said. “We didn’t know what to do with him. At that time, we were not so divided into flesh and spirit. We thought the human body could undergo transformations. We thought we could shape people like clay. Like a sculpture. Something to look at, nothing more. A work of art—beautiful in its brutality. Something to decorate our lives with. We decided to experiment with what the human body could do. And we needed a punishment for Mr. Latch. So we pulled him down here, down into the darkness, where no one could hear his screams as we broke his bones, one by one. But we didn’t want him to heal in the way he was supposed to heal. No. We wanted him to heal how we wanted him to heal. We wanted him to look different. We wanted him to look not human. So we set his bones nearly opposite how they were supposed to grow. I imagine the healing process was twice as long as it was supposed to be and probably twice as painful. But we had all the time in the world. If there is one thing the dead have, it is time. I think it was this vast amount of time that drove us nearly insane, drove us to do some of the things we would not have otherwise done. But we were like morphine to Mr. Latch. We didn’t let the pain get too out of hand. Imagine it, Bones, imagine burning up with pain until you feel Ilya’s lips on you, her tongue moving over all of the broken twisted places. Imagine...”
Bones wanted to imagine but he could barely think. Mr. Latch’s mouth was burrowed somewhere below his arm, in the flesh, and Bones thought he could feel a large snake-like tongue move around the joint of his shoulder.
And then Ernst’s hand was wrapped around Bones’ bloody wrist and Ernst was dragging him somewhere away from Mr. Latch.
Bones’ thoughts became as much blackness as thought.
He remembered the heat of a fire. He remembered being bound by something that felt like a harness. The bone dry kiss of the flame. The hiss of his skin burning up, his blood boiling. The freedom of falling through the air. Falling into fire. He was pretty sure that was when he died. He never really thought of feeling himself die before but he could. He felt his body drop away, drop down into the fire and he felt his spirit lift up from the body, weightless and unrestrained. And he felt his spirit returning to Ilya and Ernst, there to sit by their side, away from his prison of skin. They were his liberators and he was here to do what they wanted him to do.
Quietly, Bones’ spirit listened as they told him about the future.
Eleven
Jacob stepped out of the shower, relishing his new clean feeling, and stood amidst the swirling steam in the bathroom. Even though he had lived alone for a while, he still couldn’t get used to the idea of showering with the door open. Tonight, he had also locked the door. That was something he never did. Maybe it had something to do with Psycho . It probably had more to do with the events of earlier. He pulled on a clean pair of Levis and a black t-shirt, the closest he had ever come to wearing a uniform.
Stepping out into the apartment, he squinted at the harsh lighting. After demolishing the television, he had turned on every light in the apartment, hoping to chase away the twisted horrors lurking in the shadowed corners. He went into the kitchen, poured himself another cup of coffee, tasting slightly burned at this point, and lit another cigarette. He thought he could feel the black bags developing under his eyes.
He crossed the living room and put a compilation CD he had made a while ago into the player. He never marked these things and didn’t really have any idea what was on it. After the player took a second to load the CD, a Flaming Lips song filled the apartment. Jacob found this agreeable. Their music had always made him a little happier and, settling back onto the couch, he thought he could almost feel the horrors of the night ease up a bit.
Then his door banged open and everything came
Bones wanted to imagine but he could barely think. Mr. Latch’s mouth was burrowed somewhere below his arm, in the flesh, and Bones thought he could feel a large snake-like tongue move around the joint of his shoulder.
And then Ernst’s hand was wrapped around Bones’ bloody wrist and Ernst was dragging him somewhere away from Mr. Latch.
Bones’ thoughts became as much blackness as thought.
He remembered the heat of a fire. He remembered being bound by something that felt like a harness. The bone dry kiss of the flame. The hiss of his skin burning up, his blood boiling. The freedom of falling through the air. Falling into fire. He was pretty sure that was when he died. He never really thought of feeling himself die before but he could. He felt his body drop away, drop down into the fire and he felt his spirit lift up from the body, weightless and unrestrained. And he felt his spirit returning to Ilya and Ernst, there to sit by their side, away from his prison of skin. They were his liberators and he was here to do what they wanted him to do.
Quietly, Bones’ spirit listened as they told him about the future.
Eleven
Jacob stepped out of the shower, relishing his new clean feeling, and stood amidst the swirling steam in the bathroom. Even though he had lived alone for a while, he still couldn’t get used to the idea of showering with the door open. Tonight, he had also locked the door. That was something he never did. Maybe it had something to do with Psycho . It probably had more to do with the events of earlier. He pulled on a clean pair of Levis and a black t-shirt, the closest he had ever come to wearing a uniform.
Stepping out into the apartment, he squinted at the harsh lighting. After demolishing the television, he had turned on every light in the apartment, hoping to chase away the twisted horrors lurking in the shadowed corners. He went into the kitchen, poured himself another cup of coffee, tasting slightly burned at this point, and lit another cigarette. He thought he could feel the black bags developing under his eyes.
He crossed the living room and put a compilation CD he had made a while ago into the player. He never marked these things and didn’t really have any idea what was on it. After the player took a second to load the CD, a Flaming Lips song filled the apartment. Jacob found this agreeable. Their music had always made him a little happier and, settling back onto the couch, he thought he could almost feel the horrors of the night ease up a bit.
Then his door banged open and everything came
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