Dem Dry Bones

By Kendra Hadnott

“The lump in my throat returns all over again when I open my door to go to the kitchen. Feeding time this week makes me especially nervous. Had I not seen it with my own eyes at the end of stage three of the virus, I wouldn’t believe that it even needed to be separated from us. But I’ve seen its dilated pupils—large, dark eyes with red where white is supposed to be. I’ve watched it waste away before my eyes. Transform from a tall muscular man to a man so gaunt that his joints push through his skin.”

Sarah goes from a normal child to one who tremors at the thought of It's feeding time. She's afraid to leave her house, but even more afraid to stay in it. But when the truth about It surfaces, Sarah is forced to conquer her fears and face the bare bones facts:

1. It wants her dead.

2. It will do anything to feel the firm, dry texture of her bones in between its teeth—even if that means taking her alive.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Miles Way Press
• Release date: Oct 2, 2016
• ISBN: 9781536526615

Kendra Hadnott

Kendra Hadnott is the author of the award-winning sci-fi novel, Death Leaders. For fun, she likes to bury her face in the thick, yellowed pages of a good book or the electronic glow of her e-reader. Dem Dry Bones is the first of her short stories to be published independently. 

Book preview

AFTER

Steel cages, the nanny says as she crumples up a pile of sheets and throws them in the bedroom closet, are meant to hold monsters. It’ll be kept in the basement, and that’s that. There’s nothing me or anybody else can do. A knot forms in my stomach as I stand in the doorway, gripping the wooden frame. I knew her and her stupid steel box were trouble from the moment she waddled in here.

Just like that? I ask her. A thick tension builds in my chest and rises to my throat. Don’t cry, I tell myself. You are not weak. Why would you do that? Why just go along with all of this? I ask. Isn’t it bad enough that we don’t have our parents anymore? Can’t you at least try to help or do something? On one accord, I know she’s telling the truth. It’s dangerous at this point. It can’t stay uncontained any longer. But I don’t want the truth to be real.

The nanny stops restocking the linen and stares blankly at me. For a second, I think she might pop me in my mouth like Mama used to, but I’m ready for her. You don’t get it, do you? she asks me.

Get what?

A couple strands from her loose, grey bun fall to her shoulders. The lines around her eyes tighten when she