Free The Darkness of Bones by Sam Millar Page A

with all that money. Those scumbags over at the boarding house seem to be stalking the town, more and more.”
    “You don’t know what this means to Judith.”
    “Don’t go all sentimental.” Joe hit Jeremiah playfully on the back, before walking towards the tiny medicine cabinet. Heopened it, producing a bottle of whiskey in his hand. “I don’t know about you, but I feel like a good stiff one. It’s been a very long day. Care for one?” he asked jokingly, knowing that Jeremiah never touched the stuff.
    As expected, Jeremiah shook his head.
    A family of tablets, housed in the same cabinet, followed a sip of whiskey down Joe’s throat. “I tell you, Jeremiah, you can’t beat vitamins for beating the flu—and a good strong whiskey doesn’t disappoint, either!”
    Stepping from the backroom, Jeremiah closed all the blinds, and then readied the hot towel. He fumbled at the radio dial and found a foreign jazz station. It filtered blue notes everywhere. He knew the song, but couldn’t remember its title.
    “Ah! My throne awaits!” said Joe with a laugh, climbing into the chair as the second whiskey slid effortlessly down his gullet. “I don’t care what anyone says, Jeremiah—
this
is the life: a good shave, good friends, good whiskey.”
    Jeremiah did not answer, simply removed the steaming towel and placed it delicately on his friend’s face.
    Outside, snow was falling rapidly …

Chapter Eighteen
    “And I looked, and behold, a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was death, and hell followed with him.”
    Revelations 6: 8
    I NITIALLY , A DRIAN WAS sure that the wind had been moving along quite speedily, cutting at his skin. It was strange that now, in reality, it was utterly still and his entire body felt wrong with numbness. The falling snow was thick and damp and not a particle of it was moving one way or another, as if the whole scene had been whitewashed or placed in a snow-globe.

    Gradually, the snow meeting his eyes altered his perception, distorting, expanding, and diminishing distance, forcing him off the main road and along the trail that bordered the lake. Darkness was creeping all about him and panic quickly began to replace anger. There was little chance of making it back home, not in these conditions. His best chance would be old man Stapleton’s barn. He wondered how far away he was from it. Could he make it there in time?
    Jack had reached old man Stapleton’s barn just as the snow began to fall more forcefully. He prayed to God—but mostly to his dead wife, Linda—that when he entered the old barn, hewould see Adrian curled up in the corner, covered in hay. He remembered how Adrian had hidden in the barn once before, for a couple of hours, because he was ashamed of his results in a geography test.
    Climbing quickly from the car, Jack shone a torch against the old building. Initial indications were not good. The dilapidated place had been boarded up and, to Jack’s trained eye, there was no sign of forced entry.
    Seeing no way in, he quickly ran back to the car and removed a crowbar from the boot.
    Working feverishly with the crowbar, he pulled on the rusted nails and groaning wood, tearing down their resistance as if Adrian’s very life depended on his success.
    Be there, son. Please. For me.
    “Adrian!” shouted Jack, as the wood began tearing and rusted nails went popping in the darkened air. “Are you in there, Adrian? It’s me. Dad. C’mon, son. Answer me. Don’t do this.” The crowbar wasn’t working effectively enough, and he tossed it to the snowy ground, preferring to rip at the aging wood with his bare hands.
    Be there … be there …
    At last, with one great pull, a small entrance was created and Jack wasted no time plunging through, ripping his clothes and skin, the beam from the torch sending rats scurrying for cover.
    Through the crevices in the wooden planks came cool, dry air, smelling of darkness. And emptiness.
    Jack checked the place twice, hoping for