The Bones of the Earth- The Complete Collection

by Scott Hale

  “No!” she wheezed.

  She thought of her children—lovely Ruth, handsome Edmund—and the promises she had made them, the promises she had made to herself. She had to live, if only long enough to get them out of here.

  “No! No! No!”

  She thrashed and bucked her body. All at once, she regained complete control of her arms. Her hands shot out and grabbed the creature on her chest by its bristly throat and squeezed. The scaly exterior ruptured; bloody mucus seeped in between her fingers.

  She only caught a glimpse of the serpentine thing gnawing on her fingers before it slid away, disappearing into the cracks in the floor.

  Amelia kicked her feet back and forth until she shook free of the root-like fingers that bound them. Her head snapped to the sound of the door opening, where the creature that had sat down beside her—a hairy, four-armed bi-pedal—was slipping into the hall.

  Amelia crawled out of bed, staggered to her feet, and ran out of the room, hoping to get to her children before anything else did.

  The ground coughed up clouds of dust as Amelia’s feet pounded against it. The hallway was dark, but she didn’t need a light to know where she was going. She cupped the doorknob to the guest bedroom and hurried inside.

  “Ruth? Edmund?” she called out, her voice cracking under the strain. “Wake up, right now. Please, we have to go.”

  She went to the bed and found they were not there. She grabbed the sheets, which were still tangled, still warm from their tiny bodies. She pressed her nose to the pillows, smelled them in the indentations where they had lain their heads. Her stomach sank. All the blood in her body rushed to her head. Where are they? Oh god, where are they?

  The little courage she had managed to muster minutes ago had already fled. Like wax beneath a flame, she felt herself melt under the heat of mounting madness. She strained her ears for sounds she desperately needed to hear—footsteps on floorboards, giddy whispers from shadowy places—but there was nothing.

  “Ruth! Edmund!” Amelia cried as she hurried out of the room, past her own.

  She made for the stairs, shouting every step of the way. She knew she should stay quiet, stay vigilant, as the horrors that had attacked her were undoubtedly nearby, but her children were missing, which meant that her logic and common sense were as well.

  “Ruth! Edmund!”

  The house swayed as Amelia prowled its corridor, the bitter wind that moved it whistling through all the cracks and crevices. She held her head tightly as the condemning voices inside it gnawed at her sanity. Her feet moved independently. She retreated into thought, as the path she followed now was one she had walked countless times over, when she had been young and lonely.

  She found the small stairwell at the second floor’s end and descended it. Fighting back the urge to find her children on her own, because she couldn’t do this on her own, not this time, she hurried towards the library.

  At the furthest end of the library, the fireplace cackled and sneered, mocking the man that fed it. Amon looked over his shoulder while he threw a book into the flames. Seeing Amelia in the library, he wept. The uncle she had sat down with at dinner was no more; his confidence and his kindness had been eroded away by the secret his face now told her he held.

  Amon gestured for Amelia to have a seat in one of the two chairs beside the fire. When she wouldn’t, he did so himself, sinking into the cushions as though they were made of quicksand.

  “Where are they?” Amelia spat out the words, her skin turning red from the heat of blaze. “Where. Are. They?”

  “With the house,” he said. “Please, sit. This will take a moment, Amelia.”

  “I don’t have a moment, Amon,” she said, balling her hands. Her nightgown clung to her sweating body. “What have you done? Where are they?!”

  “I know where they are, and they are safe,” Amon assured. “Listen to my story, as you’ve done so many times before, and when I’m finished, we will get them. Together.”

  The Ashcroft house was massive, its hiding places many, and the creatures that inhabited it beyond comprehension. Her children could be anywhere, and she could search for years and never find their bodies.

  Amelia took a seat in the chair opposite Amon, dug her nails in the fabric, and said, “Get on with it.”

  Amon struggled to find his words. “I wanted so much for things to be different, Amelia, and I tried so very hard to see that they were. I hoped that we would never meet again, and that you would forget me, and that the world would forget us, and that it would be as though none of this had ever existed.”

  “No, stop. Say what needs to be said.” Amelia gritted her teeth.

  “Our family wasn’t always wealthy or relevant,” Amon began, his eyes glinting. “Our predecessors were poor and even poorer human beings. They lied and cheated their way through life and prospered from others’ misfortunes. Eventually, their prosperity brought them to this part of the countryside, and in its untamed wilds, they saw potential.”

  “I’ve no time for this,” Amelia said, standing.

  Amon jumped to his feet. With eyes just as dark as the beating blackness in her dream, he pointed at her chair until she sat.

  “Here, on this hill, where they fancied themselves kings and queens, they found something beneath the earth, something ancient. And they woke It up.

  “It spoke to them, made promises only things such as Itself could fulfill. Our predecessors did not hesitate, did not question Its motives. They accepted Its offerings and Its terms and set out to leave their blighted mark on the world.”

  “Those creatures…” Amelia’s flesh crawled as she recalled the monstrosities that had straddled her body.

  Amon nodded and said, “Smaller parts of a greater whole. Forms of whispers and mouths.” He cleared his throat, threw another novel into the fire, and continued. “It wanted our predecessors’ children, and so they fed It their children. The house grew larger, our family’s influence greater. With it, they carved a place for themselves in the countryside, erected Parish and Cairn, and other settlements now fallen. Businesses bore the Ashcroft name and backing, and the elite and the powerful suddenly found themselves vying for our family’s good graces.

  “The sacrifices continued, for Its hunger was ceaseless. The sacrifices became formal in who was involved and how it was carried out. The marked children suffered the sins of their fathers, as all children do, and through this controlled killing, our family strengthened and It continued to secure Its dark place in our world.”

  “W-what is It?” Amelia stuttered. For a moment, she had forgotten about her children. She felt awful for it.

  “A parasite eternal,” Amon whispered, looking over his shoulder as the floor creaked outside the library. “I know this, all of this, because your father told me. Your mother knew as well and distanced herself from you and your siblings to minimize the pain that would come with your deaths. It was their responsibility to see the horror fed Its fair share of misery. They tried to circumvent the contract; they took townsfolk and travelers into the forest and fed It their heads. But in the end, you see, It would only have what It was promised. Your mother and father… they couldn’t do it. They tried to remain unattached, tried not to love you and your siblings, but they couldn’t do it. Your father, he trusted me and told me everything, and then he sent me away to find something, anything, to put an end to all of this.”

  Amelia sat in silence for a moment, numbed and bewildered. She recounted her memories as a girl and doubted their veracity. Thoughts of her mother and father, whom she’d had such disdain towards for so many years, moved her to tears. She felt betrayed and manipulated, hopeless and helpless.

  “Your mother’s and father’s and siblings’ early deaths were not the work of that beast but unfortunate circumstances. When I returned to this house and found the family line all but severed, I begged It to become heir to this awful burden so that you may live a life of normalcy, of ignorance. It accepted begrudgingly, for It had litt
le choice, and you were gone. But when I learned I could not have children, It became enraged, flooding my mind with temptations, telling me anything to bring you back onto the grounds.

  “After all my scheming to keep you safe, and all the love I had for you … I couldn’t do it, Amelia. I could not do it.

  “So I made another deal, the most ambitious to date, or so It told me. It had driven me insane in Its lust for you. I am a terrible person and I expect no mercy in death. I…”

  Amon paused, ashamed. He looked at Amelia pleadingly. “I did as your father and mother. I resorted to murdering strangers. And when suspicions arose, I invited the town, I invited all of Parish, to the house. Almost everyone came, for I promised gifts, and who would not want to be in our great and old family’s favor?

  “I let them in, and when everyone had arrived, I locked the doors. You, see.” Amon paused and started to laugh. “You see, ha, I thought… you understand, right? I mean, so many people… Parish wasn’t a good place to begin with. If I gave It so many people…” Amon shuddered and licked his lips. “In fifteen minutes, It had killed hundreds. The room where It took them… if anyone should find it…”

  Amon pressed his hands against his face. “I didn’t expect It to, I didn’t want It to, but It must’ve felt my guilt, because It gave me the tools to make everything better.

  “I don’t think It really needs the bodies. Or maybe It does. I don’t know. But It gave me something, a piece of Its power. And It worked, because I was ready to end it there, kill myself. I couldn’t do it anymore.”

  “What did It give you, Uncle?” Amelia whispered.

  “The power to create.” Amon smiled at the absurdity of the statement. “It can create—you’ve seen Its creations—and It lent that power to me. So I did. I took a piece of It with me and went to Parish. I didn’t think about the ramifications of taking It off the estate. I just wanted to save myself, make myself feel better for what I had let happen.

  “I spread the roots there, those vermillion veins, and with the hellish tools It gave me, I repopulated Parish the best that I could. My imitations, they had their limitations; they were thoughtless, directionless, and dependent upon those damned veins. I fed them, clothed them. I gave them personalities and purpose. It’s funny; me, the monster, teaching monsters how to be human. But it didn’t matter. They weren’t real people. They couldn’t act like real people. So I abandoned them. I’m sure they’ve all gone or died now. It’s for the best.”

  “You let It out, didn’t you?” Amelia said accusingly.

  Amon nodded. “I did,” he said. “I did. It’s a simple thing, this horror, but now, after so many centuries, I think It finally wants more. Something more than bodies. I did, Amelia, I did let It out. And now It’s spreading from the very wound I tried so desperately to heal.

  “So here we are now. The family tradition continued. It aims to persuade you, Amelia, and will let you in closer than It ever has me. My life is nearly over, and It needs a successor. If you refuse, It need only seek out Edmund or Ruth. I have the means. Will you kill It?”

  Amelia stood in Amon’s room, staring at the maid uniforms laid out neatly across the bed. A thin layer of dust atop a milky puddle coated the floor around the frame.

  “Where are they?” she asked as Amon entered the room, a black dagger with a wicked blade and red engravings in his hand. “Ruth and Edmund. I will not do this until I’ve seen them.”

  Amon ignored her and said, “So many years lost in finding this. I was married once, you know. You would’ve been good friends. She was so…” He cleared his throat as his eyes dimmed and looked inward. “I found the dagger in Africa, in a village built over a swamp. The elder there was happy to be rid of it. I assume It would have destroyed the dagger if It could, but It hasn’t. That gives me some hope.”

  “Where are they?” Amelia persisted.

  Amon cocked his head and mouthed words of protest. He looked at Amelia longingly as the hand that held the dagger twitched. “The house wants you. It thinks It can use your being a mother against you to get what It wants.”

  Amon went to where the wallpaper was torn and pulled it down. It looked like flesh, because it was flesh. It fell to the floor and bunched up over his feet. Behind where it had been, there was a hole, and beyond it, wrapped in throbbing, black muscles and taut, red tendons, Ruth and Edmund hung, alive but unmoving.

  Amelia screamed and rushed past Amon. “Get off me!”

  He pulled her back from the writhing prison. “They are safe, Amelia.”

  Amelia spun around and buried her face in her uncle’s shoulder. In between sobs, she said, “They’re all I have left.”

  “It won’t kill them because It doesn’t want this to end, the arrangement.” Amon placed his hand on the back of Amelia’s head. “It wants things to go back to the way they were before I took over.”

  “Why?” Amelia pulled away from her uncle and ripped the dagger out of his hand. “How can you be so certain?” She looked at her children’s contorted bodies in the house’s bloody chest and felt sick.

  “Time means nothing to It. The horror wants the world to suffer slowly. I’ve heard Its whispers and seen Its dreams. It is bound by rules and laws just as everything else is. It cannot kill our family entirely because It is not yet strong enough, cognizant enough to act on Its own. It has spread to Parish, but It doesn’t know what to do there. But It’s close, though, so very close to becoming more than whispers and promises. And if we are to be free, truly free, now is the time to strike It down, before It becomes too aware, too wanting.”

  “What if you’re wrong?” Amelia asked, unable to tear her eyes from her children suspended in gore.

  “Then I’m wrong,” Amon said, shaking his head. “The outcome is the same regardless.”

  Their destination needn’t be said—Amelia knew it already. Dagger in one hand, lantern in the other, she marched the length of the Ashcroft house with her uncle to the basement.

  “You couldn’t find anything else?” Amelia looked over the weapon. “I may as well just go in empty-handed. Who brings a knife to a fight like this?”

  Amon paused for a moment, lifting the lantern up to light Amelia’s face. “Those red engravings are from Death itself. If it’s good enough for him, it’s good enough for you.”

  Amelia batted the lantern away. “What makes you think Death is a man? If you’re wrong, you think it’s going to be a man that kills you tonight?” She shouldered past him. “Come on.”

  When they reached the basement and the gasping hole at its center, Amon stopped and said, “This is as far as It will let me go.”

  Amelia cringed. She had stepped into a pool of viscid liquid. As she pulled her foot back, she found part of a shirt came with it. “Is this one of your imitations?” she asked, dragging her foot across the ground, shaking off the sticky remnants of life.

  Amon nodded. “She was to be a gardener.”

  The basement hole took a deep breath and exhaled; the air blew through the room, sending unseen shelves to the floor.

  “You’re coming with me.” Amelia took her uncle by the front of his shirt. “Get in there.”

  “I can’t! I would, but I can’t.” He held onto her hands until she released him. “It won’t let me. It knows what I’ll try to do. But you… It’s grown proud enough to think It can sway you.”

  Amelia looked at the dagger and the eldritch engraving in its handle and blade and imagined plunging it into her uncle’s heart. It was the first truly terrible thing she had ever imagined doing to him.

  “When It realizes that I won’t be stopped, It’ll choke the life out of Edmund and Ruth.”

  “No,” Amon said, shaking his head, “It won’t. The family would be finished, and when It comes back, because It’ll surely come back, if none of us are left, It will have to start over.”

  “If It’s so damn powerful, then It shouldn’t need us at all.”

  Amon shrugged and looked pathetic. “What d
o you want me to say? I don’t know what I’m doing. This is the only thing, Amelia, the only thing that I thought may work. Why does god do as he does? No one knows, not truly.”

  “Are you saying this thing is a god?” Amelia posed the question, but wished she hadn’t; the implications were too great. If she was going to get through this, her thoughts would have to be clear, unclouded by self-doubt and otherworldly concerns.

  Amon shook his head. “I don’t know. I hope not. I can’t imagine loving such a god.”

  While she stared at her uncle, Amelia retreated inward, to the isolation chamber in her mind her ex-husbands had forced her to create so long ago. Here, she could be safe and do what needed to be done. Her children needed her, and she needed them; no story, or the creatures that gave credence to it, was going to stop her.

  Amelia lowered herself into the hole, the lantern dangling from her fingertips. When she was waist-deep, her feet finally found the top of the staircase within. She looked back at her uncle—pathetic and disgusting were the words that came to mind—and then began her spiraling descent into the dark.

  When her footsteps began to echo around her, Amelia knew to stop. Going to her knees, she waved the lantern in front of her and found the staircase’s end. A humid haze pressed itself against Amelia; like the clammy hands of an unwanted lover, it pushed itself under her clothes and through her hair, leaving her skin glistening and red. She took a deep breath, came to her feet, and stepped off the stairs and into the abandoned ruin of her dream.

  The ballroom was empty now—the corpses and the chains that had bound them gone. She had entered through the staircase in the ceiling, so she turned the lantern on the ground. Blowing and brushing away the centuries of dust there, she searched the hardwood floor for scratches and carvings, for promises writ in a child’s blood. Dirtied up to her elbows and knees, Amelia rooted through the skins of her ancestors until the center was cleared and she was certain Ruth and Edmund hadn’t been here.