Roll Them Bones

by Wilson, David

  Frank crowded up close behind Ronnie, then Lizzy. Jason brought up the rear, glancing uneasily over his shoulders into the gloomy shadows behind them. The chanting—Frank had been right, it was a chant, or some odd, mumbled song—grew louder as they approached the clearing surrounding Tara’s cabin. They could make out the dark outline of the old woman’s home, and the bright glow of a fire out front of the place.

  “She’s there,” Ronnie whispered hoarsely.

  They all crowded closer. A single, thin line of trees separated them from the clearing surrounding the old cottage. The firelight was bright, and as they watched, the flames flared up, illuminating the old woman’s face. She stared at them through those flames, her lips moving in the endless chant, and her eyes wild with crazed humor.

  “Shit,” Ronnie said softly.

  Frank wasn’t listening. Before Jason could reach out and grab his friend’s arm, the thin, bespectacled boy was stepping clear of the trees. He never looked away from that fire, and he never looked back.

  Jason stumbled forward after his friend, and Lizzy grabbed hold of his shirt, dragged along behind. It was only a moment later—or was it longer?—when Jason realized that Ronnie wasn’t with them.

  “Ronnie?” Jason called out softly, then louder. “Ronnie!” No answer. Only shadows surrounded them, and now it was too late to turn back. Tara had seen them—had probably known they were there all along—and now she was standing, swaying on the other side of the fire and beckoning to them with a curled finger of one hand.

  “Where did you go?” Lizzy cut in, breaking the spell of Ronnie’s tale. The images faded and the fire flickered, drawing them all to the present. “Where the hell did you go Ronnie? I mean, you never told us. There we were, scared to death, walking into that place, and you were nowhere to be seen.”

  Ronnie tipped the bottle again, not answering immediately. He turned away from them, staring into the shadows.

  “Got scared,” he said, shrugging. “Saw her staring at us through that fire. No way she could see into those shadows, but she was looking right at me. Just creeped me out.”

  Frank was laughing. “You chickened out!”

  “Don’t get used to it, Frankie,” Ronnie snapped. He took another swig of whiskey and they all laughed.

  “So you saw what happened, then,” Jason said slowly.

  “No,” Ronnie said, growing red. “I slipped back out of site. Didn’t come back until later.”

  “Guess one of us had better go on from there, then, Jason said thoughtfully. I thought you knew everything, Ronnie. I thought you were out there, somewhere, the whole time.”

  Ronnie shook his head. “Couldn’t do it, man. Not proud of that, but there it is.”

  Frank was frowning. “I’ll go from there,” he said at last. “I was in front, got there first. heard what that old witch said—all of it. I’ll never forget.”

  “Neither will I,” Jason whispered, falling silent as Frank accepted the bottle from a still disgruntled Ronnie and took a long swig.

  “I never really saw the fire, or the cottage,” Frank began. “All I saw from the moment we stepped out of those trees was her eyes.”

  Jason closed his eyes and leaned back again. He could still see old Tara’s eyes, and he could hear her voice, cackling at them across the clearing.

  “Come closer!” she’d said, swaying as if trying to mesmerize them by her motion. “Come visit with an old woman on a special night. A night for darkness and fun, yes? A night to push the limits.”

  Tara sidled around the fire. Jason’s mouth was dry, too dry to speak, though he wanted to cry out.

  “Know you,” Tara giggled, smiling and showing the huge gap between her front teeth. “Know you Frankie boy. Know your daddy, yes indeed. Daddy tell you to come see old Tara?”

  Frank stopped cold. He shook his head, nearly turning to run, but it was too late. Tara slipped those last few feet closer, clutching his arm with her bony fingers and too-long nails.

  “Surprised,” Tara cackled. “The boy is surprised. Know ‘em all,” she said, tugging on Frank’s arm.

  Numbly, Frank followed her halfway around the fire and before he knew it, was seated on one of the logs set up like benches. Jason and Lizzy followed uncertainly, wanting very badly to cut and run.

  “Come to old Tara for a Halloween scare, eh?” she muttered, turning and releasing Frank’s arm. Moments later she was seated again, just as she’d been when they first saw her, rocking slowly back and forth. For just a second, Jason thought she’d forgotten they were there. She rocked and rocked and he heard her start mumbling to herself again. Before he could whisper to Lizzy that they should get up and go, she swept her gaze in a slow arc from Frank, to Jason, the Lizzy, and back to Frank.

  “Daddy tell you old Tara was a witch, boy?” She didn’t laugh now, only waited.

  Frank didn’t answer immediately, and the silence thickened.

  “Speak up boy. Asked you a question.”

  Frank swallowed again, then managed to choke out an answer. “No, Ma’am,” he said. “He said you could tell the future.”

  Tara stared at Frank for a long time, as if she could slip into his mind and tell if he were making it up.

  “Told you about the bones, did he boy?”

  Frank watched her, his gaze shifting to his feet. He nodded slowly.

  Tara threw her head back suddenly and began to laugh. It was a high-pitched screech. The hairs on the back of Jason’s neck rose slowly, and he slid closer to Lizzy on the log. Frank sat, mesmerized.

  “Not all it’s cracked up to be, young Frank,” Tara snapped, her eyes flashing. It was impossible to tell from where Jason was sitting whether she was smiling, or scowling. “Future is the future, best left for tomorrow. Halloween is for the dark ones, the spirits. Can you feel them?”

  Tara was rising slowly as she spoke, still swaying from side to side, more gracefully than Jason would have given her credit for. The flames seemed to move in time as she danced, and Jason caught shadows, just at the edges of his peripheral vision, flitting among the barren trees. He turned his head more than once, but each time he found that there was nothing to see. The swaying, dancing old crazy woman dragged his attention back to the fire.

  “You feel it,” she laughed. Her voice sounded younger, full of energy, and life. “Young Jason feels it. It is in his eyes.”

  Tara spun away from the fire, and back again, so quickly that it reminded Jason of a strobe light at a school dance. Her hand was extended, and something glittered in the flickering light. Something white.

  Tara’s eyes danced. Jason knew it was impossible to see those eyes, that the light wasn’t good enough, and she was too far away, but he knew what he’d seen was real, at the same time. He didn’t answer her; there was nothing to say.

  Whirling back to Frank, Tara knelt suddenly in the dirt, her dirty grey hair falling forward, hiding her hands and her features from them all. Her hair brushed the dirt beside the fire, and they could hear her voice, chanting again, singing—something—something they couldn’t quite make out.

  Lizzy grabbed Jason’s arm and jerked at him. Her eyes were wild, but he held fast, letting his hand grip her wrist tightly.

  “Jason!” Lizzy’s voice was shrill, and her nails dug into his arm, but he shook his head stubbornly.

  Turning from Lizzy’s frightened gaze, Jason saw that Frank had dropped from his seat to his knees. He was staring intently at the old woman, waiting—for something.

  Tara remained prostrate, her forehead now brushing her hands, which she held before her on the ground. Frank leaned in closer, as if he might touch her on the shoulder. Closer. Closer still, until Jason couldn’t quite make out old Tara’s head beyond Frank’s kneeling form.

  And then she rose. So suddenly that Frank reeled back in shock, hitting the log he’d been sitting on and nearly toppling over backward. Lizzy screamed, clutching Jason and rising, trying to drag him away. Jason didn’t move. He watched, and he wai
ted.

  Frank wobbled for a long, precariously balanced instant and then fell back onto the log again, seated as he’d been seated before.

  “Ready then?” Tara asked, her voice low, but carrying, rippling with energy and—promise. “Ready to know the future, young Frank? Ready to know what lies ahead?”

  Frank didn’t nod. He didn’t move. He watched, and Jason watched. Lizzy, giving up on tugging Jason from the log and out of the clearing, was huddled close to Jason’s side, shivering.

  Tara was swaying again, on her knees. Her hands were clasped before her, something rattling around between the cupped palms. Her gaze was locked to Frank, and her thin lips were twisted in a crazed grin. Then she drew one hand back, over her head, and shot it forward. A handful of white, glittering objects flashed in the firelight, glittering as they fell to the dirt, forming patterns. Jason couldn’t look away, could only stare, and suddenly Tara’s voice, mesmerizing, chanting loudly.

  “For an evil past, no deed atones; to know the future? Roll them BONES.”

  Bones. Jason stared at the white gleaming things in the dirt between old Tara and Frank. Bones? What kind of bones, he wondered very suddenly. Whose bones?

  Frank was leaning in again, staring.

  “What,” he said softly, “what do they say?”

  “Say?” Tara cackled. “Say?” she repeated. “They say nothing. If they were here, and you were here, it would mean nothing. Nothing at all. Have to be read, boy. Have to be understood. You hear them bones saying anything?”

  Frank blushed suddenly and shook his head.

  “Didn’t think so. Just like your Daddy,” she grinned. “Want it all to be cut and dried, want it written in a book of rules somewhere, the story of the future in three chapters with footnotes.”

  “You knew I’d come here,” Frank said softly.

  “I know a great many things, young Frank,” Tara cackled suddenly. “A great many things, including a couple I suspect you and your mama would rather not know. Things your Daddy didn’t add into the story, I expect.”

  “Are you saying...” Frank stopped before he could ask the question and Tara glared at him, her smile fading fast.

  “Not saying a damn thing,” she said shortly, “Saying there’s always more to a future than you want to know. Look.”

  Old Tara poked at the ground between them, and Frank did as he was told, following her finger with his gaze. She brought the gnarled tip of one cracked, yellow nail to rest on a bit of white bone extending straight up from the dirt, spun her finger in the air, leaving a trail that imprinted like a symbol of fire in Jason’s mind before slipping back to the earth, and the next bit of bone, and the next. She wrote in the air, hand spinning, eyes closed and her lips moving, silently continuing the chant.

  “Stories,” she said softly, her voice growing in strength as she focused. “Voices, young Frank. Your voices. More voices than you knew you had in you and clamoring to get out. Voices that tell you stories you don’t want to hear, stories you have to spit out and away to keep you sane, and then only more stories, taking the place of those that came before. Told and done, more and more and more until they make you want to scream, and then still more.”

  Frank was backing away slowly, as if he heard those voices already, as if they were filling his head as she spoke.

  “No,” he said softly. “That isn’t how the stories work. I make them up, I…”

  Tara through her head back and screeched with laughter. “No one just makes the stories up, Frankie boy. Your Daddy didn’t make this one up, did he? All those years, all this time, and here you are. So strange.”

  “What are you saying?” Frank blustered, standing a little straighter. “What are you saying?”

  She ignored him. Turning slowly, Tara raised her finger to point straight at Jason, pinning him in place.

  “What are you saying you old witch?” Frank tried to step forward, to grab her by the shoulder and turn her, make her listen. Something happened.

  Dust swirled up around Frank’s feet, or something like dust, dark and spinning. Frank cried out sharply, staggering backward, but Tara paid no more attention to him than she might have a large mosquito. Her gaze, her attention, and the waving finger, still drawing in the air, all were leveled at Jason, who shrank back against Lizzy. He wanted to watch Frank, to see what was happening, but he couldn’t look away from Tara’s burning eyes.”

  ~ * ~

  The campfire crackled, and Frank grew silent. The silence dragged on, and finally Ronnie cleared his throat.

  “What happened next?” he said. “I know there was more than that.”

  “There was a lot more,” Jason tossed in. “A hell of a lot more.” Then Jason chuckled, and Frank glared at him, handing over the bottle.

  “Why did you stop?” Ronnie asked, watching Frank grow steadily more red in the face. “You didn’t chicken out too, did you, Frankie?”

  “No,” Liz cut in. “He fell on his butt.” She burst into a fit of giggles at that, and Jason joined in quickly.

  “I tripped,” Frank cut in sharply. Something grabbed my ankles, and I tried to get away.”

  They were all laughing, and very suddenly, Frank levered himself to his feet, his face livid.

  “You think it’s Goddam funny?” he snapped.

  The others grew silent. Jason stopped with the bottle half-way to his lips, staring.

  “It wasn’t funny,” Frank said, turning away, his face red now with more than embarrassment. “Not funny at all. Something grabbed my ankles. Something that shouldn’t have been there, shouldn’t have even existed. You all laughed when I told you the first time, and you’re still laughing. One minute that old witch is hinting she slept with my father, and the next there was— that thing. I don’t see how you can find anything in it to laugh at, considering everything else that happened.”

  “Ease up, Frankie,” Ronnie said softly. “The laughing, it just makes it easier, you know? Hell, I didn’t see you fall on your ass, and I sure as hell didn’t see any phantom dust cloud grab your ankles. Don’t have any trouble believing you though.”

  Frank didn’t answer, but the angry set of his shoulders eased. Eventually, he turned back. “I didn’t just fall on my ass. I wish to God I had. Wish I’d seen what happened next.”

  “Sit down, have a drink,” Jason said, gesturing to where Frank had been sitting, “and I’ll tell you what I remember, which would be everything. Can’t get it out of my head any other way, let’s try telling the story.”

  Frank nodded, dropping back to the ground and accepting the bottle back from Jason, who leaned into Lizzy and closed his eyes again, drifting back to that night, and those images.

  “She wouldn’t let me go,” Jason started. “I don’t know how to explain it. I wanted to go and help Frank, and Lizzy wanted me to just turn and run,” he hugged her close to his side to let her know it was okay—and that it had been okay. “There was something about her eyes, and the way she was writing in the air. I could almost see the lines as her finger moved.”

  ~ * ~

  Old Tara jabbed her finger down toward the bones again, and Jason nearly leaped from his skin as her voice crackled through the air. “You can run, boy, but you can’t run fast enough, or far enough, to catch it. That isn’t the way. Run and run and run, and get nowhere.”

  Tara’s nail flicked out, dislodging a single piece of bone and sending it spinning toward the fire. Before it could reach the licking flames, she grabbed it, grinning and shaking the fist that gripped it at Jason’s face.

  “Nothing you think changes it boy. You go on and run away. You run and study and buy yourself a new life and see if I’m a crazy old lady. You can’t run away. You can reach what you need from here, and you don’t even see it.”

  And her hand flicked the bit of bone to the dirt with the others. Jason wanted to protest. He wanted to tell her he wasn’t running anywhere, that he had a plan for his life.

  “Doesn’t matter how bad it is
at home,” Tara intoned softly. “You shouldn’t run. You just have to run back, and it’s a long, long way.”

  Jason shook his head slowly, trying to speak. He couldn’t find the words. Words were what Frank was good with, and Frank hadn’t come back. Only Jason, old Tara, and Lizzy who shivered against his side.

  Tara turned to Lizzy then, as if Jason’s thoughts had alerted her to the one visitor she’d neglected.

  “So pretty,” Tara crooned. “No one ever tells you, do they dear? No one notices, but oh— you will be the one. You will be the one who attracts the boys later on, more boys than you want. More attention than you want. The little-hearted ones follow, always they follow the pretty ones who don’t say no. You remember girl. Say no.”

  Tara was swaying again, rising slowly. Her movements reminded Jason of a cobra, rising slowly, ready to strike. Tara’s hands were raised over her head and her eyes were closed. She moved back and forth with a rhythm that called music to mind, that worked its way into Jason’s thoughts.

  Jason felt himself stirring, deep inside. He felt his pants a little tighter, felt the spell that old Tara wove gripping him in ways that made him blush and shrink away.

  Lizzy had stopped tugging on Jason’s arm. She cowered against him, as if his slight frame could provide some sort of protection against the madness. Jason didn’t feel as though he could protect himself. He held Lizzy close, but he wanted to push her away, to cut and run.

  “Run away,” Tara laughed, dancing in a slow, meandering circle, stepping carefully around and among the bones. Never did she come too close to any of them, and the longer that Jason stared at her flashing feet, the more convinced he became that they wove patterns in the air, just as her finger had done.

  “Run away,” she whispered. The words carried, impossibly loud, louder than Jason’s crashing heartbeat and he staggered suddenly to his feet, dragging Lizzy with him.