Little Bird, page 3
The woman was disheveled and dirty as if she’d been tending a garden all morning. Dark fingermarks littered the front of her smock—a frumpy flowered thing that avoided her body as if allergic to it. Her frizzy hair was stamped to her head underneath a green sun visor.
Josie didn’t miss a beat. “No.” She wasn’t even sure if that was true, but she wasn’t about to tear her house apart looking for one for this lady who had already irritated her beyond measure.
“You don’t have a screwdriver?”
“Neither do you. I don’t see why that’s so shocking.”
“I just moved. It’s lost in a box somewhere.”
“I don’t know what to tell you.”
“Do you not have one or do you just not want to lend it to me?”
Exactly who was this woman? Josie’s wispy patience all but evaporated, but that didn’t bother the woman. Her smile creased the edges of her face in the same, easy way as if she’d just been handed a flower from a new suitor. “Ask next door. He fixes his truck sometimes. I bet he has a few.”
The woman tilted her head to the side, considering, then shrugged. “I’ll do that. What’s his name? I don’t want to be rude.”
Josie’s brows furrowed into another dimension, and the woman immediately corrected herself.
“Oh. I know your name. You’re Josie, right? I found some of your mail on the ground.” She produced a folded-up envelope from the pocket of her smock, not even bothering to smooth the creases. “Here.”
Josie glared at the envelope, recognizing the value coupon logo on the front—junk mail which usually bypassed her kitchen table altogether and landed directly in the recycle bin. “And who are you?” she asked, plucking her mail from the woman’s dusty fingers.
“I’m Sue, your new neighbor.”
To Josie’s eternal appreciation, Sue did not bother to extend a hand.
“His name is Max,” Josie said. “Or Matt. I don’t know. I’m pretty sure it starts with an M. Anyway, welcome to the neighborhood and all that.”
“Good to meet you, Josie,” she said.
Josie detected nothing but pure sincerity in Sue’s voice, even as she shut the door in her face, and such earnestness made Josie feel like a moldy sponge. She hated feeling like a sponge. It was her job, her self-made career, to make everyone else the sponge. And here she was making a gigantic ass of herself.
Po, unperturbed by human social constructs, wagged his tail as she faced him. So what if she was awkward? The woman—Sue—wouldn’t be here long anyway. Besides, this was the absolute least of her current worries. This exchange wasn’t anything to agonize over, considering the circumstances. So, it was fine.
Totally fine.
“What I should have said was—I should have introduced myself after she asked for Mike’s name. That’s what I should have done. Something like, ‘I’m Josie by the way.’ She already knew my name, but she also would have known that I wouldn’t have known that, you know what I mean? You don’t know what I mean. You’re a dog.”
Work ended at five and she’d been three sheets to the wind ever since. The skeleton was gone. As soon as Sue had left, she checked the yard and found it empty of all paranormal machinations. The weeds were still there, but they presented less of a concern to her at this time, and she deduced she could deal with those if she had to. Her plan—half-cocked and swimming in vodka shots—was to ignore them completely. The abandoned steak knife would have to make do with its new home, forage a new life in the wilderness. She figured if she left the plants alone, the skeleton wouldn’t come back and she could go on living her regular, thrilling life.
Po was less enthused, having been denied access to the yard and having to settle for the puppy pads she had drunkenly strewn throughout the house on which to relieve himself. Josie loudly explained to him that peeing indoors was for his own good. He whined incessantly for two hours before giving up and sulking on his favorite couch pillow.
Night poured over her house profoundly enough to obscure all but the outermost edges of the plants. For all she knew the skeleton had returned and was spying on her from the cover of darkness, taking notes, spare pencil behind the hypothetical ear, newsie hat propped on its bald skull. Or it lurked, salivating over her ignorance, preparing a dastardly ambush for the minute she fell asleep. She imagined smooth fingers encircling the doorknob of the backdoor, the pop and clack of bones against the tile of the hallway, the emptiness of sound as it slid over her sleeping body, considering what to do with her.
But then … no. The thing gave off a distinct aura of a smart ass, more the type to get bored by the macabre. Too ancient to adhere to cheap tropes.
“Maybe I should show Sue my skeleton! That ought to keep her away. Unless she’s into weird shit like that. Then, God, it could be worse. I could wake up and find her in my bedroom instead of the skeleton. Jesus, Po, can you imagine?”
Po turned his buggy eyes toward her without lifting his head—for a dog so enamored with his owner, this was his firmest form of resistance.
She poured another shot. Her last shot—yes, definitely—and joined Po on the couch. He immediately crawled onto her lap, unleashing his disdain at the events of the day in a series of exasperated whimpers. He was a slow leaking balloon.
Josie swung him into a hug, of which he immediately balked, but she couldn’t stand to look into his sad, pathetic eyes anymore. He was a good dog and didn’t deserve to be trapped inside the house with an owner suffocating within a fog of booze vapor. He deserved to have a nice yard in which to haughtily trot and an owner who took him on regular walks.
“But you’re stuck with me, aren’t you, Po?” He placed his muzzle in the comfortable place between her breasts, eyes closing as she caressed the ends of his ears, a comfort for them both. Before long, Po had slipped into a deep sleep, dreaming in puppy. His jaw trembled as he chased imaginary mice, his paws twitched through the throes of REM. Josie took immense comfort knowing that this little creature felt safe enough with her to dream, to completely let go of all consciousness. He trusted her. Probably not a wise move but she was grateful all the same.
Tomorrow she would get to the bottom of this. She would take Po for a walk like she always meant to. Get outside. See something other than the empty walls of her own house. They both could use some fresh air. She’d dump her booze down the drain, stop this alcohol-fused delusion of talking skeletons. She would be fine.
The skeleton was gone now. She just had to keep it that way.
DAY THREE
The skeleton was not gone.
Po thrashed his paws at the backdoor. Bleary from a fitful night’s sleep, she unthinkingly opened the door to let him out, remembering too late why she’d locked him inside. He darted for the farthest corner of the patio, twirling like a top until his bladder and bowels could no longer contain themselves. Only then did she lock eye sockets with the skeleton.
The sight of the uninvited bony guest turned her skin to ice, shock slamming into her shaky morning body with full force. Fuck.
It stared right at her, though she’d yet to notice any movement.
“Good morning, Little Bird.”
Josie looked over her shoulder, expecting to see whoever the skeleton referred to as ‘Little Bird.’ There was no one.
“Who are you talking to?”
“You.”
“That’s not my name.”
“It is what I have decided to call you.”
“But that isn’t my name.”
“Does it upset you?”
Josie considered it. As far as nicknames go, this was rather innocent. She’d been called worse—by her ex, by her ex-friends that favored her ex, shit, by her mother, too. And there was something to be said about this creature not knowing her name.
“I guess it’s fine.”
“Excellent.”
The plants had maneuvered themselves during the night, stretching out in a star pattern to the farthest corners of her property. The skeleton remained at their center, cross-legged with bony hands resting on each kneecap.
Po joined her on the patio, sitting his chihuahua butt on top of her foot.
“What are you?” she asked the skeleton.
“A skeleton.”
“Yes, I can see that.”
“So, why did you ask?”
“Skeleton’s don’t usually reanimate and stalk strangers on their property.”
“True.”
“So, what are you?”
“I already told you.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I’m afraid I do not.”
“Really?” Josie was all sorts of cross. She was knotted up in crossness. This thing was not only uninvited but was also a sarcastic asshole. “You mean to tell me that you really have no idea what I’m asking?”
“Perhaps you should rethink your question.”
“Where did you come from?”
“Your yard.”
“Why are you here?”
“To talk.”
“To me?”
“To you.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re interesting.”
Josie scoffed. She didn’t mean to, but the burst of air through her nostrils couldn’t be tamed. Her, interesting? That was a fantastical laugh if she’d ever heard one. She imagined what her ex would say about that, considering one of his primary complaints in their marriage was her absolute refusal to conform to the dream life he’d always envisioned for the two of them. The mere thought set her nerves on edge, hitting a mental block she’d thrown up two years ago, one so aggressive and imposing that the skeleton in the yard was a far more comfortable topic.
“I think you’re mistaken.”
“I don’t often make mistakes.”
“Talking isn’t really my thing.”
“So I’ve gathered.”
“So, I don’t know what you’re expecting.”
“My expectations are low, believe me.”
“Then why are you here? Just go away and find someone else to play with.” She considered after the words had left her that this may not be wise. Who knew what this thing could do once offended? How does one offend a skeleton anyway?
Feet planted on the pavement, Josie awaited the response, an arsenal of rebuttals bouncing against her teeth just itching to spring loose.
But the skeleton said nothing. They remained for so long Josie’s annoyance slipped into confusion. She felt drunk—well, she probably was still a bit drunk. She needed some coffee. It was too early for this nonsense without coffee.
“I need caffeine,” she said eventually.
“Don’t let me stop you.”
“I’d offer you some, but—” She gesticulated toward the skeleton. “You know.”
“I appreciate the offer.”
“Does that mean you want some or you just … never mind. No, you don’t want any. Right?”
“Right, but thanks.”
“I’ve never done this before.”
“Made coffee?”
“No.”
“Entertained?”
“The skeleton part. Whatever you are.”
“That’s to be expected.”
“Okay. Well, bye.” Josie fled inside the house, spending a solid ten minutes gaping out her window at the skeleton. It did not disappear; did not move. Only waited. And waited. Po had already curled onto his chair cushion and settled in for a day of work. The distractions of yesterday and today meant her inbox was likely bursting. Josie didn’t experience delays—her clients relied on that. Since her company’s inception, she never had anything interfere with her life like this—she’d cultivated the exact sort of existence to ensure no interruptions. One bad day and she could lose hundreds of dollars in a snap, hundreds she could not afford.
“Hey,” she said at the closed window. “Can you hear me in here?”
The skeleton did not indicate that it could.
“If you can hear me, wave a hand. I don’t know, nod, or something.”
Nothing
She cracked open the door. “Hey, uh, skeleton thing. I have to get to work.”
“Don’t worry about me.”
Its voice permeated every molecule of her body, despite the door being cracked a half an inch. She snapped the door shut.
“I don’t think it can hear me in here, Po.”
Po snored, paws twitching.
“That’s good. I think that’s good. Is that good? I don’t know.”
Whether the small privacy was good or not, it would have to do. With that, her internal business switch was flipped. She banged the espresso machine, heated the kettle, prepared her morning ibuprofen, and turned on her laptop. Skeleton or no skeleton, she had shit to do.
As it turned out, she had little trouble tuning out all recent anomalies once her inbox populated. If anything, the swell of requests set her at ease—this, she could handle. Here, she was in her element.
Professionalism oozed from her pores.
She was doing fine—a working, functioning human who was fine. Po wriggled, ready for his treat, and she used the opportunity to stretch her legs, which was fine, absolutely and perfectly normal and fine. Then, she made tea like any other perfectly normal day, took more pain meds like any other regular, uneventful, and boring day, only to then gaze gloomily at her—surprise!—skeleton friend. Josie.exe had crashed.
Scattering a few milk bones on the kitchen floor, Josie propped open the door again.
“You’re still here.”
“Still here.”
“I was hoping, you know, you wouldn’t be.”
“Sorry to disappoint.”
“Any thoughts on when you will be leaving?”
“Many.”
“Care to extrapolate?”
“You haven’t even asked my name.”
“Excuse me?”
“You haven’t once asked how to address me.”
Flummoxed, Josie loosened her protective grip on the door so Po was able to nudge it open and blow past her.
“I don’t recall inviting you here to begin with.”
“Odd.”
Josie elbowed the door the rest of the way so it swung against the wall. “You have some nerve infesting my yard like this and calling me odd.”
“I call ‘em how I see ‘em.”
“So, what’s your name, then?”
“I don’t want to tell you now.”
“Then leave.” She waved the skeleton away like a bad stench. “And take your weird plants with you.”
“I’m afraid it isn’t that simple.”
“And why is that?”
“Because they are not ready to leave.”
With those words said, the vines lifted off the dirt, rearing like pissed off cobras. Josie backed into her table trying to get away as dirt billowed from the disturbance, quickly obscuring the skeleton from sight. Vines whipped themselves around the patio supports, strangling the wooden beams.
Then, the unusual attack stopped. The vines lay docile, frozen like waves clawing up the back of her house. The skeleton sat unfazed, coated in a new layer of dust.
“See what I mean?”
Po was furious, positively enraged by the rudeness of the outburst. His panicked bark could shatter windows.
“What the fuck are those things?”
“Annoyed, I think. It’s difficult to tell.”
Josie shaded her eyes despite the darkness, an act in the same vein as turning down the radio in the car when lost. The action alone helped to tamp down her anxiety. “You aren’t controlling them?”
“No more than how you control your dog. It’s a kinship, like sisters.”
“That’s not particularly encouraging.” Welts formed from Po’s claws as he desperately dragged himself along her body. She picked him up, petting him until his eyelids pulled back.
“He’s a bad example.”
“What do you want? What are you—they?—hoping to gain by terrifying me and my dog?”
“I told you, I want to talk.”
“Well, I don’t want to fucking talk to you. I want you to get the hell off my property. I want you to go away. I’m tired.”
“You’re frightened.”
“Look what you did to my yard!” Po had downgraded to a skin-on-fire squeal, which was somehow worse than straight up howling.
“Forgive me, which pile of dirt would you like me to restore?”
“Fuck you, you ... Okay, what is your name?”
“Now you want to know?”
“It’s finally a pertinent question.”
“You can call me Skelly.”
“Skelly. Skelly the skeleton. Are you screwing with me?”
“It has a nice flow.”
“And what are your pronouns? She? He? Them?”
“She is fine.”
“Good to know. Well, on that note, fuck you, Skelly.”
“Charming.”
Josie slammed the door behind her, leaving the vines and the bones and the dust to settle themselves.
DAY FOUR
The curtains were drawn. She’d pinned a sheet to the drywall above the backdoor with thumbtacks and a single loose nail she’d found in her junk drawer. Josie hadn’t dared pull them back, even to peek. She was on lockdown. This was not a drill.
Skelly said she wanted to talk. Well, Skelly could wait her happy ass outside. Josie was not one to be broken so easily, nor one to force to talk when she wasn’t in the mood for talking. Ask her mother. Or her ex. Hell, ask her therapist, whatever her name was—Lowenstein? Or was it Zweig? Josie had learned a thing a two from all her failures, the primary of which being that she had no equal in disintegrating friendly relationships. In this matter, she had no equal.
Josie took explicit care to avoid the windows and doors of her house. Food and alcohol were both getting perilously low, so today she would feast on old graham crackers, questionable yogurt only a week or so past the expiration date, while carefully rationing her four remaining bottles of vodka. Wednesday was usually her grocery delivery day, but she’d canceled the order on account of Skelly, terrified by the idea of her ethereal booming voice scaring away Josie’s regular delivery guy. And she liked Kevin. He was a good kid that didn’t once open his mouth in her presence aside from a quick greeting and hints on which alcohol might be on sale next week, and she tipped him well for the courtesy.
