Page 68 of The Knucklebone Brothers

Just as the fear started to paralyze me, a small, cool hand grabbed mine. It was Emory. She pulled me up, her strength surprisin' for her size, tryin' to force me to dance with her. "Come on, Rory!" she giggled, her voice a high, happy sound that was completely out of place. "Dance with me!"

As Emory spun me around, my eyes caught it again. The same tall figure, darting from behind the trees, circling us in the darkness. It was a fast, unnatural movement, a blur of shadow against the night. I tried to stop her, pullin' my hand back. "Emory, stop," I said, my voice a strained whisper. I leaned in close, my lips next to her ear. "Somethin' is circlin' us."

Emory just giggled, a light, airy sound that made my skin crawl. "Of course there is," she said, her voice full of a childish, terrifying certainty. "Don't follow it, whatever you do!"

My blood ran cold. "It's what I saw outside with you," I said, my voice shakin'. "That day outside the trailer."

Emory's eyes went wide for a second, a flicker of something dark and knowin' in their depths. Then she just giggled again and pulled away, dancin' back into the chaotic swirl of the party, leavin' me standing there, my heart pounding in my chest.

It kept circlin' us, a dark, silent presence at the edge of my vision. I kept spinning around, tryin' to get a clear look, but the mask was in my way. The small eye holes distorted everything, making it hard to see clearly. I kept missin' it, catchin' just a flash of movement, a glimpse of something tall and wrong before it was gone again. It was too fast. It was always just out of reach, a nightmare that I couldn't quite see, but that I knew was there, waiting for me.

Just then, a high-pitched scream tore through the air, shatterin' the music and the dancin'. It was a sound of pure terror. From the darkness, a figure emerged, a man covered in heavy, tattered clothing that looked like an antique clown costume, stained with old blood and black grime. He held a lantern high, the light illuminating his scary, painted face, and behind him, the screaming only got louder. In his hand, he gripped a long, frayed rope, and at the end of it, a woman was thrashin', her body swingin' violently through the air.

I watched, frozen in place, unable to look away. She was half-nude, her skin dirty and streaked with mud, her clothes torn to shreds. Her breasts bounced with every desperate thrash, a sad, desperate display of her agony. And then I knew who she was. Sue. The bitch from the bank. I remembered her laugh, the way she’d looked down her nose at Momma when she was sick, tellin' her the land wasn't her problem.

The man dragged her toward a wooden table near the altar, the rope diggin' into her skin. He threw her onto the table, her body thudin' against the wood, and began to strap her down with rough straps. She screamed and fought, but she was no match for him. I stood there, my heart poundin' in my chest, watching the nightmare unfold.

Then I was grabbed, a hand closing around my arm. I didn't even notice him get up. It was Maverick. He was pullin' me toward the table, toward Sue's screamin', thrashin' form. I stumbled, my feet moving on their own, my eyes locked on the horror in front of me.

I looked over at Blythe, tryin' to see his face, tryin' to find some sign of the man. But there was nothing. Just that cold, empty look, the blood covering half his face, his hat still tilted down, shadowing his eyes. He was watching me, his gaze intense and unnervin', but he was still playing the banjo, his fingers dancin' over the strings without a break, the music a wild, chaotic soundtrack to my nightmare.

Maverick didn't give me a chance to answer. He pulled me forward, positioning me so I was standing between Sue's thrashin' legs, her bare feet kickin' at the air. He yanked my mask off, tossing it aside, and the sudden exposure of my face made Sue freeze. Her eyes, wide with terror, darted from my face to the horror around us.

"Rory...?" she breathed, her voice a ragged, desperate whisper. "No... it can't be. You're... you're a part of this? Help me. Please. Don't let them do this."

But as she looked at me, her face changed. The fear curdled into something else, something hard and bitter. She stared at me, her eyes widenin' with a slow, dawning horror. A small, broken sound escaped her lips, a half-laugh, half-sob. "I knew it," she snarled, her voice drippin' with venom. "I knew you were no good. You're just like them. You're gonna let them do this to me? You're just gonna stand there and... and watch?"

Maverick reached from my side and grabbed a fistful of my hair, yankin' my head back and forcing my face down toward Sue's chest, her heaving breasts right in front of my nose. The smell of her was sour, a mix of sweat, dirt, and the coppery tang of blood.

"Now," he commanded, his voice low in my ear. "Lick."

I glared at him from the corner of my eye, my eyes wide with defiance. "Fuck no!" I hissed, my voice a low, desperate rasp.

"Lick," he repeated, his grip on my hair tightenin' until my scalp burned. "He's watchin', Rory. He's always watchin'. You have two choices. Lick her or take her life right now. You choose."

I just stared at the dirty wood of the table, my heart pounding against my ribs. I didn't want to do it, but I knew he wouldn't hesitate. Hesitantly, I leaned forward and stuck out my tongue, pressing it against Sue's pale, dirty skin.

It was a shock. The taste was... bitter. Like old pennies and rot. Sue tasted like fear, and sweat. It was a dirty, salty mess, a testament to the hell she was livin' in, and I hated the way my tongue moved against her, the way I had to swallow the taste of her misery.

Just as I was swallowing the bitter taste of her, Maverick pulled me back. He spun me around to face him, his hands on my arms, his grip like iron. He pulled me close, his body a solid wall of muscle and heat. Then he lifted his mask, his hand firmly on my jaw, and he kissed me. It wasn't gentle. It was aggressive, his tongue forcing its way into my mouth, claimin' me. For a moment, I melted into it. The chaos around me, the screaming, the music, it all just faded away, drowned out by the intensity of his kiss.

Then he pulled away, a wide, satisfied grin on his face. He made me sit back down on the log, my body still tremblin'. He stood behind me, his hands on my shoulders, his touch firm, almost grounding, like he was holding me to the earth, keeping me from flyin' apart. I could still feel the heat of his kiss on my lips, the taste of him mixed with the sour taste of her, and I didn't know what to feel. I just sat there, my hands in my lap, and stared into the fire.

Then I heard it—a sound that wasn't the music, wasn't the fire. It was a loud, guttural scream, raw and wet, that tore through the night and yanked me right out of the trance I'd fallen into. I tried to focus, to lose myself in the dancin' flames, but my eyes were dragged back to the table.

Through the leaping, chaotic orange light, I saw him. The demented clown. He was leaning over Sue, his back arched like a demon's. In his hand, he held a long, thin blade, maybe a letter opener or a shard of mirror glass. He brought it down, again and again, a relentless, brutal rhythm. Each stab was a wet, ripping sound, a puncture of flesh that sent a spray of dark blood flyin’ through the air. It splattered across his painted face, minglin' with the black greasepaint, and flew from the table to speckle the dirt at his feet.

I should have looked away. I knew what was comin'. I'd seen the madness in his eyes, the ritual in the air. But I couldn't.

Then Sue just... faded. It wasn't a sudden stop. It was a slow draining, like a color bleedin' out. Her screams became choked gurgles, then wet, ragged gasps. The frantic thrashin' of her limbs slowed, then stopped, her body goin' limp and heavy against the wood. Her eyes, wide and terrified just moments before, went glassy and vacant, staring up at the uncaring stars.

That's when I saw it. That's when the true horror hit me. The clown didn't stop. He didn't even pause. His hips kept movin', a sick, rhythmic thrustin' as he continued to plunge the blade into her still flesh. He was fuckin' her as he stabbed her, a final, brutal act of desecration. He kept going even after she was gone, even after there was nothing left of her but a broken, empty vessel. I sat there, my body rigid, my breath caught in my throat, a silent scream stuck in my own chest. Out of all the ghosts and dead bodies and the madness in the woods, out of all the horrors I had witnessed, this was the worst.

Maverick moved in front of me, kneeling down so his face was level with mine. As he did, Blythe's banjo stopped playing. The sudden silence was deafening, a void that swallowed all other sound. It was a signal. The music was over. One by one, the masked figures around the fire stopped their dancin'. They turned and melted away into the darkness, a silent, retreating army, leaving only the crackle of the fire and the three of us.

Through the space between Maverick and Blythe, I saw the clown. He untied the straps that held Sue to the table. Her lifeless body was limp, a ragdoll of bone and flesh. He threw her over his shoulder with a grunt, her limbs dangling, and then he disappeared into the dark woods, takin' the last of the scream with him.

Blythe kneeled down in front of me, his eyes searchin' my face. The blood was still smeared across his cheek, his hat lifted, but the coldness was gone, replaced by something I couldn't quite read. He lifted my chin with a gentle finger, his touch comforting from the violence I'd just witnessed. He nodded once, a small, slow movement. Then he leaned in and kissed my forehead, a soft, warm press of his lips against my skin. It felt like a prayer, a seal on some unspoken pact. Then he stood up and walked away, disappearing into the dark without a backward glance, leavin' me alone with Maverick.