Page 82 of The Knucklebone Brothers

Blythe's voice broke through my thoughts, low and steady. "This is your own space, Rory." He gestured around the small trailer, at the table, the wood, the creepy little baby bed. "We all have our own trailers. But we still will demand you sleep with us often."

He paused, his eyes meetin' mine, a flicker of somethin' soft and uncertain in their depths. "But here's your own space anyway."

I didn't know how to respond. I'd never had a space of my own. I'd never had a warm home place. I'd had a room in a house where I was a ghost, a burden, a target. I'd had a cot in an institution where I was a number, a case study, a problem to be managed. But this... this was a home. This was a place that was mine. A place where I could be alone, if I wanted to be. A place where I could breathe.

I looked at them, at their faces, at their eyes, and I felt a lump form in my throat. I couldn't speak. I couldn't find the words. So I just nodded, a small, jerky motion, and hoped they understood. I hoped they understood that this was more than a gift. It was a lifeline. And I was drownin' in it.

Chapter 32

The last of the day's light dyin' behind the mountains, paintin' the sky in streaks of bruised purple and deep orange. We were standin' at the edge of the midway, the skeletal frames of the rides and games loomin' over us like the bones of some long-dead beast. It felt different out here, away from the trailer. More exposed. More... haunted.

I looked at them, at their faces, their eyes still holdin' the warmth of the trailer, and a strange, reckless impulse took hold. "Can you... can you turn the lights on?" I asked, my voice a little shaky, a little unsure. I wanted to see it. I wanted to see what it looked like when it was alive.

Maverick's face lit up, a wild, unhinged grin spreadin' across his features. "Yeah!" he whooped, his voice a sharp, excited bark in the quiet evenin'. "Let's light this bitch up!"

He took off, his long legs eatin' up the distance to the old generator, a hulkin' beast of rust and oil that sat at the edge of the woods. He gave it a hard kick, then another, the sound of his boot against the metal a sharp, angry clang. The engine sputtered, then roared to life, a low, guttural rumble that seemed to shake the very ground beneath our feet.

And then, the midway came alive.

The lights flickered on, one by one, a cascade of sickly yellow and blood-red bulbs. The eerie music kicked on and it seemed to echo from another time, another place. It was beautiful and terrifying all at once, a ghostly carnival floatin' in the dark, a place where the dead could come out and play. And I was standin' right in the middle of it, my heart poundin' in my chest, a mix of fear and a strange, exhilaratin' joy.

I walked slowly, my boots crunchin' on the fallen leaves, my fingers trailin' along the edges of the booths. The wood was rough under my touch, coated in a thick layer of dust and spiderwebs, some places softened by patches of green moss. It was like I was touchin' time itself, feelin' the past surge through my fingertips. I could almost hear the phantom laughter of children, the barkers' calls, the distant screams. It was all here, soaked into the very wood of this place.

Then I saw it. A flicker of movement at the edge of the woods, a dark, wiry shape dartin' between the trees. The creature from the woods. But this time, I wasn't scared. I felt a strange sense of recognition, a kinship with the wild, untamed thing. It was a part of this place, and so was I.

I looked back at the boys. They were standin' there, their bodies still, their eyes locked on me. Maverick was grinnin', a wide, wicked thing, his eyes dancin' in the strange, flickerin' light. Blythe's face was a mask of desire, his eyes dark and hungry, his gaze a physical thing that seemed to touch me, to claim me. They were watchin' me, their new bride, their Knucklebone girl, as I moved through their world, a ghost in their machine.

I stood there, the midway lights flickerin' above me like the dying breaths of a dying star, and I felt somethin' deep inside me stir. It wasn't just the unearthly energy of the place, though that was strong enough to make my skin prickle. It was them.

I looked down at my hands, the ones that had just touched the cold, dead wood of the past, and I felt a sudden, desperate need to touch something warm. Something alive. Something that would burn. I wanted to feel the heat of their bodies, the rough press of their skin against mine. I wanted to be taken. I wanted to be ripped apart, piece by piece, something feral, something theirs.

The energy of the holler was buzzin' through my veins, a dark, electric current that made my knees weak. I felt like a wild animal, trapped in a cage, aching to be released. I wanted to be feral. I wanted to take charge. I wanted to be the queen of this place, and I wanted my husbands to be the ones to break me, to own me, to ruin me. And I wanted to feel it all, the pain, the pleasure, the blood, the sweat. I wanted to be torn apart by them, and I wanted to be whole again, only because they had put me back together.

I walked toward them, my hips swayin' with a new, predatory grace, a dark, dangerous rhythm.

I marched to them, my eyes locked on theirs. I didn't speak. I just leaned in, my tongue darting out to lick a long, slow stripe across Maverick's cheek, tastein' the salt and the sweat, and then I did the same to Blythe, pressin' my lips to the rough stubble on his jaw. A low, rumblin' moan vibrated in my chest, a sound that was half animal, half woman. I pulled back, a wicked, satisfied smirk playin' on my lips, and turned my back on them, walkin' away.

I started to strip as I walked, my movements slow, a tease that was born of confidence. I kicked off my boots, the heavy leather clatterin' on the ground, then I shimmied out of the cardigan Amos had given me, the wool fallin' to the ground in a pile of green. Next came my shirt, the buttons poppin' open one by one, revealin' the pale skin of my back, the faint, angry scars of the past. And then I reached for the waistband of my pants, my fingers hookin' into them, and I pushed them down, stepping out of them, leaving me bare and exposed.

I kept walkin', my bare feet sinkin' into the dirt and leaves, my body glistenin' in the dim, flickerin' light of the midway. I was headin' for the Ferris wheel, the skeletal structure loomin' in the distance like a giant, metal spider waiting for its prey. I knew they were followin'. I could feel their eyes burnin' into my back, feelin' the heat of their gaze, a heavy, suffocatin' weight that made my skin prickle. I could hear them shiftin' their weight, the heavy thud of their boots on the ground.

I put up my finger, my hand shaking slightly with anticipation, and I waved it back and forth, a silent command. No. Don't come here. Don't touch me. Let me watch you tense up. Let me see the restraint in your eyes. I wanted them to want me so bad they could taste it. I wanted to see the struggle in their faces, the battle between their animal instincts and their need to control themselves. I wanted to see them break.

I looked over my shoulder, my eyes wild and feral. They stopped, their bodies tense, their chests heavin' with effort. They were lookin' at me like they wanted to tear me apart, to pin me to the ground and take me right then and there. Their eyes were dark, their pupils blown wide. They were strugglin' to hold back. And I loved it. I loved every second of it.

As I stood there, a naked, wild thing under the eerie glow of the midway, I saw it. Faint lights flickerin' through the trees, further back, deeper into the woods. They weren't the steady, sickly yellow of the midway lights. These were softer, more ethereal, dancin' and swayin' like they were bein' carried by unseen hands. It looked like another ride, a secret part of the carnival that only came out when the world was asleep.

I looked back at the boys, a slow, wicked smile spreadin' across my face. I laughed, a sound that was half a giggle, half somethin' feral and untamed. I took off runnin', my bare feet poundin' against the cold, hard ground, my body a blur of skin and wild energy. I was a creature of the night, a spirit of the holler.

I burst through the treeline, the branches snatchin' at my bare skin, leavin' thin, red welts in their wake. And then I saw it. The carousel.

It wasn't like the ones in the storybooks. This was a thing of nightmares. The music that drifted from it was warped. The notes stretched and distorted, like it was bein' played through a broken music box and then slowed down to an eerie crawl. The whole scene felt like it was breathin'.

And the horses... God, the horses. They were wrong. They weren't the pretty, painted ponies I'd seen before. These were carved from dark wood, their eyes deep, hollow pits that seemed to follow me as I moved. Their expressions were frozen in silent screams, their mouths agape, their teeth bared in a way that was too real. Some of them had extra legs, twisted and bent at unnatural angles. Others had human hands instead of hooves, their long, skeletal fingers reachin' for somethin' I couldn't see. Their paint was chipped and faded, revealin' the dark, splintery wood beneath, and in places, it looked like they were bleedin', a dark, reddish-brown stain seepin' from the cracks in their skin. They looked alive. They looked like they were waitin' for somethin'. Or someone.

I stood there before the carousel. I felt somethin' deep in my gut twist. It was beautiful, in a terrible, haunting way. I reached out, my fingers trembling slightly, and traced the jawline of the nearest horse. The wood was cold, smooth, and covered in a layer of grime and dried sap. I ran my finger along the lip, following the curve of the mouth, and felt the ridges of the teeth.

They were human teeth. Not just bones, but actual teeth—molars, canines, all filed down to sharp, needle-like points. They were yellowed and stained with age, but they were unmistakably real. I could feel the ridges of the gum line where the teeth had been pulled. I looked closer, my eyes wide, and realized they were all filed down, sharp and predatory, like the teeth of some wild beast.