Page 56 of The Knucklebone Brothers

Blythe, ever the practical one, was the first to find his voice. "Where's the slip?" he asked, his voice tight.

I looked at him, batting my eyes. "What, you don't like it?" I asked, my voice dripping with sweetness.

He swallowed hard, his gaze flicking down to my chest and back up to my face. "I like it a lot," he said, his voice a low growl. "But Momma won't."

Maverick stepped forward, holding up a pair of black cowboy boots. "They're your size," he said, his voice a little hoarse. He handed them to me, along with a pair of tall, striped Halloween socks.

I let out a real laugh, a sharp, happy sound. "You've got to be kidding me."

I sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled on the socks, then the boots. When I stood up, they were both just staring at me, their eyes dark and hungry. Maverick looked like he wanted to eat me alive, and Blythe looked like he was fighting a losing battle with himself. It was intoxicating. It was power. And I was going to use every last bit of it.

They led me to the edge of the midway, the chain leash held in Blythe's firm grip. It was a strange, thoughtful gesture, really. Walking me on a leash like I was some prized, dangerous pet. The midway was a graveyard of rust and decay. The rides were skeletal frames against the grey sky, their paint peeled and faded, their once-bright colors now just sad, muted memories. The game booths were empty, their prizes—stuffed animals with missing eyes and plastic rings—gathered dust on the shelves. It was a world that had died, but refused to be buried.

At the far end of the path stood the Ferris wheel, a massive, towering structure of rusted steel. It was a giant, broken circle, a monument to a joy that had long since faded. I was taking it all in, the sheer scale of the decay, when a scent hit me. It was sweet, delicious, the smell of spun sugar and something else. It was the smell of candy, and it was coming from somewhere in the middle of all this rot.

I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply, a small, involuntary smile touching my lips. I loved that smell. It was the one thing in this whole messed-up place that felt... right. I opened my eyes and looked at the boys. "So, where is she?" I asked, my voice a little softer than I intended. "And she's not going to jump out and scare me, is she?"

Maverick laughed, a low, rumbling sound. "Probably," he said, a wicked grin on his face. "But who knows?"

Blythe stepped forward, his expression serious. "We will let you off the chain," he said, his voice low and steady. "If you promise not to run."

I looked at him, then at Maverick, a slow, mischievous smile spreading across my face. "I'm only going to run to whatever candy I'm smelling."

Maverick pulled a cigarette from his pocket and lit it, the flame flaring. He took a long drag, then blew out a cloud of smoke. "Be our guest," he said, his voice a low, teasing drawl. "It's only Emory, ready for you."

Blythe stepped forward and unhooked the chain from my waist. He started wrapping it around his forearm, the metal links clinking as he coiled them up, holding the end in his hand and dragging the rest behind him as we walked. It was a strange, possessive gesture, and it made my skin tingle all over.

As we walked further in, I saw the booths better. The family had put them up themselves, but in a way that made my skin crawl. One had what looked like arms and legs hanging off it, but who could tell if they were fake. Another was all stuck up with antlers, bullets, and knives, like some kinda messed up art project. It was all just wrong.

I was trying to follow that sweet smell, the one that promised something good in all this mess. I turned a corner and saw it. Tucked back in a little shack, there were lights coming from the windows, but they weren't bright. They were faded-out pink and blue, like old candy, making the place feel sick. The trees around it grew together, their branches making a dark tunnel right to the door.

I looked at the boys, my eyebrows raised. They both just nodded at the shack, telling me to go on in. I took a deep breath, the sweet smell of candy mixing with the damp smell of the tunnel, and headed for the door.

As I walked in, a faint music started playing, like it was coming from a music box. It was the same kind Lacey had when we were younger, the one with the beautiful ballerina that spun around and around. I used to steal that box from her room at night. I would wind it up and hide under my covers, watching that little dancer in the dark, and pretend I was her, twirling and floating away from it all. I loved to dance, but my step-daddy, he would always catch me. He would tell me to knock it off, that only whores danced like that.

My eyes adjusted to the dim light. The faded pink and blue glow was coming from a booth right in front of me, and behind the counter was a machine, swirling up a big cloud of pink cotton candy. And behind the counter was Emory. Her dark hair was still in those two braids, and her face was painted up like a creepy clown doll, all white skin with red circles on her cheeks and a black, smiling mouth that did not move right. She was wearing a grey, old-timey dress, the kind you see in old photographs.

She tilted her head just like she did outside, that same unnatural angle, and her painted-on smile got wider. "Rory!" she yelled, her voice high and chirpy. "I am so happy to finally meet you!"

As we stepped all the way in, the boys went to the other end of the shack. They sat down on a couple of old barrels, but it was not just barrels. They were surrounded by tall spikes, the kind you would see on a fence, only these had circus designs painted on them. There were faded red and white stripes, and swirling patterns in faded blues and yellows, all chipped and peeling. And on top of every single spike was a doll's head, all of them staring right at me.

I looked back at Emory. She had stopped making the cotton candy and was grabbing something from beside the counter. I moved forward, a small, cautious smile on my face. I did not know her yet, did not know what would set her off or make her happy. "What are you doing?" I asked, my voice a little too high. "Still making cotton candy?"

Emory giggled, a sound like tiny bells breaking. She picked up a different doll this time. This one was a creepy little girl doll with blond hair, dressed in a Victorian-looking frock with a bow in its hair. The hair was a little matted, like it had been played with a whole lot. "It's rotten candy," she said, her voice a sing-song whisper. "It's mine and Jesse's favorite."

"Who's Jesse?" I asked, my eyes flicking between the doll and her eerie face.

Emory lifted the doll up higher, like she was showing it to me. "Her," she said, pointing to the doll. Then she looked at me, her painted-on smile never changing. "Sorry I couldn't bring Annabelle. You scared her, so I left her at home."

I just stood there for a second, my mind trying to catch up. I scared a doll? A creepy doll? That did not even make sense. "What about the other person with you?" I asked, thinking of that tall, wrong shape I had seen in the fog. "The one I saw in the yard?"

Emory's face went even more still, the smile on it looking like it was carved from stone. "No one else was with me," she said, her voice flat, all the chirpy gone.

A cold feeling washed over me. "I saw someone," I said, my voice firm.

Emory giggled again, that same high, breaking sound. "Probably a Booger."

I slowly looked over at the boys. Maverick was smiling, a big, wide grin on his face, like this was the best show he had seen all day. Blythe was just shaking his head, a look of pure exhaustion on his face. I'm not even gonna ask, I thought.