Nothing But Bones

21: The Aforementioned "Threat"

Fred shakes his head. "Not a soul. I've just been wandering around and remembering my life as it was when I was a youngster."

"Well, how was it? I'm sure childhood in the... 1930s?

The skeleton shrugs his boney shoulders. "The 20's, mostly! I was born in 1915."

"I'm sure it was pretty different from childhood in the 2000s and 2010s," Tiff muses. She looks to Elton where he's standing between them to provide clarification. "He's talking about walking around here."

Fred continues, "This was my uncle's estate, and he'd invite the family for the summers. We'd fish in the streams and swim in the small lake where I actually met Harold in the summer of '27. We'd take a boat onto the lake at night and just looked at the stars–"

Lights not belonging to the ever-present lightning flashes swept through the family room to their right before cutting off after a moment.

Elton's head turns to Tiff. Nervousness floods him. "Those are headlights, Tiff."

Her eyes widen. She can't tell if she's excited or terrified. "Okay! Fred, get back upstairs. Elton, take Dingus and Kepler and get somewhere else— The kitchen, just go stand in the kitchen for a moment."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. You got it?"

"I've got it."

Fred nodded to Tiff and turned to go back upstairs. "Do be careful, kids. Use me as a testament to this sorcerer's power."

His bone feet slap the wooden steps as he hurries as quickly as he can up to the room where they met him. Elton, for his part, scoops up the protesting Kepler and hurries Dingus to the kitchen. He hissed to Tiff as he rushed away, "I don't care how cool or strong you think you are, Tiff, you be careful."

"I'm going to be," she lies, pushing him on.

"Remember Dingus is here to help! So am I."

With that, he rushes into the kitchen with a wriggling Kepler and uncharacteristically-anxious Dingus.

Tiff takes a deep breath. This is going to be fine. This is what she has mentally prepared herself for since the two of them got here. Unlike Elton, she can't really die. Unlike Fred, she can't really be unmade. Boris Covington can't do anything to her that she can't survive.

She follows slowly behind Fred to the stairs, hangs her bag on the end of one railing, and takes a seat on the bottom step. Face set to neutral, sitting in the dark: there's nothing left to do but wait.

Faint footsteps thud against the porch's wood, just barely audible above the rain and wind, followed by the jingle of keys. There's a moment of silence before the door's handle rattles, turning left and right. Sitting there on the steps, she remembers shutting the door but not locking it.

It's not like it matters. Not really. She's on the steps of the house's stairs, in full view of the front door once it opens. It's on purpose, isn't it?

The front door creaks open. The silhouette of a man fills the doorway. He looks around, head moving left to right before sweeping back to the middle. He locks eyes with the spot in the dark where Tiff is sitting, leans his umbrella against the wall next to hers, and slams the door shut against the rain.

For a moment, there's nothing but the sound of the storm outside, the wind pelting rain against the windows, the sound of breathing.

Then he speaks. His voice is high-pitched and filled with false bravado. "Announce yourself, intruder. Do it now before I get angry..."