Page 9 of The Knucklebone Brothers

I was alone. Chained to a bed in a cage in the middle of the woods. And I had a feeling my beauty rest was going to be anything but peaceful.

The only light was the single, flickering oil lamp on a shelf across the way, casting long, dancing shadows that made the jars of oddities on the walls seem to move. I lay there, chained to the bed, my heart a frantic drum against my ribs, but my mind was already working, already puttin’ the pieces together.

A circus wagon. Up this high on the mountain. There was only one family that fit that description. The Knucklebones. Everyone in Mercy Ridge knew the stories about them, the whispers that they were inbred, strange, and best left alone. People said they lived like hermits on their family's old property, surrounded by the rusted-out remains of the carnival their grandparents used to run. I always figured it was just talk, scary stories to keep kids from wandering too far into the woods. Looks like the stories were true.

My eyes adjusted to the dim light, and I stared at the walls of the wagon. The wallpaper was a faded, peeling floral pattern, but it wasn't the flowers I was looking at. I could see faint lines underneath, the ghost of another design. It looked like stripes, maybe red and white, like an old circus tent. They'd just papered over it, trying to cover up what this place used to be.

I shifted, the cold metal of the cuffs digging into my wrists. I tested them, pulling gently, but they were solid. No give. I wasn't getting out of these tonight.

"Alright, Rory," I whispered to myself, my voice a raw, raspy thing in the quiet. "Just be left alone tonight. Just get through the night."

I forced my breathing to slow down, to focus. I couldn't do anything now, not chained up in the dark. But in the mornin’... in the mornin’, they'd have to open this cage. They'd have to take these cuffs off. I'd have a chance to really look around, to see what I was up against. I saw some small, grimy windows near the ceiling of the wagon. Maybe I could see out of them in the daylight. Maybe I could figure out exactly where I was, how far from town, how far from help.

I closed my eyes, but I didn't sleep. I just listened to the silence, and I planned. They wanted a wildcat? I'd give them a goddamn tiger. And I'd make sure they regretted ever bringing me home.

I don't remember falling asleep, but I must have. I woke up with a stiff neck and a sour taste in my mouth. The pillow under my head was lumpy and smelled of dust and mildew, and the blanket they'd thrown over me was scratchy, like wool made of sandpaper. I sighed, a sound of pure frustration, and kicked the damn thing off my feet.

That's when I heard it. Footsteps. Heavy, deliberate footsteps crunching on the ground outside, getting closer.

I tried to sit up, to prepare myself, but the chains pulled taut, pinning me to the bed. I could barely lift my head. The wagon door creaked open, and a flood of gray morning light poured in, making me squint. The Clown Mask stood in the doorway, a silhouette against the light. In his hand, he held a large glass Mason jar filled with water.

He left the main door open as he approached the cage, the daylight illuminatin’ the space in a way the oil lamp couldn't. It was worse in the light. I could see the grime, the rust, the sheer, uncleanliness of it all. He unlocked the cage door with a small key and stepped inside, the jar of water sloshing in his hand.

"Mornin', sleepyhead," he chirped, his voice way too cheerful. "How'd you sleep? Dream of any little birdies?"

I glared at him, my voice hoarse. "Like a goddamn princess in a five-star hotel."

He chuckled, a low, amused sound. "Well, ain't you just a ray of sunshine." He set the jar down on a small, rickety table near the bed.

"This pillow is uncomfortable," I snapped, my anger rising. "And the blanket is scratchy! And I can't move."

He tilted his head, his painted grin seeming to mock me. "Well, see, here's the thing, Aurora. Freedom is somethin' you gotta earn. You did good last night. You slept like a good girl. So, you get a little reward."

He pulled another key from his pocket and leaned over me, his body blocking the light. I flinched as he unlocked first one cuff, then the other. My arms fell to my sides, tingling as the blood rushed back into them. He loosened the chains from the headboard, giving me enough slack to move around the small cage. But he didn't keep the cuffs off. He just refastened them, one around each wrist, with the long chains dangling between them and the bed frame. I was still tethered, still his property, but now I could at least sit up.

"We'll get you some new bedding," he said, his voice still sickeningly sweet. "But here's some water for now."

He pushed the jar toward me. I didn't hesitate. I grabbed it with both hands and chugged it, the cool liquid a blessed relief against my dry, raw throat. I drank half of it in one go, water spilling down my chin and onto my shirt.

He just watched me, his head cocked, like he was observing a fascinatin’ new creature. When I was done, I set the jar down with a thud, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.

He stood up, a satisfied look in his posture. "There now," he said. "That's better." He turned and walked out of the cage, locking the door behind him. Then, without another word, he turned and left the wagon, leaving me alone in the sudden, stark silence, the door wide open to the day.

Chapter 4

I stared at the open wagon door, a rectangle of dull light cutting through the gloom. He left it open on purpose. It was a power move, a silent, mocking gesture. He knew I wouldn't scream. He knew nobody would hear me even if I did, not this deep in the Holler. It was just another way of saying, You're ours now. There's no escape.

I sighed, the sound swallowed by the thick silence. So, I waited.

Time stretched, thin and meaningless. I watched the dust motes dance in the beam of light from the door. I listened to the wind, to the creak of the wagon settling, to the frantic, useless thumping of my own heart. I tested the chains again, pulling on them, but they were just as unforgiving as before. I was a pet on a leash.

Finally, the silence became too much. My bladder was aching, a sharp, insistent pressure that I couldn't ignore.

"Hello!" I yelled, my voice hoarse and raspy. "I have to pee!"

Nothing.

"Hello!" I yelled again, louder this time, my voice echoing slightly in the small space. "I know you can hear me, you son of a bitch! I have to piss!"