The Bone Door, page 1
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Page numbers taken from the following print edition: ISBN 9781335001405
Dedication
For those who have the strength to be kind,
even when the world is not.
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Note to Readers
Dedication
Author’s Note
1. Room Zero – Entrance Chamber
2. Respite Room
3. Respite Room
4. Room One – The Ancients
5. Room One – The Ancients
6. Room One – The Ancients
7. Room One – The Ancients
8. Room One – The Ancients
9. Room One – The Ancients
10. Room One – The Ancients
11. Room One – The Ancients
12. Room One – The Ancients
13. Respite Room
14. Respite Room
15. Room Two – The God Times
16. Room Two – The God Times
17. Room Two – The God Times
18. Room Two – The God Times
19. Room Two – The God Times
20. Room Two – The God Times
21. Room Two – The God Times
22. Room Two – The God Times
23. Respite Room
24. Respite Room
25. Room Three – The Calm Times
26. Room Three – The Calm Times
27. Room Three – The Calm Times
28. Room Three – The Calm Times
29. Room Three – The Calm Times
30. Room Three – The Calm Times
31. Room Three – The Calm Times
32. Room Three – The Calm Times
33. Room Three – The Calm Times
34. Room Three – The Calm Times
35. Respite Room
36. Room Four – Children’s Day
37. Room Four – Children’s Day
38. Room Four – Children’s Day
39. Room Four – Children’s Day
40. Room Four – Children’s Day
41. Room Four – Children’s Day
42. Room Four – Children’s Day
43. Behind the Window
44. Behind the Window
45. Behind the Window
46. Respite Room
47. Respite Room
Epilogue: Seven Years Later
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Also by Frances White
Copyright
About the Publisher
Author’s Note
The Bone Door is primarily a book about confronting, coming to terms with and overcoming trauma. It includes themes of childhood abuse, both physical and mental. In telling this story, it does not shy away from how ugly and devastating trauma can be, as to do so would be a betrayal of those who have no choice but to face their own traumas daily.
However, I understand that some readers will find this challenging, and others may not feel ready to approach these topics. If so, I trust you will save this story for a time when it will heal rather than harm.
My author website contains a full list of content warnings.
1 Room Zero – Entrance Chamber
The skeleton was sleeping in the snow, its tea-stained bones scattered like freckles across a pale face.
You do not belong here.
It was the first thought the boy recalled having. It tore through the fog of his memory like lightning in a storm.
You do not belong here – in this cold place – with me.
‘You can’t sleep there.’ The boy crouched before the skeleton. ‘You’ll catch your death.’ He shook a bony shoulder, but it didn’t wake. Instead, the skull separated with a hollow clunk and rolled towards his feet.
‘Ah!’ He scooped it up. ‘Can you teach me how to do that?’ He tested his own neck, rolling it experimentally. Sadly, his head didn’t disconnect, not even a little.
He held the skull before him. ‘What’s your name?’
Without moving, it spoke in a high raspy voice, ‘MY EXISTENCE IS AGONY. WRATHFUL FLAMES. A FIRE THAT NEVER GOES OUT. TEARING FLESH FROM BONE. MELTING MUSCLES TO—’
‘I think Skully suits you wonderfully.’ The boy nodded, satisfied. ‘I’m . . .’
Who was he?
He was human. Definitely human. He also instinctively knew he was a boy. He tugged a clump of his hair. He remembered now – it was long and blond and resisted any attempt to be tamed. His mane was the natural predator of brushes and combs. Also, he was short for his age, which was eleven. Last birthday he ran out of fingers.
But when he tried to recall who he was, there was a great gaping hole where a name should be. It wasn’t that he had forgotten his name, but that he was sure he never had one to forget.
Skully’s cavernous sockets observed him, expectant.
‘I’m a friend,’ the boy said, and knew it to be true.
‘THERE ARE NO FRIENDS IN THE PERNICIOUS FIRES OF EVERLASTING . . .’
He cradled Skully to his chest.
‘I do not feel the pain,’ it said softly, ‘when you hold me like that.’
‘Good. Are you a girl or a boy?’
‘I am a skull.’
‘All right. I’ll get you out of here.’
One problem – he had no idea where ‘here’ was. He appeared to be standing within a narrow chamber. The boy only had to take five big steps from one wall to reach the other side, where there was a tight archway.
He wiggled his toes, cold against the dusting of snow.
There was no ceiling he could see even when he craned his neck. The black stone walls extended up into endless darkness. Twirling snowflakes glimmered in the muted grey light.
‘Hello?’ His voice bounced off the walls, echoing back: Hello? Hello? Hello?
He couldn’t remember anything about his life that could tell him how he got here. When he tried to delve into his memories, it was like flicking through a book and catching the odd word, whispers and snippets, but nothing that came together to form a sentence.
Maybe he had fallen and hit his head. Was he clumsy? He felt like he was clumsy.
He squeezed through the archway out of the snow-laden room and into the next.
The scent hit him first. Chalky, but also smoky. Like a fire left to burn down to the cinders. It made him think of old books.
This room was bigger and there was another archway out of it. He carefully balanced Skully atop a lectern so he could explore the treasure trove of curious objects piled within. There were dulled and broken blades; a golden chalice caved in on one side; the remains of a marble statue – a woman, though she was missing her head. He found books beneath her, but the pages were blackened and unreadable, crumbling to powder in his hands. He set them aside, coughing at the great plumes of dust.
It wasn’t until he dug deeper beneath the oddities that he found the bodies.
Most were skeletons, like Skully, but some still had flesh on their bones. He leaped away, dread crawling in his gut.
A voice in his head who was not Skully said: ‘Fear is bad. Find the good.’
‘Fear is bad. Find the good,’ he repeated like a mantra.
There was nothing to be afraid of. These people were probably lonely, like Skully. They just needed a friend. He could be that friend.
The dread retreated from the back of his throat.
‘Look!’ He swept up Skully so they could see. ‘More friends!’
‘I do not think they are our friends.’
‘Don’t be rude.’
As the boy glanced across the chamber, he caught his reflection in the shards of a shattered mirror.
He wore overly long white robes, the neckline and cuffs embroidered with shimmery silver thread. But from the waist down the fabric was stained crimson red.
Blood.
The dread returned in a blaze, tearing through his body. His limbs trembled furiously.
‘Fear is . . . bad. Find the . . .’ The words stuck.
It was wrong. There was something very wrong about this blood. Something terrible.
The ground shaking.
Glass smashing.
A voice he knew, screaming.
And hands. So many hands upon him, until—
His right hand darted to the left – tugging and tearing at the soft skin around his thumb. He delved into the pain, like submerging himself in ice-cold water, and ignored the blood and all the horrible thoughts that came with it.
The bad feelings faded until they were only a distant headache. The flashes of memories blurred and silenced.
This was fine. He just had to smile. Smile and everything would be okay.
He focused on smiling, not on the blood. Or the unfamiliar dark chamber. Or the fact he was utterly alone.
‘You’re not alone,’ Skully said.
He hugged them to his chest, his breaths escaping in white mist. ‘It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay.’
A crunch behind him. Followed by a new voice: ‘Depends on your definition of “okay”.’
He turned.
There was a girl standing in the archway, and she did not have eyes. Instead, two amber spheres filled her eye sockets.
As she spoke, the walls seemed to tilt and twist. ‘I will not hesitate to destroy any foe that stands in my path. So speak. Quickly.’
The boy licked his dry lips, then he leaped towards her. ‘I’m so glad to meet you! I thought I was alone. Well, not alone. I have Skully. But now you’re here and look at your eyes! Are all people’s eyes like that or just yours?’ He took a great gulping breath.
Her mouth opened and closed silently.
The girl was clearly older than him, and completely, fascinatingly different. Where he was short, chubby and pale, she was taller, thinner and dark, with deep brown skin and a head of tight black curls.
‘The spheres in your eye sockets look like amber,’ he said.
‘They’re not spheres. They’re more shell-shaped.’
‘Amber comes from very old trees,’ he continued rapidly. ‘The resin seeps out then gets really hard. Sometimes you have whole forests of trees oozing with the stuff, then it ends up in rivers then seas and—’
‘What in the Gods’ divine names are you ?’
‘I’m not sure. A boy, I think? But I know about trees and flowers. Apparently.’ The words had tumbled out effortlessly. And as he poked and prodded the recesses of his mind, he unearthed more delightful nuggets, like how hawthorn flowers – sometimes called quickthorn, or thorn apple – were a symbol of hope, and could be eaten to help the heart feel better. ‘You’d probably need to cut the thorns off first though,’ he muttered.
The girl snatched his robes, yanking him close. ‘I don’t give a flying feck about trees.’
‘You should. They’re essential to—’
‘I just woke up in this godsforsaken hellhole. Tell me where I am before I crucify you.’
‘It’ll be hard to crucify here. No trees to cut—’
She thrust him away. ‘Who’s Skully? Is he the mastermind who put us here? Speak. Slowly.’
He hopped from foot to foot. ‘Skully’s my skull. They’re not the mastermind of anything, apart from dislocating from their body.’
Her face flooded with horror. ‘What?’
‘I’m not sure who the mastermind is.’ He tapped his chin. ‘I don’t even know who I am, where I am, or how I got here. How about you?’
Her breath caught. ‘You’re lying.’
‘I don’t think I know how to lie.’ Lying sounded as if it required a lot of forethought and critical thinking that he wasn’t sure he possessed.
‘Do you think I’m some kind of eejit? Trying to get me to lower my guard while playing the fool?’ Her throat bobbed. ‘I’ve been hearing voices like yours for hours . . . days. You’re just a trick. You can’t be . . .’ She backed into the wall. ‘You’re not—’
He slipped his hand in hers, interlocking their fingers. Then he placed her palm against his face. At first, it remained there, cold and still. Then it moved – fingers tracing his chubby cheeks, thumb brushing over his button nose, glancing through unruly hair.
‘You’re real.’
‘You’re just like me!’ He went to throw his arms around her, but she thrust her palm out and did an excellent job of winding him.
‘I’m nothing like you, peppy.’ She winced, nursing her ears. ‘But I did wake up in this pit of doom missing my memories too.’
‘That’s great!’ He hopped from foot to foot.
‘No need to be so nauseatingly happy about it.’
He froze. Why would he be unhappy ? Apart from the bodies and the blood . . .
Strong hands. Cruel hands. Hands around his—
He picked furiously at his fingers.
There was nothing about this place that made him think it was bad. He’d already made two friends here, after all.
‘What’s your name?’ he asked.
‘Don’t have one.’ She seemed sure, like him, it wasn’t that she had forgotten her name. It was that she had never had one to forget.
‘Oh! We should name each other!’ He darted around her.
‘For the love of—’
‘Amber!’ he said, marvelling at the way the light reflected off her eyes like liquid gold.
‘If we’re using defining traits you should be “the-reason-
gags-were-invented”.’
He chewed his lip. ‘It’s a bit long.’
She fell into silent thought as he paced around her form. She was dressed in shades of gold and yellow. A high-collared tunic over leggings, with sleeves held tight to her arms with silken ribbons.
But no blood. Not a drop of it.
‘Hop,’ she said. ‘Because since I met you, the ground hasn’t stopped shaking from all your damn leaping about.’
‘Hop.’ He tried it on for size. He liked it. He liked it a lot.
‘It suits you, Bunny.’
‘Glad you agree!’
‘Agree with what?’ Amber said.
‘Skully likes my name,’ Hop replied.
Amber paused. ‘Do all inanimate objects talk to you?’
‘So far, just Skully!’ Hop stared at her. She hadn’t reacted to the blood at all. ‘So . . . do your eyes work or . . . ?’
‘Maybe I should scoop your eyes out and replace them with solid amber and ask how well you see.’
‘Uhmm . . .’
‘No, Hop,’ she groaned, as if she had uttered those two words a thousand times before. ‘I’m not sure I ever could see, or if this is a new delight to add to my growing list of very recent annoyances.’ Her hand balled into a fist at her chest. ‘Everything is . . . dark. My memories. This place. Everything.’
Hop snatched her hand. ‘That’s okay! I’ll describe it to you. First there’s the corpses . . .’
Something was moving in the piles of bones. He crouched before them, dragging a grumbling Amber with him. He shifted a ribcage and unveiled a skull. The jaw creaked open, and a chunky black spider crawled out.
Hop opened his hand and the spider scuttled on to it. It filled his entire palm. ‘Are you stuck here too, Miss Spider?’
‘Spider?’ Amber yelped, staggering away.
‘A really big cute one, with long – Why are you cowering against that wall? She’s friendly, look.’ He thrust the spider towards her.
‘Get that away from me or I’ll break your legs.’
‘Okey-doke!’ He placed it on his shoulder.
Amber was still pinned to the wall. ‘I may not remember shite. But my very soul knows this – spiders are not cute.’
Just as Hop was about to disagree, the ground trembled.
‘Can’t you stay still for one moment?’ Amber said.
‘I am still.’
‘Look down, Bunny.’
Where there once was stone, there was instead a writhing black blob, spindly legs and thick round bodies squirming over the tops of his bare feet.
The floor was spiders. Only spiders.
‘What is that?’ Amber asked.
Hop cleared his throat. ‘It’s nothing.’ Interesting. So, he could lie.
‘Nothing? Hop, the ground’s moving.’
It wasn’t only moving, the great mass of twitching bodies was growing rapidly higher, like a black bog filling with water. It had already reached his calves.
‘Let’s go to the next room.’ He tucked Skully under his arm.
‘Something’s crawling up my leg!’ Amber slammed her palm against the wall, but her hand was engulfed by tiny wriggling bodies in seconds. She shrieked, shaking her arm. ‘It’s spiders, isn’t it? It’s godsdamn spiders!’
‘There might be some spiders, yes.’ Hop offered his hand, brushing his palm against the back of hers.
Her hand twitched away.
‘We need to move,’ he said.
She breathed out shakily, then her hand fell into his.
Hop led her through the tight archway, edging out sideways so he wouldn’t crush the spiders on the walls.
The next room was far bigger, with multiple entrances leading into it. Probably the central chamber.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t spider-free. The scuttling noise was thunderous. Thousands of bristly legs scraped against each other.
Amber threw her arm over her ears with a wail.
‘If you’re scared, just whistle a tune and—’
‘How has nobody murdered you yet?’
The spiders were waist-high now, so densely packed it was difficult to push through. One crawled up the back of Hop’s neck; another sneaked into his sleeve. He liked spiders. They were good for gardens, considerate little caretakers, but even he considered this a tad much.
