The Bone Keeper

by Luca Veste

  Faye took a step towards the tunnel, but Lee put a hand on her shoulder. ‘I’ll go first.’

  They shuffled forward in single file, only pausing for a second at the entrance. Then they started walking into the darkness again.

  Silence greeted them, a certain stillness in the atmosphere that made the breath catch in her throat.

  ‘Can you smell anything?’ she whispered to the other two, ahead of her.

  ‘No, what are you talking about,’ came the response, but she could feel it now. Lingering there, settling around them.

  ‘Matty?’ Lee said, his voice barely above a whisper. ‘Are you there? What are you doing?’

  They followed suit, saying her brother’s name over and over. Quiet at first, then louder as they grew braver, as they reached the middle of the tunnel.

  Dull light came to them from the other side, a pinhole growing larger as they kept walking.

  They emerged on the other side, back into the growing darkness outside. She waited for Matty to jump out on them, but nothing happened.

  He was gone.

  ‘Oh no . . .’

  Faye was crying again, but she could tell it was for real this time. Lee didn’t seem to be too far behind her.

  She cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted Matty’s name. ‘Just come out. It’s not funny now.’

  Silence came back at her.

  The panic was weak at first, but was growing stronger with each passing second. She tried to calm herself down, soothing words spilling from her lips.

  ‘The Bone Keeper has got him,’ Lee said, over and over, tears rolling down his cheeks. ‘We woke him up and he’s taken Matty. We have to get out of here before he gets us too.’

  She didn’t want to go. Leave Matty behind and let him be alone. Yet, she couldn’t get that smell out of her nostrils – the noises she had heard in the tunnel – out of her mind.

  She was scared. She wanted to go home. She wanted to see her mum. Her dad. She wanted to be in the warmth and comfort of the familiar.

  She thought she heard a noise, stronger now.

  She left Matty – out of sight, completely in mind – and followed the rushed footsteps of the other two.

  Left him with the Bone Keeper.

  Now

  Thirty

  Louise was standing in her kitchen on legs which threatened to turn to jelly at any second. Her own home was an enemy – but she was determined to rectify that swiftly.

  First, she took the time to consider the card with her name written on it. Wondering why it had been left, why those words had been chosen. It couldn’t have been from anyone other than him.

  Him.

  He was out there. He’d been in her house.

  He wasn’t real.

  He was dead. Gone.

  Yet he was the only person she could think of who would do this.

  Louise placed the card back down carefully on the counter. The ink had smudged a little at the end of the last word, black bleeding onto the white card. She stared at it for a few more seconds, then left the kitchen.

  She needed to know for sure.

  At the end of her hallway, she turned on the upstairs light, then made her way up. She had two bedrooms, so she had turned the second one into a storage room. A menagerie of different items – presents from people she had no intention of ever using, bags of clothes which either didn’t fit, or she would never wear. CDs she hadn’t listened to in years. She passed over those and dug her way into the corner, finding the storage boxes she had put there when she first moved in.

  Boxes which had followed her wherever she had gone.

  She wanted to open them there and then, but resisted the urge. Instead, she carried them through into her bedroom, where she felt safe in the overhead glow of the light, and put them down on her perfectly made bed.

  Louise looked at the open bedroom door, stood up and closed it. On the door ledge she kept the key she couldn’t remember using before now. A remnant of the previous occupant. Now, she took it down from the ledge and turned it in the lock, sealing herself away.

  She knew which box contained what she wanted, but she went first to the other one. Inside were memories of a past teenage life. What had survived over the years. Her journey through high school, various reports, her record of achievement. Some photographs of her grandparents and herself were buried further down. Some old faded school projects, corners curled and colours, in parts, now just a memory. A few Christmas cards she had handmade for them, similar ones for Easter and birthdays.

  She set the photographs to one side, then closed up the box and pushed it away. The other box wasn’t as heavy, but she still struggled to pull it towards her. It caught on the duvet cover as she tugged it her way. She reached over to the bedside table and picked up some nail scissors. They were small, almost blunt, but they would do the trick. She splayed the scissors, using the sharpest point to cut into the brown masking tape that was wrapped around the edges of the box. The tape snapped easily, meaning she only had to tear off one long strip along the top and the box was open.

  A waft of unwanted nostalgia drifted into the atmosphere around her as the box opened. An old, musty smell, with hints of sickly lavender.

  She reached in, taking the first item from the top.

  Brought the T-shirt to her face and inhaled heavily. There was still a trace of his scent on the material; or was it her own mind making her think it was still there? Age would have destroyed that smell by now, she was sure – but still she breathed in, closing her eyes, and tried to remember when he had worn it last. That part of her memory remained cut adrift. Lost, forever. Gone, along with everything else that existed with them.

  There wasn’t time for this, she thought. To become lost in the annals of history. She should have got past all of this a long time ago, but still it lingered. Remnants of a time when she didn’t know how evil the world could be, the anger and despair it could create. An easier time, when the only worries she had were minor.

  She remembered walks through parks in the city – Sefton and Newsham were her favourites. She could spend an entire day in Sefton Park and still not cover its vast area. Could become lost and found in the space of a few minutes.

  Her father, lifting her up in his arms, wrapping himself around her. She could still remember the touch of his hand on her shoulder, the way her mum looked at him.

  Her brother, blond sandy hair sticking up in odd places, running ahead and fighting imaginary baddies. Kicking a football for a few minutes, before finding something else to do to capture his imagination.

  They had been happy once.

  She thought about fire. The flames appearing around her, the heat and smoke billowing into her room. Her body burned with the memory, her mind turning red and black.

  She blinked and was back sitting on her bed in silence once more.

  The T-shirt alone had been enough to send Louise back in time, but there was more in the box. She knew what else lurked inside, what secrets it held, but wasn’t sure whether she could face them now. The only proof she had that they had existed, other than in her memories.

  She had no choice – she had to keep going.

  The photographs of her former life found their way into her hands.

  She laid them back down, suddenly afraid of seeing them again. The fear of fully opening the door that had always been ajar. Just a crack, waiting to be kicked in and for the darkness to rush out.

  Waiting for her to prove to herself that the childlike writing she knew was on the back of the photos matched that of the handwritten card lying on the kitchen worktop downstairs. Her writing, his writing. All of them, signing their names.

  She found a photograph of her mum and brother in happier times, a third of it cut off, she assumed by her mother in a fit of rage of some perceived slight. The smiles on their faces, betraying the reality of what was to come.

  Louise closed her eyes, seeing the blood, the smell of copper assailing her. The noise, the scream
ing. The panicked breaths, her heart beating madly against her chest. Hands shaking, unable to swallow, her mouth filling with saliva. Fear itching over her skin, confusion battling against her own mind.

  She snapped open her eyes as the memory threatened to overwhelm her. She was sweating in the cool bedroom, breathing heavily. She could feel the memories still lingering, the same feelings as she had once had, still so easily brought back.

  There was no way out. You can never escape your past.

  She lay back down on the bed, the T-shirt containing his scent close to her face as she tried to forget the bad and remember the good that had preceded it. Thought back to a simpler time, of walks through the park, when nothing ever mattered. A time before she had become an only child. When her brother was still there, a little older than her, protecting her if she ever needed it. A watcher, keeping an eye out for her and anything bad that might happen. There to pick her up if she fell over, fussing over a skinned knee or elbow.

  There when she needed him.

  She remembered the arguments they had, the pettiness of children and the disagreements they had got into. The stupidity of it all now, as she looked back on them.

  Louise would give everything she had just to argue with him one more time. To be exasperated by him in some way. To be annoyed, angry, irritated by his mere presence.

  To not be alone anymore.

  She closed her eyes, allowed the past to envelop her and keep her safe.

  A time when she had everything and nothing bad could ever reach her. When evil hadn’t yet made an appearance. A simpler time, when she hadn’t known death or destruction.

  When she had been normal.

  When he wasn’t back.

  When the Bone Keeper had just been another story.

  Thirty-One

  Hazel Durham could hear him in his room, come back after all this time. Ready to be by her side again. It was a dream, come to life. The world changing as she slept, producing something she could never have envisioned happening.

  Her prayers had finally been answered.

  Jon had come home.

  He was back.

  She was stuck for a moment, torn between going to the room and finding him there and not wanting the feeling to end. Normal life returning and washing away the emptiness she had felt since her son had died.

  The noise kept coming, growing into a cacophony of hopes and dreams made real. She could hear music now, which must have been what woke her up, she thought. She recognised the song – one that Jon had played often when he had sealed himself in his bedroom alone. Some indie band, with a weird name, she guessed. The tune was familiar, but she couldn’t have spoken at length about the producers of it.

  The music was playing now.

  Jon was home.

  Probably lying on his bed, his eyes closed, lost in the repetitive power of the same song playing over and over. In that moment, it didn’t matter that she had seen his lifeless body. That she had watched the coffin containing it lowered into the ground and dirt shovelled on top. It didn’t matter that she had grieved for months over his death, until it had become more painful than the moment she had brought him into the world.

  None of it mattered anymore. Just the idea of him being home was enough. She concentrated on that, as she stared into the darkness and built up the courage to make her way out of bed and towards his bedroom door.

  Even as she woke up further, the feeling didn’t dissipate. She had waited for this moment for so long that, now it was here, reason was not going to intrude on her mind. No rational thought. This was everything she had waited for, so now it was here she wasn’t about to allow negativity to get in the way.

  She stepped onto the landing, the music louder now there was no barrier in the way. She could see the light pooling around her son’s bedroom door. Her heart was hammering in her chest as she crossed the few feet and placed a hand on the door.

  She was ready.

  She was smiling as she pushed open the door.

  Her last smile.

  At first, she didn’t realise it wasn’t Jon. She had built up this moment in her mind so much that reality took a few seconds to take hold. For some glorious time, she really did see her son lying on his bed, fully clothed, tapping one foot against the other in time to the music. She believed that was what she saw. She blinked a few more times, the music now much louder than she’d been expecting, her sense of smell taking over first.

  Her son had that teenage-boy smell, as they all do, but this was something much worse. It was death, it was rotting flesh.

  Whatever was in that room wasn’t her son.

  The room was dark, but she could still feel the presence of something in it. A black hole, the life sucked away from a part of it. An absence of humanity. She caught glints of shape and form, but couldn’t comprehend them as anything solid.

  ‘Hello, Hazel,’ the thing in Jon’s bedroom said, the inhuman voice low, growling, as the words spilled from its dark mouth. ‘I’ve been waiting for you.’

  Hazel wanted so much to speak, to shout and scream at this intruder, but instead her mouth formed a perfect O and stayed silent.

  ‘You know who I am?’

  There was a pause, where Hazel tried to resist the temptation to say his name, but it fell out of her mouth anyway. ‘The Bone Keeper,’ she said, her voice almost lost, as the words came out in a whisper. Her hands came up to her mouth slowly as if by themselves, as if they were angry with her somehow for saying the name aloud. Even as she realised that all the stories had been true.

  The monster was real.

  ‘You’ve been talking to people about me.’

  She shook her head instantly, vigorously, suddenly fearful of what might happen to her if this thing believed she’d done him wrong. She could hear the noise as it lifted itself from the bed, yet she refused to look towards it. She looked at the floor, at her feet, willing them to move.

  ‘Yes, you have, Hazel. He was trying to find me. He didn’t have to look very far. I found him first. You’ve heard the stories about me. You know what I do.’

  Hazel found herself nodding slowly in agreement, remembering the times she had sat around, making up scary stories with her friends. As teenagers, sitting on street corners, staving off boredom by embellishing tales to make them real. The Bone Keeper didn’t have a name back then, but the stories had been the same.

  ‘You’re not real,’ Hazel said softly, allowing herself to look at him now. ‘You’re not.’

  ‘I’m here,’ it said, drawing itself closer to her. Hazel could feel bile rising to her throat as the smell threatened to overwhelm her. She still refused to look up and confront whatever it was. That moment was coming, yet she was having to summon every ounce of courage and strength she had. ‘You can see me. You can hear me. Doesn’t that make me real?’

  ‘Get out of my son’s room,’ Hazel said with a hiss. She felt anger rise up, overtaking the bile and fear which had been taking hold. ‘Get out.’

  She felt no reaction to her shout, even as it echoed off the walls. She had a sudden thought of her neighbours, whether they would have heard the music, her scream, and decided something was wrong. Whether they would call for help, if they would have recognised the sounds as something that required immediate intervention.

  Or, as she guessed, whether they would grumble about neighbours intruding on their lives, turn over and go back to sleep.

  ‘You know why I’m here.’

  She felt she could suddenly see every part of it now, feel everything emanating from the darkness. She wanted to stand up and banish the monster back into the shadows, back to hell or wherever it had come from. She wanted to defend herself, her home, the last memories of her son.

  ‘It’s your turn now.’

  Her feet finally came to life, pivoting and rushing out of the room. A plan suddenly came to mind as she reached the top of the stairs, flinging herself downwards two at a time. She reached the bottom, fumbling on the side for her keys so
she could unlock the door and get out of the house and onto the street. Scream for help. Her hands clamped around them, shaking as she found the right one and slipped it into the lock.

  She had time to feel the silence behind her thicken as she turned the key, stepping back and pulling the door open. Cold air rushed towards her as she stepped onto the path, billowing around her shorts and T-shirt, giving her instant goosebumps. She kept moving forwards, making it to the end of the path before realising she had no further part to her plan. She risked a look back, slowing down as her bare feet felt the stones grinding into them.

  It was there. She thought it was smiling at her.

  She looked left, then right, then stopped with her back against the gate. It was an arm’s length from her in the darkness of the street, the streetlights dim and creating endless shadows.

  It was waiting, she realised.

  She opened her mouth and screamed, the sound echoing around the small street.

  It kept moving and was on her before she had a chance to do anything more.

  Hazel could feel the pain, but it was almost otherworldly, unconnected to her. All she could hear was the grunts of effort; all she could feel, something pawing at her body and then up around her throat. She had fallen to the ground, but couldn’t quite remember at what point. There was wetness coming from her, as she made her hands move over the sides of her body, then instant pain as they found the wounds made in her torso.

  She could look only into its eyes as her air supply was cut off. She could only struggle fitfully, with no real effect. She could feel her breath lodged at the bottom of her throat, her legs thrashing beneath her.

  She couldn’t hear sirens. She couldn’t hear any shouts.

  No one coming to help her.

  No one coming home.

  The fight began to leave her body, as it struggled limply. She could still smell death, above her. Around her. Taking her in its embrace.

  She knew this was the end.