Blood and Bone: A Smattering of Unease (10 page)

“Her name is Josie.” Becky lifted the lid from the box. The three of them looked inside at the small gray rodent lying still on the maple leaf.

Darce reached in and caressed the mouse’s head with her finger. “This is what saved me? Everything happened so fast, I never even saw him. He’s so tiny.”

“Josie’s a girl!” Becky interjected.

Carol nodded. “It’s amazing how the very least of us can hold so much power. I questioned whether it even had a soul.”

“Mommy!
Everything
has a soul!” Becky scolded.

“Honey, some religions hold the belief that only humans have souls.”

“Really?’

“Well, now we know differently.”

Darce cleared her throat. “I think it fitting that we should give her a sendoff fit for a queen. She’s a little heroine.”

“Yeah!” Becky jumped up from her chair. “I want to give her a blanket so she stays warm. And cheese, so she has something to eat. And water!”

Her mother laughed. “Okay, okay! Why don’t you gather your items while Carol and I finish breakfast. Then we’ll go out and bury him. I mean,
her
.”

In the back yard, Carol suggested they bury Josie beneath the tree where Becky had found Darce. Darce was adamant that they bury the mouse elsewhere. “I wouldn’t wish that leaf pile on any creature, living or dead. What about the foot of the rose bush?”

Becky clapped her hands. “That’s perfect! Josie will like the pretty roses and their smell and the sunshine!”

“You got it!” Carol agreed.

She found an old spade of Darce’s in the basement and dug a hole just out of reach of the roots of the rose bush. Each of them said a few words, then shoveled a spade full of soil atop the lid of the shoe box.

When Darce’s turn came, she said, “Farewell, little friend. You didn’t give your life for me, but the life you lost was not in vain. You are a tiny creature who performed a giant service. I owe you my life. Thank you.” Tears stung her eyes as she filled in the small hole with the remaining soil.

Carol grasped Darce’s hand in her own. “So mote it be,” she said.

Eight year-old Gordie Zeik wolfed down his after-school milk and cookies and yelled, “I’m gonna go play in my room!”

“Okay, Gordie,” his mother, Maryann, called back. “You know where I am if you need me!”

“’Kay.”

Gordie ran off to his room, eager to play with the new race track he’d gotten for Christmas. But first, he needed to greet his hamster, Harry P.

“Hi, Harry P!” He peered into the hamster cage. He didn’t see his fluffy little brown-and-white pet. Maybe he was in the half-chewed toiled paper roll, or buried beneath the cardboard chips and aspen bedding.

“Harry P?”

Gordie noticed that the cage door was open. He stared at it for a moment, then reached his hand inside the opening and felt around in the bedding. He picked up the empty toilet paper roll. Harry P was gone.

“Harry P!” Gordie called. He searched the shelf upon which the cage sat. He dropped to the floor and looked under the bed. Calling the hamster’s name, he crawled along the carpet, searching beneath all of the furniture and in the corners of his room. He picked up his dirty socks, undershorts, and pajamas, shaking the m out. He searched his closet.

No Harry P.

Panicking, Gordie ran to his mom’s office, knocked on the door and opened it. “Mom, I can’t find Harry P!”

Maryann turned away from the computer. “What?”

“Harry P is gone! He’s not in his cage and he’s not in my room!” Tears slid down the boy’s freckled cheeks.

“Oh, honey!” Maryann reached out for Gordie and gathered him to her in a big hug. “Stay calm. I’ll help you look again.”

Gordie grabbed her hand and pulled her into his room. He pointed at the empty cage. “See?”

“What happened? Did he escape while you were playing with him?”

“No, Mom, the door was open when I came in, and Harry P was already gone!”

“Really?” Maryann frowned. She reached into Harry P’s cage and dug through the aspen chips as Gordie had done. “Hmm. Let’s look around your room again.”

They searched Gordie’s room, but still didn’t find Harry P.

“Maybe he got out of your room and he’s in the house somewhere. Or maybe Nathan took him out to play,” she suggested. “Go ask your brother. I’ll look in the living room.”

Gordie did as she instructed and ran upstairs to get Nate. He knocked on his brother’s door. After a moment, he heard a spraying noise like his mom’s bathroom cleaner.

“Who is it?” Nate’s voice was muffled behind the door.

“It’s me. Have you seen Harry P? He’s gone!”

Nate opened the door. He wore only pajama bottoms, and his hair was tousled. A sweet, weird smell came wafting out of his room, mixed with the smell of oranges.

“Now, what’s going on?”

Gordie nearly jumped up and down with frustration. “Harry P is gone! Did you play with him? Have you seen him?”

“No,” Nate said, yawning. “I’ve been in bed all day.”

Gordie’s face started to crumple. “But I’ll help you look for him, little bro,” Nate said quickly, landing a mock punch on Gordie’s shoulder. “Hold on a sec.”

He shut the door and emerged a moment later after donning his slippers and robe.

Maryann and the boys scoured the house, searching beneath and behind the furniture, in the laundry, in cupboards and closets. Their search came up empty.

Gordie began to cry again.

Maryann knelt down and put her hands on his shoulders. “Gordie, Harry P is tiny and can fit into very small spaces. Chances are he’s found a little hiding place somewhere and he’s sleeping. He can’t have gone far. He has to be in the house
somewhere
. He’ll turn up eventually.”

“Mom’s right,” Nate assured him. “It’ll be okay.”

“What if it isn’t?” Gordie sobbed.

“It
will
be,” Maryann said firmly. “But right now, I need to make dinner, and you still have homework to do. You have to keep going even when you’re sad.”

“Yeah, Gordie. Tell you what. Why don’t I help you with your homework?” Nate offered.

Gordie nodded reluctantly, his chest still heaving.

“Let’s get you some tissues first.”

Maryann smiled gratefully at Nate and went to the kitchen to prepare dinner.

By bedtime, Harry P still hadn’t shown up. Gordie tossed and turned in his bed for a while before finally falling into a fitful sleep.

He dreamed of a bonfire and the smell of barbeque.

The next morning, after Maryann saw a very sad Gordie off on the school bus, she went to his room. She stood in his doorway and stared at Harry P’s cage, frowning. After a moment or two, she became aware of a smell – a smell like roasted meat . . . and the faint odor of wood smoke.

She walked slowly around the room, sniffing the air, trying to identify the source of the smell. She knelt down at the foot of the bed and lifted the comforter to look beneath.

“What the?”

In the morning sunlight that streamed between Gordie’s open curtains and made its way beneath his bed, she saw one of his large wooden blocks. On top of this was a small pile of ash, as though from a fire. Standing above the pile of ash was a tiny frame made of various toy parts; it resembled a spit for roasting meat over a fire. She reached out and touched the wooden block. Though the ashes were cold, the block was warm. Then she saw the little pile of bones.

“Oh, fudge,” she said softly.

Next to the pile of bones was a piece of brown cloth. She hooked it with the tip of her finger and pulled it out from beneath the bed. She held it up and examined it.

It was a piece of clothing, a tunic of some kind. Maryann wrinkled her nose; the thing smelled rancid. It was covered with dirt and dark stains that looked fresh. When she touched the stains, they felt damp. Her fingers came away red.

Blood?

She went upstairs and rousted her older son from his bed. “Nathan, there’s something I want you to see.”

“It isn’t more college brochures, is it? Because –”

Maryann gave him a look. “No, Nathan, this is more immediate. I think it has to do with Harry P.”

“Oh.”

They went to Gordie’s room, where Maryann had him look under the bed.

“There’s bones under there,” Nate said, looking up at her. “It smells like a pig roast. And it looks like there was a fire. Jesus, Mom, do you think that’s Harry P?”

“Unfortunately, I do. The bones look like those of a tiny animal.”

“I wonder why the smoke detectors didn’t go off,” Nate said. “We’re lucky Gordie’s bed didn’t catch on fire.” He paused for a moment. “Mom . . . do you think
he
did this?”

His mother gave him a look. “He’s an eight year-old boy. I don’t think he would kill and eat his own pet. You saw how heartbroken he was.”

Nate shrugged. “Stranger things have happened.”

“Look at this.” Maryann held up the bloodstained tunic.

He stared. “What is it?”

“I have no idea.” Silence filled the room as he absorbed the weight of her statement.

“Oh, crap.”

“You said it.”

“What do we do?”

“First, I’m making a fresh pot of coffee. Then we need to discuss this. In the living room.”

Maryann scraped a dab of peanut butter into the back of each of the two small box-style mousetraps. She had chosen these traps, rather than spring traps, because they were humane and wouldn’t kill or injure the rodent, but would contain it. She wouldn’t be able to forgive herself if Harry P was alive and running loose around the house and she killed or hurt the hamster in a spring trap.

“What now?” Nate asked.

“We go about our business.”

They left everything in Gordie’s room exactly the way they had found it that morning. Maryann had replaced the tunic beside the pile of bones under the bed, hoping that its disturbance would go unnoticed.

“Do you really think it will come back?”

“I don’t know. But if you found a meal somewhere for free, wouldn’t you be tempted to go back and try again?”

“Yeah, I guess so.” He switched on the television, setting the volume slightly lower than usual, and settled himself in the recliner.

Maryann smiled tightly and went to the kitchen to do the breakfast dishes, hoping that it wouldn’t take too long to catch the thing, whatever it was.

She moved around the house, doing daily chores, while Nate watched movies. Eventually she brought him a new sack of college brochures.

“Oh, Mom,” he groaned.

“Well, you’ve got to do
something
.”

“Can’t I just get a job as a gas station attendant?”

“Sweetheart, you can get a job anywhere you want, as long as you’re doing something productive.”

“Fine,” Nate sighed. He rifled through the stack of brochures.

Maryann went into Gordie’s room and gathered his dirty clothes from the floor. Everything was quiet and appeared undisturbed.

As she was about to leave the room, Maryann thought she heard something. She turned and paused in the doorway.

She heard the sound again. It came from the direction of Gordie’s toy box.

She held her breath and watched intently. She saw Gordie’s little white cash register at the top of the untidy pile; just beneath it were his remote control truck and his old animatronic bear.

The noise continued. It sounded the same way it did when Gordie was looking through his toy box for something to play with: things being pushed aside, other things tumbling down to take their place.

Did the bear just move? She wasn’t sure.

Wait . . . yes, the bear seemed to be moving – just a tiny bit, barely enough for the motion to be detectable.

She began to feel just a little afraid.
Maybe it’s nothing,
she thought.
Maybe the bear’s switch just got knocked, and the bear turned on.

The feeling in the pit of her stomach told her it was more than that. She didn’t want to call for Nate, yet; if it as Gordie’s visitor from the night before, she didn’t want to tip it off and send it back into hiding. She wanted to catch it and
get rid of it.

Maryann stared with fascinated apprehension as the bear heaved upward, dislodging the cash register from the top of the pile of toys. She jumped when it flipped over and fell to the floor with a crash and a
ding!
as the drawer popped open.

A little brown and white head, with tiny round ears and long, white whiskers, popped up from among the toys. It sniffed the air for a second; then it continued to root around in the toy box.

Maryann smiled in wonder and relief.
Harry P!
But even as she watched, her heart sank, and she knew it wasn’t so.

She realized that whatever this creature was, it was wearing Harry P’s skin, head and all.
Oh my God, it skinned Gordie’s hamster!

Beneath Harry P’s stolen skin, the thing was brown. It had a wrinkled leathery face, and its two arms and the front of its body were covered in short brown fur. The skin of its wrinkly brown hands matched its face. It stood upright on two legs, which were also covered in brown fur.

Appalled at the appearance of the tiny creature, Maryann felt a surge of disgust.

The thing tipped its head back and sniffed again. It stared over at Harry P’s cage, hoping to catch the scent of its next potential meal.

It eagerly clambered over the toys, using all fours, and dropped down to the carpet. It reached up to the lowest shelf of Gordie’s bookshelf and hauled itself up. 

Maryann waited until it had reached the top shelf before she said loudly, “Oh, no you don’t, you little monster!”

It turned and saw her. It threw its head back and let out a high pitched screech, exposing rows of neat little razor-sharp teeth.

It launched itself off the shelf and landed on the toy box. It grabbed something from the pile of toys, jumped on the bed, and leaped at Maryann, screeching all the way.

“Mom!” She heard Nate’s voice behind her in the hall.

Maryann held her hands up in front of her and snatched the six-inch tall creature out of the air with her left hand, closing her fist around it firmly. She screamed as sharp pain lanced through her palm. Opening her fingers, she realized that the thing held the tiny sword from Gordie’s Swashbuckling Pirate Play Set. She had closed her hand around the blade; now her palm was sliced open and bleeding. She switched hands, making sure that the sword was positioned above her enclosed fingers.

Nate stood in the door as and stared in horror as the scene unfolded. The creature struggled in his mother’s hand. It raised the sword and plunged the blade repeatedly into her hand as she winced in pain.

He cried, “What do I do, what do I do?”

“Get the sword, get the sword!”

Nate stepped forward and wrestled briefly with the creature, trying to grasp the tiny sword with his fingertips. He finally managed to wrench the sword away.