Bone White Read online

  The only purpose the dismal shed still served was bearing a floodlight that rose a few feet above the metal roof. The weak light’s glow barely reached the ground. At first, it gave me hope that someone would be here, but looking at it again, I realized it was the type of light that could be set to come on at dark, then shut off when daylight approached. It had probably been turning itself on and off for years, like a lonely lighthouse keeper who remains on the job long after the shipping channels had been rerouted.

  We stood at the edge of the canopy of trees, where the driveway gave itself up to the parking lot. No longer protected, the rain was coming down on us like we were standing under an industrial-sized showerhead. I would have given anything at that moment for an umbrella. Even one of my mother’s colorful umbrellas with the flowers and butterflies on it. Hell, it would have brightened up the place. And maybe my mood.

  “Now what?” I shouted to Garrett, competing with a rumble of thunder from overhead.

  He just shrugged.

  “Well, maybe there’s no phone, but there’s definitely shelter from all this,” he said, holding his arms out to indicate everything that was coming down on us. The rain. Thunder. Lightning. Wind. Darkness.

  All of it.

  Then, with a punch to my arm, he left me standing there by myself. Creating tiny explosions of water with every step, he sprinted across the overgrown yard and up the concrete steps leading underneath the smallest of overhangs. I watched him cup his hand around his eyes to look through a large cross-shaped window in one of the doors, his shoulders scrunched up to keep his ears warm. The scene reminded me of many I’d seen on television late at night. After midnight, the only things worth watching were low budget horror films and infomercials. In those films, young people were always doing things they shouldn’t be, only to end up in black body bags with shiny silver zippers. In the infomercials, beautiful women with perfect hair and professionally done nails tried to sell us products we really didn’t need, but were guaranteed to make our lives easier. They usually threw in a second, vaguely related item, offering you both for the incredible low price of $19.95. I’d never been sure which program was scarier, but scanning the scene of decay and neglect before me, I didn’t see any other young people or beautiful women. But then, I didn’t have a credit card anyway.

  “Shit,” I mumbled, and started across the parking lot.

  Chapter 13

  Running up the steps to the stoop, I was immediately aware of two things: the first was that the church had a sorrowful air, like nothing good had happened here for a long, long time. The second was that I regretted being aware of the first. The last thing I needed was to walk into a freakin’ sorrowful church.

  Garrett was still peering through stained glass emblazoned with deep shades of red, yellow, purple and blue. By the looks of his expression, he wasn’t seeing anything promising inside. As dark as it was, I would have been surprised if he’d been able to see much of anything, especially with nearly all the church’s windows boarded up.

  Having been raised right, I’d worried about tracking mud on someone’s floors when we decided to head this way, but looking at this place, the worry disappeared. At least that worry. There were plenty more to replace it. But, if the inside of the church was anything like the outside, tracks of mud would go unnoticed. And there was no reason to believe the inside had fared any better.

  “Anyone home?” I asked, knowing full well there wasn’t.

  Garrett shook his head.

  “Nah. Guess they’re not handing out candy this year.”

  He smiled, but I wasn’t in the mood. Not with my entire body shivering and my teeth chattering like a wind-up toy. He must have taken the hint, because the grin faded.

  “Can’t even see much, really,” Garrett continued. “Looks like there’s something covering the window on the door.”

  “Could be too dark,” I offered.

  “I don’t think so,” he said. “I should at least be able to see something. But, it’s like there’s not even a window there. Might as well be trying to look through the wall.”

  Before I could say anything, Garrett had his hand on the scrolled iron door handle and was pushing down on the button. Nothing happened, so he jiggled it harder, the next step on the universally known list of things to do when you encounter a locked door. Still nothing.

  “Locked.”

  “Good,” I said and meant it. With all my heart. We were out of the rain, and the thought of heading back into it wasn’t exactly appealing, but this place was creeping me out more with every minute we spent here, especially with the image of the empty grave still fresh in my mind. All I wanted to do was put some distance between us and this entire property, storm or not. “Guess we should move on,” I suggested. “We can’t get in, and there’s obviously no one here.”

  Garrett was too busy checking out the cross-shaped window on the other door to respond. I’m not sure he even heard me over the rain hitting the roof of the awning like the steel wheels of a train click-clacking over the seams in the rails. I thought about repeating myself, then quickly forgot all about it when some gold lettering caught my eye. The words were painted on a dark, wooden board mounted beside the church’s entrance doors. Getting right up on it, I could make out the words “Register of Attendance and Offering” across the top. Down the left hand side was a list of words in the same gold, only this lettering was smaller and more difficult to read. Even so, it only took a moment to realize what it was. The board told the church members how many people had attended services this week versus last week. It also told them the amount of offering collected the present week versus the last. Basically, it was a holy scoreboard.

  “Interesting,” I muttered, looking over at Garrett to see if he had noticed the board. He hadn’t. He was still focused on the windows, so I turned my attention back to the board. Three of the four slots were empty. No info there. One slot, however, the one that said “Attendance Today,” had a lone wooden tile in its slot. A number two in the same gold lettering. At first, I wondered if it was a joke. Two? Really? Then I started to wonder if things had really gotten that bad in the end.

  “Same thing here,” Garrett said. “Nothing but black. This window seems like it’s actually covered up from the inside. Maybe painted over.”

  “Shit,” I said, forgetting the attendance board and jamming my cold hands deeper into my shorts pockets. I was on the hunt for a heat source and was having little luck finding it. “Why would someone do that? I mean, from the looks of it, it’s not like this church has any treasure to hide.”

  “Yeah,” Garrett said, with the first hint of uncertainty in his voice. He wasn’t feeling as comfortable with the decision to come here as he once was.

  The fact that someone had taken the trouble to cover the windows on the inside of a church as remote as this one might have been a huge red flag for most people. A sign that we weren’t wanted here. For me, though, it was just one of many small red flags I had already seen. They’d been popping up left and right over the past hour, each one adding to the unease growing in the pit of my stomach. But then, really, how much more screwed up could this little fishing trip get?

  The moment the question entered my mind, I was already regretting it. I should have known better. One, because levels of “screwed up” are always subjective. And two, because every question has an answer.

  I turned my back to the church, stood at the edge of the steps and looked out among the trees. Only twenty feet of unkempt yard separated the trees on the front from the entrance to the church. The building sat on a slight hill, so the rain ran in narrow rivers through the saturated yard toward the patch of woods between the church and the lake. If I rose on my tiptoes, and strained my neck just enough, I could see a thin stretch of the water. On the other side of the lake, a street lamp shimmered on its surface. It was probably only a few miles away, though it might as well be on the other side of the Earth.

  A gust of wind blew across the stoop
, rattling a board that was loosely covering a front window and causing me to draw my arms in closer. My collar was already turned up and my hands were as deep in my pockets as they could go. I was still freezing, and my heart grew heavy as I realized this was probably as warm as I was going to get for a while.

  “What now, Captain?” I asked.

  When Garrett gave no answer, I turned around to offer my own suggestion, but there was no one there to listen.

  Chapter 14

  Most of the dolls still had their heads, but not all of them. Some didn’t even have arms or legs anymore. But, at least their torsos allowed them to sit upright in the chairs and that was all she needed. She was too old to play with dolls, too old by nearly a decade. Yet, Father had insisted on turning the tiny room into a makeshift classroom, trying to make up for the fact that she didn’t have any friends, and she couldn’t disappoint him. He had even hung an old cracked blackboard on one of the walls. The six tiny chairs he’d found in the basement when they’d first moved in were the perfect size for the dolls to sit in and listen as she taught them all the things she remembered from school.

  It wasn’t a lot.

  Above all else, she made sure to teach them the number one rule. Not the Golden Rule, but her father’s rule. Stressed it every chance she got, just like he had done with her. The students would learn it, even if it killed them. Learn it and live by it, just like she did.

  Outside, the storm raged and rattled the walls. And as the evening wore on, she found herself spending more time soothing the fears of her dolls and less time on their lessons. Especially Hannah. Hannah was always the most scared. And she was a screamer. Screamed more than the others. Way more. Hannah’s high pitched shrieks still echoed in her ears.

  Storms didn’t really bother her, though. Very little scared her anymore. Her father was a master of death, so what was there to fear? And he was such a good father. This one loved her, she was sure. He told her so, over and over. He showed her. He would never leave her, not like the other one. She would make sure of it. She would be so good.

  Chapter 15

  “Shit.”

  I saw no sign of Garrett anywhere on the church grounds. How had he vanished so fast? He had to be nearby. As I took one last glimpse at the attendance board and hopped down the steps, the rain ratcheted up a notch. For some reason, that lone number two tile bugged me. It could be that all the other tiles had blown away over time or been stolen by vandals. I wasn’t sure what anyone would want with wooden number tiles, but it was a more comforting thought than there truly only being two people left at the congregation’s end.

  With the rain coming down harder than it had before, I slopped my way through the swampy grass toward the side yard. Before I’d gotten far, something caught my eye, something I hadn’t seen when I ran up to the steps, shielding my face from the rain. Tucked behind an overambitious shrub stood an old wooden sign, its white paint more chipped and missing than not. With rainwater running into my eyes, I drew aside the branches, revealing the words carved into the wood.

  New Congregational Church

  Sunday School…………..9:00 am

  A.M. Worship………….10:30 am

  P.M. Worship………….7:00 pm

  Thursday Worship…….7:00 pm

  Visitors Welcome

  Est. 1927.

  As wet and cold as I was, a chill still managed to run down my back, and an uneasy feeling came over me. Something about the sign made things more personal. The church’s demise, more sorrowful. I stepped back and the shrub once again covered the sign. I tried to laugh off my nerves as I continued to the side of the building. Visitors welcome. Yeah right. I didn’t feel welcome here at all.

  I cleared the corner, expecting to see Garrett peering into one of the side windows. But, there was no sign of him.

  Damn it!

  Saying I was getting nervous would be a bigger understatement than saying all this rain was going to make mud. I wasn’t finding myself thrilled about being there, period, much less alone. Somewhere in my head I knew Garrett must have just gone the other way around the building, but it didn’t stop a slight degree of fear from setting in. My nerves were on edge, pulled as taut as piano wire, and the slap of the rain on the mud was about to make them snap.

  I was just about to head back to the front stoop and hang out like a lost child hoping for his parent’s return, when something moved near the back corner of the church, a darker blotch against its already dark surroundings. It looked like a person, probably Garrett, but I couldn’t be certain. And that bothered me even more.

  “Garrett,” I whispered, and felt my face flush in the cold wind. Idiot. No one was going to hear me over the wind and pounding rain. And maybe it was better they hadn’t heard me. For all I knew, it wasn’t Garrett at all, but a deranged lunatic who liked to dig up graves and wear the rotting skin as a mask. Cue my mother’s speech about horror movies. “You watch too many of those things. They give you nightmares. Blah, blah, blah.”

  The dark form turned, hesitating for a moment, before trudging through the tall, wet grass in my direction. My stomach came up into my chest, pushing my heart into my throat. Eighteen different options rushed into my mind, things I could do, actions I could take, but I didn’t move on any of them. More out of fear than bravery, I stood my ground. My feet simply weren’t listening to what my head was telling them. I wasn’t even sure the message was getting through. All I found myself able to do was shield my eyes against the stinging rain, and attempt to get a better look at the person. Bad idea. I got a better look, but didn’t like what I saw. Whoever it was, they were carrying something in one of their hands. Something Garrett hadn’t had. Something long. Something thin. A machete? Axe?

  With every possibility that entered my mind, more wet hairs stood on the back of my neck. I took an involuntary step back, then two. Instinctively, my hands came out of my pockets, but I wasn’t sure why. I wasn’t much of a fighter. I was just about to turn and run when a flash of lightning lit up everything within several square miles.

  And I saw the familiar red jacket.

  Garrett was coming toward me carrying a length of 2x4. Relief flooded my chest and allowed some of the tension stored up in my body to ease. I realized that I’d been holding my breath, so I let it out. My shoulders relaxed and the tight crease that stretched across my forehead dissolved with the rain. Garrett and I had been friends since the first grade, and I can’t remember when I’d ever been happier to see that kid.

  “Hey,” Garrett said when he finally drew within an audible distance.

  “Hey, yourself,” I reproached, jamming my hands back into the semi-warmth of my shorts pockets. “Don’t ever do that again.” Then, before he could ask, “Disappear on me like that.”

  “Sorry, man, but we weren’t getting anywhere just standing around with our hands in our pockets.”

  Trying to draw as little attention as I could, I slowly pulled my hands from my shorts.

  “What’s the board for?” I asked, deciding not to make too big of a deal about him leaving me behind. Knowing me the way he did, Garrett probably knew I was getting spooked. No reason to prove it to him.

  He shrugged, holding up the piece of wood so I could get a better look at it.

  “Two by four,” he said, smacking the wood against an open palm. “Just in case.”

  And it was then that I knew I wasn’t the only one scared. Standing out here in the dark and stormy night beside an abandoned church with, let’s be honest, some pretty disturbing elements to it, Garrett was getting just as freaked out as I was. And the very idea of that both relieved and frightened me.

  “Man, I’m freezin’ my cherries off here,” I said, hoping to capitalize on my friend’s newfound misgivings. “Let’s move on down the road.”

  “Don’t have to,” he said, with a nod toward the rear of the church. “Back door’s unlocked.”

  Despite the near darkness, he must have seen the look on my face because he st
arted coaxing.

  “Dude, it’s dry inside. We can finally get out of this shit and warm up.”

  I opened my mouth to argue, but something stopped the words dead. A sound. A loud shrieking sound, almost like a scream. With the wind swirling around us, I couldn’t pinpoint the direction the anguished sound had come from. The woods? Inside the church? I couldn’t even tell what kind of creature had made the sound, but the hairs rose further on my neck.

  Garrett and I caught each other’s eyes in the dim light. It was a relief knowing I wasn’t just hearing things, but that relief was tainted with the sour taste of fear. Garrett’s eyes were wide.

  “The fuck was that?”

  Chapter 16

  We eased the door shut ever so gently. I wasn’t exactly sure why. I doubted anyone was within earshot of this place, nor would a subtle creak from an old back door be heard over what was going on outside anyway. The storm was full on and this old clapboard church had very little defense against the tempest. The fierce wind was playing it like a musical instrument, and any sound the door might make would have been one among thousands. Still, being cautious just seemed like the right protocol for a situation that might just call for it.

  As for the shriek, neither of us was sure where it had come from. No clue. The woods was our best guess, so we’d decided not to spend any more time outside when we could be doing our contemplating where it was dry and warm. Though I use the word “warm” in a completely relative manner, because the room we were in was anything but.

  We were standing in what my grandmother would have called a mudroom. She’d had one that separated her kitchen from her garage and used it for storage more than anything. Jars of beans and preserves and anything else that required storage in a cool dry place lined the shelves around the room. Her aprons, boots, gloves, tools and anything else she used to work in the garden just outside the door was kept there as well. As for why she called it a mudroom, it probably had to do with the fact that if we entered the house without leaving our dirty shoes on the mat inside the door, well then, she would let us know about it. And believe me, she may be as sweet an old lady as you’d ever meet, but you didn’t want to “hear about it” from my grandmother.