Bones

© 2001 Bruce Floyd
All rights reserved.

Donny Olsen's short legs threatened to buckle under his overweight body as he ran down the deserted alley. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the two night-creatures were still pursuing him, howling and cackling as they advanced toward him.

His foot catching a trash bag, he fell forward, skinning his knees and elbows. He pulled himself up and staggered, trying to regain his balance. He steadied himself and attempted to continue to flee, but stopped when he felt a sharp tingling flow through his left arm. He leaned against a wall and slowly slid down it, struggling to draw air into his lungs. The arm was completely numb by the time he reached the ground. In an instant, the two ghouls were upon him.

The gargoyle grabbed the front of Donny's shirt and pulled him closer. Donny turned his head away to avoid the smell of its foul breath. The second fiend appeared behind them, smiling with a pale, ash-colored face as he glared with yellowish reptilian eyes. He reached under his cloak and removed a large dagger. He ran the sharp edge along Donny's face before shoving the blade under his double chins.

Donny tried to pull away by pressing his back further against the wall. Tears rolled down his chubby cheeks and a wheezing sound escaped from his quivering lips as he clutched his chest. His body twitched twice before becoming motionless. The mask of fear remained on his face as his lifeless eyes rolled upward and stared into the night sky.

"I think he's dead," Darrel said, stripping the rubber gargoyle mask off his head.

"Fat motherfucker had a heart attack," Rick said through his white makeup. "Damn, I wanted to kill him myself!" He kicked the body and tucked away his knife.

"Let's see what he got," Darrel said, digging into Donny's pockets. He fished out a wallet, a set of keys and a stick of gum. He reached into the wallet and pulled out a few crumbled bills, "Thirty-one dollars."

"What?" Rick exclaimed, "Is that all fat-ass got?" He kicked the body again. "Come on, let's get the hell outta here, we're wasting our fuckin' time!"

"No, wait," Darrel said, unwrapping the gum and sticking it in his mouth, "I've got an idea."

An hour later, Darrel and Rick walked past rows of decorated houses as miniature witches, ghosts, and goblins ran past them. A few stopped and gaped at their realistic costumes before continuing to the next house in their quest for candy and other treats. Once they were clear of the children's curious glances, they hid in an unlit doorway across the street from a small mansion.

"You sure the slob lived here?" Rick asked.

"That's what his ID says," Darrel replied, considering the picture of a once-thinner Donny on the drivers license.

"How the hell are we supposed to get in there?" asked Rick, gesturing toward the tall iron fence that surrounded the house. Darrel dangled the set of keys.

"That's great. Let's go," Rick said and started crossing the street.

Darrel grabbed him by the arm, "We gotta make sure no one's home."

Rick yanked his arm away. "Don't need to worry about that!" he said with a sly grin, pulling back his cloak to reveal the handle of his dagger.

They briskly moved toward the front gate as their dark garments flowed behind them like a pair of dancing shadows. Darrel attempted to insert several keys into the lock, failing to choose the correct one each time.

"Come on, hurry up," Rick said, looking up and down the sidewalk.

"Shut up; I'm trying," Darrel snapped back. Finally, he found one that easily slipped in and turned it. The lock released its stubborn grip with an audible CLUNK.

They both froze and peered at the house, wondering if the sound had alerted anyone. Once they were certain that they had not been detected, they walked through the gates, climbed a couple of steps and stood at the front door.

As Darrel began flipping through the keys, the door suddenly swung open, releasing a blinding light from within the house. Inside the doorway stood a skeleton draped in a short, black shroud. It twisted its head and walked toward them, glaring with white, gleaming eyes. They backed away, nearly tumbling down the stairs while the bony figure continued to wobble in their direction.

They spun away from it and retreated toward the gate. They stumbled as their eyes tried to adjust to the sudden glare. When they looked back, they were astonished to find a frail, elderly woman standing in the place of the thin creature. She blinked at them with cataract-obscured eyes.

"Oh, my," she creaked, "what splendid costumes. I thought I heard something, but at my age you can never be certain. I wondered if it were my son Donny returning home. Let me fetch you fine boys a treat. I'm not sure what I have really, but I'll find something nice for you both..." She stopped and frowned at the set of keys in Darrel's hand.

Rick reached for his weapon as Darrel tensed and prepared to pounce on the old lady. Suddenly, they were distracted by a giggling sound that sneaked up behind them. They turned to see children gleefully running up to doors across the street with bulging sacks of candy. Their watchful parents stood on the sidewalk with flashlights while they scanned the neighborhood. They soon focused their attention on the two ghoulish characters towering over the fragile women.

"Mrs. Olsen," Darrel blurted out. The woman raised her eyebrows at the mention of her last name, "I'm Darrel and this is Rick. Donny was at a Halloween party at our house and forgot his wallet and keys. We figured he'll be needing 'em so we bought them right over."

"Well, that was very thoughtful of you boys," she said, smiling with her wrinkled lips. "Please, won't you come in?"

"We'd like that very much," Rick said. They followed her inside as Rick paused to sneer at the parents before closing the door behind him.

They followed Mrs. Olsen into the house and watched her flick off the lights. Tall black candles cast a faint glow in the rooms as Darrel and Rick studied the interior of the house. They saw that every corner was littered with Halloween decorations as Mrs. Olsen gave them a tour, relying heavily on her cane while she limped ahead of them.

"I just love Halloween," she said, shuffling along, "but now I'm too old to go out and enjoy it, so I bring it inside my home. I have been doing this for many, many years, but lately, I find myself getting tired fairly easily and am unable to finish the work. Please excuse the mess. Donny tries to help as much as he can but..." She stopped and squinted at the expensive watch dangling loosely from her thin wrist.

"Oh, dear," she said, looking worried, "it is getting rather late. I hope nothing has happened to my Donny."

"Trust me, Ms. Olsen," Darrel said, shooting a glance at Rick, "I'm sure he is fine."

"I hope you are right," Ms. Olsen said. "I don't know what I would do without him."

Rick turned to conceal his grin, pretending to be interested in the large, black tree beside him. Brittle branches hung sadly toward the floor, looking like a Christmas tree that had endured the scorching flames of a forest fire. It was covered with spiderwebs as little skull-lights peeked through the darkened needles, illuminating the dozens of chilling ornaments that clung to it with tiny hooks.

"I see you are admiring my tree," Mrs. Olsen said, pointing at it with her cane, "I made many of the decorations myself. My arthritis, however, prevents me from creating any more." She flexed her liver-spotted hands.

"That's a nice cane," Darrel said. Rick's hungry eyes roamed over it.

"Yes, yes indeed," she said, "it is made of redwood and contains various precious stones. It is over a hundred years old. A truly wonderful gift I received some time ago." Darrel elbowed Rick who responded by winking back.

"Please, let us sit in front of the fireplace," she invited them, struggling toward a plush chair. Darrel sat in the opposite chair and watched Rick hesitate before coming up behind her. The blade of his knife glistened with the reflection of the leaping flames.

"As I was saying," Mrs. Olsen continued, completely unaware of Rick who was leering down on her, "My husband and I once took great delight in celebrating Halloween, but we no longer are able."

Rick lowered his knife and gaped at Darrel. "Your husband?" Darrel asked, moving to the edge his chair, "Is he here?"

"Oh, yes," Ms. Olsen said with a smile, "he is always here."

Rick paced around the room as Darrel sprung up from his seat, "Where is he?"

"Right here," Mrs. Olsen said, gesturing toward her chest. "He passed away years ago, but he is always in my heart. The only company I have this evening, besides you fine gentlemen are these two." She spread her slender arms and stroked a pair of carved pumpkins as candlelight shined through their crooked grins.

Darrel sat back down as Rick began advancing toward her again.

"My husband was a great man and a wonderful father," Mrs. Olsen said, stiffly getting up from her chair. Rick raised the knife over his head and plunged it down, missing her by less than an inch, stabbing, instead, the back of her seat. She waddled to the fireplace, leaving Rick behind as he yanked the blade out of the cushion and hid it behind his back.

Mrs. Olsen reached for a framed picture and hugged it tightly. A single tear ran down her wrinkled cheek. "I miss him so much. I wish he were still with me."

She recovered quickly, showing the faded black and white picture first to Darrel and then to Rick.

"I'm a silly old woman, pay no attention to me," she insisted, brushing at the tear with the back of her hand. "He spoiled me rotten when he was alive. Always buying me jewelry and taking me out on our anniversaries. We were married fifty-six years, I'll have you know. Some nights I sit in bed alone and go through every piece, remembering exactly where we were and what we were doing when he gave them to me. Those were such good times."

Darrel pointed at Rick and motioned toward an empty chair. Rick, clearly irritated, strutted over and plopped himself down into it.

"So you keep the jewelry as a tribute to your late husband," Darrel suggested.

"Oh, no, that is not the only reason," Mrs. Olsen corrected, giggling like a bashful teenage girl. "The pieces are absolutely beautiful!" She replaced the portrait and looked over the fireplace.

"These," she said, referring to the skeletal arms that were wrapped around the aged stones of the fireplace, "are my favorite. My husband spent a whole summer sanding and shaping them. They are very unique and very special to me." Her own fragile arms oddly resembled those embracing the rocks.

"Oh, my, where are my manners?" Mrs. Olsen said suddenly. "Let me whip up some nice hot chocolate for you boys." She made her way toward the kitchen.

"What the hell are we waiting for?" demanded Rick once she disappeared.

"I wanna find out where everything is," answered Darrel.

"Fuck that. We can find it ourselves. We're wasting time," Rick said.

"All right ... all right, already," Darrel said, giving in. "We'll take her out when she gets back!"

Mrs. Olsen returned with a tray of drinks, struggling to keep them from slopping around in their delicate cups. A moment later, the tray crashed to the floor, shattering the cups and splattering the hot liquid. As her cane was snatched from underneath her, she fell beside the tacky fragments.

Darrel swung the cane at the tree, smashing the ornaments, as Rick held the framed picture of her deceased husband in one hand and the dagger in the other.

"Oh, you must not do that," Mrs. Olsen said to Darrel, "I spent a great deal of my time setting that up." He ignored her and continued thrashing at the tree.

She turned her attention toward Rick.

"Please, put the photo down," she pleaded.

"You want me to put it down, old lady?" Rick asked, "Fine." He carelessly tossed it into the fireplace. Darrel shoved the damaged tree, knocking it over on its side.

Mrs. Olsen crawled towards the fireplace, weeping as the flames engulfed the picture.

"Why are you doing this to me?" she cried. "I have done nothing to you!"

"Shut the fuck up, bitch!" Rick hollered.

"Please, don't use that foul language with me," Mrs. Olsen said.

"Please, don't use that foul language with me," Rick mimicked. He and Darrel began circling around her like vultures around their prey, chatting, "Bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch..."

"Hey, let's bust these up," Rick suggested, glaring at the skeletal arms.

"Cool," Darrel said, turning to the fireplace and laughing. "Then we'll bust her arms!"

"Do not do that," Mrs. Olsen said.

"I've heard just about enough out of you, bitch," Rick said. "Let's shut her up!" They turned to face her and were surprised when they found her standing. They crept towards her, Rick slashing with his dagger and Darrel swinging with the cane.

Mrs. Olsen stuck out her palm.

"Stop!"

Flames erupted from the two jack-o-lanterns, spiraling up to the ceiling, spraying needles of fire over Darrel and Rick. As they recoiled, the arms from the fireplace shot out and grabbed them, pulling them back against the stones. Bony hands reached out and grabbed their heads, fiercely twisting them to face Mrs. Olsen.

Her slender body began to grow, becoming firm and shapely as it filled out the short, black shroud. She shook out the bun in her gray hair as it turned deep red and fell over her strong shoulders. Her eyes cleared of the white film and shined bright green. The wrinkles on her face stretched out and became smooth, beautiful skin.

She strolled over to the squirming captives and placed her hands on her hips.

"Now," she purred, "who were you calling a bitch?"

She was interrupted by a sudden voice.

"How did I do, mother? Are you pleased?" Donny stood inside the room, smiling at his attractive mother. His plump body began to shrink. The fat melted away and became firm muscle. His round face narrowed, revealing sharp, handsome features.

"You have made an old woman very, very happy, dear," Mrs. Olsen said, "Thank you."

"My pleasure," Donny beamed.

"Unlike myself," Mrs. Olsen said, "the night is still young. Would you be kind enough to go out and bring me others?"

"Of course," Donny said, turning toward the door.

"As I was saying before," Donny heard his mother say as he stepped outside, "I just love Halloween, but I no longer go out to enjoy it, instead I bring it into my home!"

Donny closed the door to muffle the screams.

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