Brian Freeman - The Bone House

Copyright 2010 Brian Freeman

The right of Brian Freeman to be identifiedas the Author of

the Work has been asserted by him in accordance with

the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

First published in Great Britain in2010

by HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP

Apart from any use permitted under UKcopyright law, this

publication may only be reproduced, stored, ortransmitted, in

any form, or by anymeans, with prior permission in writing of

the publishers or, inthe case of reprographic production, in

accordance with theterms of licences issued by the

Copyright LicensingAgency.

All characters in this publication arefictitious

and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead,

is purelycoincidental.

Cataloguing in Publication Data is

available from the British Library

ISBN 978 0 7553 4878 7 (Hardback)

ISBN 978 0 7553 4879 4 (Trade paperback)

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Palimpsest Book Production Limited, Falkirk,Stirlingshire

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For Marcia

and in memory of

Gail Foster

'I'll be judge, I'll be jury,'

said cunning old Fury:

'I'll try the wholecause,

and condemn you todeath.'

Lewis Carroll

Tableof Contents

Six Years Ago

GloryFischer lay atop a mattress on the floor with her brown eyes wide open,smearing the mosquitoes that landed on her face and listening to the moths beattheir wings madly against the screen. Her skin was filmy with sweat. Hernightgown clung to her scrawny legs in the dampness. She waited, chewing herfingernails, until the house was dead still. At one in the morning, she finallydecided it was safe to sneak away, the way she had done for the past fivenights.

Noone would hear her leave. No one would hear her come back.

Hermother slept alone in a bedroom across the hall, with an electric fan grindingbeside her pillow that drowned out her snores. Her sister Tresa, and Tresa'sbest friend Jen, were finally sleeping, too. The two girls had stayed up late,acting out stories from a vampire fanzine in loud voices. It was a Tuesday inmid-July, and bedtimes and school nights were a long way away. Usually, Glorydidn't like Jen sleeping over because the ruckus of the girls on the other sideof the wall kept her awake. Tonight she didn't care because she needed to stayawake anyway.

Jenlived in the house across the road, but Glory didn't think that her sister'sfriend knew what was hidden in the loft of their garage. Nobody did. Not Jen'smother Nettie, who was in a wheelchair now and rarely left the house. Not herfather Harris, who was on the road most days, traveling around Wisconsin forhis job. Not Jen's two older brothers either. Especially not them. If they'dknown, they would have done something cruel, because that was who they were.Cruel boys.

Glorysat up cross-legged, with her pink nightgown bunching above her knees. The hotwind gusted under the curtain and made the room smell of cherries, which weresquashed all over the county roads like dots of red paint at this time of year.Leaning over, Glory slid open the bottom drawer of her dresser and dug beneathher underwear for the stash she had deposited there after dinner: a warm,unopened carton of milk and a paper bag stuffed with crumbled potato chips,sunflower seeds, mushed banana, and hard-boiled egg.

Theten-year-old girl stood up and stuffed her bare feet into sneakers. It was timeto go. She bent back the broken screen from her window until she could fit oneleg outside the house, then the other. She held the paper bag between her teethand squeezed the milk carton under her arm. She jumped awkwardly, landing inthe dirt five feet below. Her mouth opened with a loud oof, and the bagfell and spilled. She picked it up and checked inside. There was still plentyof food.

Glorybit her lip and peered at the messy weeds in the yard and the nearby woods. Theworld felt big, and she felt small. The moonless sky glistened with stars. Thepines swayed like giants and whispered to each other. Swallowing down her fear,she sprinted through the tall grass. She figured if she went fast enough, theticks and the box elder bugs clinging to the green shoots wouldn't land on her.Her arms pumped, and her long hair flew behind her. She reached the dirt road,which was rippled with tractor ruts, and she stopped, breathing hard in thestifling air.

Therural lane looked lonely. There were no cars and no street lights, just acrooked row of telephone poles beside her, holding the bowed wires like jumpropes. The two-story house loomed across the way, sheltered by oak trees down along driveway. Glory ran again but slowed to a nervous walk when she got close.The chipped paint and hanging shutters gave her a creepy feeling, and when thewind blew, the house sighed. She'd asked her mother once if the Bone house washaunted. Her mother had gotten a strange look on her face and said there wereno such things as ghosts or monsters, just unhappy people.

Glorycrept to the garage, which was in the midst of a grassy field. A rusted padlockheld the side door closed. She knew where Mr Bone kept the key, on a hookhidden underneath the window ledge. She undid the padlock, replaced the key onthe hook, and opened the door. She always got a lump in her throat creepinginside. She reached for a heavy flashlight on the shelves next to the door, andwhen she turned it on and rattled the batteries, it struggled to make a tinyorange glow across the floor. She could see mouse droppings littered at herfeet. Parked in front of her was a pickup truck with a dirty tarpaulinstretched over its bed. At the rear of the garage was a wooden ladder leadingto the loft.

'It'sme,' she called softly. 'I'm here.'

Glorytiptoed to the ladder. The rotten steps sagged as she climbed, and splinterspoked her fingers. Ten feet over the floor, she crawled on to the bed of theloft, which was strewn with paint cans and moldy blankets. She saw nailsjutting down through the roof shingles and a huge papery growth under the eavethat was really a hornet's nest.

'Hey,'she said. 'Where are you?'

Sheheard the scrape of claws and a wispy squeal. When she turned her flashlighttoward the sound, she saw the wide, curious eyes of the kitten squeezing out ofits hiding place. She gathered the little animal up into her arms and wasrewarded with a rumbling purr that was loud in her ears. The kitten's spiky furwas mottled with tan and black, striped like a tiger.

'Lookwhat I have,' Glory said. She poured milk into the lid of a dirty glass jar,then dumped the food from the paper bag on to the floor and let the kittenattack it hungrily. She stroked its back as it ate noisily and then picked itup with one hand and deposited it near the milk, where it drank until its mouthwas damp and white. When it was done, the kitten climbed up her bare legs withwobbly steps, and she put it back down on the floor of the loft. As Glorywatched happily, it hopped in and out of the flashlight glow, slapping at ablack beetle with its tiny front paws.

Glorywas so caught up in the antics of the kitten, so much in love with it, that shedidn't realize immediately that she wasn't alone anymore.