he signed it.

  “You may keep the photograph to remind you, Mr. Kurst,” Smite said as he moved toward the door. “And you should be seeing signs of life within the next twenty-four hours. It has been a pleasure doing business with you.” He held out his smoky hand once again for Simon to shake.

  For the second time, Simon ignored the gesture. “I wish I could say the same,” he responded.

  Smite shrugged and smiled coolly as he stepped outside. “Don’t forget, we’ve got our eyes on you, Mr. Kurst. Good day.”

  Simon closed the door firmly behind the departed trespasser and locked it. He pulled the curtain aside at the front window and peered outside, but didn’t see Smite walking up the drive. He didn’t even see Smite’s car. Where had the man gone?

  He opened the door, stepped out on to the front porch, and looked around. Smite was nowhere to be seen. There was only a faint blue cloud hanging above the front walk.

  He walked the perimeter of the house in his slippers, seeing nothing save the broad expanse of green lawn on that led to the surrounding woods. The gentle summer breeze stirred the treetops; birds chirped and the sun beamed down. There was no sign of Smite. It was as though the man had vanished into thin air.

  He could have just slipped into the woods. He could be watching me right now. Simon sighed. What did it matter now, anyway?

  He gave up and went back inside. After making sure that the door was securely closed and locked, he picked up the bucket beside the hearth and dumped the sand it contained onto Smite’s fire, smothering it.

  Simon slumped into his recliner beside the fireplace and wiped sweat from his face. This was one of the few times in his adult life that he had felt shaken. He looked at the paper that lay on the sofa beside the photograph Smite had left behind.

  Always sharp when it came to contracts and deals, he cursed himself for making such a colossal error. He should never have signed the paper. It was tantamount to a confession. And what if that was really the only photo?

  No, Smite had more photos. He didn’t know how this photo had been managed; but Simon was sure that Smite hadn’t been bluffing. There was no way that Simon was going to risk going to prison. He loved his money and he loved his freedom. But what kind of a price was Simon really going to have to pay to keep them?

  And what about Juniper?

  For the next couple of hours, Simon’s nerves zinged with agitation. He could barely sit still, and his easy chair had lost its friendliness since Smite had occupied it. He forced himself instead to sit back in the corner of his sofa and replay Smite’s visit in his mind.

  The incident had paralyzed him into indecision about what he should do next. He had lost his appetite and didn’t make breakfast as he’d planned. He feared that at any moment, the police would come knocking at the door.

  Every time he thought he heard a noise, he tiptoed up the stairs to check on Juniper, but she still lay in the same position.

  He eventually switched on the television. Finding an old horror movie, he lay on the sofa and dozed while he waited for something to happen.

  As the day progressed, Simon felt a little better. He shrugged, deciding to adopt a “whatever” attitude. The deed was done and the paper signed. There was nothing he could do about it, now. He wouldn’t let his fear of the unknown call a halt to his life. If Juni didn’t wake up by tomorrow as Smite had promised, Simon would proceed as originally planned.

  He found his appetite close to lunch time, so he made himself a meal. Afterward, he took a shower. Not in the master bath, though; he couldn’t stomach the thought of showering with his dead wife lying in the marital bed. He used the shower in the hall bathroom.

  Downstairs again and feeling like a new man, Simon watched two more movies and took a pre-dinner nap. When he woke up, he went to the kitchen to prepare himself some dinner.

  Thump.

  Simon hesitated, listening for a moment. He poured the marinade over the steak, flipped the meat to coat the other side, and snapped the cover closed on the dish. He placed the dish in the refrigerator and closed the door.

  Thump! Louder this time. The sound came from upstairs.

  Simon grabbed the fireplace poker and slowly climbed the carpeted stairway. He stopped and listened once more at the top of the stairs.

  He heard sounds coming from the master bedroom. He crept along the hall, silent in his slippered feet. He stopped at his open bedroom door and surveyed the room.

  The bed was empty. The blankets were thrown back, revealing dark red spots dotted here and there and an occasional meandering red drizzle across the sheet.

  “You just left me like this.”

  Simon started at the sound of Juniper’s voice.

  She stood looking at him from inside the master bathroom. In her hand, she held a wet washcloth. Water ran from the tap into the sink behind her.

  “You just left me like this,” she repeated. “So many times, over and over. Bloody. Bruised. Injured, broken. You just left me. In the kitchen. In the living room. In the basement.” She lifted the washcloth and rubbed at the crusted blood on her face. “You never cleaned me up. You never tried to help me. You never said you were sorry.”

  Simon just stood there, his mouth partially open, not knowing how to respond. />
  “I can’t believe you did this to me. I can’t believe you brought me back! You have to be the most evil, self-absorbed human being on Earth.” She paused. “No, scratch that. You aren’t even human. You’re a monster.”

  Simon, regaining his composure, retorted, “You ungrateful bitch! I would think you would show a little gratitude after what I’ve done for you!”

  “What you’ve done for me?” Juniper snarled, showing her teeth. “You put me through two years of misery! I kept waiting and waiting for it to be over, for you to finish me off! And there I was, finally at peace, finally at rest, away from you and your cruelty, and you brought me back to this hellhole!” She advanced on Simon. The bruises on her face showed in garish relief against her white skin. “Why should I be grateful, after all you’ve done to me, you arrogant little prick?”

  Simon took a step back and raised the fireplace poker, shaking it at her. “Now you listen here –”

  Juniper cut him off. “No, you listen! I know all about that deal you made, Simon. If you want to lose your end of it, be my guest. But if I were you, I would drop – that – poker – right now!”

  Simon looked at the poker and dropped as though it had burned him. “H-how do you –”

  “How do I know? Hello, dead woman in the house!” She stepped forward, grabbed the poker, and brandished it in front of her. “Floating all over the place, watching you being an idiot!” Junipers laughed, a high-pitched cackle that made Simon’s neck hair stand up and sent chills down his spine. “Boy, did you get screwed over!”

  “What?”

  “I’m dead, you fool! I haven’t been brought back to life! I’m still dead!”

  Simon stared at her. “But that’s not right. The agreement clearly stated that you would be returned ‘as living’. And here you are!”

  “That’s right, Simon. ‘As living.’ Not alive! My soul and my body are permanently separated! You can’t stuff a soul back into a dead body. It’s like trying to put toothpaste back into the tube, or an egg back into its shell. I have no working bodily functions.”

  “Then how are you standing there and walking and talking?”

  “I don’t know! I didn’t make the deal. Maybe it’s maagiiiic.” She made her voice low and mysterious, drawing out the word.

  Simon let out his breath in one big “whoosh”.

  “You made a deal to bring me back to keep your ass out of prison. And you thought I would go back to being your servant – and personal punching bag – the way I’ve been for the past two years, ever since I married you.” She shook the poker at him. “Let me tell you something, mister! You want to stay out of prison? You want to keep your cash, your clothes, your house, your cars, your gold cufflinks, and your membership at the country club? You better not even think about touching me, because those days are over. I’m not your punching bag anymore.” She held the fireplace poker back over her shoulder like a baseball bat. She swung it at his head. It made a humming sound as it cut through the air. He winced, closed his eyes, and raised his arms defensively in front of him.

  Juniper halted her motion just short of Simon’s ear. “You’d better remember that.” She turned and went back into the bathroom, where the tap was still running. She leaned the poker against the wall beside the sink, shut the tap off and looked up. Her eyes met Simon’s in the mirror. “I’m going to take a shower now and clean up this mess you made. When I come downstairs, you’d better have some dinner sitting on the table, waiting for me. “

  Simon stood and stared at her.

  She smiled. “Get to it! Now!”

  Not knowing what else to do, Simon got to it.

  In the kitchen, he cursed to himself resentfully and stared at the steak he had intended to make for his dinner. Well, he supposed he could split it with Juniper. It was big enough.

  Damn! What am I going to do? This is not what I signed up for. And then a nagging voice in the back of his mind said, yes, yes you did. You just didn’t know it.

  This Juniper wasn’t the Juniper he knew. His Juniper was quiet, meek, and docile. Death had changed her, and not for the better.

  And whose fault is that? The voice interjected. He ignored it.

  Wasn’t staying out of prison worth a little humiliation? And keeping all of his worldly possessions? It wasn’t like he was losing face in front of his colleagues or in the public eye. This was a private matter between him and Juniper. No one else knew except for Andrew Smite and his supposed “partners”. So she had transformed into a bitch. He’d dealt with bitches before.

  He busied himself making dinner. When Juniper came downstairs, fireplace poker in hand, her hot meal was sitting on the table, just as she’d commanded.

  She looked at the food sitting on the table and said, “What did you do, cook it in a bonfire?”

  Indeed, a telltale smoky haze drifted from the kitchen doorway.

  “No, it’s broiled. It’s just a little well done,” Simon said, irritated. What did she expect? He hadn’t cooked a steak dinner in years.

  “I don’t think it looks ‘well done’ at all. It looks very poorly done. Throw it away and then clean up whatever mess you made in the kitchen.”

  “You aren’t going to eat?”

  “Dead people don’t eat, you moron.”

  “Then why did you tell me to make you dinner?”

  “Because I could, that’s why.” Juniper looked at the second place setting on the dining room table. “And what is this?”

  “That’s my plate.”

  “Did I tell you to make yourself dinner? No, I don’t think I did.” With one motion, she swiped his plate off of the table. Baked potato and rice splattered across the hardwood, and the plate spun on its edge for a few seconds before it settled in place. She did the same with her own plate.

  “Hey!” Simon protested. “What the hell? I paid for that food. That was a waste of perfectly good food!”

  “Oh really? Well, guess what. You killing me? That was a waste of a perfectly good life. Don’t you think? Now, clean up this mess, and then clean the kitchen, like I told you to. And when you’re done with that, you can make my bed with clean sheets. Then maybe you can have a bowl of cereal or something.” She raised the fireplace poker menacingly.

  Simon, fuming, fought to keep his emotion under control. He wanted to grab Juniper, slam her into the wall, shake her, choke her, throw her on the floor and stomp her face. The new voice, which apparently must be his conscience (who knew I even had one of those?) spoke up: That’s how you ended up in this situation in the first place. Moron.

  His face red, he stood there and glared at her, grinding his teeth. A tic jumped in his left cheek. A vein stood out in his forehead.

  He looked at the poker in her hand. “Yes, dearest,” he said.

  Juniper smiled a grotesque smile, then turned and went to the living room. He heard the television click on.

  For the first time since his wife had died, Simon noticed that two of her teeth were missing.

  When Monday morning arrived, Simon couldn’t get ready for work fast enough. He showered and dressed with enthusiasm, eager to escape the house, which now felt like a prison.

  Overnight, he had become Juniper’s servant. She made him sleep in one of the guest bedrooms, which didn’t bother him; what did bother him were the never ending demands she made upon him.

  Like preparing meal after meal that she would not eat; meals that she wouldn’t allow him to eat. Every time she came to the table she commented derisively and made him throw the food away. She watched him to make sure he threw it in the trash. She designated exactly what he was to eat and when he was allowed to eat it.

  By Sunday evening, he had scrubbed both bathrooms twice, done the laundry, hauled in wood for the fireplace, mowed the lawn, cleaned out the refrigerator, and had started cleaning the basement.

  Whenever he protested, she nudged him with the fireplace poker. She’d swung it at him a few times, but she hadn’t hit him with it. Yet.


  Juniper met Simon at the bottom of the stairs. “Don’t you look handsome,” she said. “Off to work?”

  Simon nodded.

  “I have really good news for you honey. You get a free week off from work! You’ve been working so hard. You really deserve a vacation. And besides . . . don’t you remember there’s a special day coming up this week?”

  “No. And I have some really important meetings scheduled this week. I can’t take any time off.”

  “Oh, sure you can! Our anniversary is this week. I called your office and arranged everything. Your assistant will be standing in for you.”

  Simon’s heart started beating in his ears. The noise was thunderous. His lips practically disappeared in a thin line that cut across his face. He was not amused. “Juniper, you are interfering with my livelihood. You’re really crossing the line here, going way too far.”

  “Oh, really.” It was a statement, not a question. “Well, gee, Mr. Important, do you think you went a little too far when you did this?” She moved her hair back away from her face and showed him her right ear, from which the entire earlobe was missing. “Or how about this?” She held up her arm. It was scarred all the way from wrist to elbow with discolored and wrinkled patches. “You had a good fire burning that night, didn’t you? What about this?” She stuck her pinky finger in the air. The finger was permanently bent out from her hand at an extremely awkward angle. “Or how about these?” She smiled and pointed to the gaps in her lower jaw where two teeth were missing.

  “Welcome to my world, hubby,” she hissed. “What you’ve had to do doesn’t even come close to how it felt to be me. How about I repay you with a few disfigurements of your own?”

  “How dare you threaten me!”

  “How dare I? How dare I? Obviously you need reminding that I’m the woman that you killed, your wife, no less, the same wife that you promised to love, cherish, and protect until death do us part. I think you’ve been a little remiss with your vows. If you had done what you had promised, you wouldn’t be in this situation. Speaking of which, how would you like a quick trip to prison tonight? Maybe you should think about that.” She smacked him on the arm with the poker, hard enough to sting, but not hard enough to bruise him.