Old Bones


It’s exactly what you think.

Old Bones

I was cleaning out the attic when I stumbled upon a mouldy box. It was hard to miss; it had a strange musk about it.

When I opened it I found the most exquisite thing–rotten bones, darkened with age, and covered in lichen–but I knew I shouldn’t have seen them that way. They were (to be clear) rotten bones. The smell emanated from them, and I’m sure that’s where the rot came from too.

Still, they caught my attention, inspired my imagination.

Until my fingers began to shrivel. They were green, and grey.

Covered in lichen.

The doctors were able to save one of my hands–the left one–but my right arm was amputated up to the elbow. After that, I knew better than to pry around in places I didn’t belong. I even took the liberty of moving.

Away from that diseased place.

I’m sure the house is tainted. It’s been on the real estate market ever since then; it will only be a matter of time before it meets its fate with an arson. I can guarantee it.


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