Page 13 of The Knucklebone Brothers

Blythe was in the kitchen area, his back to me as he stirred a large pot on the stove. Steam rose from the pot, carrying the scent of something rich and savory—Mamma's stew, thick with carrots and potatoes, and the strange, earthy smell of whatever else she'd added. He'd already taken his mask off.

"It's gonna be hot in here," he said, his voice low. "She's gonna need the fans."

I nodded, moving to the window. It was a small, rectangular opening, covered by a lace curtain that looked like it had been stitched together from old sheets. I pushed it aside, revealing the fan sitting on the sill, its blades still. I turned it on, the motor humming to life.

I turned back to the room. The living area was a mess of old furniture. Two worn, floral armchairs sat facing each other, their cushions lumpy and stained. A small, round table sat between them, covered in jars of pickled things and a stack of old books. A large, ornate mirror hung on the wall, framed in dark wood and surrounded by peacock feathers and dried herbs.

"She's gonna like it," I said, a grin spreading across my face. "It's got character. Well now," I said, my voice a singsong tease. "A princess needs her castle, don't she?"

I walked out heading towards the bone yard. Behind a pile of rusted-out oil drums, leaning against the skeletal frame of an old ticket booth, was the bedframe. It was an old thing, antique cast iron, all swirling vines and intricate scrollwork. I'd found it years ago, half-buried in a landslide, and dragged it back here, saving it for a special occasion. Looked like this was it.

I grunted as I lifted it, the metal cold and heavy in my hands. It took some maneuvering, but I managed to get it through the trailer door, letting it crash to the floor with a loud clang that made Blythe jump.

"Gonna set up her new stage," I cackled, wiping a smear of dirt from my cheek with the back of my hand. "Gotta have a proper place for the main attraction to rest up."

Once I had the frame and mattress assembled, I took a rag and a bottle of cleaner from under the sink. I wiped down every inch of the cast iron, my movements meticulous, humming a discordant tune under my breath. "Can't have her gettin' any nasty infections now, can we?" I said to Blythe, winking. "Gotta keep the merchandise pristine."

I walked over to the closet and pulled out a stack of clean blankets and a couple of pillows. They were old, but they were clean. I started making the bed, tucking the sheets in tight, my movements methodical and precise. I fluffed the pillows and placed them at the head, then stood back to admire my work.

I ran my hand over the finished bed, the blankets soft and inviting. "There," I said, turning to Blythe. "All set. A proper bed for a proper lady."

I looked over at him, a smirk playing on my lips. "What do you think, brother? Think she'll like it? Or you think she'll try to claw our eyes out the second we try to put her in it?" I let out a sharp, barking laugh. "I hope so. That's the best part."

Blythe grunted, turning off the stove. He poured the stew into a large bowl, the steam rising in thick clouds. "She's gonna like the bed. Probably not you, though."

Blythe set the bowl on the small table, the stew bubbling slightly. "And the chains?"

"Fixed," I said. "I ran the new ones through the runners. She'll be able to move around without dragging her feet. It's gonna be a big upgrade."

I looked around the room, taking in the details. The antlers, the taxidermy, the lace curtains, the cowhide rug. It was a weird, beautiful mess. It was home.

"She's gonna be scared," Blythe said, his voice low.

"She's not scared," I said, my voice firm. "She's a freak, just like us. She'll get it. She'll love it."

Blythe nodded, a small, satisfied smile touching his lips. "Good. Then we can start."

I watched as he picked up the bowl of stew, the stew warm in his hands. He walked to the door, his movements slow and deliberate. He grabbed his burlap mask from the hook by the door, pulling it on over his head. He was ready.

"Let me know how it goes," I said, leaning against the counter.

He just grunted and pushed open the screen door, stepping out into the humid afternoon.

Chapter 6

Maverick was already walking down the porch steps, stretching his arms over his head.

"Well, she's not boring," he said, a grin in his voice. "I'll give her that."

I grunted, following him out into the cooling darkness. "She's got spirit," I said, the words feeling right. "Can't say I blame her."

Maverick looked back at me, a little surprised. "I thought you'd be mad she threw stuff at me."

I shrugged. "What's the point of catchin' a wild thing if it don't bite?" I said, a small smile touching my lips. "Wouldn't be any fun otherwise."

He laughed, loud and happy. "That's what I'm talkin' about!"

We walked past the Ferris wheel, its skeletal silhouette looming against the moonlit sky. The jack-o'-lanterns and orange lights cast long shadows. Maverick was humming, but this time, I found myself humming along, a low tune under my breath. The little pretty thing had pep in her. I liked that. It meant she wasn't broken. Not yet, anyway. And that made her interesting.