Page 12 of The Knucklebone Brothers

"Good," she said, her smile returning, though it didn't reach her eyes. She looked at both of us. "Now, off with them. Both of you."

With a sigh of resignation, I reached up and untied the leather straps on my clown mask, pulling it off. The cool air felt good on my sweaty face. Blythe hesitated for a moment longer, then slowly, reluctantly, he lifted the burlap sack from his head, revealing his face.

Momma nodded, satisfied. "That's better. Now go on. I'll bring the stew down when it's ready."

We turned and continued down the path. The humidity was a physical presence, a thick, wet blanket that clung to us as we walked away from Momma's house. Blythe trailed behind me, a silent shadow. He always got quiet after Momma put him in his place.

Instead of heading back to our trailer, I cut through the woods toward the Bone Yard. That's what I called the old clearing where the wagons were left to rot. The ground was soft mountain dirt, littered with pine needles and fallen leaves. The skeletons of old travel trailers and concession stands sat like the bones of long-dead beasts. Halloween decorations were everywhere—skeletons hanging from trees, their bony fingers clacking together in the still, heavy air.

I stopped in front of an old ring toss booth, the wooden counter rotted and covered in moss. On the shelf behind it sat a collection of animal skulls we'd collected over the years—a deer, a coyote, and a big-ass boar with tusks. I pulled a crumpled pack of smokes from my pocket, tapped one out, and lit it with a flick of my Zippo. The first drag was harsh and good, cutting through the thick, humid air.

I held it out to Blythe. "You think she’s scared?" I asked, the smoke curling from my lips as I picked up the boar skull and turned it over in my hands.

Blythe took the cigarette, his fingers brushing mine. He shrugged, his other hand shoved back in his pocket as he took a long, slow drag.

“Hard to tell," I continued, my voice low and conspiratorial. I ran my thumb over the rough, yellowed teeth of the skull. "She's got that look in her eye. Like she's waitin' for the right moment to bite."

Blythe finally looked up, his gaze fixed on the skull in my hands. He passed the cigarette back to me. "I wanna see more of her."

"Oh, we will," I said, grinning at him as I took another drag, the cherry glowing bright. "We'll poke and we'll prod 'til she shows us more. Then we'll see what she's really made of. See if that fire in her eyes is real or just for show."

I took one last, long pull from the cigarette, the filter growing hot between my fingers, and passed it to Blythe. He finished it with a final, deep inhale, crushing the glowing butt against the palm of his hand before pocketing the remains. I set the skull back on the shelf, wiping my hands on my jeans. "She's a woman, alright. A wild, feral woman. And she's ours now. We just gotta make her see it."

Blythe's lips twitched. "I wanna be the one to make her see it."

"Patience, brother," I said, clapping him on the back, hard enough to make him stumble. "We'll take our turns. Now, come on. Let's go check on our girl."

We crept back toward the trailer, the humid air was heavy and still around us. I stopped beside it, running my hand along the rusty metal. Blythe was right behind me. We both pulled our masks back on.

I leaned forward, peering through the small, barred window near the top of the wagon. The warped glass gave me a distorted view of the interior. The light from the open door was casting long shadows across the floor.

"She looks so small in there," I whispered, my voice muffled by the mask. "It ain't right, Blythe. The floor is dirt, the blankets are scratchy. We ain't exactly livin' in a palace down here."

Blythe grunted, a sound of agreement. "She needs to be comfortable. We can't have her getting sick before we've even started playing with her."

"Yeah," I said, my forehead pressed against the cool glass. "I been thinkin' about it. Maybe we move her into the main trailer tonight. Let her sleep in a real bed. We got that old mattress Mamma gave us. It ain't fancy, but it's better than this."

Blythe sighed, the sound loud and heavy. "You're not wrong. It is a bit of a shithole."

"Plus," I added, a grin spreading under my mask, "the cage is too small for her. We need her comfortable if we're gonna be doing all the fun stuff."

Blythe was quiet for a moment, his eyes scanning the interior of the cage. "Alright. I'll begin working on the chain runners in the trailer. Get 'em fixed up so she can at least move around without draggin' her feet."

"Good man, I’ll set up the bed." I said. "We'll bring her in tonight. She'll thank us for it."

We watched her for a few more minutes, taking in the sight of her. She looked so lonely, so out of place. It made my heart race in a good way. She was a wild, feral thing, just like us. She didn't belong in the town with all their fake people. She belonged here, in the dark, with us.

My gaze dragged over her, slowly, taking in every detail. The way her dirty hair fell across her face, the smudge of dirt on her cheek, the defiant set of her jaw. She was a mess, a beautiful, filthy mess, and my god, she was perfect. All that fire trapped in one small body... it was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. I wanted to see it all, to touch every inch of her, to mark her as ours. To ruin her just enough that she'd never want to leave.

"I can't wait to do her inspection," Blythe said suddenly, his voice low and gravelly.

I chuckled, my eyes still fixed on her. "Same here. Gotta check her over real good. Make sure she's all ours, top to bottom."

It was a beautiful thing, really. We were going to take this outcast, this freak, and make her our own.

We both turned and walked away, the sound of our boots crunching on the dirt.

The main trailer was a chaotic nest of our own making. The walls were lined with faded plywood, but someone had tried to make it cozy in a twisted way. Old taxidermy birds were perched on the shelves, their glass eyes watching the room. A large, dark cowhide rug was thrown haphazardly over the center of the floor, its edges frayed and stained.