they say in the farthest reaches of cadbury park, nestled deep in the heart of the woods and shrouded in thicket in vine, is a place where old, retired deer go off to die. the children from the nearby town would amble and squeeze their way through brambles and leaves just so they could spend the afternoon there separating spare ribs and molars from the dirt and gravel. they’d fill their little pockets with as many spare bones as they could carry because they knew the old man who lived down the street would reward them handsomely for their efforts.
the old man was a strange old geezer, a pariah in the eyes of the other adults. he’d had a wife in the days long before even the oldest children had been born, but she had long since left him to join the stars. after that he’d never remarried, and he never had been able to reclaim that same charm he’d had when she was around. as cranky as he was with the other adults however, he was always kind and caring to the neighborhood kids. had a soft spot for them; they reminded him of the son he used to have — like his wife, he too had left in his own way; off to the big city to chase his dreams and, in turn, cast his family aside.
the only thing keeping the old man from living out the rest of his days being painfully and dreadfully alone besides the kids was the scruffy stray cat that always followed him around. just as ugly as the old man and twice as ancient, the thing was skin and bones covered in fleas and mange. it hissed at anyone that dared come close to it, and always meowed in an awful, crooning way that seemed to get on everyone’s nerves but the old man’s. maybe that was why the fleabag liked the old man so much; *that* and he was the only one that ever bothered to feed it.
in the mornings the old man would hobble outside to his porch step with a can of tuna, open the can with an old rusty swiss army knife, and dump its’ contents into an equally tarnished old bowl. without fail, the cat would always be waiting to lick up the meager offering, meowing with urgency all up until the moment it received its’ breakfast. the old man would always smile when the tabby’s crooning went contentedly silent, sit down and watch the thing eat. his smiles were always toothy and wide, full of giddy delight. his golden tooth always seemed to catch the light, making his grins all the more flashy.
the children were always unbothered by this, but the adults found it *disarming*. the parents all warned their kids not to talk to the old man; but the kids would come to his house against their parent’s wishes anyways, crawling under the scraggly rosebushes and marching up the length of his yard to get to his front porch, where he always sat in a rocking chair, patiently rocking back and forth as he waited for the kids to come. fresh from the deer cemetery, the children would empty their pockets and, in turn, he would empty his, pennies and buttons and other little pieces of junk only a kid could find value in spilling out.
the neighborhood children would take great care in picking out the trinkets that they wanted; then, they’d drop the bones and teeth they had collected in the man’s eagerly outstretched hands; then, the old man would say *thank you*, and the kids would be on their way.
those routine exchanges continued on like that for years. and eventually, the kids started to wonder what it was the man did with all those bones.
“i just think they’re beautiful,” he’d said one day when a particularly curious kid asked him as much. “they’re a reminder to me that i won’t be on this earth forever. one day, i’ll be bones just like these.” his golden tooth glittered in the sunlight as he said it.
though we didn’t quite understand what he meant at the time, he never did explain any further than that. looking back, the statement was more than enough to raise an eyebrow, but the childish innocence of youth let us gloss it over. but i’m older now. a sophomore in college, in fact, and i still find myself thinking back to it every now and again. i can still picture his toothy smile, golden molar and all. his borderline *painfully* wheezing laugh still replays in my mind from time to time, like a broken record player.
when i came back home to my parents house from university for fall break — finals were an absolute *bitch* and i was looking forward to some well deserved relaxation — it suddenly occurred to me that on my way there, when i’d passed the old man’s house, it had looked *more* than worse for wear.
*well*, consulting my childhood memories it *always* looked worse for wear, but now it certainly seemed *excessively* so. the lights were off despite it being midday, the door was halfway open, and there was a softball sized hole in one of the windows. not to mention the overgrown lawn bleeding over onto the lowest porch step like a lush carpet.
i’d decided to ask my parents about whatever happened to the old man. i fumbled for a name when i did, because i’d only ever known him as ‘*the old man’,* but my mother slowly realized who i was talking about. though her gaze suddenly became clouded and misty.
*“oh honey…* mr.davis went missing three months ago. i’m so sorry. i’m surprised you remember him.”
i was immediately upset. it felt like a piece of my very childhood had suddenly been ripped from me. i felt a pang of sympathy for the old man too, of course; wondered if he was okay. what had happened to him.
though i wasn’t an idiot. i knew what it meant when i heard a man as old as — *mr.davis*, was it? — went missing. there was only so far the man could have gone on his own, and we all knew he wasn’t the type to skip town on a whim. he’d had nowhere to go, no place other than his own home to be. there was only one thing that could have happened.
tears pricked in my eyes at the revelation and questions flooded my mind. how had it happened? had he suffered? or was it quick? had he even known what was happening, or was his mind too clouded to realize?
…maybe it was time to visit mr.davis’ house again.
i decided to walk over. the sidewalk was crumbling and full of cracks; every now and again i’d have to sidestep a hole in the pavement, but other than that i arrived at the house without issue.
the ramshackle building was in a state of disrepair; in addition to the open door and broken window, i could now see a thin layer of cobwebs that had accumulated all along the front porch.
i risked a step up the old, creaky steps. then another. and another. i’d almost made it up to the front porch when my foot bumped up against something besides stair with a dull *clink*. i turned my gaze down to my feet to look at the metallic object.
it was a small bowl. the kind you’d set out to put cat food in. but it was empty, nothing but dust where food should be.
the old man’s cat was nowhere in sight, either. i looked back up, crossed the remaining length of stairs and looked around the porch, as if the scruffy feline would suddenly materialize. it didn’t.
i turned my gaze over to the open door. weighed the upsides and downsides of going inside. i wanted to know what — or *who* — was inside, but i didn’t want to intrude. it was quite the moral dilemma.
turns out, it didn’t take long for my curiosity to get the best of me. before i knew it my hand was on the door, pushing it open with a long, protesting *creeeeeak.*
i was greeted by the stench of must and dust that flew in freshly disturbed flurries all around me. waving away the dust with a hand, i tried the light switch beside the door; but it was to no avail. the breaker box must have been busted, or something.
i took another step inside and closed the door behind me, allowing my eyes some time to adjust to the dimly lit room.
the interior was cluttered; aside from the box t.v. that sad sadly in the corner and an empty armchair, not one square inch of the room was left unoccupied. shelves lined every single wall, and squinting i could see that they were stuffed full of books, assorted trinkets, and…
*bones*. hundreds upon hundreds of bones.
they were crammed all along the shelves, spilling out of every nook and cranny they possibly could. it was a wonder the place didn’t smell absolutely *horrendous*.
i proceeded to the next room to find much of the same. ribs, scapulas, molars, teeth; just bones, *bones*, *so many bones.* the old man must have had a foolproof way of preserving them for them to not have carried so much as a whiff of rot.
i walked deeper into the building, nose on the lookout for that telltale stench, but i had no luck; and after a brief walk through the rest of the house, i could finally confirm that there was no body in the house.
that fact would have sent me relief had it been under different circumstances; but instead, i felt fresh tears working their way to my eyes again.
i briefly remembered back in my childhood when i and the other kids would go to the deer cemetery for the old man. how we’d stuff our pockets full of old bones for him. how he’d always thank us for them as we went on our way.
it made me think; stopping by his house hadn’t given me the closure i’d wanted, so maybe venturing on to see whatever remained of the old bone pit *would*.
nothing better to do that day, i turned on my heel and set towards the park. it was only walking distance away anyways, and my feet seemed to know the path like it was only yesterday i was trading bones for coins and matchsticks from the old man.
the trip was surprisingly difficult; massive thickets of thorny bushes and briars made the journey painstaking at its’ best and damn near impossible at its’ worst, but i made it in the end, leaving a trail of trampled brambles in my wake. though i hadn’t made it completely unscathed; i could already feel the familiar sting of scratches on my arms from the thorns. i briefly wondered how we’d all gone here so often as kids without getting seriously hurt.
scratches aside i continued, pushing through the last of the briars until i’d reached the lifeless clearing where the mass grave sat idle. the sunlight shone down strangely on the place, bejeweling the litter of bones with flecks of light.
the bones themselves were as plentiful as i’d remembered from my childhood; i couldn’t take a single step forward without hearing a *crunch, crunch, crunch*. sweeping my eyes over the expanse i found i could pick out individual bones; ribs, femurs, scapulas, molars, and…
i froze in my tracks.
a skull. but not just any skull. a *human* skull.
with a golden tooth.
i didn’t know what to think. i stood there, feet frozen to the ground for a very long time, staring down at the tooth.
then, a sharp stab of grief hit me like a freight train; crashing into me ruthlessly. my feet suddenly felt very unsteady. like i might fall at any moment.
but i didn’t. i stayed rooted to the spot, and eventually i managed to peel my eyes from the golden molar.
slowly, i dragged my gaze around the spot, a hole forming in the pit of my stomach. i could pick out more bones, *human* *bones*, among that of the deer. what had to be a whole skeleton’s worth.
the shockwave of grief suddenly hit me again, so hard and fast this time it brought me to my knees. the bones beneath me snapped and pricked at my skin, but i hardly noticed. i would have burst into tears then and there if i hadn’t heard an unexpected
*mrrrrow?*
it was the cat. fur matted and tail kinked, the thing was truly alive and in the flesh.
it let out another crooning meow then nuzzled its’ head into my side, body brushing up against me. at first i was tempted to swat the mangy feline away, but the next moment i softened, holding out my hand. it wove around me then doubled back to nuzzle its’ face into my hand, and i risked stroking it along its’ back. instead of hissing and batting my hand away like i expected, it let out a deep, gravelly purr.
for a long while i knelt and pet the old tabby, finding it oddly comforting. when i finally found it in myself to pull myself back up to my feet, the thing started meowing again, eager and needy. i crouched down, scooped it up, and again to my surprise it didn’t complain; instead head-butting and nuzzling my neck and licking my hand as i gave it another stroke.
in that moment i decided i’d take care of it in the old man’s stead, see to it that whatever limited amount of time the thing had left on this earth would be its’ best, all up until it turned to bones, too.
i set back home, retracing my steps over snapped briars and, though the cat soon grew tired of being held, it followed me all the way back home. it was almost as if it had heard my silent promise, and wanted to make sure i stuck to it. as for the bones…
i’d decided not to tell anyone about it. if word got out that there were human remains in the park, well… the police or park rangers would most definitely try to remove them. and i knew that wasn’t what the old man would have wanted.
so instead, it will be a secret i’ll hold close to my chest, up until the day i become bones like those too.