Bone Hollow

by Kim Ventrella

  The sun was just peeking over the horizon when he emerged from the cave, so he knew he hadn’t left it too late. He expected to feel exhausted, or at least a little tired, after his recent ordeal, but Gabe could have scaled a skyscraper if he’d gotten enough of a running start. At least, that was how his muscles felt. Like there were bands of energy coursing up and down his bones. As for his brain, it was a whole different story.

  “Come on, boy, we’ve got a good jog ahead of us,” he said, trying not to sound nervous. He knew it wasn’t just the brothers he had to watch out for; it was Mr. Lawson and Pastor Higgins and the whole dang town, too. Not to mention what would happen if Miss Cleo chose not to listen, but Gabe refused to think about that, at least for the time being. “Don’t worry, boy, we can do it!”

  Ollie did not look quite so spry, even after his pep talk. Gabe estimated they had at least a five-mile journey back into town.

  “Don’t be scared, now. I won’t let those dumb old brothers get you.”

  And that was a promise. After Ollie got a few gulps of water from the creek, they headed off. Gabe jogged nice and slow so Ollie could keep up, but after only a couple of minutes that dog plunked down in the grass and rolled over for a belly rub.

  “Can’t stop yet, you silly pup. Come on! Giddyup, now, it’s a game!” Gabe sprinted off across an open clearing, sounding a lot cheerier than he felt. “See if you can catch me!”

  Gabe ran as fast as he could to the nearest patch of trees. “Beat you!” Gabe said. He looked back and groaned about as deep and long as he’d ever groaned before. What was that dog doing, but waggling his legs in the air, waiting for a tummy rub?

  That left Gabe with about one choice and zero other options. He jogged back across the clearing, hoisted Ollie over his shoulder, and took off running. Full disclosure: He gave him a belly rub first. Ollie might be stubborn and about as ornery as they come, but he was also a good dog.

  As Gabe suspected, Ollie liked riding a lot more than he liked running. He spent the whole time sniffing and barking and wagging his tail. He was also in prime position to lick the back of Gabe’s neck, and he was especially happy because there was nothing Gabe could do about it.

  Gabe made it into town before the sun had fully risen in the sky. Not many people were out this early in the morning, so it wasn’t hard to hide behind buildings and dumpsters and overgrown hedges on his way to Miss Cleo’s house. That didn’t mean his stomach wasn’t churning something awful, though, at the thought of getting caught. He was glad to have Ollie squeezed tight to his chest. His warm doggie body made his nerves calm down, but only just a little.

  Miss Cleo’s house had lavender siding and an “I Love Jesus” sticker in every window. There was a hedge out front cut into the shape of a chicken and pinwheels of every size and color stuck here and there throughout the yard. Most of them were snapped and trampled now, on account of the storm.

  A long walkway wound its way up to the front door, and at the start of that walkway was a small white mailbox decorated with miniature red hens and bright yellow daisies. Gabe had wanted one with green tractors on it, but Miss Cleo always had to get her way.

  With a sigh, Gabe put Ollie down on the grass and stood there staring at the mailbox. The back of his throat started to tingle and feel heavy, like maybe he was about to throw up. He couldn’t remember feeling this nervous since the day of Mama and Daddy’s funeral. He’d stood outside that church for thirty whole minutes, too scared to go in, until Gramps had squeezed him tight, and he’d smelled his dusty, Bengay smell, and somehow his feet had started walking.

  That day had been all about saying goodbye, even though his parents were already gone. Then he’d had to say goodbye to Gramps, too, not that long after. Gabe was fed up with saying goodbye. He hated that word. He hoped he never heard it again in his whole dang life.

  Even from stubborn, mean, persnickety old Miss Cleo. Ollie needed a home and so did he, and when it came right down to it, Miss Cleo needed him, too. Who else would muck out the chicken coops or climb into the crawl space in search of dead animals stinking up the house? Nobody, that’s who.

  He just had to think of the right words to convince her. He closed his eyes, pondering, when a crinkling sound drew his attention. Ollie was nosing at a plastic bag tied to the mailbox.

  Gabe bent down to investigate, and that was when he saw the note taped to the front of the box. It had his name written on it in Miss Cleo’s shaky, curly script. He peeled it off and unfolded the thick purple paper.

  Dear Gabe,

  You may not know it, but I care about you like you was my own son, and that’s the truth. None of this is your fault, so don’t you go thinking it is. I’ll never forget what you did for my precious Princess Carmella. Those was the actions of a hero, sure enough.

  The period trailed off at the end, and there was a smudge, like the paper had been wet and then dried again.

  Folks around here are saying what happened to you ain’t natural. They’re scared, and I’m sorry to say, so am I. Now, don’t go getting upset, because I’m not angry at you. I’m really not. But the thing is …

  The sentence ended there, but continued on the back of the page.

  … you can’t come home. It’s not safe. Not for you, and not for me.

  I’ve left some food to tide you over. Biscuits, too, your favorite.

  I hope you can forgive me.

  Goodbye now,

  Miss Cleo

  Gabe was so stunned, he hardly even noticed when the letter fell from his fingers and got picked up by a gust of wind. It tumbled down the dusty gravel road, sticking on a thornbush, before tearing in two and getting trampled under the tires of a passing truck.

  Good, Gabe thought, and he pictured that word getting trampled on, too. Smashed to nothing under the thundering wheels of the truck. Dang, stupid word. Goodbye.

  He stood there, breathing hard for a while, and then Ollie started to whine. “Don’t you worry, boy. Everything’s gonna be okay.” Though he sure as heck couldn’t see how. Trying hard to catch his breath, he hiked up his pants and did the only thing he could. He kept on going. Even if he didn’t want to. Even if his insides ached like they’d been washed and hung out to dry. Ollie needed him now more than ever, and he wasn’t going to let his dog down.

  “I guess that’s that,” Gabe said, gritting his back teeth. He wasn’t about to get angry or cry or anything like that, even if Ollie was the only one listening. Miss Cleo didn’t care a lick about him, and so why should he care if she kicked him out of her stinky, chicken feather house?

  Gabe stole one last glance at his former abode before leaving for good. A shadow crossed behind Miss Cleo’s bedroom window. The curtains flickered, like maybe someone had been looking out, but then they settled back in place again and the shadow was gone. Gabe thought briefly about banging on her door and demanding to be let in, but he knew he wouldn’t. It was one thing for Miss Cleo to say goodbye in a letter. Those cold words echoed in his head: You can’t come home. It was another thing to hear it in person. He didn’t think he could take it, and besides, Miss Cleo wasn’t worth all this anger and heartache. No, sir, he’d heard the last goodbye he ever wanted to hear, and now it was time to move on.

  He considered leaving the bag of food behind, out of pure hurt and spite, but Ollie would need to eat, and he sure didn’t need to suffer on account of Gabe’s pride. As for himself, if he was being honest, he didn’t care if he never ate again.

  Grabbing the plastic sack full of food and tying it around his belt, he took off down the road, Ollie sprinting to keep up. He didn’t look back and he didn’t shed a tear. Instead, he kept telling himself Miss Cleo wasn’t worth it. He didn’t need her, and neither did Ollie. They’d find a better home, a real home, where he didn’t have to work all day just for a few scraps of food.

  At the end of the road, Gabe bent down and pulled Ollie into a long, fuzzy hug. The dog leaned in, taking another opportunity to lick the back of Gabe’s ne
ck. When they were done hugging, Gabe figured he could keep on going, at least for a little while. Ollie wiggled his nose into the hole in the top of the plastic bag and came out holding one of Miss Cleo’s charbroiled hot dogs. The sight made Gabe smile, and besides, that dog deserved a treat after everything that had happened.

  After all, he was homeless now, and so was Gabe. Homeless. Without a home. He might’ve had some pretty rotten luck in his life, but this was by far the worst.

  Gabe stood there, in the middle of Country Road 162, and he realized that for maybe the first time in his whole life, he had no clue what to do. Going home wasn’t an option. His best friend, Chance, would sic his brothers on him sooner than take him in. Mr. Lawson had made it pretty clear he wasn’t wanted around these parts, and he had no doubt the rest of his neighbors felt the same.

  He paused, and it was like his feet were superglued to the ground, ’cause he couldn’t seem to get moving. He kept looking back toward town, as if maybe he’d see Miss Cleo or Chance running after him.

  ’Course, real life didn’t work that way, as Gabe knew darn well. If he crossed into that field and the woods beyond, there was no going back. Miss Cleo wouldn’t follow him, she’d made that much plain, and he’d be well and truly on his own.

  “Guess we got no choice,” he said aloud, by way of convincing his feet to get moving. They didn’t, though, and Ollie started to whine and chew on the bottom of his jeans. They were already frayed, from all the other times Ollie had set to chewing, and Gabe guessed they’d stay that way. Not like he was about to get another pair any time soon.

  If only Miss Cleo would let him sneak in once a week to do the laundry. Surely that was a reasonable enough request. And food. One sack of food wouldn’t last him very long out in the wild. Weren’t there laws about abandoning children? “Sure, I should go to the police and turn Miss Cleo in,” he said, knowing full well he wouldn’t.

  Besides, Sherriff Bantley had been at the church, hadn’t he? If he’d wanted to do something about how Gabe was being treated, he’d have done it then.

  “Awwooo!” Ollie howled, and Gabe knew just how he felt.

  “We sure are in a serious predicament, boy, and no doubt about it.” No sooner had the words left his mouth than Gabe had an idea. He could hardly believe the thought hadn’t crossed his mind before. This whole thing had started when he’d woken up in the funeral home. That meant someone there must know what had really happened. They could prove to Miss Cleo that he wasn’t really dead after all. Sure, it’d be risky, and it might not work, but what choice did he have? If there was a way to figure this whole dang thing out and get his home back, even if it was with mean old Miss Cleo, he had to try.

  “Stick close, boy, and stay quiet.”

  Keeping to the bushes and back roads, Gabe made his way across town, Ollie on his heels. The closer he got to people and houses, the more his stomach twisted, until it was nothing but a big, tight knot. Relief washed over him as Morton & Sons Funeral Home finally came into view. Today, the sign by the road read, “If death is the next great adventure, why not travel in style? Try our new Majestic Dreams casket with adjustable headrest.”

  A cool breeze rattled the row of spindly trees in front of the cruel brick building. It looked that way to Gabe, cruel. All harsh angles and gray marble, so sharp you could cut yourself just by looking at it. The air was different here, too. Dusty and stinking faintly of chemicals, like all the life had been sucked clean out. Gathering up his courage, Gabe sidled around to the back door, the same one he’d stumbled out of just the day before. He turned the knob and was surprised to find it wasn’t locked.

  Inside smelled like Mr. Belcher’s biology class the week they’d dissected a frog. Not that Gabe had so much as touched a scalpel. He’d tried his best to follow instructions, honest he had, but he’d ended up out in the hallway breathing into a paper bag. His partner, Emma Caldero, did double the work, and that day at lunch he got called a crybaby and a sissy and a whole bunch worse.

  That cold, clammy feeling he’d had at the sight of that frog crept over his skin again, and his stomach gurgled like it wanted to turn inside out. The room was pitch-black, but he could smell the formaldehyde, and the idea that there might be a dead body hiding behind all that dark made his skin squirm.

  “I thought you might be back,” said a nasally voice from somewhere deep in the shadows.

  Gabe jumped, he couldn’t help it. Ollie clicked over the tiles and planted himself on Gabe’s left foot. Gabe could tell he was scared, too, by the way his bottom didn’t wiggle even the slightest bit.

  “You must have a lot of questions. I know I would, if I found myself in your unfortunate situation. Not that I’m likely to ever do so, but still … unfortunate.”

  A bright light clicked on and there stood the thin, imposing figure of Mr. M. M. Morton. He wore a three-piece suit in a metallic shade of gray, with white gloves, white shoes, and a white polka-dot tie. No, not dots, Gabe thought, skulls. He looked, in a word, cruel. His papery skin lacked the slightest bit of color, like a wrinkled-up chicken breast fresh from the fridge.

  “You’re a first, my dear boy. I do hope you know how extraordinary that is. A true and utter original.” Mr. Morton drew a gloved hand down the hollows of his cheeks, smoothing out his drooping, leathery skin. He had a smell about him that rose above the science-room stink. Like dead flowers mixed into a bowl of spoiled milk.

  Gabe didn’t say a thing, and he sure as heck didn’t move an inch. Everything about Mr. Morton made him want to crawl up inside his own skin and never come out again. Even Ollie, who was braver than most dogs when it came right down to it, started to shiver and quake by his side. Suddenly, his need to get answers, to find a way to explain things to Miss Cleo, started to fade. Despite his dire situation, what he wanted to do now more than anything was run.

  “But you look confused, poor lamb. Well, why wouldn’t you be? It’s not every day someone comes back from the dead.” He savored those last few words, the way you do when you’re trying to suck the final bit of sweetness from a piece of hard candy. Gabe’s teeth sank into his bottom lip, but he didn’t taste any blood. This definitely wasn’t what he’d come back for.

  “Oh dear, I’ve shocked you,” continued Mr. Morton, twisting his face into a look of concern. “Do you mean to tell me you still don’t know what happened?”

  Gabe wanted to answer, but just then it was all he could do to keep from throwing up. He took a deep breath, trying to settle his stormy stomach. Maybe it was the stink or the way Mr. Morton’s eyes seemed flat, like they were printed on copy paper and then glued back in place. Or maybe it was the empty metal table in the center of the room. It was empty now, praise be to heaven, but Gabe knew one fact for certain: It was the table Mr. Morton used to prepare the bodies.

  “How about a nice cup of tea?” Mr. Morton was saying. “With extra sugar. You don’t look at all well, I hate to say. Come on, now, let’s take a seat.”

  Mr. Morton reached for Gabe’s hand, but he jerked it away. If Mr. Morton was offended, he didn’t show it. He smiled, revealing two rows of stubby yellow teeth.

  “I don’t guess the dead would much enjoy a visit to a funeral home. Of course, most people don’t.” Mr. Morton set up two metal folding chairs and took a seat in the one farthest from the door. Gabe stared at his but didn’t sit.

  Mr. Morton waited in silence, tapping the tips of his fingers together and smiling, as if Gabe’s ordeal were nothing more than a mild source of amusement.

  “I’m not dead,” Gabe managed, after his tummy settled down enough for him to speak. “I can’t be, look at me. Miss Cleo and everyone, they’ve got it all wrong. You have to help me. Tell them it’s all some big mistake.”

  “Mistake?” Mr. Morton’s smile only widened. “I know about a dozen witnesses who’d claim different. They’d say you fell off a roof in the middle of a twister.”

  “I fell, sure, but I didn’t die. You must know that. You can tell them w
hat really happened. That they stuck me here when I wasn’t even dead.”

  “I’m afraid those same dozen witnesses would swear you had the misfortune of a bad landing,” continued Mr. Morton, ignoring Gabe’s words.

  “Bad how?” Gabe’s heart should have been pounding away in his chest, but it wasn’t. His pulse should have been racing, but it was still as a roach in a microwave. He couldn’t be dead, though, he just couldn’t. ’Cause his stomach sure was churning. Twisting and churning, so that was something. Dead people didn’t get stomachaches. Or maybe he was imagining it. Maybe he felt that way because that’s how he imagined he was supposed to feel. No, no, it couldn’t be. It couldn’t.

  Mr. Morton stood and opened one of the stainless steel drawers set in the wall. He took out a familiar piece of wrought iron.

  “The weather vane?” Gabe said, his thoughts so scattered they might have been bits of debris caught up in that very same twister. Why was he bringing out that old thing? Why now?

  “I can’t say I care much for chickens myself, but it’s got a sharp tip. Sharp and long.” Mr. Morton drew his skinny finger up the rough metal point. “Given the right circumstances, I’d say it could skewer someone, wouldn’t you? In one side and out the other.” Mr. Morton made a little stabbing motion with the weather vane, and Gabe couldn’t help but flinch.

  His hand dropped to his stomach. No way what this old creep said could be true. How could he be dead if he was up and walking around? If he’d been stuck through with a weather vane, of all things, wouldn’t he know it?

  “It’s all some huge dang mistake! A conspiracy. Don’t you think I’d remember if all that had happened? Don’t you think I’d know if I was dead?”

  “Think back,” Mr. Morton said. “Close your eyes and think back.”

  Gabe didn’t like the idea of closing his eyes with Mr. Morton in the room, but he figured Ollie would defend him if he tried anything funny. Besides, he had to know. That’s what he’d come here for, wasn’t it? The truth. He closed his eyes, and just like that he was back on the roof watching Princess Carmella drift up into that angry gray sky. Gabe’s fingers wrapped around that weather vane, holding on tight as all heck, and then that demon finger reached down out of the sky and came for him. It lifted him into the air, that much he remembered, and then he fell. Like a roller coaster ride, but without any of the thrill.