Free Sci Fiction Classics Volume 4 by Tristram Rolph Page B

don't reckon you brought aught for supper," I said.
    "I've done without no supper before this."
    "I've got something left from my noon lunch." I pawed through my soogin
     and came up with two sandwiches wrapped in foil. "Home-cured ham on white
     bread."
    Hallcott took one and thanked me kindly. As the water grew hot, I trickled
     in instant coffee and stirred it with a twig. We ate and passed the cup
     back and forth.
    "I appreciate this, John," said Hallcott as he swallowed down his last
     bite. "How long you aim to stop here?"
    "That depends."
    "I reckon you'll agree with me, them bones we buried were right curious.
     Great big ones, and long arms, like on an ape."
    "Or maybe on Sasquatch," I said. "Or Bigfoot."
    "You believe in them tales."
    "I always wonder myself if there's not truth in air tale. And as for bones—I
     recollect something the Indians called Kalu, off in a place named Hosea's
     Hollow. Bones a-rattling round, and sure death to a natural man.'
    "You believe that, too?"
    "Believe it? I saw it happen one time. Only Kalu got somebody else, not
     me."
    "Can these bones live?" Hallcott repeated the text. "Ain't there an old
     song about that, the bones a-coming together alive?"
    "I've sung it in my time," I said, and picked up my guitar and struck out
     the tune. "It goes like this:
Connect these bones, dry bones, dry bones,
Connect these bones,
     dry bones, dry bones,
Connect these bones, dry bones, dry bones,
Hear the word of the Lord."
    Hallcott sang the verse with me, his voice rough and husky:
The toe bone's connected to the foot bone,
The foot bone's
     connected to the heel bone,
The heel bone's connected to the ankle
     bone,
Hear the word of the Lord.
    And we sang the rest of it together, up to the end:
The shoulder bone's connected to the neck bone,
The neck bone's
     connected to the jaw bone,
The jaw bone's connected to the head
     bone,
Hear the word of the Lord.
Connect these bones, dry
     bones, dry bones,
Connect these—
    Hallcott broke off then, and so did I. "John," he said, "looky yonder
     where we buried him. What's that there white stuff?"
    I saw it, too. In the shine of the moon above the grave stirred a pale
     something or other.
    It made just a sneaky blur, taller than a tall man. It came toward us with
     a ripple in it.
    "Mist," Hallcott stuttered. "Comes from that there fresh-dug-up dirt—"
    "No," I said, "that's no mist."
    I leant my guitar to the walnut tree and got up on my feet as whatever it
     was came nearer, started to make itself into a shape.
    I heard Hallcott say a quick cuss word, and then there was a scrambly
     noise, like as if he was a-trying to make his way off from there on hands
     and knees. I faced toward whatair the shape was, because I reckoned I had
     to.
    As it came slowly along, the moonlight hit it fair. It looked scaffolded
     some way. That was because it was just bones. I could see a sort of
     baskety bunch of ribs, and big, stout arm bones with almighty huge hands
     a-hanging down below crooked knees. The shallowy skull had deep, dark
     eyeholes. The long-toothed jaw sank itself down and then snapped shut
     again. The skull turned on its neck bone and gave me a long, long look.
    Then it reached out its right hand with finger bones the size of table
     knives, and laid hold on a young tree and yanked it out by the roots,
     without air much a-trying. It stood and tore off branches, easy as you'd
     peel the shucks from an ear of corn. It made itself a club thataway, and
     hiked it over the low skull and moved to close in on me again.
    No point in it for me to try to run away from such a thing, and well I
     knew it. Turn and run from a haunt or a devil, it runs after you. If it
     catches you, then what? I quick grabbed up the shovel where it leant on
     the walnut trunk. Compared to that club the bony thing had, it was like a
     ball bat against a wagon tongue.
    "What you want of me?" I said, but I felt I didn't have to be told that.
    Bones like those, long worn bare