Bonehouse, GlitterFrogs, & Other Stuff

By Keffy R.M. Kehrli

This digital chapbook collects four science fiction and fantasy short stories.

In "Bonehouse," a bounty hunter hired by families to evict their loved ones from their permanent digital lives. "And Never Mind the Watching Ones" follows a motley band of teenagers as they try to make sense of their lives and an ongoing amphibious alien invasion. "The Road, and the Valley, and the Beasts" is a brief window on an in-between place, somewhere on the journey to the world of the dead. Finally, the chapbook finishes off with "This is a Ghost Story," in which the ghosts of grunge never seem to fade out...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Keffy R.M. Kehrli
• Release date: Mar 5, 2019
• ISBN: 9781386239918

Book preview

Bonehouse

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Evictions are a messy business.

Muddy gold-brown sunlight filtered through the dust cloud that hung over downtown, putting tiger stripes of light and shadow in the air. Basalt gravel and desiccated eel grass crunched underfoot as I made my way down Holly Street at low tide. There was asphalt beneath it all, slowly crumbling and turning to beach before it washed out to sea.

There wasn’t much this close to the bay. The buildings used to be two or three story shops before the ground dropped and the water level rose. Now the bottom floors had been opened up to let the tide run past. In the shadows, I could see the remains of rooms—slimy brown mold-and-rot walls, broken toilets and tile; a thick tide sludge that smelled like petroleum and the deaths of a million fish glistened in the shade.

Another ten years, maybe, and there’d be nothing here anymore.

Far cry from how it’d been when I’d lived this side of the mountains. Things used to be green, then. Now the lowland forests were full of bleached ghost trees, dead from the saltwater drowning their roots. The buildings were brickwork, and where there might have been ivy clinging to the sides, a thin tracery of metal spidered over the walls. Even in this submerged part of town, there was enough ambient electricity in the air for a decent harvest system to make up for what they didn’t get from sun or tide.

I stopped near the end of the row, smelling the place I was looking for, even over the salt stench of the ocean. Disinfectant, too much of it, a citrus-tinged sickly scent. You could knock on a hundred abandoned doors if you wanted but I never needed to. I knew the smell of a bonehouse by heart.

I climbed up the ten feet of rickety wood stairs that were nailed to what had been the sill of the second-floor window. I didn’t like the stairs. Standing at the top, there wasn’t much to hang onto but a rotten banister that looked about ready to fall apart.

I knocked.

The owners let me stand out there a good few minutes, while the terns wheeled overhead and screamed.

When the door opened, a short white man with round glasses and lank greasy hair down to his shoulders squinted out at me. Evictionist, he said. I don’t got anybody here for you. Go find some other House to haunt.

The disinfectant smell was stronger, and the room was filled with a dim, flickering light. A woman in ripped jeans sat on a patched-together couch, dividing her attention between the wall-mounted screen and our conversation at the door.

You won’t mind if I check their chips, then, I said. I’m a good guy. You don’t got what I want, I’ll leave. Starting to lose my balance on the stairs, I didn’t want to go for that banister, figuring it would snap if I did, so I leaned forward and grabbed the door frame.

The man flinched like I was too close, so I smiled.

They’re all paid up through next year at least, he said through his teeth. I don’t have enough flow to return that much cash.

I snicked my tongue against my teeth, waiting.

The woman came over. She said, Let him in, Justin. Nobody ever gets the good side of an Evictionist. She shot me a look that was mostly poison with just a dash of hate. I’ll show him what he thinks he wants to see.

Justin growled a bit, under his breath, and let the door swing open. He bowed and gestured inside.

Thank you, I said, and I slammed my boots against the door frame, knocking off as much sand as I could. I kept my eyes on Justin, partways hoping he’d pull a knife. Americans.

We shook hands. Hers were rough as any bonehouse warden’s. Doctor Anna Petreus, she said.

The front room was cluttered, but not near as filthy as most of the places I’d seen. A few dirty dishes were stacked on the end-table, next to them a pair of cell phones. Petreus had been watching news coverage of the riots in Ottawa. Someone had uncovered evidence that the parliamentary elections had been rigged. Almost normal, that.

A wiry looking orange tabby came out from under the coffee table and rubbed himself on my leg. Petreus gave me a funny look when I bent to pick up the cat. He wrapped his front legs around my neck and buried his nose in my ear, purring loud enough to wake the dead.

Petreus led me down the hallway to a dark room. The only light came from a cluster of monitors, each one hooked up to a different guest. The monitors showed vital signs. Steady heartbeats, hormones at the right levels, vitamins to stave off serious illness, everything they needed to live except reality.

Seven hospital beds full of bones and skin.

I’d never seen so many in such a small house. I wondered if it was a coastal thing, or if they’d come in as a group. The boy closest to me twitched while he net-dreamed. He’d been under for a while. They get like that, the bones. They’ll twitch all around even after the muscles have gone. The only thing they’ve got left that works is their brain.

You must be turning a hefty profit out here, I said. I put the cat down so I could fumble for my cell phone. Not having to pay for your electricity.

We’re low-end, Dr. Petreus said, she scratched the back of her neck and then inspected her nails in the light from one of the vitals displays. None of these kids paid all that much per month when we plugged them in. We get by, but...

I grunted a response. Winding around my legs,