The Bonegnashers

The first thing I noticed was just how freaking cold it was. The second was the absolute darkness when I realized that my eyes were wide open. I had no idea where I was, but the surface I lay on was rough, maybe wood? I smelled an earthy scent close by and my heart began to race in panic. My eyes began to adjust to the light, so not perfect darkness. I strained to see my surroundings and realized I was in some kind of crate. There were gaps between the slats, but I could not see anything beyond. That’s when I realized I was moving.

Trying to control my breathing as I shivered uncontrollably, I poked a finger through the gap between two slats and felt rough cloth, maybe burlap. What the hell was going on? How did I get here? Last thing I remember was after Thanksgiving drinks with friends. I didn’t remember leaving the bar. Damn, why does my head hurt? I discovered I lay on my side in a cramped position, my knees drawn up as far as my belly would allow. A quick inventory showed I still wore my clothes from...when, last night? Blue jeans, hiking boots and a T-shirt – presumably the one with the dragonfly on the front. I couldn’t really tell in the dark.

My cell phone was missing, as was my money clip. I patted my left front pocket and found I still had my inhaler, my nitro and lip balm of all things. I tried to stretch my legs and my knees popped as I could move them only about four inches before hitting the wall of the crate. I stifled the panic that insisted on bubbling up and tried to think. Whatever was happening, I had to get out of this crate.

I sucked in a deep breath and held it, drawing my legs up as far as I could. Exhaling, I kicked as hard as I could. My feet had gone to sleep, and a thousand pins and needles pierced the soles as they tried to wake up. The boards didn’t break, but with a resounding thud and scrape, the crate moved slightly. I caught my breath for the sound of my actions rang loud in my ears and I feared someone might check on me. As I listened, I heard faint music almost drowned out by the rumbling of an exhaust sans muffler. Relaxing ever so slightly, I drew my legs out and kicked again.

Again, the crate moved, and I tried to nurture the small flame of hope that ignited. I started kicking repeatedly, as hard as I could. I’m not sure what I hoped would happen. Maybe I could either break through the boards or break the crate against something unmovable that I could not see. I bounced myself along some flat surface in the manner, inching somewhere for several minutes. Occasionally there would be a bump from below and I would bounce even further. Little did I know at the time, I would soon know exactly what I was accomplishing.

I gave what would become my last effort, kicking as hard as I could. My kick timed perfectly with a bump from below. Suddenly the floor went out from beneath me and I began to flip. I closed my eyes and braced for impact. Three things working in conjunction saved me from broken bones or worse. One – the crate shattering took the brunt of the impact. Two – The surface I struck was steeply angled so I immediately began sliding and tumbling down further. Three – a good six inches of snow covered the ground in all directions. I finally came to rest at the bottom of a ditch at the side of a road, nestled in dead weeds and cold snow.

I lay there, staring up into a bright blue sky. The sun was about midway down the sky from its zenith, but as I had no idea where I was, I didn’t know if that meant it was mid-morning or mid-afternoon. I would have like to go on laying there until I passed out, but it was freezing cold, and I wasn’t quite ready to die. I slowly rolled over onto my stomach and somehow managed to push myself to my feet. I hurt all over, but knew if I didn’t get moving, I would die. I dug into my pocket for my inhaler, taking a deep breath. Which way to go? I wanted to go away from wherever the vehicle carrying me was going, but I was so disoriented I didn’t know which way that was although it was either north or south along the road in whose ditch I stood. I could no longer hear any sounds of vehicles, in fact it was very quiet, only the sound of the wind whistling through the ditch found its way to my ears.

I climbed up to the road and found it to be a rough dirt lane. Based on the position of the sun and the time of the year, I could determine that the road must run roughly north and south, and I had only to wait a few minutes to determine which way was which when the sun moved. I shivered again and looked up and down the road. Something clung to a scrub bush a few feet away at the roadside. I walked over to it to find a rough, burlap tarp – most likely the one that had been covering my crate. I pulled it off the bush and wrapped it around my shoulders. It wasn’t much, but it was better than a T-shirt and bare arms. I kept walking in that direction as it put the wind to my back and in a few minutes, I realized I was walking more or less north as the sun was clearly sinking toward the horizon. It would be dark soon, so it was probably around 4:00 PM. That is, if I was even still in the central time zone.

Now, I’m no stranger to long walks. I once walked six miles in the middle of the night through one of the worst neighborhoods in my city just because I was mad at my wife. But the cold was killing me. It took my breath away and sapped my strength. As the sun dipped below the horizon, I began to feel the flush of fever coming on as my body tried its best to compensate. I trudged on through the snow, seeking any signs of civilization, but there was nothing along this desolate section of road for miles in any direction.

I kept moving only because I knew that to stop would be to die. I stumble often and more than once fell to my knees, just to reluctantly rise again and keep going. Each time it happened, the decision to stay down loomed larger in my mind. My fingers went from pink to angry read and then to blue and I could not longer feel the tip of my nose or my ears. Maybe I was not going to make it after all. I do not know how long I kept going that way - long enough to want to just lay down and go to sleep forever - when I saw a light up in the distance, somewhat to the west of the road. I could not tell what it was at first, but as I slowly drew closer, I could make it out as a single lamp set high atop a wooden pole in the yard between a dilapidated farm house and an even more rundown barn.

The slight burst of hope gave me enough energy to reach the narrow lane that turned into the property. I hoped to maybe at least find refuge in the barn, not knowing how the inhabitants would react should I suddenly show up at their front door. I saw no vehicles nor were there any lights on in the house, but the place had a lived-in feel and I sense enough to know that startling someone in the middle of the night - especially in a rural setting - could be hazardous to my health. Trudging down the narrow lane that was little more than two worn tire tracks, I saw that I would pass the barn before I reached the main house. Turning toward the barn when I reached that juncture, I could just make out that one of the barn doors was slightly ajar. I squeezed through the opening, out of the moonlight and the light from the yard lamp and into near complete darkness.

The smell of old motor oil, diesel fuel and mildewed hay greeted my raw nostrils as my eyes tried to adjust to the change in lighting. Just enough light spilled through the doorway that after a few moments, I felt I could proceed without running into walls. I groped my way past a large vehicle that left scant space between it and some kind of workbench to my right as I pressed further into the structure. No animal smells pierced the mechanical smells so I believed that the barn was being used as a garage rather that its traditional use. I continued feeling my way towards the back of the barn until I found what I had hoped for - a ladder leading up to a loft.

I climbed up slowly, the effort using the remainder of my energy. Despite the smell of damp mold, I thrilled at what I sensed in the darkness - piles of loose, straw or hay. I burrowed deep into the pile, making sure I was completely covered, and fell into an exhausted sleep.

I awoke sometime later as sunlight broke through the gaps between the dilapidated grey boards that made up the walls of the barn. I didn’t want to move. I was quite snug in the little burrow I had created. Besides, the few experimental stretches I tried resulted in my bones, muscles and joints screaming in pain. I forced myself into action, however, knowing it my would be better for me to introduce myself to the home owner, rather than be e discovered, hiding in the barn. I launched into covert action when I heard the scrape of the large, sliding barn door opening.

I slid on my belly towards the edge of the loft and peered down into the barn. Imagine my horror to discover the very truck I had recently escaped, or one just like it, squated below me. My greatest fears were confirmed as I overheard the conversation between the two men that entered the barn. Both were burly men, younger than me, maybe in their twenties or thirties. It was hard to tell from my vantage point given both wore grease stained and ratty trucker hats. One read John Deere and the other read DEKALB. Both wore filthy overalls that partially concealed red and black flannel shirts. One of them held a shotgun loosely in his left hand. Unfortunately, I could not make out their faces from my location, but they did not look up to see me, either.

“Con sarn it, Eli,” said John Deere, “Cain’t believe you didn’t notice that dang crate coming loose.”

“Well, shit, Jacob,” replied DEKALB, or rather, Eli. “Yous were drivin’“.

“We best oughta go find it. Best we found all winter.” Jacob opened the driver side door and climbed into the flatbed farm truck.

Eli walked around the other side and opened the door. He climbed up and just before shutting the passenger door, I heard him say, “Momma gonna be angry if it done went up and died.”

The truck roared to life and I went into a spasm of coughing as exhaust filled the room as the truck pulled out of the barn. I watched it until I couldn’t see it from my angle any longer and pondered my situation. The only civilization for what might be miles belonged to the very bastards that had kidnapped me. I had to make use of the time I had to do some form of reconnaissance. Body shrieking in protest, I slid around on my belly to and backed my way down the ladder. It didn’t take long for the cold to penetrate in the chill of the winter air what with the barn door wide open. I slipped to the edge of the door and peered outside.

The sun was still low on the horizon so it was early yet. The truck was nowhere to be seen, undoubtedly back tracing their path to try and locate their lost prize. That should give me a little time, I thought, as I looked across the yard toward the old farmhouse. It seemed lifeless, but I remembered the mention of a ‘mama’ so I needed to remain vigilant. Frankly, I was scared shitless, and I was not entirely sure how to proceed. Slowly, I began to cross the yard in a stoop, trying not to be seen as I crossed to the side of the house. Nothing called out, and despite my extreme paranoia, the truck didn’t immediately return.

I slinked along the side of the house, ducking below any windows I came to until I reached the rear of the house. I leaned against the back of the house, gasping for breath in the cold air. Knowing I at least wouldn’t be seen from the barn or the road, I took a minute to catch my breath. I needed to get in out of the cold or lasting the night would not mean anything at all. Maybe the house had a phone. If I could manage to avoid ‘momma’, I might be able to call for help. Given the condition of the house, it was a slim hope at best, but it was better than no hope at all.

I approached the nearest window, and, standing on my tip toes, I could just barely see over the rim. I was looking into a kitchen and back in time to about the 1970s. I gazed around to the best of my ability picking it a refrigerator and stove of that particular shade of olive green. A sink and simple wooden table were piled with dirty dishes. Then, on the wall, I found what might just be my salvation - an old fashioned, Bakelite olive green rotary phone. Starting at a loose, and warped corner, I began to peel at the screen, hoping to reach the glass behind. Fortunately, the metal was rusted and brittle, and broke readily beneath my freezing fingers. I had just cleared enough to get at the glass behind when I saw movement out of the corner of my eye.

I glanced over as a gaunt, bent woman shuffled into the room. I dropped to the ground and pressed against the wall of the house to stay out of sight. I could hear her whistling tunelessly through the thin plane of glass and clapboard siding that separated us. Interspersed between the whistling were sing-song phrases about whipping up a feast and making meat pies. It all sounded so homey that I could hardly believe this was the ‘momma’ I had been afraid of earlier. I almost rapped on the window to get the woman’s attention when I remembered being confined in the crate. I shivered again, whether in fear or do to the low temperature, I could not discern. I waited for a few minutes, hoping the woman would leave the kitchen, but as that did not seem to be happening any time soon, I decided on a different tack.

I moved on along the rear of the house and came across just what I had hoped to find. Just like my grandparents farm when I was a kid, this house had an outside door to the storm cellar that no doubt led to the basement under the house. Unfortunately, the doors, though old and wooden, were secured by a stout iron chain and lock. I tugged on it experimentally, but the cold metal would not budge. Next to the cellar doors stood a small stoop leading up to the house’s backdoor, but as I could still hear the woman from there, I thought better than to risk it. Making a hasty decision, I skulked back to the garage, hoping I would have some time before the boys returned in the truck.

Luck stayed with me as, taking a short break from the cold wind, I managed to locate a crowbar that had been casually discarded on the workbench. I had a brief vision of Eli or Jacob cracking open my crate had I not been fortunate enough to escape. Bracing against the winter chill, I headed back out into the yard.

Snow had begun to fall by the time I reached the cellar door again. On the way, I risked a quick peek into the kitchen and verified that the woman was still about her morning tasks. I wedge the crowbar between the chain and the door frame and then hesitated. What if I was wrong? What if this was not the home of my abductors and I had just misconstrued the boys’ conversation? But then the wind whipped up again and I knew I would have to get inside so I would not freeze to death. I applied pressure to the makeshift lever and strained heartily with my middle aged muscles. Nothing happened. Tears squeezed from my eyes and froze against my cheeks as I strained even harder. Desperation, cold temperatures and brittle iron suddenly worked in my favor. I felt something tear in my right shoulder as the weakest link gave way and the chain snapped apart.

I held my breath and listened intently. Faintly, above the rising of the wind, I could just barely make out the woman still whistling and singing her tuneless song. I tried to pull open the doors and nearly screamed in pain as my shoulder injury protested the action. Awkwardly, I pulled up and open the left side of the cellar door and laid it gently on the ground. That would have to do for now as I stared down at the rough stone steps leading into the dark cellar. I started down the steps, wishing I could pull the door shut behind me, but between the wind, the snow and my injury, that was not going to happen.

At least leaving the door open allowed some grey, snow dazzled light to penetrate the darkness below - enough to dimly illuminate a square room of dirt walls about a fourth the size of the house’s ground floor. Wooden plank shelves lined two of the walls, crammed full of canning jars containing God only knows. A low wooden door frame stood in the center of the far wall containing a simple plank door held shut by a crude metal latch. I lifted the latch with numb fingers and pried open the door. The smell hit me first. An amalgam of human waste, body odor, rot and various other visceral smells assaulted my nostrils as I stepped into the next room. I stepped from dim light into near dark as the door swung shit behind me. I stood there panting, noting the immediate change in temperature. At least I was not going to freeze to death. Unidentifiable sounds played at the edge of my hearing as my eyes adjusted to the change of light. Three narrow, dusty windows, positioned at the top edge of the wall on two sides of the room emitted just enough light into the large stone basement to prevent me from running into walls when I moved.

Shaped like an ‘L’, the room extend to the left and then turned left into an area I could not see. As my eyes adjusted, I could make out a skeletal wooden stairway opposite me and to the right. At the top I could see the outline of a door with the thinnest of light beams sowing in the gaps. As my ears sorted out the sounds, I realized the bulk of the noise was coming from an immense coal furnace that squatted in the center of the section of the basement that I could see. I hoped that the low rumble would mask the sounds of my movement. Numerous boxes and shelving lined much of the rest of the area containing more junk than I had the time or inclination to categorize. I thought about making my way upstairs as I hefted the crowbar in my left hand experimentally. I stopped myself, brushing the violent thoughts out of my head. Not that, not yet. Besides, there was something I could not quite make out in the far corner of the room and I still had not identified the source of the various feral human odors. I crossed the room slowly and with my back against the far wall, began to slide toward the far corner trying to keep boxes between the stairs and myself.

As I approached what would be the corner of the ‘L’, I discovered that the object appeared to be some kind of covered well. There stood a ring of stones about a foot and a half high covered by a stout wooden circle split down the center. Iron ‘U’ clamps held a 2 x 4 that barred the lid from being opened from below. Odd. I wrapped on the wood and confirmed that there was definitely a hollow space below. Now, I had read that old houses were sometimes built with wells inside, but I had never seen one before. As I stared at the strange object, I heard a low moan that nevertheless made itself heard above the rumble of the furnace.

I whipped around and lofted the crowbar, looking into the toe of the ‘L’. My eyes went wider than I thought possible and I almost dropped the bar. I think I gasped, taking in a breath of fetid air. I had discovered the source of the foul smells. At the far end of this section of the room stood a cage of chain-link about eight foot to a side. The cage contained four men in various states. Two of them lay on the floor, probably unconscious. One crouched in the far corner, rocking back and forth and maybe mumbling to himself. The last one stood gripping the chain-link and stared at me. “Help me,” he mouthed. In front of the cage stood what reminded me of a kitchen island, some six feet long and four feet tall whose entire surface seemed to be a pitted and stained cutting board. Stuck unceremoniously in the wooden surface were both a large butcher knife and a cleaver. I felt the gorge rising in the back up of my throat. What. The. Actual. Fuck.

It had not immediately occurred to me that there might be other victims. For some reason, I had thought of myself important enough to kidnap. What was this? Some kind of human trafficking? I slowly approached the cage, fear and determination warring in my head. I walked around the table, not looking to close at it, keeping my concentration fixed on the man in the cage. He was naked and filthy with a several days growth of beard. He was taller than me and considerably thinner. He was likely Caucasian, but so filthy I could not really tell. His hair hung down past his shoulders and might have once been blonde. He smiled and there was a bit of madness in his eyes. His voice was a croaking whisper. “Thank God.”

I looked past the conscious man at the others in the cage. The man in the corner seemed beyond help, but the unconscious two... One was a young black man - probably bald when he had been captured. He had less beard growth than the first man, but I did not know if that was a result of already being unshaven, or being in the cage longer. The other man, if you could even still call him that, was little more than a torso. His arms and legs were gone, cut off at the hips and shoulders, the stumps covered in burned scar tissue, the left arm stump still weeping fluid. I turned abruptly and vomited what little I had recently consumed and stood there retching for several minutes. “You get used to it,” croaked the captive as I turned back toward him. It was at this point I realized that all of the men were covered in small circular burns. He noticed me looking. “Cattle prod. The old lady uses it to keep us in line. That fellow over there,” he indicated the unconscious black man, “came in two days ago and has not yet awakened. The other two were already here.”

“How many. I’ve seen the woman and two younger men.”

“That’s all I’ve seen, but I have no idea. I’ve been stuck in this goddam cage.” He rattled the links for emphasis. “Can you get me out?”

“I think so.” I hefted the crowbar. “But I’ll need your help. I hurt my shoulder breaking the chain on the cellar door?”

“There’s a chain on the cellar door?”

I smiled halfheartedly. “Not any more.” I started to wedge the crowbar between the gate and its bar when I heard the door at the top of the stairs open. “Fuck, hang on.” Retaining the bar, I slouched up to the corner of the ‘L’ and peered cautiously around the corner. Sure enough, the woman was coming down the stairs caring an iron pot and a wicker basket. I quick stepped back to the cage and started prying on the gate.

“No, leave it,” hissed the captive. “Hide. She won’t be long.”

I nodded, grabbed the crowbar and ducked into a cabinet under the table. I left the door open just a crack on the cage side to witness what happened. The woman came directly over to the cage. She sat the wicker basket on the table and I held my breath, praying she would not notice the door being ajar. “Momma” was not as old as I originally had thought. Although difficult to tell, she seemed to be somewhere between forty and sixty in age. She wore a flower print gingham dress beneath a ratty apron that hung down to mid calf and the way her breasts hung down, probably little else beneath it. Her hair was a dirty light brown, stringy and hung down to the middle of her back. Her hands were read and raw with broken nails. She drew a telescoping wand from the pocket of her apron, extended it and thumbed a sliding switch. “Away from the gate, my lovely. I have your breakfast.”

The talkative captive backed away and absently rubbed one of the burn marks on his chest. The old woman quickly revealed a key, opened the lock on the gate and opened the gate. I thought maybe the man would make a move against her, but he did not. The woman set down the iron pot, backed away and closed and locked the gate. The captive started scooping out the contents and stuffing them in his mouth. It looked like a thin gruel or oatmeal. The woman admonished him with a bent finger. “Tch, tch tch. Now, now, my greedy little piggy. Make sure the others get some and please feed...Bob.” She indicated the torso man and laughed like a school girl. Then she turned, picked up the wicker basket and slipped out of site.

I eased my way out of the cabinet and crouched behind the counter. I started to rise up and raise the crowbar. I thought I could take her out. The captive made noise in his throat and when I turned to look, he was shaking his head almost imperceptibly. I lowered the bar and rose up just enough to track the woman’s progress. Ready to sink back down if she turned this way. She walked over to the covered well and set the basket down. She pulled the 2 x 4 free and opened the covering. Then she dumped the contents of the basket into the hole. I’m not sure what was in there, but I thought I heard the rattling of bones bouncing off the walls of the opening. So, not a well then, I thought. Weird place for refuse. Did they have no trash service out here? Certainly explained some of the nasty smells down here. She turned back toward the stairs and I ducked down until I heard the upstairs door open and close once again.

I got up and went back to the cage. The captive was spooning the meal into the torso man’s mouth. He was not unconscious after all - or at least not anymore. The talker looked up as I approached. He had helped the other man to a sitting position, leaning against the chain link. “His name is not Bob, you know. It’s Charles. And I’m Denver.”

I shrugged. “Steve.”

“Get us out of here, Steve.”

I motioned for him to join me at the gate where I had once again wedged the crowbar between the gate and the fence pole. “On three. One. Two. Three -” We both strained on the crowbar, he with both hand and me with one. Muscles bulged and I feared I would mess up my other shoulder. Denver growled audibly and redoubled his effort. We were rewarded by a high-pitched ‘clink’ as the lock snapped and the gate swung open. Before either of us could react, the mad man leapt to his feet, slammed through the door and knocked me on my ass. He grabbed the cleaver and ran screaming toward the stairs. Up the stairs he ran, slamming into the door and smashing it open with strength born of insane rage.

“Fuck!” yelled Denver, snatching up the butcher knife and making as if to go after him. “Son of a bitch will give us away!”

I grabbed the man with my right hand and immediately winced in pain as my shoulder signaled its injury. It was enough to make the man pause. “What? We have to stop him.”

I shook my head. “Too late for that. We can get to the outside. Hide in the barn. We need a plan.”

Denver nodded. “Show me.”

I crooked my head toward the legless man. “What about him.”

“Go,” growled Charles. “I’ll only slow you down.”

Denver looked like he was going to protest, but then sighed, a confusing play of emotions crossing his visage. “We get out of here, we’ll come back for you. What about the other guy.”

I slipped into the cage and knelt down next to the black man. I was no doctor, but he had no pulse and didn’t seem to be breathing. I shook him, but there was no response. “Dead.”

“Let’s go then,” said Denver as I joined him once again and kept moving further into the room. Just as we slipped into the canning cellar and closed the door, we heard a scream from above and a heavy body hit the floor.

I engaged the latch, knowing full well it would not stop a concerted effort, and turned toward the steps. I stopped. The cellar doors above me were closed. What? I had left them open. Hadn’t I? I ran up the steps and pushed against the door. They would not budge. I began banging on the door and Denver soon joined me. “What the hell dude?” he shouted.

“It was open! I swear it was open!” I pounded impotently on the door again, but was interrupted by a familiar drawl from above.

“I think the little piggies escaped their, pen, Jacob.”

A raucous laugh was followed by a second voice. “Think yous right, Eli. Good thing we got back in time. Reckon our missing piggy is down there too?”

“Think mayhap it be,” said the first voice that I now knew to be Eli. “Best go inside now, and round them up. Don’t want Momma to be gettin’ mad.”

Denver sank down dejectedly on one of the steps. “Now what? Can we get out or not?”

I stood below him, shaking my head. “I don’t think so. Not this way at least. That chain was thick. Without this crowbar, I never would have broken it. If they replaced it...” I trailed off, not liking the implication.

“So now what? Think we can take them?” He tossed the knife back and forth between his hands.

“Doubt it. Momma has that cattle prod and one of those guys that you just heard has a shotgun.”

“Fuck.” Denver hung his head. “We safe in here?”

“Not for long. Not unless we brace that door since that latcg won’t hold much.” I paced the floor of the canning cellar trying to think outside the literal box. “We can’t make our stand here. No heating duct and you are fucking naked. Gonna get real cold in here soon. Only reason you can’t feel it now is adrenaline and the fact that we are out of the wind.”

“Double fuck. Ideas?”

“Let’s head back inside. If we can make it to the kitchen, there’s a phone in there. We can call the cops.”

Denver stood up and moved to the door, unlatching it. “At least we’ll die warm.”

I thought back to Charles and thought that death was the least of our worries. I kept my thoughts to myself, however, and followed Denver into the basement. As soon as we breached the door we heard screaming and laughing from around the corner. “Shit,” I muttered, “they’re already down here.”

We got down low, hiding behind boxes and shelves full of junk. First we checked the stairs. Sure enough, sitting on the top step was one of the boys. Eli I think. He rested a shotgun across his knees. Staying as quiet as two errant church mice, we crept up to the bend of the ‘L’ and peered around the corner. The captive I thought of as the madman lay strapped to the shoulder. Very much alive, very much in pain. Two figures stood at the table with their backs turned toward the cage, one toward each end of the table. The madman had rubber tourniquets tied around each of his limbs - just below the shoulders and just below the tops of his thighs. The old woman, still in her apron but covered in a spray of blood was hacking at the left thigh with the cleaver. “Pity my good butcher knife went missing. Piggy thinks he has a fang,” she laughed as she spoke, a weird serene madness in her eyes.

Jacob stood a little ways down, next to her. He held aloft a bright arc light - the only reason we hadn’t been spotted immediately. We crouched well in the shadows, made darker by the light. I feared I, too, had gone over to madness, as the sight of the gore and spraying blood barely phased me. I wondered if, should I survive, I could possibly ever recover. Denver growled low in his throat and I could feel him tense up beside me. “We can take them. You go for the old lady and I’ll take out the goon.”

I shook my head and then realizing that he could not see me, whispered harshly. “We’d draw the attention of the man on the stairs. We would never survive.” I stared past the carnage as the first leg was severed and the woman began on the second. “Where’s Charles?” The cage was empty, but for the dead man. The younger man hefted what was in his other hand - an electric iron that was plugged into an extension cord that snaked away into the darkness. The smell of burning flesh over powered all other odors as the man screamed and screamed until blood torn free, gurgled in his throat. Soon, the man blacked out in shock and the only sounds that could be heard were the thrumming furnace and the laughter of the old woman.

“Oh how I love that part,” she said, even as she continued hacking at the second leg.

I felt the blood drain from my face as Denver tugged on my sleeve and pointed toward the corner with the well. “Is that him?”

I let my eyes once again adjust in the new light. Fortunately, the arc light provided some illumination. “I think so, what the hell is he doing?”

“Don’t know. Been here a lot longer than me. Maybe he knows something we don’t?”

I was completely torn. I had know idea what to do. I was convinced I was a dead man and my body just didn’t know it yet. “Keep an eye on him. Maybe he does know something.” I turned back toward the carnage on the table. Another stump had been seared and Momma was working on the left arm. As she worked, Jacob bent the legs and stuck them in the large wicker basket. What were they doing? Were they just hacking the bodies apart to make them easier to dispose of? Why bother searing the wounds? What was going on? I was terrified and felt like an idiot. There had to be something I was missing.

“What about our piggies, Momma? When do we get to punish them?”

“All in good time, my boy. You’ns knows they can’t get out. We’ll have our lunch and then deal with them.”

The other man giggled and went back to his work, searing the stump at the shoulder as the woman went to work on the final arm. When the woman had completed her butchery and and the last wound had been seared, Jacob unplugged the iron and set it aside on the table. He then picked up the victim and carried him to the cage. He tossed the unconscious body into the cage and it’s head smacked the concrete floor with a resounding thump. “Careful, you fool,” hissed the woman. “Brain taint no good if its dead.”

Jacob kicked the madman roughly who moaned even in this state. “He’s still livin’ Momma. I’ll be more careful.”

“Take that dead one to the pit and gather up...Bob,” she snickered. “Then reinforce that gate. We’ll deal with the others later.”

I had to physically restrain Denver as he growled again, low in his throat. “His name is not. fucking. Bob.”

“Wait, we need to let this play out. It’s the only way we’ll survive.” I felt both the cowardice and the truth of that statement. Maybe I just wanted to live a few minutes longer.

We watched the woman gather up the wicker basket full of limbs and head for the stairs. She shouted up at the man sitting there. “Get up, ya lazy lout. Open the door for yer Momma.”

Eli sprang to his feet, almost dropping the shotgun, and opened the door to the upstairs area. “Yes’m.”

Just as the door was shutting, I heard the woman say, “Help me make us some lunch, boy. This work makes me hungry.”

I turned my attention back toward the well in the corner. Jacob dragged the dead body over to the corner. He pulled the 2 x 4 from the covering and then opened it up, laying the doors down to either side. Awkwardly, he maneuvered the body over the edge of the low wall and dumped in the hole. With his back turned, Charles suddenly rolled out from under some shelving and slammed into the back of Jacob’s legs. Jacob was taken completely surprised. So use to being in control, he yelped in sudden panic and started windmilling his arms, trying to stop himself from falling. He failed. He tried to take a step backwards, but Charles’s torso had him pined against the low wall. Reflexively he leaned back the other way and that was his mistake. With his center off balance, Charles rolled away again. The sudden, unexpected release of his legs was too much and Jacob tumbled into the hole. He tried to catch himself on the edge of the low wall and he succeeded with one hand. While flailing with the other to try and find purchase, however, Charles was there once again. Levering himself up on the stumps of his arms and legs, he bit hard on the other man’s fingers. Shocked into letting go, Jacob fell without a sound. Charles lifted up even in higher and peered into the pit. I could just make out what he said over the rumbling of the furnace. “Fuck you, man. Fuck. You.”

I just sat there dumbfounded. “Uh...”

“Yeah, yeah.” Denver started toward the corner with the well. “Let’s close that thing. Just in case that goon isn’t dead.”

As we moved carefully in that direction, a low rumble sounded from deep beneath the earth. I stopped, grabbing Denver’s shoulder. “Did you feel that?”

“Earthquake?”

“I don’t-” Before I could finish my sentence, the entire basement shook with a tremendous roar. Out of the well shot five enormous, thick and sinuous, glistening tentacles. Each one was thicker around than my thigh. One was wrapped tightly around the dead body. Another gripped a screaming Jacob around his chest. The other three planted themselves on the concrete floor equidistant around the well and began to strain. Charles, blown back by the sudden tentacular onslaught, rolled right under a shelving unit and lay still.

From upstairs, I heard the woman yell, “Lord have mercy, what have they done?!”

I was frozen in fear and Denver didn’t look any livelier. We stood there slack jawed as some thing rose up out of the well. The roughly cylindrical, translucent, amorphous body of the creature oozed the same viscous ichor that coated the five tentacles. No separate head topped the body, and I could see no eyes or nose, but the top of the cylinder opened in a gaping maw lined with jagged teeth made from broken bones. The bones of it’s victims? The smell of rotting corpses emanated from this orifice in waves.

As if to forestall the noise of the screaming, the nightmare raised the helpless Jacob, smashing him into the ceiling twice before upending the body, placing the man’s head between it’s teeth and biting down. With a sickening crunch, it yanked the body away, now headless, and slammed it into the floor. Blood spurted haphazardly from the neck hole spraying the creature and its surroundings. This did little to add to the creature’s appearance to say nothing of the general ambience of the room.

A few seconds later, with a hideous squelching noise, the monstrosity bent in the middle like a deformed Slinky and ejected the partially macerated head directly toward us. Reacting reflexively, Denver caught the grisly trophy in his hands, staring at it in horror. The mouth full of repurposed remains opened wide and in clear, if inhuman, English screamed, “BONES!!”

Having uttered that visceral declaration, the abomination began smashing the two corpses, over and over again, against the ground, until they became unrecognizable, pulpy lumps. Then, almost delicately, it began picking the bones from the shredded flesh and dropping them into its gaping mouth hole - masticating greedily. The door at the top of the stairs opened and a male voice called down. “Consarn it, Jacob! Did you forget to strip the dead flesh off that body before disposing of it? Get that bloody lid closed and get your ass up here. Momma’s got lunch waiting.”

The terror from the well turned it’s gnashing visage towards the sound of Eli’s voice. In an Eldritch vocalization even louder than the first, it screamed, “BONES!!!”

The door to the basement slammed shut, followed by running feet. They could clearly here Eli shouting as he ran back to the kitchen. “Momma! Momma! Junior’s done got out of the pit!”

Fainter, but still discernible over the thrumming furnace and distinct from the squelching horror came Momma’s response. “Well, shit, Eli. Your brother’s done messed up this time.” The voice rang with tones of anger, but not a trace of fear.

All of this took place in a matter of moments, but I knew it was past time that Denver and I took action. “Let’s go, better to face the two upstairs than that...thing.”

Denver nodded, dropping his gory handful to the ground. “I have to get Charles,” he muttered, heading toward where we had last seen him.

I wanted to stop him. We didn’t have time for this, but I didn’t have the heart. I followed closely, keeping one eye on Denver and one eye on the creature as it went back to chewing bones. We found Charles already stumping his way slowly toward the stairs and I briefly wondered what his plan was for climbing them. Despite Charles’ protestations, Denver lifted up the other man and balanced him against his hip like a mother with her toddler. Given different circumstances, I might have been embarrassed for both of them, but right then I was just glad that a man with no limbs ways a hell of a lot less than a man fully intact. “Good work back there,” I said and immediately felt foolish.

Charles only smiles grimly and nodded. Denver could not say anything as he now held the butcher knife in his teeth. The bonegnasher, the name my twisted imagination had given the thing, had finished his supply of bloody bones and turned toward the three of us. It was time for us to exit. I went first, heading up the stairs with the stout length of metal held before me. Denver followed closely, climbing awkwardly with his burden. Fortunately, it was slow going for the beast. Large as it was, it could not easily navigate the shelving and boxes that filled the basement. It oozed along on three of it’s fifteen foot tentacles while tearing things aside with it’s other two. Thank God these assholes were hoarders.

I paused at the closed basement door, listening for sounds beyond. I could hear rummaging, but it was distant, maybe even on the second floor. I turned back to Denver. “I think we may have caught a break here.” The door was, of course, locked, but I was able to make short work of that with the crowbar as it was a basic, interior wooden door. Unfortunately, there was no way to do it quietly, so there was a resounding crash as the door flung open and we found ourselves in a short hallway between what looked like a living room on the left and the kitchen on the right. Eli shouted immediately from upstairs somewhere. “Momma, the piggies are escaping!” Momma replied, but I couldn’t make it out, but it was followed by hurried footsteps above us. Both of us ducked into the kitchen as I knew I had seen a phone in there. We were brought up short by the scene laid out before us.

The table was laid out for three for lunch. Homemade bread made up the bulk of what looked like ham and cheese sandwiches and I suddenly realized how hungry I was. They had not been touched so I figured, why not. I reached for the nearest ones when Charles shouted. “Stop. Look.”

I turned to look at Denver and Charles. Denver pointed with his chin toward the counter by the refrigerator. I followed his gaze and had there been contents in my stomach, they would have been all over the table. A very human foot protruded above the edge of a crock pot, skinned and devoid of blood. Next to the crock pot stood a well-used meat slicker, a greasy thigh bone and several slices of meat. I grew faint and grabbed the table to keep from falling. “Fuck, man. That’s messed up.” I pointed at the back door that lead out of the kitchen. “Get out of here. Head for the barn.”

“What about you?” asked Charles, as Denver still had his mouth full.

I indicated the phone on the wall. “I’m gonna use the next few seconds to call 911. I’ll follow you shortly.”

As Denver fled the kitchen, and I stepped over to the phone, a loud and resounding crash came from the basement and the furnace cut out. ‘Junior’ was causing a ruckus downstairs in its effort to reach the stairs. “BONES!!!” The inhuman shout sent shivers down my spine. I picked up the olive green receiver and dialed 911.

“911, what’s your emergency.”

“Maniacs in the house!” I shouted. “People hurt, people dead!” At that second, the kitchen door slammed open and Eli stood there with the shotgun leveled directly at me. I dropped the receiver, even as I heard the operator’s response.

“Sir, what is your location? Sir?”

I stared at Eli, my hands in the air despite the pain in my right shoulder. I still held the crowbar in my left hand. “Shit.”

“Well, well, well,” said Eli. “You’re the little piggy we picked up last night. How nice of you to make your way here on your own.” He grinned maliciously and indicated one of the kitchen chairs with the barrel of the shotgun. “Sit.” I sat, but Eli remained in the doorway. He shouted over his shoulder toward the rest of the house. “I got ‘em, Momma. Ain’t goin’ nowheres.” He turned back to me. He stepped into the kitchen and reached down toward the sandwich nearest him, cradling the gun in one hand. Taking a big bite, he smiled with his mouth full. “Reckon you’ll taste as good? They say fat adds flavor. This fellar was pretty lean.” I closed my eyes against the rising gorge as he continued. “Thought you’d escape, dint you. Nope, nope, nope. Little piggies belong in the pen.” He took another big bite and set the sandwich back down.

The phone still dangled off the hook and I can barely make out the tinny voice when I strained. “Sir? Sir? Are you still there? Are you okay?” There was another crash from the direction of the stairs, this time much closer. Suddenly, several things happened at once. Eli could not see them because his back was to the kitchen doorway, but I had a front row seat. Three slimy tentacles entered the kitchen - two of them gripped the opposite sides of the door frame, and one shot straight out, striking Eli in the back. “BONES!!!” The inhuman voice was very close now, right around the corner. Eli started to his feet with a startled exclamation, but he never made it. The tentacle wrapped around his neck and began squeezing. The man reflexively pulled the trigger and the shotgun roared. I felt flesh, muscle and bone tear in my already wounded shoulder as I was violently shove backward, the chair falling over as I skidded on my back across the kitchen floor. Blood was everywhere. How much was mine, I had no idea. My vision was narrowing as darkness flooded in and I whispered a Hail Mary as that was all I thought I had left. My last sensation was that of hands on my shoulders as I knew no more.

When I woke, I was once again nestled in hay in what had to be the loft of the barn. My shoulder had been crudely bandaged with my shirt and hurt like hell. Raising my head, I saw Denver and Charles standing at the one window that faced the house. Charles was perched on an upturned bucket and both were wrapped in moth-eaten horse blankets. “Hey,” I said, my voice feeble and barely audible.

Denver turned to look at me. “Good, you’re awake. You need to see this.”

With Denver’s help, I managed to make my way to the window to see what he was talking about. I stood staring at a house in flames, the lower half, anyway. Apparently, junior had tangled with the coal furnace and won, but the furnace was getting its revenge. Atop the house on a sagging widow’s walk stood a figure that had to be Momma. She stood with arms held high above her head gripping a large book - a bible maybe. She seemed to be oblivious of the flames consuming the house beneath her. She chanted loudly, but the words were barely discernible above the roar of the flames and the howl of the wind outside. I could not make out all of it, but I’ve written down what heard:

------ of my children here my cry!

Save my -------- and bless me with your presence!

------- safe from harm and deliver us into your blessing!

Quench these ------ and wrap me in your loving embrace!

I think this mantra was repeated several times while I watched. I greenish orb appeared several feet above the woman’s outstretched hands that grew larger with each cycle of the chant. I wished I’d had my phone so I could take a picture. Instead, I just watched, mesmerized, as the flames began to consume the second story and attic as well. The woman was doomed and did not appear to care. As the orb grew nearly half the size of the house itself, an inhuman shrieking came from within the burning edifice itself. Junior? It did not matter. I was too weak to witness more. I had Denver help me lay down in the hay and I let darkness once again overcome me as I heard the distant sound of sirens.

I woke up in a hospital bed, hooked up to an IV and with a cast covering part of my chest, shoulder and right arm. Denver, though I almost did not recognize him, sat in a chair next to the bed reading a magazine. My throat was raw and my voice a harsh whisper. “Where are we?”

“Hospital in Omaha.” Denver put down the magazine and leaned forward. He was clean shaven and his hair had been trimmed. Cleaned up, he wore jeans, a red and black flannel shirt and cowboy boots. A black cowboy hat perched on his head. “Good to see you awake. Touch and go there for a bit when you came out of surgery.”

“Surgery?”

“They had to repair your shoulder. That shotgun blast shattered it.”

“Damn. How long?”

“Three days. You got a nice nap.”

“Charles?”

“Next room over. They’re gonna fit him with prosthetics. He’ll be able to walk again.” He was grinning foolishly.

“So. What happened?”

Denver leaned back, stretching and winced. That’s when I realized he had several burned spots covered in bandage. “Well, that is a good question. So, you and Charles will be the only ones to believe this so here it goes. The green orb above that witch kept growing until it was near as big as the house and a face appeared in it. At least, I guess it was a face. Mostly it was a huge mouth lined with teeth made from humanoid skeletons. The witch, Momma, pleaded with it to help her. Something about saving her and her children. Couldn’t really make it out good. The thing, well, it didn’t seem to care. It began to laugh; a laugh that sounded like rolling thunder. Then, and I wouldn’t believe it had I not seen it; still not sure. Then, the mouth been down toward the witch and swallowed her whole. One minute she was there - next minute ‘poof’ gone. Right then the whole orb winked out of existence with the thunderclap of a sonic boom. ’Bout that time, the cops rolled up. County sheriff’s department.”

“By that time the burning house was a complete loss and collapsing in on itself. Found out later they found no trace of Momma, her boys or that abomination. The did find that canning cellar stocked full of human organs in jars.” He gave a slight shiver here before continuing. “They found the three of us when they searched the barn. I gave them the full story, but I don’t think they believed half of it. At least they didn’t believe we were responsible. That’s about it, I guess. They got fire and ems out to the farm and got us out of there. Don’t know much more than that.”

I think it took me a good five minutes to close my mouth. “Wha - what do you think that was.”

Denver smiled ruefully. “Don’t know, don’t want to know. Just glad it’s gone.”

“No doubt.

“Hey, you got somewhere to go?”

“Yeah, I got family in Kansas. I’m sure they’re worried about me. I’ll give them a call when I feel up to it. You?”

“I’ve got an apartment here in town.” He smiled again, and I think blushed. “Charles, when he gets all rehabilitated, is moving in with me. Think we might start dating for reals.”

“Congrats.” My stomach rumbled and I realized that it had been four, maybe five days since I had last had anything to eat. “You think you get me some food? Anything but a ham sandwich.”

The End