Roll Them Bones

by Wilson, David

  No one answered. Ronnie and Frank eyed him with what might have passed for accusatory glances, if they’d had anything to accuse him of.

  “Crap,” Jason said, starting off and tugging Lizzy along behind him. “I’m going to get to that fire, share a drink with whoever’s there, and get back.”

  Lizzy allowed herself to be led reluctantly ahead of the others, but it was obvious that she didn’t share Jason’s certainty. The air was charged now, crackling with potential. What would they find? Who? Why was a fire burning in the middle of the woods in the middle of the night?

  No one spoke now. The light grew brighter. Long shadow tendrils danced through the trees.

  One thing had not changed over the years. The closer you got to the clearing where old Tara’s cabin had stood, the fewer trees stood in your way. Plants and shrubs seemed to have shrunk back against the wall of the forest. There was no sound.

  Jason stopped so suddenly that Frank and Ronnie fell over themselves trying to avoid sprawling them all in a heap.

  “What the,” Jason made a shushing noise at Frank’s outburst.

  “Listen,” he said softly.

  They all did as he’d bid them. Nothing. Not the normal quiet of an evening in the forest, which was really no quiet at all, but a vacuum of silence.

  “Where are the birds?” Lizzy whispered. “Jason, there were birds. I was listening to them.”

  Jason hugged her closer. “I know,” he said, “I know.”

  They moved ahead more slowly. The light from the fire was bright enough now that they could find their way easily, but somehow that didn’t ease the sudden chill in the air. Their footsteps echoed, but the sound was dull, dying more quickly than it should. Jason’s senses slowed and grew more acute, shifting things just enough that they felt off-kilter and skewed.

  He wanted to tell them again that it was stupid, that they were worrying over nothing, but his resolve was fading. Jason’s legs wobbled and he felt as if he’d shrunk, or the world had grown. The trees had grown impossibly tall, stretching up to where the firelight met the darkness and beyond.

  “What’s that?” Ronnie asked softly. “What the hell is that?”

  They stopped again and Jason tried to listen over the pounding thunder that was his heartbeat. He tried to distinguish sounds beyond the rasping of his breath. A sudden rush of blood to his head nearly toppled him and only Lizzy, clutching his arm so tightly that he felt her nails digging into his skin, kept him upright.

  The words slowly pounded through to him, slowly and he fought to understand. “What is that?” Over and over, repeated, variations, “What the hell is that...Jesus, what is that?” Slowly Jason recovered his senses.

  “Jason. Jason!” Lizzy’s voice cut through the haze. “Don’t you do this to me, Jason! What is wrong? He lifted his head...caught her hand before she could slap him again.

  “I’m okay,” he said softly. “Wait.”

  Then he heard it, sifting through the pounding and the reverberating voices. Another sound—another voice. Monotonous and insidious, low—so faint he could barely hear it—but there. The chant.

  “No,” he whispered. “No, that isn’t possible, I…”

  “Get up, Jason,” Frank said urgently, gripping the arm that Lizzy wasn’t and lifting. “Get up man. I don’t know what’s going on—don’t know if this is someone’s sick idea of a joke, but I hear it too.”

  Ronnie was moving ahead again, very slowly. His arms were down at his sides. His boot caught on an exposed root and it nearly sent him sprawling, but still he staggered forward. He seemed in a trance. Somehow that image dragged Jason the rest of the way back to the moment.

  “Ronnie!” Jason called out. “Ronnie wait. Don’t go there alone, man.”

  Jason stumbled toward Ronnie’s retreating back, and the motion dragged both Frank and Lizzy along in his wake. They didn’t protest, but neither did they press ahead. Jason felt their weight, their reluctance, as he plunged through the trees.

  Ronnie ignored them all. If he heard them, he gave no sign. If he heard Jason’s words, they slipped over and around him unheeded. He moved through the trees like a zombie, unable to turn away, or back.

  Jason hurried his steps.

  “Come on!” he urged the others. “We can’t let him go running off through the woods alone. If those are hunters up there, it might not be such a great idea to bust in on their camp unannounced.”

  “Hunters don’t chant.” Frank said it nonchalantly, but the finality of his words ran rampant down the paths of Jason’s mind. He ignored it. No time to worry about that; concentrate on Ronnie. Stop him, regroup, get them out.

  The trees were thinner still, and as the three friends drew up behind Ronnie, the clearing seemed to suddenly flash into sight. What had been a flickering glow of firelight was bright now, dancing beyond the trees. It was a campfire, but whose?

  The odd, rhythmic chanting grew louder, but no clearer. Jason’s sight blurred, and he brushed his hand across his eyes to clear the sweat. They were nearly to the edge of the clearing, and he could just make out a shadowed figure, seated on the far side of the fire. Ronnie was sliding to the side, skirting the trees, as if trying to get a better view, but Jason’s gaze locked on that fire. His heartbeat sped until it thudded painfully in his chest, and he had to stop for a moment to regain his balance.

  “No.” The word was his, the voice Lizzy’s. She echoed his thought so cleanly that Jason believed, for a moment, that he had spoken.

  Jason gripped her hand. At the same moment, he realized he no longer had hold of Frank. He wanted to turn, to make sure his friend was okay, but he couldn’t. The fire held his gaze, and with a lump in his throat that nearly cut off his breath, he stepped forward.

  Beyond the fire he could clearly see the frame of the old shack. The outline was dark against the backdrop of trees, the firelight too bright in the foreground of that image for Jason to make out any details clearly. He knew that shape though, that structure.

  “Jason, no!” Lizzy pleaded.

  He heard her, but he didn’t stop. “We have to, Lizzy,” he said softly. “There isn’t any going back now. We have to see who that is.”

  Jason stepped past the line of trees and moved forward slowly. Lizzy held back at first, tugging at his grip as if she would break free, then suddenly following quickly and pressing against his back. The figure beyond the fire didn’t move, or, more precisely, continued to move steadily, swaying back and forth. The chant echoed from within and without of Jason’s mind. He remembered the sound, remembered it clearly. He heard it just as clearly, the voice eerily similar, and yet—not possible.

  “That isn’t her,” he said softly. Lizzy gripped his arm more tightly. “That is not her,” he said again, “and I’ve had just about enough of this.”

  He started forward more quickly. The spell of the moment was fading. He heard the voice in his mind, and the voice in the clearing, and there was a dissonance. He’d relived that moment too many times, heard that sound deep within his heart before a thousand campfire dreams. It was like tuning a guitar. You hit the two strings, and you listen for a waver. The sounds were wavering in an eerie, off-beat harmony.

  “She would be older,” Lizzy said, again sharing his thoughts. “It doesn’t sound exactly the same, but neither do you. The chanting is the same. Be careful.”

  Then, almost as an afterthought, she asked, “Where’s Frank?”

  Jason spun, wide-eyed, and scanned the clearing. He turned a full circle, but he saw no one. Nothing.

  “Frank!” he cried. “Frank, where the hell are you?”

  Nothing. Jason went from nervous to angry in seconds, face reddening. “God damnit Frank. Get your ass out here—Ronnie!”

  The words echoed from the trees, joining in counterpoint to the chant, but there was no answer. None at all. Jason turned, catching a glimpse of Lizzy shaking and clutching her arms about herself.

  Without hesitation he moved to her side and slippe
d his arm around her shoulder.

  “We’re out of here,” he said, glancing angrily at the fire. “I don’t know whose idea of a joke this is, but it isn’t funny.”

  He turned, drawing her toward the trees. He hadn’t gone a single step when a voice cut through the night like a knife, the chant ending sharply.

  “Thinking bout that evil past, boy?”

  The voice was cracked with age, roughened by the weather and too much smoke from too many fires. Jason stopped. He didn’t turn, but neither did he continue toward the trees.

  “For a wicked life, no deed atones,” Jason whispered. Lizzy was shaking so hard she nearly fell, and only Jason’s last-second grab stopped her from passing out.

  Holding her in the crook of his arm, he turned back to the fire.

  “Ran all the way back, didn’t you, boy. Told you. Running wasn’t the answer, never is.”

  Jason didn’t answer.

  “And you, girl. Told you to say no.”

  “To know the future,” Lizzy whispered, “roll them bones.”

  Jason growled and started toward the fire again. Lizzy cried out as he pulled away, but this time he ignored her. The figure continued to sway from side to side, unperturbed by his approach, but Jason didn’t waver.

  “Maybe you ought to roll those damn things for yourself,” he growled.

  The fire popped and crackled, and he could just make out the glint of eyes beyond the flames. Jason fought off the shakes. It was too surreal, too perfect. Too much.

  A spark shot suddenly from the fire, drawing his gaze. He slowed, just for an instant. It was in that instant that the world chose to crumble.

  Fire burst from the old shack, licking up and out the windows, and washing hungrily up the walls from within. Jason cried out, backing away and turning, reaching back toward Lizzy. Lizzy was standing and staring, transfixed like a deer in headlights. Her lips were moving, but there was no sound—none that Jason could make out over the roaring and crackling of the blaze.

  “Lizzy,” Jason cried out, dashing to her side, “Lizzy!” He grabbed her by the shoulders, shaking her and turning her so that she faced away from the fire, and so that he could make it out more clearly. All those years, all those fires, but the terror wasn’t there.

  The figure beyond the fire had risen and was turning slowly toward that burning building. Jason started forward, half a step, then stopped.

  A figure crashed through the trees to his right, bellowing like a bull moose and waving his arms over his head like a maniac. He was headed straight at the smaller fire, as though he intended to run through it and come out the other side.

  “Ronnie.” Jason breathed. “Ronnie! Wait. It isn’t her man, it...”

  Too late. Ronnie skirted the fire, just to the right, barely missing stumbling through the center, and barreled on toward the shack. Beyond him, Jason saw the crouched, cackling figure from beyond the fire turn, and he heard the faint echo of dark laughter. Before he could react, the flames licked out and up the wooden frame of the door.

  Ronnie reached that door, plunging through without hesitation. Reluctantly, Jason forced himself to follow. Lizzy was tugging at his arm now, her head shaking uncontrollably from side to side, but he ignored her.

  “I have to,” he said softly. “I can’t leave Ronnie in there alone.”

  He tugged free of Lizzy’s grip gently and started to move more quickly. In moments he’d reached the fire, crab-walking around the side as the heat blistered the near side of his face. He stumbled on a large stone, staggered and dropped to his knees heavily.

  “Christ,” he spat, catching his breath for a moment before starting to rise slowly. He lurched to his feet, reeling, and the world swirled toward black. He saw white spots, gleaming, blurring, then growing clear.

  The ground was littered with them—tiny, sun-polished and glittering in the firelight. Bones. Small, large, tossed casually into the dirt, just as they’d been so long ago—even the placement so close. Was it right? He couldn’t tell, couldn’t think. His balance failed, and the world tilted, the ground growing closer way too quickly. His head struck hard, sending hot sparks of pain shimmering through the rising darkness.

  Jason somehow managed to roll to the side, landing roughly on his hip, the curse mouthed but not spoken as his body failed and his mind spun away from his grasping thoughts. Then there was another sensation, softer—fingers sliding under his head and lifting. Jason fought not to pass out, fought against the second round of stars brought on by being tugged back to a sitting position.

  “Jason,” Lizzy whispered.

  No slaps. That is what brought him back. He raised his hands shakily, covering his face. “No slaps,” he muttered, trying to struggle to his feet, failing miserably. “No...slaps.”

  “I’m not going to slap you Jason but you have to get up! Ronnie’s in there, and I don’t know where Frank is.”

  Jason shook his head, regretted the motion instantly and nodded more slowly.

  “Did you see them?” he asked.

  Lizzy didn’t speak. She bit her lip and nodded in return. Jason closed his eyes, squeezing them so tightly together that his head throbbed.

  “I ran away,” he whispered. “I ran away, just like she said. Came back to…to .. .”

  Lizzy wrapped an arm around his back, clutched under his arm and lifted urgently.

  Jason took a deep breath, pressed his hands behind himself and pushed off, launching recklessly to his feet and nearly pitching headlong into the fire. Lizzy grabbed his arm, holding him steady, and his head began to slowly clear.

  They moved toward the old shack, together, and more carefully. The flames ate away the eaves, poking yellow-bright fingers through the warped shingles of the roof. Jason took another step closer, then stopped. The air was thick with the heat. It robbed his breath and dragged the moisture from his body, burning his eyes with sweat.

  Cupping his hand over his eyes, he stared into the flames, willing his sight beyond the blazing frame of the doorway. He couldn’t see a thing—only more and more flames and billowing smoke rising in a swirling cloud to join the darkness far above.

  “We have to get out of here,” Lizzy said, moving up behind him, using his body as a heat shield. “We can’t get in there, Jason. It’s too late.”

  “No,” he said. Then again, more loudly. “No. We go around.”

  With a quick spin, he headed for the tree line to the right, turning away from the searing heat and drawing Lizzy after him. She followed with a soft, surprised cry as he took off quickly enough to make her stumble.

  “Why?” she called out. “Why go around? What do you think is back there?”

  “I don’t know,” Jason answered, “but if there is anyone walking away from that fire, they didn’t come this way. I have to know.”

  Jason didn’t tell her the whole truth. He didn’t mention that he’d woken up too many nights, screaming, seeing her face engulfed in flames and Ronnie’s hair lit like a torch. He didn’t mention the coals, or the way they erupted, night after night, spilling his friends into his private hell.

  “Not this time,” he muttered to himself. “We all go home.”

  The trees blocked most of the heat, but the bright flickering flames sent shadows dancing all around them, making it hard to see where they were going. Jason moved slowly, but steadily, not wanting to risk another tumble.

  As he made his way through the shadows, the image of those bones—embedded in the dirt— strobed in his mind. It wasn’t possible. After all those years, Tara would have been pushing a hundred. Even saying she survived the fire, and somehow rebuilt that shack, no way she was moving so quickly.

  The words echoed in his mind. No deed atones.

  Lizzy had moved up beside him, and together they rounded the side of the clearing, working around the side and angling back toward the shack as they neared the back corner. The smoke billowed from two back windows and danced around a back door, hanging limp from one hinge and swinging e
erily. There was no movement in the smoky clearing.

  Jason stopped, sweeping his gaze over the trees. Lizzy stood very close, clutching his arm and staring into the flames.

  Jason was about to turn and move back to the main clearing, when suddenly Lizzy gripped his arm so tightly it hurt. She screamed, backing away from the clearing and dragging him after her, as her motion caught him off guard.“Wha...” Jason spun back to the shack, wrapping one arm around the nearest tree to stop Lizzy from tumbling him over backward.

  The smoke had parted at the doorway of the old shack, and a shadowed form stumbled into view. Impossibly, Ronnie was staggering out the door, clutching his face and completely unaware of his surroundings. He took two, maybe three steps, and fell to his knees.

  “He’s still too close!” Jason cried, shaking loose of Lizzy’s grip. “We have to get him out of there.”

  Lizzy wasn’t moving, and Jason couldn’t wait. He took off, breaking free of the trees, banging his shoulder painfully off one slender trunk and nearly slamming face first into a second before he bounced into the clear and lurched toward Ronnie.

  “Ronnie!” he screamed, fighting the roar of the flames. “Ronnie get up! Get the hell up! We have to get out of here.”

  If the big man heard him, he made no sign. Ronnie’s shoulders were scrunched in tight, and he rocked from side to side, his hands clutched to his face in obvious agony.

  “Christ,” Jason cursed softly, putting one arm up to shield his face. It did little good. The heat washed over and around him. He felt his skin nearly blister, and still he moved forward.

  He reached Ronnie quickly, reaching down with both hands and gripping the big man’s arm tightly. Ronnie jerked, nearly pulling free, but Jason was screaming at him.

  “Ronnie, it’s Jason, man. Get up! We’re both going to burn with that building if you don’t get on your feet.”

  Ronnie turned to him, and Jason felt the baked fish nearly surface. Ronnie’s face was blistered—the skin was red and puffy, nearly closing both eyes. His hair was singed and it was obvious that, though he’d turned toward Jason’s voice, he saw nothing.