Old Bones: A Collection of Short Stories

by Steven L. Campbell

  “Well, I … it’s a birthday present,” Leo said and smiled modestly.

  “From Emily Umberto,” Kathy said from a disapproving face. “They’ve been dating.”

  “Dating? No way.” Frank came and clapped Leo on the back. “You dawg! Good for you. No more blisters on your putting hand, if you know what I mean.”

  Leo stabbed the Pause/Break key on the keypad and wished he had a button that could pause Frank’s nasty mouth too.

  Kathy joined Frank and stood on the other side of Leo. She admired the computer, though her face looked like she had just tasted something bitter. Frank, on the other hand, looked like a kid in a toy store.

  “What’cha playin’?” he asked.

  “It’s called Dragon Slayer.”

  Frank leaned over and touched the keypad. “What’s this button do?” He thumped on the spacebar with a middle finger. “Make it work. I wanna see what this game does.”

  “It’s on pause,” Leo said. “Stop hitting it.”

  Frank pulled the laptop away. “Lemme see it for a moment … I’ll give it right back.”

  Leo sighed and resigned the computer to Frank. Kathy smirked at the fat man. “You? A dragon slayer, Frankie? Yeah, right!” She chortled and returned to her seat and the three-year-old copy of Readers Digest. Frank followed with Leo’s computer and returned to his spot next to her.

  “Whoa! Check out the dragon and these characters,” he said. “These graphics are awesome.” He attacked the keypad and made explosion sounds with his mouth. “Take that, dragon. And that … and that.” His stumpy digits blurred. Bombing noises from his flatulent lips and cheeks drowned the sounds of the game. Spittle showered the computer in his lap. The dragon sounded angry.

  Leo looked at the door. Emily would be back any moment. What would she think if she saw Frank with his gift?

  “Okay, Frank,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. Then he raised his voice. “Okay, Frank. I think it’s time you give it back.”

  “In a minute.” Frank bounced in his seat and made more bombing noises. Then, “Crap, I’m dead … I mean, you’re dead, Nash.” He thumped at the keypad and said. “You were playin’ at the Beginner level, for cryin’ out loud. Everyone knows you don’t learn a game ’less you go full speed. Lemme show you what a Master can do.”

  Frank returned to attacking the computer with his hands and spittle. Leo winced and waited for Frank to finish.

  “Damn,” Frank cried, “I’m out of arrows.” He thumped the Enter key. “Hey, this maiden with more arrows looks like Emily,” he said and sounded delighted.

  “Shoot at its heart,” the computer said in Emily’s voice. Frank looked over at Leo and grinned. “Awesome, dude.” Then he looked at Kathy. “Why don’t you do something like that for me?”

  Kathy frowned and glowered at Leo. He looked away. She flipped a page of her Readers Digest and returned to reading.

  “Shoot at its heart,” the computer repeated. “Hurry, before he kills you.”

  “I’m tryin’,” Frank said.

  “Hurry,” the computer said. “The dragon is coming for another attack. Shoot!”

  “Shut up. I’m hurryin’.”

  “He’s coming.”

  “Shut up I said.” Frank’s fingers were a blur once more. Sweat appeared on his cheeks.

  A terrible roar sounded from the computer. Kathy jumped and looked annoyed. “You guys and your stupid toys,” she said. She glowered and Leo looked away again.

  “It’s not a toy,” Frank said. Sweat covered his reddened face.

  “Kill the dragon,” the computer demanded.

  “Shut up already,” Frank said. He panted and pounded the keypad. The screen emitted a green glow that billowed like a sudden fog around Frank’s body. Kathy spun in her seat and shouted at Frank, but no sound came as the glow swallowed her as well.

  Leo stood, transfixed by the glow until it exploded in a flash of white light that sent Leo falling backward over his chair. When he scrambled up, Frank, Kathy and the green glow were gone. His computer rested on the cushion where Frank had been sitting.

  “Game over,” the computer said. “You lose.” He thought he heard Emily’s voice snicker.

  He stared at his gift, uncertain of whether to go near it.

  He picked up his overturned chair, sat, and watched the door.

  Why wasn’t Emily back yet?

  I need answers!

  He waited for her, uncertain if what he had seen had really happened. But it must have. There was Kathy’s Readers Digest next to his computer.

  He replayed the scenario in his mind several times and shook his head every time. What kind of computer does that to people? How?

  Questions riddled his mind while he watched the door and waited. Five minutes later, he paced the room.

  Maybe he should go look for Emily.

  He started toward the door and stopped.

  Should he leave the computer here? Would Emily be upset with him if he did?

  He paced and pondered what to do.

  He jumped and held back a cry when the faculty lounge door opened. Emily smiled at him as she strolled inside. The smile froze. Then it vanished as she stepped back and studied his concerned face. “I’d never do anything to hurt you,” she said.

  “But Frank and Kathy … what happened to them?”

  “It’s okay. It’s only temporary.” Emily pointed at the computer. “They’re safe. Inside. See?”

  She waved a hand and the computer turned until Leo could see that the game had started again. Frank was part of the game now; he busily shot arrows at the red dragon.

  Leo peered at Emily. “What are you?” he asked.

  “I hope I’m the best thing to ever come into your life.” She laughed a sweet laugh.

  Leo looked again at Frank.

  “Die, you bastard,” Frank screamed at the dragon that flew above him. Then he turned and looked at Leo from inside the screen. “I don’t know how you did this, you geek,” he said, “but I’m gonna—”

  “Shut up, Frank,” Emily said. “You just fight those dragons and try to rescue Kathy if you two ever want to get out of there.” She winked at Leo, but he still frowned at her.

  “Don’t be frightened,” she said, “or mad at me. I promise no harm will come to them … or you. I love you, Leo.” She took a step toward him and he backed away. Tears welled in her eyes. “Do you love me, Leo?”

  Leo rubbed his forehead. “I … I—”

  “Answer the bitch,” Frank yelled. “I want outta here.”

  Leo looked at tiny Frank Hallstead ducking from a stream of dragon fire. He suddenly needed to laugh. “Yes,” he said to Emily amidst his laughter. “You are the best thing to ever come into my life.”

  Emily rushed into his embrace, her lips meeting his.

  “Get a room,” Frank yelled.

  Leo went to his computer and closed the lid. Frank and the game were silent. “Shut up, Frank,” Leo said and laughed again.

  “You have a contagious laugh, Mr. Nash,” Emily said. “You should use it more often.”

  Leo nodded. Emily took him by the arm and led him to the door. He saw by the old clock on the wall that last period was almost over. He looked at the computer and said, “As much as part of me doesn’t want to, I think it’s time to let Frank and Kathy out.” He sighed. “Frank’s never gonna stop harassing me over this.”

  “Don’t worry,” Emily said. “They won’t remember a thing that happened. And every time Frank gets out of line, I’ll send him back inside to fight dragons.” She opened the door, waved a hand, and then took him by the arm again and led him into the hall.

  Before they left, Leo glanced into the room and saw Frank and Kathy reappear on the sofa. There was no green fog or white light this time. Both yawned and stretched and looked like they had awakened from a nap.

  Leo and Emily went arm in arm from the school, almost skipping into the warm afternoon air and sunny daylight outdoors, and laug
hing the way all lovers do when their futures look brightest.

  #

  A Matter of Time

  THE BEST WAY to describe the room is that it looked old—ancient-20th-century, single-bare-light-bulb, yellowed-wallpaper old. The room was small and square, sans any windows to clear away the smoky light that filled the place with nothingness. It smelled of dust and rotted upholstered furniture, but there was neither to be found. The wood floor with warped slats that held two wood chairs facing each other was clean. It was always clean, yet no one cleaned here. Ever.

  The chairs were straight high backs, their cheap wood painted oily black except where the paint was chipped away like aging wounds. In one of the chairs sat a man in a dark gray suit, silver tie and black loafers. Gray argyle socks peeked from between the shoes and pants cuffs where his ankles were crossed right over left. In the other chair, a woman sat upright, her hands folded elegantly in the lap of her black, strapless gown. Her hair was as dark as her dress and her skin glowed ivory. She was studying with doe-like eyes the man in front of her.

  He drew his large left hand through his short, thick brown hair, then brought the hand to the back of his neck where he stopped and rubbed it. Behind him was a door as old as the room. It was closed. Its handle was round, smooth and bone white. There was a keyhole below where light never passed through from the other side.

  “The prosecuting lawyers think Don Calloway killed his wife,” he said with a tired voice. “Calloway says she fell down the stairs, but the lawyers think she was pushed.” He paused to reach for a cigarette from his shirt pocket, then remembered he had quit. He thought of having a cup of coffee, but the thought evaporated when the woman spoke. Her voice was sweet and ever fresh.

  “What do you think?”

  “Only matters what the jury thinks. Court is nothing more than a room of debaters.

  Whoever presents the better argument wins. Or loses.”

  The woman brought a delicate right hand to the white pearl necklace around her throat. “Mr. Calloway grew up in Ridgewood,” she said with lips as red as scarlet, “prospered in high school and college events with the help of his banker father, and became prominent in New Cambridge as a TV news anchor. Lived on the north end in that ugly brick house with sandstone trimmings and cast-iron fence. Right next to the Methodist Church that he and his wife always attended, and where their only child was baptized.”

  “What’s your point?”

  “He’s got money.”

  “But remember the circumstances,” the man went on; “Calloway was seeing that New Cambridge shrink Maxine Green, and not on a professional basis if you know what I mean. And the wife, … well, suspicion turned for a while on the young man she was seeing. Police had seen him hanging about the house after ‘the scene.’ He gave them the slip and hasn’t been seen since.”

  She looked past him at the door and he turned slightly. They waited as if anticipating someone’s arrival but no one came. After almost a minute, the woman looked back at him.

  “You think the boy did it?” she asked.

  “Did what?”

  “Push Mrs. Calloway down the stairs.”

  He folded his arms and leaned against the back of his chair. “Nah. His tender relations with an older and married woman were harmless and easy to explain. But running like he did only made him appear to have much to hide.”

  The woman nodded. “The fellow next door … Ted Jackson. He said he heard a crash just before Mrs. Calloway screamed, yet no one found anything broken.”

  “Just her neck.”

  She looked at him and frowned. “Did you know their house has a history?”

  He smiled. “It’s been mentioned. Some story started years ago by some crazy writer.” He laughed and saw her scolding him with another sharp look. He stopped and licked his lips.

  She dabbed twisted fingers to the corners of her mouth. “A Dr. Geddes once lived there, back in ’59. He killed his wife Sarah in the kitchen—stabbed her to death after they returned from a party. He thought she had been having an affair.”

  He waved impatiently and frowned. When he had settled, she continued.

  “Then in ’72, a family named Walker moved in and reported that the house was haunted by Sarah Geddes’s ghost. The grandmother, Ethel Walker had a seizure and was taken to the hospital. Right after that, the Walkers moved out and the place remained empty until Mr. Calloway bought it.”

  He shrugged and their conversation stalled. He looked bored and ready to take a nap when the woman interrupted his slumber.

  “She had on a black dress,” she said.

  “Who?”

  “Sarah Geddes. A black strapless evening gown like mine. Like the one in the newspaper article my mother has in her scrapbook.”

  He coughed, then shifted in his seat. “They let you go to your mother’s?”

  She bit her bottom lip. “Just once. A long time ago.”

  He nodded and sighed. “Me too, but I can’t remember why.”

  Then he shrugged and unbuttoned his jacket to reveal a blue vest. Except where it was stained a black, inky color, the interior jacket was three shades lighter than his suit. He pulled out a gold pocket watch and clicked it open.

  “What time is it?” she asked.

  He wound the watch by its stem. “Don’t know. Damn thing stopped.”

  She looked at the door. “Do you think it will ever be our turn?”

  “Someday,” he said and closed the watch’s cover. “It’s just a matter of time.”

  #

  A Buzzing of Bees

  SOME WOMEN HAVE voices like angels. And Angela was the perfect name for the angel following him.

  Brian listened to the gentle cadence of her voice, smiling and feeling warm and love-struck wonderful.

  “Did you remember to bring your new camera?” she asked.

  Brian pushed hanging branches away from his face. This part of the woods on Myers Ridge was thick with broadleaf and coniferous trees, and infested with thorny blackberry and raspberry bushes. These barbed sentries were deep in cover, away from hungry predators and ambitious and adventurous gardeners with spades and pruning shears. But few people trespassed here on his land. The terrain was rough and steep in many places and challenging to walk over. Thick and thorny underbrush, stinging nettle, and rattlesnakes were common threats, including branches falling from trees infected by disease and acid rain attacking their roots.

  Overall, it was a miserable place in the summer for anyone who ventured off the large deer trail they were on. And he had no intention of leaving the trail and risk not being with Angela.

  “I did,” he said, answering her question. “It’s in my pack.”

  He was glad to have the heavy pack on his back again. Hiking always cleared his mind and made his lungs and legs stronger. Plus, it almost always brought Angela to him.

  “I’m glad you came along today,” he said.

  “I’m glad, too,” Angela said.

  He glanced back at her and liked what he saw. Her one-piece calico dress looked old-fashioned in its simple, baggy design, but it made her look like a woman. The same with her long, flowing red hair. Not short and tomboyish like so many of women’s’ hairstyles today

  “What time is it?” she asked him before he returned his attention to the deer path.

  “Almost four o’clock,” he said without looking at his watch.

  “I wish it were earlier,” she said. “I don’t want the day to end. You make everything better just by letting me be with you.”

  He cleared his throat, feeling awkward for the first time today. He smiled and remembered the same feeling when he was young and uncertain. “You make me feel new and alive,” he told her. “What’s even more amazing is that someone like you could be in love with me.”

  “You’re a wonderful guy. Don’t sell yourself short.”

  “My ex would disagree with that.” He stared at the shadows flickering along the pathway from the sunlight filtering through
the treetops, and saw painful memories in them. Some of them grew before his eyes and he was certain he didn’t want to see them again. He looked away at the clearing ahead and was glad to know the memories would not follow him there. But a few pressed their way between him and Angela anyway and lurked behind him like overgrown thieves wanting to rob him of his happiness.

  He refused to look back until Angela asked: “Is that why you burned all your paintings of her?”

  “I had to let go. It was the only way to heal from the heartbreak and all those drunken nights of pity dates.”

  “Your portraits are very good,” she said. “I like the one you’re doing of me.”

  He smiled. “Has someone been in my studio?”

  “I hope you don’t mind. It’s the only place indoors I’m able to go … for now.”

  Brian’s smile became a grin. The memories left him and Angela hurried to decrease the distance between her and Brian. When she was close enough to touch him without reaching out, she said, “When you take my picture this time, I want you to stand next to me.”

  “Can I hold your hand?”

  “Yes. Please. I love you.”

  Like every time before, Brian choked up when he tried to voice his love for her. Still, as his legs began to feel rubbery, he managed not to trip along the rutted trail that wound past scrub and fewer and smaller trees. Soon they would come to the clearing that had been a pasture when his grandfather owned the land. Brian thought of the pink and blue boulders that Grandpa Eric had dug from the ground and used as fencing for his bulls before he installed the electric fence. One of those rocks would make a good place to take Angela’s photo before her time to leave.

  They passed the place where Grandpa’s barn had been. The structure had collapsed years ago, its timber now covered with field grass and hidden from sight by spruce, maple, ash, and poplar trees. He listened to Angela’s voice while she continued to talk. John again. She was reliving the phone call.

  He glanced back at her when they entered the clearing and midafternoon sunshine. Her one-piece baggy calico dress billowed at her hips before a breeze pressed the material against her body, revealing her pleasant figure underneath. Brian looked away, but not before he saw her fiddle with her fingers, especially the one where a diamond engagement ring occupied it.