Page 8 of No Bones About It

As I stand on my tiptoes to pull the enormous beanie over his head, I drop my forehead to his and whisper, “Oh, Mr. Bonejangles. I didn’t leave him. The truth is, he left me. That fucking Lois was right. And here I am, a lonely, sad woman pouring my heart out to injection molded plastic.”

I look over my shoulder quickly and, not seeing anyone, take a step down so I can bury my face into the soft scarf and wrap my arms as far as I can reach around the enormous rib cage. Hot tears trail down my cheeks, and with a little snuffle, I say, “I could really use a hug.”

The tears come faster, harder, until my shoulders are shaking and my nose is running.

“I’m so fucking pathetic. Begging an inanimate object for a hug. Bloody hell, Tori.” I’m blubbering so hard I can hardly understand myself now.

The sobs wrack my frame so hard at first I don’t quite feel it. But when I’m certain that I do, even my tears seem to freeze in their tracks.

The faintest trace of a soothing finger, or I guess a phalange, traces up and down my spine.

My heart stutters in my chest. When the slow trace turns into a gentle pat, it kicks back into gear, great thumping beats that mirror the soft pats on my back. My chin tips up to look at him in shock, moving more slowly than molasses in January.

A giant skull, complete with slouched beanie, gazes down at me.

“BJ?” I squeak, my voice a faint whisper in the October breeze ruffling the golden leaves around us.

The LED eyes flicker as if in acknowledgement.

“I should go,” I say, working to keep the faint note of rising panic from my voice.

The giant skeletal hand tightens around my waist. In possession? Wait, is he possessive or is he possessed? What is going on here?

“Please, let me go,” I rasp, eyes wide.

In an instant, he returns to the exact pose I created mere minutes ago. Scarf and beanie perfectly in place. PSL latte raised in a salute to the neighborhood.

“Tori, you are losing it,” I whisper to myself as I scramble down off the ladder.

“Get a grip, girl,” I mutter as I gather up the bags and snag an empty beer bottle off the ground at BJ’s feet.

My steps halt halfway to the recycling bin next to the garage door. I look down at the beer bottle and dig through my memories. I know I didn’t leave a beer bottle lying in the yard at BJ’s feet. I wasn’t drinking out here.

I specifically remember—oh. Oh. I recall in vivid clarity exactly what I did with a beer bottle last night before carrying it out to the bin. I whip my head over my shoulder and shoot BJ a questioning look.

“Mr. Bonejangles?” I retrace my steps to face him and hold up the bottle. “Was this you?”

Do I want it to be? Because what would that mean?

My twelve-foot skeleton came to life and fished the bottle I had used to, well, pleasure myself, out of the recycle bin? And then gave me a hug just now?

Or was it that damn Lois? Maybe she and her little helper Pam were spying on me and doing things to mess with me.

Just as revulsion at the thought of someone seeing me in the privacy of my home starts to ripple through me, BJ winks at me.

My mouth falls open. “BJ?

It morphs into a smile that splits my face.

“Cheeky fellow,” I say and then head back into the house.

I’m not quite sure what’s going on, or how. But I do know I need to mount a response to this HOA meeting on Monday now more than ever. Because I need to see what happens next with my new obsession.

Chapter

Five

Adrenaline has me bolting upright in bed long before my alarm clock goes off. The shadow of tonight’s HOA meeting hung over the weekend like the grey clouds that threatened rain. I knew BJ wouldn’t melt, he was made to be outside after all, but I don’t want him out in a storm. Not that I have enough space inside for a twelve-foot skeleton, much less an umbrella that’s big enough.