The House That Ate Bone

By Natasha Danzig

After a 15-year sentence in a maximum security facility, Chantal Rathbone is released on condition that she accept accommodation arranged by the prison’s governing body.

Elated to be free, she accepts custody of a glorious historical thatch house in the Irish countryside. But she is aware that nothing is free, being a seasoned criminal. The house comes with a gruesome history that challenges Chantal’s psyche, her resilience and her fears, when she discovers human bones in the thatching of the house.

Her abilities are tested when she is plummeted into a tangible world of intangible forces. Suddenly Chantal ‘Bone’ Rathbone is confronted by things beyond history, mythology and perception and she must decide whether she would elect to fight evil - or rule it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: May 9, 2019
• ISBN: 9780359649716

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The House That Ate Bone

THE HOUSE THAT ATE BONE

~The Devil is generous when the menu is right~

Natasha Danzig

Copyright © 2018 Natasha Danzig

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior permission of the copyright owner.

ISBN 978-0-359-64971-6

THANKS:

For Themis, for Miss Lorna (my house) and for

Lady Katherine of the Labyrinth.

And thanks to:

Daemonia Nymphe

Rotting Christ

Candlemass

And Vagelis Aealo for my ‘Greek lessons’

Part I

Chapter 1 – Beast of Bannow

Liam, ‘tis here! Mary shrieked.

Desperately, she tried to rouse her husband from his deep sleep, into which he had ventured not even two hours. Holding the lantern above his face, Mary shook him furiously until finally, Liam Gleeson opened his eyes reluctantly. Hovering over him, he regarded the twisted countenance of his hysterical wife. She looked rather diabolical in the yellow shift of the swinging lantern that provoked the black shadows of her face to morph her features.

With a yelp of terror from his barely woken state, Liam recoiled at the sight of her.

What in God’s name? he shouted. Mary! You will be the death of me!

Never you mind that! she wailed, constantly glancing back over her shoulder. By all things holy, please hurry! It is here! It has come! You have to kill it, Liam! In God’s name, you have to kill it! Her frightened face bowed. Again.

Liam jumped out of bed and pulled on his trousers, while outside he could hear the thing breaking the trees. The children crept carefully into their parent’s bedroom. Three in number, they ranged in age – Laura was thirteen, her brother John was eleven and young Emily was eight. Dressed in their white night frocks, the children wept quietly as they clung to each other.

Come in, come in, their mother instructed, cowering in the corner.

Are you going out there, Da? Laura asked her father, as the thunder rumbled outside.

Aye, he answered as he secured the brown braces of his pants over his shoulders. But I need you all to protect your mother, you hear?

As Liam grabbed his leather saddlebag, he sank to his haunches to kiss the children. For his wife he kept a special kiss, one on the lips, one that lingered. Outside, the thing was creeping, its unmistakable stench permeating through the slits of askew windowpanes and doorframes.

It is crushing the alders like twigs! Liam sneered as he collected his boots from the shelf. My God, how long have they been feeding it to reach this size?

Just kill it, Da! John beseeched from his mother’s arms.

I shall, my boy, if it is the last thing I do! Liam promised. The forty-two year old father took the lantern from his wife, leaving his family in the thick security of darkness, where their closeness would be their solace.

When he slipped out of his home through the small exterior pantry door, Liam heard the voices of neighbouring farmers in pursuit of the so-called Beast of Bannow. The wind was frigid on his face and his hands burned under the onslaught of the winter temperature, but he had to keep his gloves off. As the sharpshooter of the militia group assembled by the local parish master, Liam Gleeson had to keep his hands bare and his trigger finger unfaltering.

Put it out, Liam! he heard a hard whisper from a stumbling acquaintance, and he promptly doused the light. The men moved without lanterns, as not to betray their position, neglecting the fact that the thing they were chasing could track them without vision or sound. In fact, it needed nothing in the form of senses to find them, but of course, the human beings under its terror had no knowledge of its functions.

Come on, lads, grunted Aiden Lochley, local patriarch, and a man who had lost plenty of livestock to the beast they could not catch. If we don’t get him tonight, he will have our families next! He is over by the brook a few yards from Liam’s fence. We must move in on him in a circle, boys.

Are you sure a bullet will kill him? I am more for fire. The last time we got rid of him, we set him on fire, remember? Thirty years back in Kilkenny? Aiden’s brother-in-law suggested.

Aye! Aiden exclaimed in a whisper. And now here he is again. Back to ravage every man, woman, child, animal…jaysus, every living thing in the country. Fire did not work, did it?

The men had to concede that old Aiden had a valid point. This time they would send slugs of lead into the hideous thing. Unfortunately, none of them knew what it looked like, apart from the description given by Aiden and his brother-in-law – that it was a rodent.

So we are looking for a big rat? one of the farmers asked under his breath. You said it is a rat as big as a horse.

I said no such thing, Julian, Aiden hissed at the uncertain farmer. I said that it looked like a rodent, but it had hooves like a horse…somewhere. I could hear hooves.

Some of the men, clutching at their weapons, started to doubt Aiden’s sanity right there. Much as the old man knew more about the diabolical predator, his description of it was simply too preposterous. Most of the men of the militia were Catholic, and what Aiden illustrated to them was more likely from some obscure apocryphal text or a painting on the walls of a fallen temple.

Even with all their questions to elucidate the probable origin of Aiden’s confusing explanation, the men had no time for inquisition now. Whatever the thing resembled mattered not, because they could hear it trot through the vast forest of birch, alder and oaks not more than a stone’s throw from where they huddled. By the sound of it, it was enormous, but the lack of light rendered them blind to its exact location.

Liam, move up the hillock while we distract it, Aiden commanded. Once you are up there, sound out just before you shoot and we will scarper, alright?

Up the south side? Liam asked, but he knew where to go. He only asked the question in an effort to stall a bit, catching his breath and gathering his courage.

Go, for Christ’s sake! one of the older farmers snapped at Liam. The longer you take the closer it gets to your house. It can smell your children.

The latter had the desired effect on the novice hunter with the sharp eye for shooting. He rushed off without a second thought and made for the canopy of talon-like branches that led up to the ridge that overlooked his immediate grounds. Clumsily, he stumbled in haste, fearing for his family’s safety.

Just kill it, Da!

His son’s imploring reverberated inside his mind as his feet obliterated the understory of the dry trees. Steep and perilous, the slant punished his leg muscles as he scurried upward over thorns and loose rocks he could not see in the blackness. When Liam reached the crest of the hillock, he tried to better his eyesight by keeping his eyes closed for short intervals before opening them. Still, even by ear, he could not distinguish between the movement of the beast and that of his comrades. He could not call out for them to ascertain their positions, as it would endanger them.

They started crying out for the creature to follow them, and the seven-man militia of farmers and blacksmiths pulled together in a semi-circle to lure it out. What occurred to Liam was how the predator made no sound. At least, if it roared or shrieked he could lock his barrel on it by sound. Surely, a rodent, or a horse, for that matter, would have cried out in threat or some way to establish its territory, but only the breaking branches told of this animal’s movement.

Liam! Do you see it? a voice cried from the sporadic calls and taunts of the men. Shoot! Just shoot! It is right on us!

Liam’s lips quivered, but it was not the cold that provoked them. He was caught in the snare of a dreadful decision: to shoot at what he thought was the beast and hit his companions, or hold his fire to avoid killing men and risk them falling victim to the thing.

Liam! Shoot! Now! another man screamed. An ensemble of desperate cries emanated from the brook. Where is he? Shoot, in the name of God! Shoot! Aiden’s yelp pierced Liam’s ears.

He locked on to nothing, pointing into oblivion as his eyes welled with tears. I c-can…not, he whimpered, trying to shout it. I cannot see it! his words drowned in the screams of the men in the dark. They cried out for their god, only to have their prayers halted abruptly. Those who were left tried to run, but the terrain was draped in darkness, wet with drizzle under the creeping thunder above.

Julian, the man who questioned the rodent theory, found himself within inches of the putrid thing when he stepped into a foxhole. He could not flee his fate on broken legs, but he turned on his back to shoot into the immediate vicinity for good measure. Having heard most of the others fall silent, Julia screamed, Liam Gleeson! Shoot the godless shadow! Just, for God’s sake, just shoot!

Liam wept bitterly, trying to find the shadow in the embrace of darkness. Finally, he knew that he had to shoot, regardless of the location of the thing. Two rounds sounded off into the massive shadow that was gradually swallowing Julian’s curled frame. From afar, another three shots echoed courtesy of Lima Gleeson, but all the sharpshooter could hear under the clap of gunpowder was the horror of men. Men he had known.

Beneath his vantage point in the dark, the sound of screams accompanied the crunch of bone and branch, from the lower drop of the hillock’s foot. Liam started shaking uncontrollably, making sure to hold on to his weapon while he desperately tried to compose himself. His nose burned as the inadvertent tears came. Under his grasp, the steel of the rifle felt like flesh, cold flesh, like that of the men he came out with to hunt the predator that had been ravaging man and beast alike for the past months.

God forgive me! he sobbed, his knees giving way under him. Oh Jesus, forgive me! I could not save them! I could not see! I still…cannot see it. It was then that Liam realized that the cracking of trees had ceased. At once, he stopped wailing to listen. Straining his ears, he listened for the Beast of Bannow to keep clear of it.

Chapter 2 – The Apostate

For a small eternity, Liam Gleeson sat on the icy cold mud and brush of the hill. He was terrified, too frightened to move, but he knew if he did not return home soon, the thing would return to kill his family. It had been killing several families in their entirety over a single night each, the grotesque tracks by which Aiden and his men had been tracking it. Now it had come to the Gleeson homestead and Liam was the only thing left between his beloved family and the menace.

Several minutes had elapsed where no sound came anymore, but Liam was still reluctant. Where was it? Why had it gone silent so suddenly, so effectively? How could such a large creature, one that could obliterate grown trees, disappear so easily?

Liam! he heard at once. It was a man’s call, choking and hoarse. Liam, if you…are still…Liam, h-help.

Aiden! he exclaimed. Without another thought, he jumped to his feet. If there could be even one man still alive, he would be worth rescuing, even if Liam had to admit that it was his hesitation that had brought their demise. Blindly, he staggered down the slant of the hillock, staying upright only by the blessing of luck, until his feet fell hard into the freezing water of the brook. By the sensations of the terrain under his racing feet, he determined his location, and he knew to veer slightly left to find the other farmers of the local militia.

Scampering to make it to the beckoning patriarch, Liam stumbled over the dead bodies of the men. A hardened man who had lived through famine, war and deadly illness, Liam began to weep as his feet slipped in the innards of fathers, brothers and husbands who would never see their families again. Aiden’s voice was faltering, calling out to the sole survivor with great urgency.

Liam, please, come, he panted laboriously. Liam?

I am coming, Aiden, Liam answered in a loud whisper, trying to keep his vice as low as possible, should the creature still tarry among them. His free hand reached out to the surface of the ground, while the other held the weapon by his side. Wetness beyond that of rain drenched the grass and mud, some of the still steaming flesh ballooning through his fingers.

Oh Christ, what have I done? he shrieked quietly, his voice breaking at the horror of his mistake. Aiden could hardly speak now, soon to expire, by the sound of it. Liam finally heard his wheezing chest close enough and he fell to his knees next to the patriarch. I am here, Aiden. I am here.

He sat in the dark, smelling the atrocious stench of the thing on them all, while he listened for Aiden’s words. His hand felt around to where the old man’s head was. Liam found Aiden’s feathery hair and stroked the soft, wet strands as he apologized. Aiden, my God, I am so sorry. I did not want to fire in case I hit some of the men.

I understand, son, Aiden moaned from the oblivion of the mature night. But who is going to take care of the widows now?

Liam sobbed, snorting and wiping snot off with his sleeve. I know, Aiden. I will do my best…

Best? How is that going to help them? You can hardly take care of your own family, the old man bemoaned the situation.

I — I don’t know, Liam retorted quickly. What do I do? Tell me, Aiden, please. What can I do?

Son, I am afraid you have a lot on your plate from now on, Aiden groaned. You will have to resort to extremes to make good on the slaughter of these men. After all, this is your doing.

Liam wailed as softly as he could, but his sorrow was unbearable. The thought of his own wife and children left to fend for themselves, to have to bury his ravaged body and make their way without his strength and guidance, was devastating. The guilt of his actions, the lack of fortitude he had displayed that caused this carnage, weighed like a leaden yoke on him. He hated Aiden for saying it all so explicitly, but the old man was right. It was Liam’s fault. There was no escaping his responsibility for their deaths. If only Aiden’s dying words were not this harsh.

I know it is my fault! he yelped, for the moment uncaring for the lurking thing. Jaysus, I know. I know! He listened for breaking branches, just in case the beast was still in the vicinity, but the night was quiet, save for the rustling tall grasses under the whimper of the wind. Aiden? Are you still there? he whispered.

Aye, came the forced answer.

What do I do to redeem myself for this? How do I kill this thing? The thing with the hooves? he begged for advice.

You cannot kill it, son, Aiden answered lucidly. All you can do is to appease it.

Appease it? Liam cried in disbelief at the chieftain who had led them on the hunt. Are you daft? Serve a thing that destroys entire counties just to keep it from rearing up? I shall not. I serve the Almighty alone! Tell me what it wants and I will destroy it.

Listen to me, Liam, Aiden coughed. You have to appease it. By all measures do so.

Why? Liam asked.

Because it is the devil, the old man said, his words like prodding dagger points jabbing at Liam’s very soul. It is the devil of the etchings, the scriptures.

The Bible? Liam frowned. He reckoned that the overly religious Catholic was talking gibberish on the verge of his death.

Naw, no son, Aiden dismissed the thought. Older. Much, much older than the Bible. Older than religion. The etchings of ancient Rome, of Greece, those depictions of the devil. The patriarch’s throat rattled as his speech came slower under the strain of impeding death. You have to give it flesh, son. Make an altar, appease the beast, or your own family will fall to its mouth. Marrow should suffice for longer. It relishes marrow!

I am sorry, Aiden, but you are raving, Liam tried to find some rationality in the cryptic absurdity, even just for his own sanity’s sake. You are telling me to build some temple for the devil and feed it bone marrow and flesh? By all things holy…

A hand grasped his forearm with firm resolve and Aiden’s voice forced a robust attempt. Not holy. Unholy, Liam. We have been appeasing it for years to stay away, but soon after the brunt of the famine, we finally ran out of corpses. It is restless, because it wants living human bones, not the bones of cadavers and animals.

Liam fell back on his ass, his heart thundering against the inside of his ribcage. He knew the voice of Aiden, but what the patriarch told him was simply uncharacteristic and perverse. It was virtually impossible to fathom, not only that the former clergyman would even prescribe to such things, but that he was admitting to something as grisly as corpse bothering.

Liam, Aiden’s voice rasped, looking for the farmer’s audience, but Liam felt nauseated and did not wish to entertain the dying man any longer. Liam, you owe me! Listen, for the sake of your family.

Speak, Liam answered, feeling the bile well up in his gullet. Hurry.

Sunrise would come soon, and he did not want the day birds to find the militiamen’s scattered remains. He had to make haste to collect them all before the morning would grow strong.

Just do what you must. We have run out of meat and we have run out of people. The only people left are the families of these men. I know you understand the order I give you, Aiden instructed.

You cannot! You cannot expect me to do such a thing! Liam protested. The faint light of birthing morning lined the horizon under an already cloud-darkened sky. He could hardly see yet, therefore he could not discern Aiden’s features as the patriarch spoke his awful wish.

If not their families, then the flesh of your own! Aiden spat angrily.

The threat was overwhelming and surreal in the mind and heart of the religious farmer, but he was guilty, this was true, of causing the slaughter. He was obliged to obey. Crying with confusion and abhorrence at the alternative, Liam cast his eyes up to the rapidly lightening heavens. When he looked down at Aiden, he realized that all that was left of the old man was his scalp and parts of his face. His torso had been detached from his neck and lay a few yards off.

WHAT? Liam shrieked, as the cool morning light shared the awful truth with him. His eyes, drenched in tears of madness, stretched wide as his mouth fell open in horror. Aiden? he summoned for no logical reason but to maintain his sanity. He knew at once that he had not been conversing with Aiden at all. A short distance away, Liam heard the wagging of supple stems of an elderberry bush that alerted him to possible danger.

He swung around, both shaking hands gripping his rifle. What he saw, though, rendered his grasp impotent. A pair of glinting eyes leered at him from the shadow of the ample elder brush. Liam’s heart stopped. The thing was smiling at him from its refuge, its hands fidgeting between its hairy legs. Hooves peeked from the grass under the brush as Liam’s unwilling eyes begged to regard the thing’s horned crown. It perched in the thickness, obscuring itself, but there was no mistaking that voice – eloquent and cogent.

Remember, Liam, it said, their families…or the flesh of your own. Uphold my temple or I will keep you alive four-and-ninety years more to suffer the sight of your descendants’ feeding on human flesh.

Liam crossed himself, as any man of God would. Pointing to Liam’s double-story thatched house, the mysterious devil asserted its desired territory.  Liam’s chest heaved as his bladder failed him. His rifle fell to his side. The shock of what he saw was too much for his mind to process, and he lost consciousness, falling to the blood-soaked wetness of the grass to the fading cackle of his new god.

On 10 November 1848, Liam Gleeson reluctantly became the high priest of guilt, the disciple of dissidence.

Part II

Chapter 3 – Infirmary Guest

Present Day – Surrey, United Kingdom

Entitled to my roadkill!

The rain soaked the grey walls of Wickam Maximum Security Facility in Surrey, painting the rough exterior with blackened streaks that gave Chantal the impression that they were weeping. It was a befitting metaphor, as she glared through eyes drenched in tears. Her face throbbed under her right eye and on the same side, her shoulder burned from the fresh injury.

Come on, Rathbone, she heard the nurse say, sit down so I can reset that rotator cuff problem again. Good God, if you keep dislocating your shoulder like this you are in danger of losing the use of your arm completely.

Chantal Rathbone laboured to set her ass on the cold examination table with only one arm for support while the correctional nurse inverted the Valium ampule onto the hypodermic needle to sedate the prisoner. Chantal’s swollen cheek felt like the Spalding headgear she used to wear while training during her short stint in Mixed Martial Arts.

I cannot believe you would get into this kind of crap, Rathbone, so close to your bloody release date. I thought you were smarter than this, Nurse Alison preached. Entitled to my roadkill? Christ, you have trademarked that slogan in this place by now.

Was I supposed to let her kill Holly, then? Chantal retorted blankly, taking the ice pack from Nurse Alison to press against her bruised face. I have never liked bullies.

So you became one, the nurse reasoned sarcastically. Well done.

Nurse Alison tied off Chantal’s arm and started the dreaded tapping on her cold skin to find a vein. The latter always vexed her intensely, which was one of the reasons Chantal had never taken to heroin. The robust nurse, fifty-five years old and as tough as nails, leered at Chantal with her dark blue eyes.

You don’t like bullies, eh? But you act like a common schoolyard bully, she sighed, and at your age.

My age? Chantal scowled. I did not realize that kicking someone’s ass for being a twat had an age limit.

You are a grown, and might I add, intelligent, woman, Rathbone. Most women your age are ripe in life and well adjusted, Nurse Alison lectured as she slipped the hypodermic into the pulsing vein.

What, like you? Chantal hissed sarcastically. Her smirk was mean, because she knew a little bit about Alison Jerry’s past. Their eyes met for a moment and Nurse Alison was at once reminded that her patient was not some helpless girl in need of medical mollycoddling. You do realize that this is a prison, right?

Chantal’s dark brown eyes stared into the nurse’s through narrow lids that held absolutely no fear or hesitation. Most of the medical staff were trained in psychology, qualified prison officers with hardened work experience in the field of corrections. Nurse Alison saw in Chantal Rathbone what a shepherd saw in a feral dog – unbridled determination and intent.

Not long after the two engaged in their staring contest, Chantal’s eyes rolled back as the sedative took effect. Behind her lolling head of tightly tied hair, the barred window gave a glimpse of freedom, overlooking the exterior wall and some of the fence. Beyond the north fence, the English countryside stretched in patches of barren nature under the grey skies of the county.

Doctor, she is ready, Nurse Alison called to the adjacent office.

Be right there, Dr James Benton answered from his office. The anterior dislocation of the prisoner had given Nurse Alison more trouble than she initially bargained for, and she elicited the help of Dr Benton’s masculine strength to pop the bone back into its socket. When the short, balding doctor entered the examination room of the infirmary, Nurse Alison was just laying the patient down gently.

Rathbone is really pushing her luck, hey? he remarked.

I told her, Nurse Alison replied. She should stay out of trouble so close to her release, but no. Not her. Oh no, she has to play hero to the new inmates when the Aces decide to impose some local discipline.

I would hardly call assault discipline, Alison, he said. Besides, Holly would have ended up in serious trouble if Rathbone did not show up when she did.

You condone this behaviour, sir? Nurse Alison asked casually as she positioned Chantal’s arm for Dr Benton.

Of course not, he denied the claim, but without people like this, there would be more casualties in these walls and you know it, dear. My father always told me that some people are gargoyles. As expected, he received a blank stare from her. And this inmate has proven to be one of those gargoyles time and again.

Gargoyles? Nurse Alison chuckled. That is hardly flattering.

The doctor wrenched the unconscious inmate’s arm to find