No Bones About it

Children normally bore the pants off me. In general, they don’t even annoy me anymore. I suppose the desensitization stems from the majority of them behaving exactly like all the others. True, their behavior will vary slightly depending on their ages, but you can predict how most of them will act in certain situations.

This has led me to tune even the most rambunctious of children out. They can be running around, screaming for their mothers, banging on drum sets, or simply staring at something open-mouthed and wide-eyed. I don’t even usually mind if that something happens to be me.

What fazes me is when their mouths close and their eyes narrow. When they’ve been super loud and they’ve gone quiet. It’s not necessarily so much of a glare as a dead look they get, like the eyes of a shark. Even thinking about it brings the Jaws theme from the depths of my brain.

The most harrowing experience I’ve had happened when I was out to dinner one night, not long ago. I was enjoying a lovely date night, and I glanced up at the movement of the restaurant door opening. A couple came in with a young son, who was probably about seven. His head, tilted slightly forward, swiveled from side to side, slowly, as though looking for something. His eyes found mine, and a bucket of ice splashed into my stomach. I’ll never forget the slow smile that creeped onto his face. He tugged at his mother’s hand and pulled her, his father following, in the direction of my table.

I looked down at my food as they passed, and felt a static sensation travel up my right side. A chill slithered down my back as I felt the family settle into the booth behind me.

Nothing further happened until ten minutes later, and my wife excused herself to the bathroom. I pulled out my wallet to pay the bill, and I felt a cold breath on my neck that made the hairs stand up. I turned around slowly and looked into the black holes that were the boy’s eyes.

“I can smell your bones,” he said. “Last time I did, my gran gran died.” He turned back around in his seat and didn’t say another word. His parents didn’t appear to notice the exchange. I paid the bill and threw down some bills as a tip.

I caught my wife as she exited the bathroom. I didn’t tell her about the boy, but she noticed something off about me. When she asked, I brushed her off, saying I was tired.

I brushed my teeth that night like I normally do. My left leg gave out. I fell forward, driving the tooth brush into my throat as my face hit the counter. I died several agonizing minutes later in my wife’s arms as she frantically tried to tell 911 what happened.

Since then I’ve made it a point to find the spirit of the boy’s gran gran. When I do, we’re going to haunt the little bastard. Nobody smells our bones and gets away with it.

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I gotta say, this one took a turn even I wasn't expecting! That's the danger when writing, though. Sometimes your story gets out of your hands even as it transferred through your fingertips.

Special thanks to Kelly Roark and Stephanie Doo for their contributions to this week's story. With next Tuesday being Halloween, I want to know...what's your favorite movie to watch to get you in the spirit of the holiday? Mine is Hocus Pocus.

As always, please have your submissions in by Thursday, October 26 at 9:00 pm CST. Feel free to critique my work, and let me know what questions you have. And don't forget to subscribe!