Bag O' Bones, Part 1

A Small and Scary story

Hello! Behold, my first Substack collab story! This was written as a part of the Small & Scary/ Big & Beastly collab organized by

Garen Marie

, hosted by

Top In Fiction

, and illustrated by

Keith Long

. Hope you enjoy, and be sure to check out the rest of the stories via the link at the bottom of the page!

**This is a dark fantasy and horror fiction collab, just as an FYI. It may be a bit darker than my usual fare**

"He's been actin' strange, that one," the innkeeper whispered, leaning over the bar.

Ursa looked up from her bowl of mush--supposedly it was savory oatmeal with vegetables, but it had all dissolved into the same colorless slop--and stared at him. After a few seconds of eye contact, the man shrank back out of her space.

Ursa knew which 'he' the man was talking about, so she didn't bother to look. He was sitting behind her, eating the same meal she was supposed to be eating, drinking the same watery ale, and making a probably ill-advised attempt at reading by the dim light filtering through the inn's small, grimy windows. She was sure he'd glanced her way once or twice, but she'd ignored him. Eventually, she'd get around to talking to him, but she didn't want to encourage him before then.

"I wouldn't worry about him," she told the innkeeper, trying desperately to remember the bony, long-faced man's name.

"But--aren't you worried he could be a demon in disguise? In league with the witch and helping resurrect her?"

"He's not," she said shortly. "Nor is he a vampire, or a werewolf, nor any other strange and unnatural creature in league with the legions of darkness."

The innkeeper stared at her for a moment, several expressions vying with each other on his face--surprise, disappointment, skepticism. "How do you know?"

Ursa gave him a smile that she hoped was mysterious. "We Arbiters have ways of knowing."

Granted, it had helped to just sit here and observe the stranger. The food they were both eating had enough garlic that even she, a half-vampire who had never given in to her kind's bloody desires, was having a hard time choking it down. If the stranger had been a vampire, he wouldn't have touched the food. Instead, he seemed to be eating automatically, his attention fixed on the book he held open in front of him. Likewise, the spoons they were using were real silver--she'd found the maker's mark on the back of the handle--and even a werewolf couldn't withstand the pain of holding silver for half an hour. Any other creature would have outright avoided human company like this.

Her teachers back at the Academy would probably scold her for not passing on her knowledge, but she really didn't want to sit here and talk to...Declan, yes, that was his name...any more than she had to. She was fairly certain that even knowledge wouldn't lessen the messages and letters flooding into the Academy, begging the Arbiters for help and protection from supernatural creatures, as much as the Deans hoped it would.

As it was, most of the letters they received tended to be baseless rumors and accusations. But supernatural activity had grown more frequent over the years, as humans traveled from the coasts into the wilds of the continent. She'd heard it suggested that surveyors hadn't even mapped half of the continent yet--who knew what was lurking out there beyond the great forests and mountains of the west?

Ursa realized she'd been sitting staring into her bowl of mush for some time. She pushed it back across the counter, drained the last of the ale from her cup, and headed for the door. The stranger, she noticed, was already gone, only his empty bowl and cup remaining on the table next to the fireplace. Probably, he was back to where she'd first seen him--kicking through the earthen mounds at the crossroads, the strange behavior the innkeeper was complaining about.

She shouldered open the door, squinting as she stepped outside. The day was gray and cloudy, just as it had been when she'd arrived shortly after noon, but still much brighter than the inn. She hadn't been able to get a good look around the village before Declan had met her at the door of the inn, insisting she dismount and come eat while he explained to her about the stranger and his activity at the crossroads. Now, she stood under the sagging eaves of the inn--the only two-story building in the village--and watched and listened.

Smoke billowed from each chimney in the cluster of little houses, pale against the stormy blue-gray of the sky. Everyone had been inside--eating their noonday meal, she assumed--when she'd arrived, but now, figures of women, bundled in shawls against the early spring chill that still hung in the morning air, scratched and scraped with hoes in the communal gardens to the right of the village. More smoke billowed from the forest to the south of the village--the men, she thought, making charcoal to sell next fall. But besides the women and the smoke, there was no movement.

No animals out roaming about and eating weeds. No children playing and shrieking in the streets. The place wasn't big enough for a formal school, and anyway, it was planting season--if they weren't playing, the children should be out in the fields, helping prepare the gardens. The eerie silence hung, like a forgotten note in a song.

Ursa took note of the heaviness that had settled on her--not on her shoulders, but inward, hollowing her chest and tightening her belly. Something Other had a heavy presence in this village. Even those without the training or ability to sense supernatural creatures would be able to feel it. And if the letter the villagers had sent to the Academy was right, this has been going on for close to a month now. And it wasn't just the feeling--milk had turned sour, first, then the cows had dried up, except for a thick, greenish liquid seeping from their udders. The crops closest to the crossroads had withered into black stalks. People reported hearing whispers in the wind, and had glimpsed the figure of a cloaked woman roaming the street at night.

She shook her shoulders, pushing off the heaviness into the back of her mind, and turned toward the crossroads.

The inn stood on the outskirts of the village, a road of about forty paces leading to the crossroads, which was wide enough to have once been well-traveled. As she drew closer, the ozone tang of magic registered on her tongue and in her nostrils, combined with the acrid stink of carrion

In the middle of the crossroads, the earth had been disturbed, the rich black soil churned up in strange mounds. Each of the mounds had ashes mixed into it, smoke still rising--one of the villagers' attempts to keep the witch at bay. Thick mats of dried herbs had been scattered in a wide circle around all of it, leaving barely enough room between the grass and the herbs to walk. Smaller worn paths showed where people had began walking through the grass to avoid the area.

The letter had briefly recounted that fifty years ago, once the witch had been drowned, her body had been quartered and buried in four burlap bags at each compass point, mixed with salt, purifying herbs, and hawthorn ash. She'd been impressed by the account--someone had either kept good records, or the story had been kept fresh by the village elders. Still, she would have to ask the priest at the chapel for a look at the records to see if anything had been left out. She stepped closer, trying to see if she could glimpse any of the bones, and the skin on the back of her neck prickled.

"I covered the ones I could find in hawthorn ash," a voice from behind her said.

Ursa's entire body clenched as she forced herself not to jump. How had she not heard him creeping up on her? She turned. The stranger stood on the grass, nervously playing with the pair of spectacles he held in one hand. He wasn't looking at her--instead, his intensely-bright green eyes were staring at the center of the crossroads, slightly squinted.

"How many of the bones did you find?" Ursa asked.

"Two hundred, spread across four mounds. Since there are two hundred and six bones in a human body, I'm going to assume I missed some of the smaller ones. Each mound was close to a compass point." He pointed to the ones north, east, west, and south.

That matched the information given in the letter. "Why are you here?" she asked bluntly.

"I'd heard about this village's plight a few towns over," he said. "I've had a little experience with the supernatural and thought...well, no offense meant to the Arbiters, but sometimes you take a while to show up." As he spoke, his eyes kept straying from her to the middle of the crossroads, going slightly unfocused. Then, as if aware of what he was doing, he'd jerk his gaze back to her, blinking hard.

Ursa turned around, frowning. What kept pulling his attention back to that spot in particular? She stepped forward, trying to see if there was something on the ground.

"Watch out!"

Something spiked into Ursa's chest, cold and freezing. She doubled over, clutching at the front of her leather greatcoat. There was nothing there. And yet it felt like there were five little points of ice digging through her coat and clothing, into her skin, around her heart...

The man's hand closed on her arm, jerking her back. Ursa stumbled, clutching at his shoulder to stay upright. To her surprise, despite the man's skinny appearance, his shoulder was hard and muscled. She shoved him away, her hand dropping automatically to where the hilt of her greatsword normally rested against her hip.

The corner of the man's mouth pulled into a smirk, and he sighed. "I should have known you couldn't see her."

"Her?" Another chill swept down Ursa's back.

The man stepped past her, kicking the disturbed circle of dried herbs back into place. "I can see the witch," he said quietly, turning back to Ursa. "I've been able to see her since I arrived in town." He nodded to the center of the crossroads.

The hairs on the backs of Ursa's arms prickled, and she looked at the stranger with new interest. If he was speaking the truth, he was a seer--one gifted with second sight, who could see things hidden from others. It was a rare ability, and none of the Arbiters had it.

His head bent forward as if listening."She's speaking. This is the first time I've ever heard her say something."

"What is she saying?"

His frown deepened. "I can't quite tell."

"What does she look like?"

"A woman of middle age, with long gray and brown hair. She's wearing a tattered blue dress and stained apron. There's a wound on the side of her head--I think her ear is missing." He shook his head, then stepped back, blinking at the ground several times. He rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand.

"Are you all right?"

"Yes--thank you. Sometimes if I look too long, my head aches." He slipped his spectacles into his vest pocket.

Ursa watched him as he moved around the circle, now seeming to avoid looking in the center of the crossroads. If he truly was a seer, and wasn't just pretending in order to get on the good side of an Arbiter, he could be a valuable help in ridding the village of the witch. She stepped closer to him and held out her hand. "Your name? I'm Ursa Pyras."

"Mallory Bren." He smiled as he shook her hand. "Delighted to meet you."

Hmm. They would see if his delight persisted, especially if she outed him as a charlatan.

The sound of shuffling feet caught her attention, and she turned. Several villagers were coming up the road. One, a priest judging by the white color of his cloak, carried a small handbell in one hand and a sack in the other. The others--the innkeeper, Declan, two older women, and another man with charcoal smudges on his face--all carried armfuls of hawthorn branches and dried herbs. The scent of rosemary, cedar, and nettles rose in the air.

She and Mallory moved to the side, watching as the villagers spread out in a circle around the crossroads. They were completely, eerily silent as they worked. The villagers spread the hawthorn and herbs over the shriveled remains of the other herbs encircling the mounds, while the priest followed behind them, sprinkling the herbs with what looked like salt from the sack he carried. As they finished, the priest tucked the sack into his cloak and stood between the village and the crossroads, one hand holding the bell.

He rang it.

The sound was loud and tinny in the quiet air. Ursa winced and backed up a few steps. The sound seemed to reverberate in her head, making her teeth buzz in her skull, sending aches up through her joints as the ground vibrated beneath her. She took another step back, gritting her teeth together and resisting the urge to raise her hands to her ears.

The priest rang the bell six more times, each time spiking sharper and sharper pain into Ursa's temples and joints. By the time the final toll of the bell drained from the air around the crossroads, she felt as as if a fever had settled into her bones--an experience she'd only rarely felt, as her vampire blood usually burned away most illnesses.

The villagers walked past in a small cluster, none of them looking at Mallory or Ursa. As soon as they were past, though, Ursa's ears caught a faint whisper--no doubt they were talking about Mallory. Declan was probably spreading all kinds of rumors.

The priest had brought out a square of fabric and was carefully wrapping the bell back up in it. He glanced over at them, his eyes first settling on Mallory, then on Ursa. He smiled. "You must be the Arbiter. Thank you for responding to our letter."

"It's why we exist," she said, stepping closer. Her ears still rang, a high-pitched whining noise like that of a mosquito.

"My name is Keeper Brennan." The priest tucked the bell back into his cloak, then glanced up at the sky. "It's almost dark. We should move indoors."

Frowning, Ursa glanced up at the sky. The priest was right--somehow, the noon-day sun had slipped very close to the horizon, the faint orange glow barely visible behind the gray clouds. And it looked like more, darker clouds were coming, thick gray thunderclouds boiling rapidly up from the east.

"This is unusually early, even in spring," Mallory commented.

The priest grimaced, nodding. "We've had a lot of storms lately. The crops that the witch hasn't ruined, most of them have been gotten by heavy rain or hail." He stepped around them, pointedly walking back into the village.

Ursa fell into step beside him. "Am I correct in assuming that your chapel would hold the village records? May I look at them?"

"Ah, you'll be wanting the account of the witch's trial and execution. Yes, please, come this way--I believe we have time for you to look at it before the sun sets." The priest led them through through the village to the small, unassuming building on the far end. This close, Ursa could see that it had obviously been built as a chapel, though the belltower had fallen into such disrepair that it was barely a stump of rock over the front entryway. Keeper Brennan opened the front door, gesturing them ahead of him and into the small space. There were no windows, though the copious candles kept it brighter than the inn.

"Please, sit, make yourselves comfortable." He waved at the three little rows of pews flanking the room, all situated towards the front of the chapel, where a small, unassuming wooden altar was decorated with candles and snowdrops and cedar branches in pottery vessels. There was no symbol hanging over the altar to show which god this chapel was dedicated to.

"Why don't you speak during the ritual?" Mallory asked as he slid into a pew. "From my studies, I understand that most rituals to ward off evil beings include a chant or a prayer."

"Studies?" The priest raised an eyebrow, glancing over at Ursa. "Is he your apprentice then, studying to be an Arbiter?"

Ursa noticed out of the corner of her eye that Mallory barely contained a grin. She pressed her lips into a thin line. "No, we're merely partnering on this one mission." Mallory Bren, an Arbiter? He'd proven himself smart and knowledgeable, and the Deans would likely bend over backwards to teach him once they found out he was a Seer. Still...she would have to find some proof of his abilities before she brought that up to him.

The priest began speaking again. "The stories about the witch...well. You read the letter we sent, yes?"

Ursa nodded.

"So you know that when she was convicted, she was sentenced to be drowned." Keeper Brennan gave a pained sigh. "An altogether too common occurrence, even in our day, I'm afraid. You can read more details in the record books, but the long and short of it was, Sarel--the witch--was accused of being able to manipulate voice and sound. She heard things she oughtn't, and she warped the words and songs of others. One of her crimes was supposedly turning the songs the women sang while planting into curses, so that the entire field of seedlings came up black and rotting. It was said that loud sounds, like the ringing of the bell, would disorient her." He gestured upward. "Supposedly the bell in our chapel drove her away from services. So we do not sing or chant, but we ring the bell the old blacksmith forged for us, to reinforce the protections of her burial."

Mallory nodded.

"Was there anything unusual that happened after she was drowned?" Ursa asked. "According to the letter, your records state that her body was buried with the proper protections. But something had to have happened to cause her to be able to rise again."

Keeper Brennan nodded. "When she was dredged up to be buried the next day, she had a wound on the side of her head." The priest touched his left ear. "Her ear was missing, and the wound was gouged deep. The recorder, my predecessor, wrote that the wound may have been caused by a wild animal, as her body was not left in water that deep, but…" He shrugged, then stood. "Let me fetch the records for you, so that you can make it to the inn before nightfall."

So, the description of the corpse matched Mallory's supposed Seeing. She glanced over at him and found him with a slight smirk, as if he'd guessed her thoughts.

Ursa raised an eyebrow. "What do you think of that?"

"The wound, or the confirmation that I'm a Seer?"

Ursa suppressed a sigh. Only a man who had been proven correct could have such a smug grin on his face. "The wound itself."

Mallory seemed to know his grin had reached the limits of Ursa's hospitality. His face turned serious. "I suppose it's possible, but… Animals usually go for soft organs first. And fish tend to nibble at extremities." He grimaced. "I can't think of a fish big enough in a village pond to make such a wound. Maybe an unnatural creature?"

"Not one that I'm aware of."

"I'm sure there are even some the Arbiters have never heard about."

Ursa let herself chuckle at that. "We don't claim to be the sources of all knowledge."

"No...just most knowledge."

Saints above, he was smirking again. Mallory, she thought, was a man who knew he was clever and didn't mind calling attention to it. She couldn't decide if it was endearing or annoying.

Keeper Brennan came back, carrying a large leather-bound ledger in his arms. He handed it over to Ursa.

She stood to accept it. "I have one more question before we leave you to your rest, Keeper. May we see the bell?"

The priest shrugged and nodded, rummaging in the inner pockets of his cloak. He removed a bundle, carefully wrapped in faded and stained silk. He cradled it in one hand and unwrapped it with the other, his movements slow and reverent.

Ursa didn't know exactly what she'd expected, but she found herself...a little disappointed. Up close, the bell wasn't the finest craftmanship she'd seen--the bell itself was well shaped, but the handle was old and cracked, the inlaid bone runes turning an ancient yellow. She reached out to touch it--

And felt a searing pain spark down her fingers and arm, lingering deep into her elbow. Ursa gasped and jerked her hand away, blinking hard to clear her vision. The ringing in her ears was back, even though the bell hadn't sounded.

"Oh. Your friend...he doesn't look well," Brennan said, alarm falling over his face.

A hand fell on her arm.

She looked over to see Mallory clutching the back of the pew, face pale and gray, his eyes clenched tightly shut, swaying on his feet. "Mallory?"

"Out," he said through clenched teeth. "I need--" He pressed a fist to his mouth, breathing hard.

Ursa scrambled up, slipping her arm around his shoulders and guiding him to the front door.

"Do you need help?" Keeper Brennan asked.

Mallory shook his head once, a tight, pained motion.

"No, thank you," Ursa said over his shoulder.

As soon as they were out of the door, Mallory wrenched to the side, stumbling over to the grass and retching. Ursa winced and turned her head away, her own stomach churning in response to his illness. What was wrong with that bell? First it had rung out of true, during the ritual at the crossroads, and now, touching it... She felt her gorge rising and pushed the thought away, steeling herself. She'd barely eaten anything for lunch--she was not going to vomit.

Her ears still buzzed, as if the bell's ringing had never faded. Ursa rubbed them, wincing as the motion only seemed to drive the sound deeper into her skull.

Mallory groaned, and she turned to see him lean against the side of the chapel, the heel of his hand pressed against his forehead. After a moment, he straightened, taking his glasses out of his pocket and slipping them into place. He shot her a wry, sheepish look. "Sorry."

"No need to apologize. I was close to being sick myself."

"That bell..."

"Did you See something?"

"I don't…think you could properly call it Sight. I just got an impression of rage, and violence, and overwhelming hatred. It still feels like that damn thing is ringing in my ears." Mallory rubbed his hand over his mouth, staring around the too-quiet village, at the growing shadows creeping across the ground. "We're missing something," he murmured.

"I agree." Ursa offered her arm again for support, but Mallory waved her away. They walked back through the village to the inn. Ursa could have sworn that the shadows were growing unnaturally fast, stretching across the road and darkening in between the houses at an unnatural pace. Wind, heralding the oncoming storm, whistled through the spaces between the houses. More than once on the short walk, Ursa heard whispering voices flowing around them, as if unseen companions had joined them.

As they passed the village common, recognizable words murmured at the back of her neck, so close that she could have sworn she felt a cold breath chilling the skin.

Secrets. You keep secrets.

She tightened her hands into fists--I will not look back--and kept walking. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Mallory's shiver, even as he tried to disguise it as settling his blue coat more comfortably over his shoulders.

They reached the inn door, and Declan flung it open, gesturing them into the main room. "You shouldn't have stayed out so late."

It couldn't have been much more than four in the afternoon, yet the village was already as dark as a winter evening. As she started to stop past the inn's threshold, Mallory caught her arm.

"Look," he whispered, nodding to the crossroads.

In the middle of the earthen mounds, a dim shape--a deeper shadow among the other shadows--flickered in and out of view. The back of Ursa's mouth went dry as she stared at it. For an instant, it seemed like the shape had a face--pale and bright among the long stringing shadows of hair--and that face's only feature was a too-wide grin.

Bloody secrets, the wind sighed around the corner of the house.

"Let's get inside," Mallory said, gently nudging her forward.

Thank you for reading! The rest of the stories can be found here!

Part 2 will be coming shortly!