The Bone Garden

When myths become real.

The Bone Garden
by Deidre A. H.

Driving through the desert could be counted as Dez’s third-least favorite thing in the world.  During summer, the dry heat of the Great Basin was unbearable; in winter, the cold was even worse.  They were not, however, as terrible as her second-least:   family reunions.

 

    Unfortunately, that was exactly where she was headed.

 

    Heat and cold were hardly factors Desdemona—Dez for short—was unfamiliar with.  In fact, she had spent the majority of her twenty years growing up in Elko, Nevada with her grandmother.  No, it wasn’t just the intolerable temperatures—it was the damned fact the trip from Elko to Reno was a four hour drive.  It was the fact every time she stopped to stretch her legs, pump gas into her car, or run into a convenience store, the thick, stifling heat roiled through the open windows to coil around her throat and constrict her breathing.

 

    Dez was especially grateful Grandma Melpomene had decided not to tag along.  Spending over four hours in a stinking car with an old woman was a thought she was displeased to entertain.  It was one thing living with her; the sweet-sour smell of senility already permeated their trailer home.  But Dez’s ‘91 Galant remained untouched by the old bat.  The pleasant scent of coconut air fresheners was dampened only by the air blowing through the windows as she flew down I-80.

 

    Keeping one hand on the steering wheel, Dez used the other to uncap the water bottle nestled between her thighs.  She drained the remains, grimacing at the distastefully warm liquid.  Perhaps a pit stop was in order.

 

    She had passed a sign announcing the turn-off to Carlin ten minutes ago, and there was no other such reprieve in sight.  Dez shot a brief, hateful glare at her useless air vents, cursing the car’s age.  And it had only cost her stingy grandmother $500.

 

    You get what you pay for, she thought sourly.  She had wanted something newer—a gorgeous new Corvette, perhaps.  But Grandma Mel had insisted on sticking within the budget.

 

    Crazy, penny-pinching bat.  Dez was fiercely glad she was going to this reunion alone.  It meant suffering amongst other relatives and baking in a clunky broken car four hours each way, but compared to spending the weekend with Grandma Mel, her least favorite person and thing in the world, it was worth it.  Just because the senile old woman had taken her in after her mother had left and her father died didn’t mean Dez owed her anything.  In fact, Grandma Mel owed her for the lack of real parenting she’d had.

 

    Perhaps the biggest reason why Dez could not stand her grandmother was that the old woman was already and absolutely off her rocker.  For instance, in high school, Dez had taken a mythology class.  She clearly recalled coming home after reading the Greek myth about the lovers Eros and Psyche, eagerly telling Grandma Mel how interesting it was; how fascinating that two people, one a god, could act so foolishly because they thought they were in love, when all that really inspired it had been the accidental pricks of Eros’ arrows.

 

    Grandma Mel had arched an eyebrow and said, disdainfully, “It figures your delicate school system would reduce a true story of love and hardship into an accident.   The real Eros and Psyche fell in love willingly.”  Grandma Mel’s expression had flickered to an unusually irritated—almost angry—look.  “Thanatos, on the other hand, his so-called love really was an accident.”  Dez had rolled her eyes and said nothing more.  The situation had proved what Dez had known since childhood:  her grandmother was crazy.

 

    Yes, she was quite relieved Grandma Mel was not there for the ride.

 

    Just when Dez was beginning to think the back of her shirt could not be any more drenched with sweat, she saw it.  First obscured by heat waves in the distance, the small building wavered before gradually solidifying itself, taking on a flat rectangular shape on the right side of the road.  A blue and white sign peaked over the rooftop, shyly advertising gas prices.

 

    “Oh, thank God,” she muttered.  Tossing the empty water bottle out the window, she took the sharp turn off the road and into the empty parking lot.

 

    Despite being in the middle of nowhere, it struck her as odd that no other car was in sight, even in front of the store.  All around her was dust and desert, touched with a dry bush here and there.  Dez parked before the building, warily allowing the car to idle as she peered through the front windows.  It was difficult to see the front counter, as what appeared to be the back of a large framed painting took up nearly half one of the windows.  Slow anxiety began to gnaw at her insides as she stared and failed to locate a human being.  There was nothing inside but a line of full refrigerators, snack shelves, cigarette displays, a small deli. . . .

 

    And a young man walking in from the back.

 

    Dez sighed and turned off the engine.  She stepped out of the car, making a beeline for the front door.  Hinges squeaked and chilly, refreshing air washed over her so quickly it left a pleasant tingle in its wake.  She remained still just inside the front door, basking in the air conditioning that blew directly into her sweat-dampened face.

 

    “Heh.”

 

    The chuckle startled Dez out of her bliss.  She cocked her head to find the young man watching her in bewildered amusement.

 

    Indignant, Dez folded her arms beneath her breasts.  “It may not seem like it to some people, but it’s hot out there,” she said.

 

    The corner of the young man’s mouth curved toward his eye.  “I can tell by the sweat all over your shirt, ma’am.”

 

    His high-pitched voice took her aback, but his words served to do nothing but irritate her.  Dez despised it when guys thought they were charming and decided they were good enough to hit on her.  She shot him a nasty glare before making her way toward the back refrigerators.  As wonderful as the cool air felt, she did not have to put up with a pretentious idiot of a cashier.  A cool Dasani’s water would prepare her for the sweltering heat outside, and she could be on her way.

 

    As she approached the counter with a stiff upper lip, the young man flashed a smile he was obviously using in hopes to flatter her.  “Don’t take unkindly to that, ma’am.  I was merely tryin’ to be friendly.”

 

    “And I’m sure you win all the girls with your witty banter, too,” she returned icily.  She set the water bottle on the counter with a similar coldness.

 

    “Not all,” the young man admitted.  He rang up her purchase and, without looking at her, said, “Gotta admit, though, I’m a sucker for brunettes.  Especially when they got such pretty blue eyes as yours.”

 

    Dez paused briefly as she set her purse on the counter.  Rummaging for her wallet, she decided to go easy on him.  After all, he was right—the combination of dark brown hair and blue eyes was a rarity, and her complexion was deliciously tanned and smooth.  She always dressed fashionably, and right now her attire was designed for the hot weather; white shorts that she knew looked fantastic on her, white designer flip-flops, and a red thin-strapped tank top which showed bikini lines on her shoulders.

 

    Her voice slightly less cold, she said, “Well, I suppose I can’t blame you.  You obviously don’t see many attractive girls out here.”

 

    “I meet ‘em more than you think,” said the young man playfully.  Dez reluctantly looked him in the eye, and found herself giving him a tight smile back.  “Anythin’ else for you, ma’am?”

 

    “I’m in a hurry,” said Dez flatly.

 

    “Oh?”

 

    “Family reunion in Reno,” she muttered, scrutinizing his nametag.  “The hell kind of name is Mors?”

 

    Mors gave her another wry smile.  “It’s Roman.  Don’t suit a plain guy like me, does it?”

 

    Dez stopped to stare at him in disbelief.  While she certainly didn’t care for his attitude, plain was a word even she could not have used to use to describe him.  He had the silkiest white-blond hair she had ever seen, so pale his long bangs didn’t even obscure his sharp green eyes.  His skin appeared smooth and unscarred.  In contrast to his body, he had a healthy round face, and when he smiled it was unnervingly genuine, reaching his eyes.

 

    Still, he had glaring imperfections.  He was too short, barely taller than her, and Dez was a small young woman.  His build was horribly scrawny, and he was deathly pale for someone who lived in the Nevada desert.  His nose was tiny and almost feminine.  He didn’t strike her as what a man should be in the slightest.

 

    Instead of voicing any of this, Dez wordlessly held out a five-dollar bill.

 

    Mors took the bill and made her change, but did not hand it back to her immediately.  He held out the hand grasping the change, clenched into a fist and hovering as though ready to drop the coins and bills on the counter.  Solemnly, he said, “I’d sure like it if you stayed a bit longer.”  Dez gave him a withering glare, and he smiled charmingly in return.  “I was about to take a lunch break before you came in, anyhow.”

 

    Dez held her own hand out impatiently, palm flat and facing up.  “No, thank you,” she said tightly.

 

    To her surprise, Mors took hold of her outstretched forearm.  “Surely you can stay ten minutes.”

 

    “I said, no.”

 

    In response he clamped down in her wrist, his grip astonishingly strong, and pressed the change into her hand.  She yelped and attempted to yank her hand back, but he kept an agonizing hold on her.  As Dez twisted and wriggled to no avail, she noticed a strange tattoo on the back of his right hand—a butterfly, of all things, colored with beautifully blending shades of blue and green.

 

    Confused and rapidly approaching fear, she raised her eyes to his.  His expression was utterly serious, losing any of the playfulness he had possessed moments ago.  “You see, darlin’, I really need you to stay.”

 

    “Let go of me!”

 

    Clucking his tongue, softly in comparison to his death-grip on her arm, Mors said, “I can’t do that, or you’ll run away.”

 

    “You’re damn right I will,” cried Dez.  “Let go!”  She wrenched her hand from his, desperately clutching her money as she stumbled for the door.  Calm footsteps sounded behind her, which would not have been so utterly frightening if, when she slammed into them bodily, the front doors had not been suddenly and inexplicably locked.

    Oh, God, she thought hysterically.  He’s going to kill me.

 

    Behind her, Mors sighed heavily.  “You didn’t even take a look at the paintin’.  Aren’t you at all curious?”

 

    Dez whirled to face him, still clutching her change in a sweaty grip.  “Are you crazy?”  she shrieked.  “No!”

 

    “Then you really ought to calm down,” Mors said calmly, grabbing her by the upper arm with that same iron grip.  “Calm down and notice somethin’ other than yourself for a moment.”

 

    When she instead threw her change in a desperate attempt to distract him, Mors grasped her other arm and dragged her back to the front counter.  He shoved her against the edge, causing her to yelp as the corner bit into her hipbone.  And despite herself, Dez finally noticed the painting.

 

    She was already frightened, and staring at the painting, she only became baffled as well.

 

    In contrast to the brilliantly sunny day outside, the picture within the frame seemed defiantly dreary.  Skies were cast gray with furious black clouds, white outlining the fat dark puffs to highlight distant lightning.  Jagged rocks strained to reach the sky, forming terrifying mountains splashed with ominous red hues in the backdrop.  And in the middle of it all, stretching from the lower frame to a lost pinpoint in the mountains, was the most morbid field Dez had ever seen.  Bones grew like stems from the ground.  In the center of the painting one flower blossomed with dripping, bloody meat sagging in place of petals.

 

    “The Bone Garden,” said Mors, his accent mysteriously vanishing.  “It’s one man’s depiction of the pathway to Hell, Desdemona.  One unwanted flower forever rooted in a dead garden, doomed to bloom, obscene and vile.”

 

    Her eyes widened at the use of her name.  Dez wrenched her entire body with renewed vigor, though even if she could have broken free there wasn’t much room to run between Mors and the counter.

 

    But the counter had a phone.  Realizing her chance, she lunged for it, ramming her already bruised hip harder against the corner.  To her dismay, Mors held fast, managing to keep her just out of reach from the receiver.  Dez screamed.

 

    “You’re crazy!  I’ll call the police!  I’ll—”

 

    Mors pinned her wrists together, holding tightly with one surprisingly large hand.  He began to pet her hair, an act that horrified and repulsed her more than it would have if he had groped her.  This was mostly because it was an eerie sensation, and felt as though he were somehow stroking her thoughts—or perhaps her soul—out the back of her skull.

 

    “It’s not your fault,” he said sympathetically.  “Mortals should never name their little girl the Ill-Fated One.”

 

    Dez screamed her throat hoarse, thrashing her head and kicking viciously.  She no longer felt the chill of the room or the heat of the struggle; yet somehow, inexplicably, she tore free and ran outside.

 

    Through the counter.  Through the window.  Into the Bone Garden.

 

    The feel of rough, dried bones scraped against her shins as she ran.  Something thick and slimy slid against her calf.  Desdemona shrieked, looked down, and saw red smeared across her leg.  Wildly, her eyes raked the ground until she saw the same bloody flower from the painting, its meaty petals swaying dangerously.  A small crackling sound reached her ears; the bone stem seemed ready to break.  She sucked in a deep breath and whirled to face the gas station.

 

    Mors stood on the other side of what seemed to be an empty window, looking on serenely.  He wore what seemed to be an expression of satisfaction, as though he’d accomplished a long and difficult task, and he was glad to be over with it.

 

    And in his arms he cradled a limp girl, her face hidden from Dez’s view, pretty brown hair brushing the floor, fashionably dressed, but ghastly gray beneath her tan.

 

    Dez screamed again.  She felt her throat tingle, but no sound reached her ears.  In a desperate attempt to escape the horrifying Garden, she threw herself at the window.   She recoiled; it was like running into a sliding glass door in winter; cold and just solid enough to keep from breaking.  Now sobbing, she began to pound against the barrier.

 

    Through her tears, she saw Mors glance away and distantly heard him speaking to someone else.  Casually, as though there was no problem with him supporting a dead young woman.

 

    When Dez stopped hiccupping long enough to catch her breath, she realized he was talking to Grandma Mel.

 

    “She sure put up a fight, though,” Mors said faintly.

 

    “She always did,” Grandma Melpomene replied, her gaze upon her granddaughter cool and unwavering.  “I can rightly say I’m glad this one’s over.”

 

    “For good, I hope,” said Mors.  “Though this is new magic.  I can’t say for sure if her soul can remain in there forever.”

 

    Grandma Mel fixed him with a stern gaze.  “A while is better than immediate rebirth.  I do grow weary of this job because of your mistake, Thanatos.”

 

    Thanatos, Dez mouthed.  She remembered that name rather clearly as well—Thanatos, the Greek god of death, the very same god Grandma Mel was convinced had commited a grave mistake falling “in love” with . . . someone.  With a chill, Dez realized she had never heard such a myth—nor had her grandmother ever elaborated.

 

    “Aw, Mel,” said Thanatos coaxingly.  He dropped the dead body, not even flinching as the crackling of disrupted rigor mortis sounded.  “You’re so cranky every time you don that ugly face.”  He stroked her arm, seemingly unperturbed by her loose, wrinkled flesh; touching her as though she were a nubile teenager.  “She’s caught for now, so let’s drop this nonsense—though I have to admit, good idea on your backstory.  Parental death can be so . . . tragic.”

 

    Grandma Melpomene seemed amused despite her annoyance.  “So says the god who enjoys death most.”

 

    “Of course,” he replied cheerfully.  Then, glancing over at Dez, he said, “And look.  She’s already stationary.  This will make a fantastic painting to sell, you know.”

 

    “Until one hundred years later, she finds a way to break the bonds and the owners are left wondering where that terrifyingly misplaced girl went to.”  Grandma Mel shook her head, exasperated.  “I told her she ought to have dressed up for the reunion.”

 

    Thanatos shrugged, seeming to find Dez’s dead body fascinating again.  He stood the corpse up, obscenely dancing with it around the rack of peanuts and gummy worms.  “Guess you’d know.  You’re the muse.”

 

    For once in tune with Dez’s feelings, Grandma Mel shot him a look of disgust.  “That is highly unattractive.”  When Thanatos didn’t respond, she shook her head and strode—lacking her usual hobble—toward the door, vanishing from Dez’s view.

 

    Thanatos continued to tango with the corpse, before finally resting it against the counter and gazing up serenely.  Just then, in that moment, he seemed sad and almost regretful.

 

    “Now that you’re quiet, Desdemona,” he said softly, “I could almost love you again.”

 

Reviews

[ko]

Your story is definitely well written and detailed. It has a mature tone and feels realistic. You can even get into the character's head. The speech and reactions of each characters are reasonable and appropriate. Not cookic-cutter at all. The only thing is that at first it feels a little too reminiscent of "The Hills Have Eyes". It does develop its own originality, though. All in all, it was a job well done.

[Nadia Vincent]

What a brilliant piece of writing! I love it when something mundane, like driving to a family reunion is threatened by something so extraordinary like ancient Gods appearing out of no where.
The characters are amazing, the description of the grandmother at the beginning was wonderful and the dialogue is precise and a pleasure to read. I was really okay, well, more than okay, with Mors using words like "mere" it made us see that he was more than just a cashier, that something else was going on.
Anyway, a really great job!

[Twilight]

At times, Dez seems to be very English! For example she attempts to keep a "stiff upper lip" on one occasion. Anyway, I liked the way in which you introduced the background to this story. At first, the whole scenario is very ordinary, leaving the reader wondering how this could change. Also, as Kandice has pointed out, there is something a little like "The Hills Have Eyes" about this story.

Whilst most of the dialogue is very good, not all of it seems apt. For example, a cashier would probably not use the word "mere", in a conversation of this kind. Clearly, you have created a proper story. I mean, this is not just a descriptive fantasy. The horror element seemed to intensify, towards the end of this tale. That's a technique, which I usually like. Indeed, I have used it myself on occasion.

With your character of the cashier, he seems like a parody of the typical sexist man, who thinks that any single girl is there for the taking. Eventually, the reader learns that this character is not even human, and has far more sinister intentions. And what an eerie (almost surreal) ending you have created, Deidre! Good writing! I hope that you will add more to the "Beyond Fantasy" Group, by the way!

[Nathan Thompson]

wow, just wow!

[Kittybell]

That was an awesome story. I don't think I have ever read anything like it before... It was very well written:) Thanks for the submission:P

[Ice Queen of the Vampir..]

Man, this is a fascinating story and I really, really like it. You did a marvelous job writing this. Awesome work!!!

Heather

Good story, great dialogue, more believable than most bog standard speech people usually use- well done :) xx

[Charlotte Marie]

Very interesting story! This has a great dialogue! Very well written! Thanks for the great read! I'm gonna check out your profile. i would love to read some more of your work! ~CM~