River of Bones

by Angela J. Townsend

  The rain faded and fog swirled around the bog in the distance, creeping through rows of cypress trees, disguising the landscape in a blinding haze of white. Through the choking fog, a dark figure crawled crablike from the water. I strained to see in the mist. Could a gator rise above the weeds like that? As I watched, it pushed itself upright—no, definitely not a gator.

  I looked over to where Wolf had disappeared around the side of the house, my heart racing as a sick feeling settled into my gut. I cast a glance back to where I had seen the shape moving…

  It was closer now! It had almost reached the house, shambling in an awkward way, as though it were not truly walking but moving in time with strings rather than muscles. Its head was bowed, with a matted rope hung around its neck, dripping with sludge. Muck and water dripped from the rotted garment hanging on its—no, her—body, as if her very insides were leaking the fluids dripping from her frame. A rag circled her head, saturated with muck, pulled slightly to the side, exposing a bare spot where her hair and ear should have been.

  Paralyzing terror sawed through my spine. Run! Move! I stood rooted to the spot. Head still down, the figure raised a boney finger pointing at me, hobbling grotesquely toward the house.

  Fear scrambled my thoughts. I had to warn Wolf! Adrenaline surged. I sprang into action, raising my hand to beat on the window, when something slammed into the back of my knees.

  Scooter barreled past me, nearly knocking me off my feet. I clutched Benny to my chest.

  “Watch it, dog!”

  Scooter whined at the door.

  “No way! You’re not going out there.”

  The dog scratched at the wood until his claws marred the surface. I grabbed his collar to pull him away. He curled his lips, snapped and growled. My fingers bounced off his teeth. I jerked my hand back, my pulse hammering. Scooter quickly turned and licked my arm in apology. I couldn't be mad at him, I knew his fury wasn’t directed at me, but at whatever lurked outside.

  Pressing my face against the window, I scanned every inch of the yard. Nothing. Whatever I’d seen had vanished as fast as it appeared. My heart squeezed tight with fear—unless it hid in the shadows, waiting.

  Scooter pushed his head against my leg and whined again. Maybe I should let him out to protect Wolf…just in case.

  “Okay, killer. You win. You’re on your own, though.”

  I reached for the doorknob, my knees shaking. The door opened to a sigh of the wind gusting through the cypress trees, sending long arms of moss dancing in the fog.

  Scooter surged past, his nails digging into the wooden floor as he shot outside.

  Wolf crashed out of the bushes from the side of the house. “Scooter, come back!” he yelled, chasing after the dog.

  “Wolf, wait!” I had to warn him about the creature, but he ignored me, running into the night. Mosquitoes whined in my ears, buzzing at my face, sheltered from the rain under what was left of the eaves. Deep within the swamp, a bullfrog chorus croaked in baritone, jug-of-rum, jug-of-rum. A rustling came from the bushes beside the steps. A shard of fear cut off my breath like a guillotine. I turned to hurry inside, juggling Benny and reaching for the screen door, when a soggy hand shot out of the dark and gripped my shoulder. I wheeled around, the concrete step grinding into my heel and screamed.

  In the gloomy light, a gnarled old man stood before me. He raised a lantern to his face. His lower lip drooped with plug tobacco, and a yellow stain trailed down the right side of his toothless mouth to his chin.

  “Didn’t mean to scare you. Just droppin’ off supplies.”

  “S-S-Supplies?”

  He looked at me like I was the village idiot and nodded. “From Mr. Crawford.”

  I thought for a moment. Mr. Crawford? Oh yeah, the sleazy real estate guy who, at this very moment, was probably screwing my stupid mother—she'd never learn.

  “Oh, thanks,” I said.

  “I’ll stack the boxes on the front porch.” He glanced around, eyes wide. “Got to be getting back. Don’t like being out here, after dark. Call me superstitious, but I never did like corpse candles.”

  “Corpse candles?”

  The old man frowned. “Haven’t you ever heard about the ghost lights out here? Some claim they’re caused by swamp gas, but I know folks who tried to follow those lights, only to be lured into darkness…and death.”

  He set down the lantern, pulled the hood of his yellow slicker over his head and tied it securely under his scraggly chin. “Good thing you don’t have any lights on.” The old man leaned forward, his breath stinking of booze. “It attracts the spirits of the dead.” He narrowed his mangy eyes and cackled before turning to leave.

  I rushed inside the dark house and held the door open only long enough to see the light from his lantern disappear into the night. Shivering, I hugged Benny and thought about the creature I’d seen. What was it?

  The screen door banged open, I jumped as Wolf hurried inside, then caught myself smiling. Thank goodness he was alive!

  “There’s some creeper unloading stuff on the porch—do you know him?” Wolf asked.

  “Yeah, I mean no. He’s just dropping off some supplies. Did you find Scooter?”

  Wolf nodded. “What got into him? He was all freaked out.”

  “I’m not sure. I thought I saw something crawl out of the swamp, then Scooter wigged out, clawing at the door. Not sure if he wanted out to protect you or if he didn’t like being inside.” I held Benny tighter and looked around. “Not that I'd blame him for wanting out of here.”

  “No doubt. This place reminds me of some old horror movie.” He reached over and flipped on the kitchen lights. They flickered, then held a steady, dim glow. “Maybe you saw a raccoon or wild boar that got stuck in the mud.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know what it was. You didn’t see anything strange outside?”

  “Other than the Lantern Dude, no. Are you feeling okay?”

  “I nodded.” Great, he must've thought I was a total psycho by now. “Did you get the water turned on?” I asked, quickly changing the subject.

  “Yep, give the electric a half hour or so and the water in the tank ought to be hot enough for a bath.” Wolf walked to the kitchen sink and turned on the tap. A hiss sounded, pipes rattled and banged. Finally, a stream of brown liquid burst from the nozzle. “You’ll have to let it run awhile.”

  A door I hadn’t noticed before stood to the left of the sink. A pantry? Or better yet, a bathroom? I couldn’t wait to wash the stink off me.

  Wolf glanced at his watch. “I better run. My mom is having a piano recital for her students and I promised to help. Sure hate to leave you alone out here, but duty calls.” He handed me the flashlight. “Take this in case the lights go out, and I’ll pack the boxes of supplies in.”

  “Cool. Thanks.”

  Wolf jogged outside as I entered the living room and flipped on the lights. A dirty glow spilled over the room. Shrill whispers echoed in every dark corner. Standing stiff, feet frozen to the floor, I cocked my head and tried to make out the unnatural sounds. Was it the wind? Or something else? I shuddered, remembering what the old man had said about the ghost lights. He was obviously mental. A total drunk. Even so, his words burned into my brain.

  Sassy Smit drew back the lace curtains with knobby fingers the color of charred wood. For a long time she stood motionless, mouth dry, eyeing the swamp. Waiting. Listening. But there was nothing there. Nothing but the darkness. Maybe the unease gnawing at her gut was just the product of a feeble mind.

  A skitter of movement creased the bog. Her fears awakened. A teakettle whistled behind her, spitting water across the worn cook stove like a venomous snake. She ignored it, staring trance-like out the window.

  She parted her cracked lips, her tongue darting between them in a vain attempt to add moisture. Something was wrong. Very wrong. She could feel it in her achy bones. Lights suddenly glowed from the windows of the old plantation house. Her heart ticked like a racing stopwatch. Perspirati
on draped her brow. She released the curtains and wiped the wetness from her face. New people had come. Lord help them.

  Sassy shuffled to the stove. Her plain brown skirt caressed her arthritic ankles. She removed the kettle and poured herself a cup of tea. After it cooled, she sipped the amber liquid quickly, set the empty cup in the sink and quickly looked away. She’d read the leaves later. Sassy couldn’t bear to look at them now. Hobbling into the bedroom, she lowered herself on a shabby twin bed, lying on her back, corpse-like.

  Eyes wide, she gazed into the rafters, her mind alive with the past, layered with images time could never fade. It ain’t none of my business. Not my business at all. Whatever happens to them people is gonna happen no matter what. A vision of her mother’s face, lined and drawn loomed before her, slender fingers pressing into her shoulders, warning her not to get involved. Every detail of that fateful day, a lifetime ago, gnawed at her with gator-sharp teeth.

  The muggy night air streamed in through the cracks of the weathered walls, aged wood lashed together like Lincoln Logs. Maybe she’d muster the courage to rise, grab her shawl and hobble over there…warn them. Her mother’s face hovered again. She knew better than to stick her nose in where it wasn’t wanted. The day she’d gotten too close to the bog, her mother took her to see the Voodoo priest, Papa Doc. She shuddered remembering his probing eyes, that hard charcoal face.

  “Only wicked children play near the swamp!” His eyes gleamed. “Shame on you!” The words fell from his lips like drops of acid. She had tried to shrink away, but he reached out and snatched her by the hair, nearly lifting her off the ground. “Did you touch the water?” Sassy’s mouth fell open, but she could only shake her head. He released her and she scrambled to her feet, running to the safety of her mother’s arms.

  “She’s untouched,” he said, kneeling on one crooked knee and narrowing his eyes like two black beacons. “Leave! Now! And never go near that swamp again!”

  Even if she did warn them, they’d never listen to her. They’d call her crazy, think she was some old swamper with nothing better to do but scare folks. No. She’d stay in the safety of her bed.

  If God willed it, they’d come to her.

  Wolf entered through the front door, carry a box under each arm. “Where do you want these?”

  “By the sink in the kitchen, please.”

  Wolf flashed a smile and my stomach fluttered. His handsome grin lifted my mood. For a moment, every thought evaporated. I followed him into the kitchen, grabbing at the brief silence inside me, but soon the dark cloud of worry returned. So many freaky things had happened. I couldn’t make sense of it all. But then again, this wasn't anything new. Welcome to my life. Normality just isn't normal for me. While other teens lived in the moment, I worried about every moment. While they laughed, gossiped and hung out with friends, I sat in silence, pondering my miserable existence and what cataclysmic disaster might befall me next. When other kids ate lunch in the school cafeteria, I'd starve so no one could watch me eat.

  There was something really wrong with me. No one should feel this awkward, this anxious, this self-conscious. I had to find a way to get over it. Try to be normal like everyone else.

  I pulled a carton of orange juice from one of the boxes and filled Benny’s cup. He snatched it, drinking greedily. Dark circles ringed his blue eyes. Poor kid, he needed sleep as badly as I did. He gazed up at me and gave me a sleepy smile. I still struggled with his transition from a quiet infant into a wild little daredevil. Keeping up with him was like chasing after a rollercoaster. He seemed so defiant and oblivious to danger— just like Mom.

  Wolf turned off the kitchen faucet. “Looks like the water should be all right to use. I wouldn’t drink it, but a bath should be okay.” He peeked into one of the boxes sitting on the counter by the sink. “I could use a couple grocery sacks to start a fire in the living room.”

  “Cool, I’ll unload some of this stuff.” I set Benny near my feet and emptied three paper bags. One bag contained cleaning supplies, while another held shampoo, new toothbrushes, and toothpaste. The third contained boxes of crackers, peanut butter and bagels—organic of course. My mother must have ordered all this before we got here. Either that or the real estate guy was trying to impress her. Another sack contained a handful of candy bars. Since sugar would never be on Mom’s list, my hunch seemed right. Frowning, I shook my head. I never understood her reasoning. She stuck to a strict vegetarian diet, while Benny and I lived on Happy Meals and French fries. Anything with sugar meant death, but heart-clogging fat didn’t matter.

  I handed Wolf the empty sacks. He tucked them under his arm, leaned against the doorframe and watched me as I fed Benny. When Benny had finished eating, I washed his hands and held him tight. I just wanted to hold him, to not let him go. Something about the house made me feel like I needed to protect him, to keep him close. He’d already suffered so much. For months he struggled as a preemie just to survive. It worried me that he wasn’t talking yet, at least nothing you could understand. I guess babbling was a good start.

  Benny pulled at my hair as we returned to the living room. Wolf tore up the paper sacks, wadding them into tight balls and shooting them into the fireplace like miniature basketballs.

  He paused, cocking his head. “Did you say something?”

  “No, why?”

  He studied the room. “I thought I heard voices. Weird, huh?”

  I shuddered. “I heard something earlier, too. It sounded like whispering.”

  Wolf listened for a moment, then shook his head. “I don’t hear it now. Maybe it’s a gang of rats plotting an uprising.”

  Better rats than people. Mom had a gift for making people mad, and somehow I always took the brunt of it. No wonder I was antisocial. Mom said I could handle conflict because I’m an Aries, which made me stubborn. Stubborn yes, but constantly beating your head against a wall doesn’t do anything but give you a headache.

  Wolf stacked kindling from a woodpile resting near the hearth and started a crackling fire.

  “Sweet!” he said, poking at the orange embers. “This should warm things up. There’s more wood out back if you run out, but I think you have enough here for the night.” He glanced at his watch again. “I gotta bounce, check ya later.”

  “Later,” I said, my voice dropping.

  He flashed me one of his breathtaking smiles while I switched on the porch light. I leaned against the doorframe, under the yellow glow of the light, watching him jog down the steps. The muggy evening air weighed heavy on my shoulders. I wrapped my arms around myself, watching Wolf take big earth-eating strides across the yard. He swung a leg over his four-wheeler and twisted the key. The engine rumbled to life. He gave me a wave and took off into the night.

  The red taillights disappeared, swallowed by darkness. I ran a hand self-consciously through my matted hair. I probably looked like a hot mess. Usually I liked being alone because it was the only time I could just be me and relax. But now, I didn’t want to be alone in the creepy house with Benny. Maybe Mom would be back soon. Yeah right.

  I plopped down on one of the sheeted chairs. Dust flew up in the air and burned my eyes and nose, starting a sneeze fest. Great. Just what I needed. When I finished wheezing and sneezing my brains out, I reached into the pocket of my shorts, fishing for my mood rock, praying it hadn’t gotten lost. I found the agate nestled safely at the bottom, beneath a soggy pack of gum. I carried the stone with me always, clutching it in my palm, rubbing it smooth when my mother drove me over the edge.

  I rose to my feet. Time for the Loch Ness Monster to get cleaned up, and now was a perfect opportunity. Benny had fallen asleep in my arms, comforted by the warm fire and a full tummy. I found a large woven laundry basket in the kitchen with a stack of extra sheets, and laid Benny inside. I packed the basket into the kitchen and prepared to wash myself in the sink. I wasn’t ready to explore the dark upstairs yet to see if it had a bathroom. Then, I remembered the door near the sink. I pulled it open and found
a claw-foot tub, an old-fashioned toilet with a pull string and a marble wall cabinet.

  Setting the basket with Benny on the floor, I hurried back into the kitchen for soap and shampoo. At least I’d have something to scrub the grime off. A thick layer of slime coated my skin like a rubber glove. I couldn’t wait to get it off of me. Grabbing the items, I returned to the bathroom and found a dusty stack of washcloths and towels inside the cabinet.

  I spun the white handles shaped like giant pinwheels and watched the water transform from black to brown to clear—well almost clear but good enough to scrub the gunk off. I felt like my whole body was crawling with slime. Kinda like high school biology where they insisted I cut up a disgusting, petrified frog. Sorry—not happening.

  I rinsed out the tub, spun the handle again and started to fill it. Water gurgled from rusty pipes. It sounded as if the plumbing might burst through the walls at any time, rattling and banging. I stripped off my filthy clothes, rinsed them in the bathroom sink, and hung them to dry while I waited for the tub to fill. I tested the bathwater with a toe. Lukewarm, but it would do. I stepped inside and used a wash cloth to scrub away the scum from the bog, until my skin turned bright red.

  I drained the tub, filled it again with fresh water and struggled to relax. My mind raced with troubled thoughts. Where was Mom? What would Benny and I do out here alone? Hopefully, she'd be back soon. My thoughts drifted to Wolf with his thick black hair, olive skin, and the darkest eyes I'd ever peered into. Handsome, funny, helpful—everything a girl could want. But his swagger is what attracted me the most, the way he carried himself with an iron-like confidence that made him seem invincible. I'd do anything be that strong, that fearless.

  Stomp! Stomp! Stomp!

  I bolted upright, bathwater sloshing. Footsteps thundered overhead, knocking chips from the water-stained ceiling. I snatched my towel, stood and dried off quickly, keeping my attention on the sounds upstairs. My clothes were still wet so I slipped on Wolf’s T-shirt that hung to my knees. I crept across the kitchen floor to the foot of the dark stairs.