River of Bones

by Angela J. Townsend

“Did he mention anything about me?” Wolf asked.

  “No, why would he? You escape from Juvie hall?”

  “Not hardly.”

  “Then why’d you ask?”

  Wolf glanced out the window. “It’s nothing.”

  “No, it’s a weird question and you’re creeping me out. Tell me.”

  Wolf’s shoulders sagged. “It’s not really about me. It’s about my dad.” Wolf’s voice cracked. “He ran a shrimp boat—a family business. I was supposed to take over when he retired—but he died instead.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” I said softly, watching his eyes pool with moisture. “How long ago?”

  “Last fall.” He looked away. “Worst year of my life. Got into so many fights at school, I still don’t know if they’ll let me back for my senior year.”

  “Why? I mean, you’d think the other kids would be a little kinder considering you just lost your dad.”

  Wolf snorted. “Yeah, you’d think. I was the captain of the football team, the star of the show. I had it all until Dad died. Then I became an outcast.”

  “That sucks, but I don’t get it. Why?”

  “Long story, but I’ll give you the short version. With the high cost of fuel and bad economy, Dad had to take a job as a fishing guide. He hated it. One day he went out and never came back. Some say his ship went down, and others say a bunch of other crap, which isn’t true at all.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The client he had with him that day was the town banker. His two boys happened to be the most popular kids in the whole school. Total haters. They shunned me, and spread rumors about Dad trying to embezzle from them,” Wolf waved his hand as if to brush the thoughts away. “Whatever. It’s all bull.”

  “Did you ever find out what really happened?”

  “No, and to be honest, I was hoping your mom might be able to do some kind of a séance, so I can find out.”

  I stared into his sad eyes. Should I tell him the truth about Mom? What if it got us thrown out on the streets? I gritted my teeth. No, I couldn’t lie. I wasn’t good at it.

  “Wolf, I’m really sorry, but my mom is a total fake.”

  He glanced at me with a grim face and sighed. “Well, I kinda expected that. Everyone knows most psychics are fakes. I just wish I knew if ghosts were real or not. It would help, if you know what I mean. To know my dad isn’t gone…”

  I struggled for something to say, anything to comfort him. I certainly couldn’t tell him I didn’t believe in ghosts. “Kids can be jerks. I don’t relate to anyone our age—or adults for that matter. I’m definitely not a people person.”

  Wolf stared at the floor, his lips pressed into a hard line.

  I reached into my pocket. “Here try this,” I said, handing him my blue agate. “It’ll help.”

  Wolf took the stone and rolled it in his palm. “What’s it for?”

  “It helps with stress and anger. Different rocks have different energies. This one is an agate, a good all purpose stone.”

  “Thanks. You collect rocks?”

  I nodded.

  “Cool hobby.”

  “More like an obsession. I have a huge collection. It’s the one thing I share with Mom. She loves rocks. When I was little, she taught me a lot about each one and what they are used for. But after Benny was born we stopped collecting them.” I gathered the wet sheets. “Where can I hang these to dry?”

  “There’s a clothesline out back. Toss them here and I’ll take care of them.”

  I folded them up and handed them over. “Thanks. And cheer up, okay? Remember what you told me—think positive, right? Next year might be better.”

  Wolf set his jaw and looked away. “One way or the other, I’ll get through it. Hopefully, I won’t have to smash in anyone’s face this year.”

  “Yeah, hopefully not. Remind me to stay on your good side.”

  Wolf shifted his gaze to meet mine. His expression was torn, almost pained. He brushed a long strand of hair from my eye. “I could never hurt you.” He reached out and grabbed another strand of my hair. “You’re hair color is like vanilla and fire. Very pretty”

  He leaned in close. I inhaled his cedar scent, my mind clouding. I swallowed hard and stumbled backward, my cheeks flaming. In a few days it probably won't matter, but right now I felt a wave of utter humiliation wash over me. I hated that feeling.

  Perhaps basking in eternal flames of embarrassment was my purpose in life.

  “Chill!” Wolf said. “I don't bite, promise.” He smiled and pointed to his teeth. “See, no fangs.”

  “Sorry,” I said. “Just ignore me, I freak out sometimes.”

  Wolf handed me back my rock and laughed. “I think you need this more than I do.”

  “Yeah, no doubt,” I said.

  “Hey,” Wolf said. “Don't be so hard on yourself. Everyone weirds out and with your mom gone and staying out here in this creepy house, who could blame you?”

  “Yeah, I'm pretty wigged about it,” I said, dropping my gaze to the floor, biting my lip to hold back tears. Something on Wolf's belt caught my attention. A long knife hung down his hip.

  He tapped the weapon at his side. “You collect rocks and I collect knives. The sharper, the better.”

  I should have been afraid, or even a bit uneasy, but for some crazy reason it made me feel safer. Like deep inside, I knew Wolf would never hurt us, and that bothered me more than anything. I never trusted anyone, but here I was all into this guy I barely knew.

  I shifted uncomfortably. “I was wondering, if it's not too much trouble, could you give us a ride to town? I want to look for Mom and grab some stuff. I’d kill for a cherry cola right now.”

  “Sure, it'd be cool if you could get away from here for awhile. Let me get the laundry put up, finish the lawn and then we'll go.”

  Wolf turned and headed outside with the dripping sheets. I watched him walk through the backyard. It was so cool that he understood how I felt and even cooler that he seemed to accept me, nervous weirdo and all. I didn't think anyone would ever understand me.

  I tied my hair into a bun at the nape of my neck. It didn’t surprise me that he liked my hair. All my life I’d gotten compliments about the color and the length. But it was sorta like when you’re fat and someone tells you that it’s too bad because you have such a pretty face. No matter what people thought of my hair, the rest of me never felt good enough. No matter how skinny I got. No matter how much makeup I put on. I always felt inadequate.

  Benny let out a squeal. I grabbed his cup and hurried into the living room. He stood next to the rocking horse from the nursery. Cold fear shot through me, crystallizing my nerves. How did it get here? Who let Benny out of his playpen?

  A bump came from upstairs, then another. Footsteps. An un-swallowable lump formed in my throat. Who was up there? I waited a few minutes for Wolf to come back inside, but I only heard the start of the mower. The footsteps continued echoing across the floor.

  I crept to the bottom of the staircase. Benny rocked back and forth on the wooden horse, waving his hand in the air, as if he were gesturing to someone. Ghosts of the dead children? My heart jolted, I had to calm down, I was totally losing it. The footsteps sounded again. Louder. Faster.

  “Maudit!” Benny squealed. My heart sank. Benny’s first word and he was calling for Mom. I shouldn’t be upset. How selfish of me for wanting his first word to be my name—but I was more of a mother to him than she ever was. I started up the steps, peering down at Benny.

  He looked up and pointed at me on the staircase. “Maudit.”

  My heart fluttered. Was he calling me Mother?

  A loud thump came from upstairs, and the footsteps stopped. I froze, beads of sweat forming across my upper lip. No way was I going up there alone. I’d wait for Wolf before I went exploring again. For several minutes I stood on the steps waiting for another sound, my throat growing tighter by the second. Old houses make noises right?

  A sheet of darkness swept throu
gh the house and crept across the staircase as the sun ducked behind the clouds. It couldn’t be evening yet. I returned downstairs, grabbed my phone from my pocket, flipped it open and checked the time. It was already four in the afternoon. That didn’t make any sense. Where had the time gone?

  A dull ache in the back of my throat distracted me from whatever was upstairs. What was wrong with me? I felt like I had a galactic case of strep throat. I fished through my bag and pulled out my mineral face powder to get a look at my tonsils.

  I flipped open the compact, yawned wide and stared into the tiny mirror. What I saw in my reflection drove terror searing into my heart like a wooden stake. I knew I felt bad, but I didn’t know I looked this bad. My skin had a funny hue to it, and it wasn’t just the mirror. I checked. Puffy dark circles ringed my eyes, my teeth appeared almost gray. Worse yet, my throat looked like I’d gargled with glass. Deep grooves of red blisters stood out on my tonsils and tongue. It had to be some kind of bacteria from the pond.

  In the kitchen, the screen door banged open. Water rushed in the sink. Snapping the compact closed, I hurried into the kitchen.

  “Hey why didn’t you tell me I look liked sh—” I stopped mid-sentence. Wolf leaned over the sink. Blood trickled down his arm.

  “What happened?”

  He stared at me, his face twisted with rage. “Something attacked me. I don’t know what it was, but I’m going to hunt it down and kill it.” His eyes meant every word. “It knocked me from the mower into the tall grass. The blades got me pretty good.”

  “Oh my gosh! Let me see.”

  He held his hand over the sink. I grabbed a dishrag and made a tourniquet. The bleeding slowed, revealing three jagged gashes. Along his upper bicep I noticed a cool biker tattoo snaking up his muscular arm.

  “You know, it really doesn’t look that bad.” I said. “It’s definitely not serious. But you should put something on it so it doesn’t get infected.”

  “Thanks,” he said, his eyes finding mine. His gaze drifted to my lips and I leaned in closer to him. His breath feathered my face.

  “You must like motorcycles,” I said nervously, pointing to his tattoo.

  He nodded. “Love 'em. I have two crotch rockets and one street bike. Nothing like the freedom of the road. ” He held me with his dark eyes. “Sometime, I'll give you a ride into town.”

  My cheeks blazed, I opened my mouth to speak, fighting for words that wouldn't make me sound like a fool, when something shuffled upstairs again.

  Wolf stared at the ceiling, his brow creased. “What's that?”

  “I don't know. I heard it just before you came in. I was going to ask you to come with me to check it out.”

  He walked from the kitchen to the foot of the stairs and peered into the dark stairwell. I put Benny into the playpen with his sippy cup and toys before following Wolf up the stairs. Just as we reached the landing, the hollow footsteps sounded again. Wolf glanced over his shoulder and whispered, “It might be the pipes rattling. Old houses can make all kinds of random noises. Stay close and let’s do some exploring.”

  We checked out each room, finding nothing but dust and building materials from half-finished renovations. Then we came to the second staircase, which led to the third floor. Steep and narrow, it swept much higher than the one leading to the second floor. I held tight to the handrail, following Wolf to the third floor landing. Five doors, all closed, lined the narrow hallway, two on either side and one at the end.

  “Let’s hurry. I have to get back to Benny,” I said, taking a giant step and tripping over my own feet. I landed hard, spraining my wrist.

  “Are you all right?” Wolf said, scooping me up. I started to dissolve in his strong arms. He stared into my eyes for several seconds, then grabbed my hand and placed it against his lips. His mouth parted under my hand and his breath danced across my fingertips. I could hardly breathe. Heat seared into my face.

  “Yeah, I'm okay,” I said softly. I pulled back my hand–my body tingling in places I didn't know I had.

  The footsteps sounded again. Wolf helped me to my feet, his eyes wide and alert. “It’s coming from down the hall. Stay behind me.”

  We tiptoed to the end of the hallway to the last door. Wolf gripped the glass doorknob. “Who’s in there?” He called. A faint flutter or shuffle could be heard on the other side of the door. Wolf turned the handle, but it wouldn’t budge. “It’s locked.”

  Whispering voices traveled under the threshold. Footsteps sounded again.

  “Open up, we’re coming in!” Wolf said. He glanced at me, his eyes hard. “I’m gonna break it down. Stand back.”

  I took a step away and Wolf shoved hard on the door. It flew open and every ounce of me begged for it to be closed again.

  Sassy drew her knitted shawl tighter around her shoulders as she always did in the evenings when the dampness chilled her bones. She closed her eyes as she sat listening to the fall of every raindrop on the poorly tarred roof. To her ears, the sound was soothing, rhythmic. Like the gentle beat of drums.

  She drifted to sleep and Papa Doc came to her again, to warn her, baboon skulls jumping around his neck as he danced, the long sloping portion of an alligator jaw wedged onto his dark head. He glared at her, eyes gleaming like spears of black ice.

  Sassy struggled to breathe, her old heart pounding like pistons. She snapped her eyes open and she saw the room as it was: large, square, with a warped wooden floor covered by threadbare rugs, a poorly plastered ceiling and dingy windows. In the far corner of the kitchen sat her Mama’s well-used cook stove and enamel sink.

  It amazed her that the shack hadn’t toppled over by now. The place was older than she was and Lord knows she wasn’t sturdy anymore. Sassy pushed herself from the chair. Moving slowly, her joints throbbing, she went to the fire and stared into the symbols she’d written in ash.

  She pressed her lips together and shook her head.

  Lord help those folks—it didn’t look good for them. Not good at all.

  Dozens of dead birds in various stages of decay littered the floor. Some were bloated piles of feathers, others little more than skeletal remains. Light filtered in from a gaping hole in the ceiling. Birds roosted in the exposed rafters, wings flapping, eyes gawking.

  “Gross!” I said, studying the mess. “They must fly in and get trapped somehow. Maybe that explains the noises.”

  Wolf shook his head. “That doesn’t make any sense. They can leave the same way they flew in. And it wasn’t flapping we heard. It was footsteps.” He entered the room, bones crunching beneath his feet. A wild chill raced up my spine.

  Wolf examined the room, knuckling the walls at intermittent spots until he heard a hollow echo.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  He plucked at the rotting wallpaper. It peeled away in a large sheet. “Looking for a hiding place or a hidden door, and I think I just found one. Come take a look.”

  I tiptoed around the dead birds and came to his side. “How do you know it’s not just a closet?”

  “While I was mowing the yard, I noticed what looked like boarded up windows almost hidden under the vines and slope of the roof. But when I came in for a closer look, I couldn’t see them anymore, so I thought it’d been a trick of the light or a shadow. But now….” Wolf shrugged. “I guess a lot of old plantation houses have hidden rooms. So I thought maybe that was what I’d seen. Either way, all I really care about is finding the intruder, and tossing him out.”

  A jolt of excitement spread through me at the idea of Wolf wanting to protect me, but then again, was he just feeling sorry for me? The sickly-looking Swamp Thing? Worse yet, maybe he needed to take his mind off the death of his dad and I was a just a distraction. A sudden wave of sadness hit me. Come on, Dharma, don’t get all weird.

  Wolf ran his hand over the smooth surface of the door. A gothic mural of two dancing figures ornamented the front. “I don’t think this is just a closet.” He nudged the door with his shoulder and it groaned op
en. A breeze whooshed out at us, like a giant sigh. +

  Wolf pulled a flashlight from his back pocket, cut a sharp beam into the darkness and peered inside.

  “See anything?” I asked.

  “Another staircase! Come on, let’s check it out. Watch your step and stay behind me.”

  We hiked up the creaking steps. I touched a dusty handrail and held on tight, hoping the stairs would support us.

  At the landing, Wolf waved the flashlight around a humongous room, about the size of a grade school gym. He worked his way across the floor to a far wall, jerking the boards from the windows, casting them aside and heaping them in a pile.

  The afternoon light spilled into the room, revealing a once elegant ballroom with tattered velvet curtains and rose patterned rugs. A beautiful chandelier dangled over a giant table surrounded by matching chairs. Ancient party decorations, faded streamers and ribbons hung from the cathedral ceiling.

  Light danced across the immense table, illuminating a full place setting for twelve. Party favors sat by each plate, tiny glass animals and wooden trinkets. Two sets of candles stood at the end, coated with cobwebs and moss. A petrified lump rested in the center. A cake?

  Holy Miss Havisham—how weird.

  I crept to the head of the table and spotted the corner of a yellowed piece of paper tucked underneath a plate. I tugged it free, opened it and read it aloud. “Happy Birthday to my Dearest Darling.”

  “Thanks for the birthday wishes, but mine isn’t for another month,” Wolf teased.

  Frowning, I slipped the delicate parchment back where I had found it. “Why would someone just leave everything set up like this?”

  Wolf shrugged. “I don’t know, it’s weird. By the looks of things it’s been here for a hundred years, at least.” His eyes widened. “Hey look! There’s a present!”

  Near the plate, under a sheet of dust and grime, sat a wrapped gift held together by a faded red ribbon.

  Gently, I picked it up and turned it over. The package appeared so frail I worried that it might disintegrate in my hands.