River of Bones

by Angela J. Townsend

  By: Angela J. Townsend

  Clean Teen Publishing

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  River of Bones

  Copyright © 2013 by: Angela J. Townsend

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information address:

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  PO Box 561326

  The Colony, TX 75056

  www.cleanteenpublishing.com

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  To my family who taught me to go after my dreams

  To my sons, Grant and Levi who taught me that love is endless

  To Milton Datsopoulos and Diane Larsen who taught

  me the value of friendship

  And to

  Dale McGarvey

  Who taught me to never give up.

  “Let those curse it who curse the day, who are prepared to rouse Leviathan.”

  Job 3:8

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  More CTP Books

  Summer 1937

  Sassy Smit was seven years old the afternoon she found Leroy Jebber dead. His pudgy body floated belly up in the slough, like a white blob of fat in a can of beans. A strangled scream rose in her throat. She knew it was Leroy—the big bloated thing in the water. His bib overalls, the ones with the blue and green patches at the knees, gave him away. Sassy’s mama mended Leroy’s clothes for free, so he didn’t mind the mismatched scraps. Sassy’s legs trembled. She should have never taken the shortcut, never stayed so late at Betsy Ray’s birthday party. She stared at Leroy, too horrified to look away.

  Something slithered in the shallows just beyond Leroy’s boot. Instinct took over terror, stabbing into Sassy’s brain, screaming for her to run. Sassy bolted. Her legs pumping through the goosegrass, she tripped and fell, snagging her new pink tights. Scrambling to her feet, she rounded the woodpile at the edge of her parent’s farm. Just a few more steps and she’d be home. She raced past the chicken coop and around a sharp bend in the worn footpath. The salty smell of fresh shelled lima beans greeted her at the front gate. She nearly tore it off its hinges.

  “Mama!”

  Sassy’s mama stood on the front porch, stirring a pot. Her black skin glowed in the evening light. “What’s chasin’ you, child?”

  “Mama, Leroy’s dead. He’s in the slough.”

  Mama’s eyes went round. She leaned in close, snatched Sassy by the shoulders with her boney fingers. “You stay away from that pond, you hear me?”

  “But Mama…”

  “You listen to what I’m sayin’. That pond is cursed. You hear me?”

  Sassy nodded.

  Mama lowered her voice. “Whatever went on there today ain’t none of our business. Now you get inside and don’t you ever go near that place again. Not unless you want to die, too.”

  “We can’t just leave him…”

  Mama wiped her hands on her gingham apron and narrowed her eyes up the weed choked path. Locusts hummed into the night. “Nothin’ we can do for him now, honey child.”

  Sassy never went near that slough again. Not for seventy years. Not even to tend the rusted wire fences near the property line, not even when the county warned her about the weeds. No, Sassy never went back, not until the new people came, and then—it was only to warn them.

  Terrebone Parish, Louisiana, 2013

  My mother aimed our Volkswagen bus down the overgrown driveway, steering through endless rows of cypress trees, ashen with massive fluted bases and branches bearded with Spanish moss. We passed acres of swamp water interlacing the land like veins. She’d dragged us all the way from the windy plains of Nebraska deep into the heart of the Louisiana bayous, to a countryside that seemed to congeal into a shapeless living thing, a strange combination of liquid and land.

  “Mom, look out!”

  She slammed on the brakes, barely missing a fallen log in the road. She turned and glared at me. “Dharma! You know I don’t like you calling me mom. I thought we agreed on this.”

  “Okay!” I snapped. In my panic, I had forgotten that my crazy, hippie mother wished to be called Echo, a name given to her by a shaman who informed her that her streak of bad luck with men would end if she united with nature and gave up her identity. I tried to convince her otherwise but she wouldn’t listen. Me, the voice of reason. The adult in the family. And the caretaker of my baby brother, Benny, whose dad could have been any one of an endless string of loser boyfriends.

  Mom steered around the log. A dreamcatcher dangling from the rearview mirror swung precariously as she dodged the ruts in the road, only to hit deeper ones. She fought past the potholes and brought the bus to an abrupt halt in front of a massive wrought iron gate with a giant metal rose in the center. Behind the gates loomed an immense plantation house. Ancient. Deserted. Unloved.

  “Groovy!” Mom said, eyeing the dilapidated mansion.

  “Creepy, you mean.”

  “No, it’s perfect.”

  “Right. Perfectly creepy.”

  “Come on, Dharma, show some respect! It's a historical landmark. Welcome to Whiskey Rose Plantation.”

  She pulled a Post-it off the dash, reading the history the same way she'd remember to pick up milk at the store. “It was built by General Cobb. He and his family died mysteriously in eighteen-twelve." Her eyes danced. "No one has been able to live in it for long. They've all been chased away by ghosts. And that's where I come in.” She wadded up the paper and tossed it on the floor.

  I sighed. “You know someday you’re gonna get caught.”

  “Caught doing what? I’m providing an honest service.” A scheming grin crossed her lips. “They need to sell this place, and they can’t do it if it’s haunted.”

  “You’re kidding, right? Remember who you’re talking to. I’m the one that helps you capture the dearly departed on film, waving mournfully on their journey to the other side. The one holding the trick ropes. The one who makes the spooky sounds. Why can’t you get a real job?”

  “Well, a real job wouldn’t give us a free place to live every month, would it? Now stop polluting me with your negative energy and get Benny. I’ll grab the keys.”

  I wa
ited while she dug for her purse, buried under a pile of fast food sacks and scratched CDs. She pawed through the mess and pulled out the tattered bag decorated with beads and an orange peace sign on the front. She unhooked the antler bone clasp and started the excavation process.

  While she searched for an eternity, I glanced at the dark, foreboding house. Greek style pillars, strangled with vines, held the weathered roof up. Most of the windows were covered by rotten shutters and decrepit with moss. A lump rose in my throat. What had she gotten us into this time?

  “Shoot! I must have left the keys at the real estate office. Take Benny for a walk while I go get them. There’s supposed to be a scenic pond out back.”

  I glared at my mother. “You’re coming back—right?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Well, of course.”

  “Promise?”

  “Yes, why wouldn’t I?”

  “Because the last time you dumped us off someplace, you didn’t come back for a week.”

  “Great, so you’re going to bring that up again.”

  “You know it wasn’t the first time. There was Bob in Newport, Mark in Austin, Sam in Glendale,” I counted off the checklist of cheaters, users and con artists on my fingers. “And Roger. Let's not forget Roger in…where was it?”

  “Now you're being silly,” my mother said.

  “Every time you meet a new guy, you forget about everything else, including us.”

  Her gaze slid away from mine. “I know it’s been a long day. We’re all tired and crabby. I’ll get the keys and be right back. Or if you like, you could ride with me. But no more negativity—you’re messing with my chakras.”

  I flung open the door. “No thanks.” I stepped to the side of the bus, opened the side door, and looked at my baby brother, sleeping soundly. If it hadn’t been for Benny, I would have left my crazy mother a long time ago. This would be my senior year, if I had enough credits. But who knows if I'll ever graduate from high school with all the moving.

  Mom yammered on and on about how I’d like this town and how I’d make new friends. I'd heard it all before and I suddenly felt dizzy. It was like being trapped on a merry-go-round. Nothing ever changed. Tears pooled in my lower lashes, a lump in my throat expanded. I wanted to grab onto something stable and hold on.

  My mother stepped out of the van, shook the road dust from her peasant skirt and stretched her long thin legs. She smoothed her hair into a knot at the nape of her neck, cinching it with a hair tie, before applying a thick layer of apricot gloss to her lips. She grinned at me, rubbed her lips together, and then studied her reflection in the side mirror of the bus. “We could be sisters you know, instead of mother and daughter. What do you think?”

  “Whatever,” I said. I didn’t want a sister. I wanted a mother. Someone who cared enough to see how much it hurt me to never have any friends, to constantly be the new kid at school, the weirdo with the ghost hunting mom. But more than anything I wanted a real home for Benny. I didn’t want him to end up like me, a wilting plant, struggling to take root.

  I glared at my mother who was still admiring herself in the mirror. I hated to admit it, but I guess she was right, we did sorta look alike. We shared the same long paprika-blonde hair and hazel eyes. But I wasn't lucky enough to get her willowy figure or her outgoing personality. I used to promise myself that with every move things would get better. A new school—a new life. I'd be popular, more outspoken. I'd make tons of new friends. Wrong. While everyone else was busy chatting and interacting, I sat hunched at my desk doodling in my notebook, escaping the chaos around me. Pretending to be an aspiring artist, hiding behind a curtain of hair.

  Sometimes I wondered if was normal to be so uptight all the time. To be aware of every move I made, every word I spoke. My mother was the complete opposite. She floated through life without a care, so completely sure of herself. I've never had that kind of confidence, and I envied her for it—not that I'd ever tell her that.

  I reached inside the van, unbuckled Benny and lifted him up. He nestled his soft head under my chin. I inhaled the scent of raspberries and cream lingering in the fine strands of his hair. Sweet residue from the baby shampoo I’d washed him with the night before. Benny shifted in my arms and put a fist to his mouth while I grabbed his sippy cup and blanket. Benny snatched them eagerly. He was a lot like my mother, always happy and full of energy. Nothing ever seemed to bother him much. He was quick to adapt, unlike me. Last month, he’d hit the toddler stage and trying to keep up with him was a challenge, but at least I didn't have to carry him all the time.

  My mother slid into the driver’s seat, closed the bus door and winked. “I’ll be back in a flash.”

  I noticed the glow in her eyes. My mother, the opportunist, no doubt wanted to go back for a second chance to flirt with the real estate agent. He’d been checking her out the moment we walked in the door. One thing she could never resist was men—men of all shapes and sizes. Often at our expense. She had assured the agent she could rid the house of any unpleasantness and anything else he may want while the slimebag took off his wedding ring and tucked it into his desk drawer. Unseen, except by me.

  None of mom's relationships ever lasted for long, not even with my father. My mother had met him in an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting. They fell in love, stopped attending meetings, and moved in together a week later. The affair lasted a month and then he was gone, leaving her alone and pregnant. She refused to tell me anything about him, almost as if it were easier for her to pretend I had just dropped out of the sky, than to admit she had screwed up with yet another man.

  I used to lay awake at night and dream about my father. What he looked like, how he smelled. Sometimes I’d push him from my mind, wondering how he could just walk away and leave us behind. I used to watch fathers on the playgrounds, pushing kids on swings, or going out for ice cream, attending school plays. I liked how calm they were, how stable. They seemed like giant anchors, firmly rooted to the ocean floor. You could be safe with them, not always drifting like us.

  Mom started the engine and accelerated down the driveway. A rooster tail of dust flared out behind the van as she pulled away. At the last moment, before disappearing around the bend, she stuck out her hand and waved. I turned my back on her as she had done so many times to us.

  I looked at the ground, my gaze following the curve of the gravel lining the driveway. Maybe while I waited, I could hunt for rocks. I loved the familiarity of stone, the weight of a small piece of the earth's crust resting in the palm of my hand. It made me feel grounded, settled somehow, even though most days I felt like the Greek god, Atlas, burdened with the weight of the entire world on my shoulders.

  I hiked to the gate and pushed it open. The hinges squealed with loud mournful cries, as if alive. Weeds choked the footpath. I glanced back at the road, thinking how stupid I’d been to let her leave us here. What if she didn’t come back? How far was it to the main highway—a mile, maybe two?

  Come on Dharma, stop it. I took a deep breath and studied the mansion tucked into a thick congregation of ancient oaks. Their skeletal branches seemed to cradle the crumbling structure, protecting it from something. Something sinister.

  A shrill cry came from somewhere in the distant swamp and a blue heron glided overhead. Its lonesome call rang across the horizon. I held Benny closer, hesitating in front of a dense wall of weeds and waist-high grass. Not the kind of terrain I wanted to wade through in a tank top, shorts and flip flops. Who knew what lurked in those tall grasses—there could be poisonous snakes or worse.

  A deep-throated growl rumbled from several yards away. I froze, listening. What was that? To the left, the grass waved to one side, then parted at a threatening pace. Something was coming, heading straight for us.

  I clutched Benny to my chest and made a break-neck run for the house. Thorns tore at my flesh. Something snapped at my heels. Cold, wet slime slithered down the backs of my ankles. I ran harder through the thick foliage, lungs burning, breath sawing in and out. Ju
st a few more feet and I’d make it to the front porch. The growl intensified, drowning out the sound of my footsteps. Icy breath feathered my legs. I lunged forward and toppled over the remains of a concrete statue. My brother flew from my arms.

  “Benny!”

  I scrambled to my feet, frantically searching the weeds, glancing over my shoulder for whatever chased us. The grass stood still, as if frozen. The air so silent, not even a breeze. My pulse hammered in my ears.

  “Benny, where are you!” I yelled.

  No answer. Not one sound. Why wasn’t he crying? My heart did a somersault. Was he knocked unconscious? My fear of the unknown lurking in the grass evaporated. I waded through the weeds, tearing aside patches of crabgrass, hoping he was there. Nothing. Each breath felt heavy, as if I was swallowing mud. I whipped my head around, searching. Where was he?

  To the left stood the old house. A padlock secured the front door; boards crisscrossed the windows. Around me, nothing but weeds, swampland, and rotting outbuildings. In the distance near a low clearing, I spotted a flash of blond hair. Benny! His face glowed with laughter, his arms outstretched, chasing after something.

  “Benny, stop!”

  He paused and looked at me, then turned as if someone were calling to him, luring him away. He continued to run clumsily through the clearing, past an overgrown gazebo toward a murky slough fed by a lazy river.

  “Benny, no!” I sprinted after him, blood trickling down my scraped knees, pain flashing into my side. I yelled until my vocal cords ached, but he only ran faster, laughed louder. At the water’s edge, he tripped and pitched forward. His tiny hands flew out in front of him as he tumbled headlong into the dank waters and sank like a stone beneath the sludge. I crashed through the brambles and dove into the pond.