The Bones of You by Gary McMahon Read Free Book Online

twitching in the small space; things that were far too small, or much too quick, for me to see.
    I made my way to my bedroom and shut the door behind me. I stood and listened for a few seconds, to check that there were no footsteps following me across the landing to stop outside the room. Silence. I shook my head and turned away from the door, walked across to my bed. The room was dark. The nearest streetlight was something like a hundred yards along the street outside, so I didn’t get much light in the evening. I climbed slowly into bed, pulling the sheets up over my body, seeking out their protection.
    I turned onto my belly and stuck my hands under the pillow—it was a habit from childhood; I’d always slept that way when I was feeling vulnerable.
    I opened my hands and spread out my fingers under the pillow, wriggling them around to get comfortable. When something touched my hand, I was too shocked to register the contact: small, cold fingers slowly closed around my right palm. I reacted violently by pulling my hands out from under the pillow.
    I pushed myself into a press-up position, then tucked my knees under my lower body and knelt on the mattress. After a moment’s hesitation, I grabbed the pillow and hurled it across the room. There was nothing underneath. No hands. No arms snaking up from the gap at the bottom of the cheap pine headboard.
    I was alone in my bed. Of course I was. Anything else would be silly.
    I left the pillow off the bed and forced myself to lie back down, this time on my back. As I lay there and stared at the ceiling, wondering how long it would be before the sun came up, I tried not to imagine someone lying directly beneath me, separated from me by the mattress and the bed frame. Lying on their back and staring up at the bottom of my bed, smiling.

 
     
     
    FIVE
     
    Signs of Being Eaten
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    The following day at work, I gave Evans a wide berth and basically kept my own counsel. I saw Carole only briefly, during my lunch break, and she said that she was looking forward to dinner that evening before rushing off to the back office on some admin errand.
    Part of me wished that I hadn’t invited her, but another part of me—probably the part that hadn’t had sex for almost a year—was glad that she was coming around. I didn’t know why I felt the need to deprive myself of female company; it wasn’t as if that was part of the court agreement, and it wouldn’t affect the time I had with Jess. If anything, it might be good for Jess if I had another woman around the house, someone to talk to, to give me advice and make sure I didn’t get too self-absorbed.
    Perhaps I was simply trying to punish myself.
    When my shift was over, I made my way out of the warehouse and across the car park. I walked fast, not wanting to become involved in any gossip with coworkers finishing at the same time, or, worse still, receive an invite to the pub for an after-shift pint.
    I made it to my car safely. Starting the engine, I sat and stared at the dismal car park, with its dull gray surface, the tired industrial buildings, and the vehicles parked there. It felt like a metaphor for my life, but I didn’t understand the exact nature of what it was telling me.
    I pressed the CD button on the stereo, and Otis Redding started singing to me. My mood became less brittle, the edges softening. Good music nearly always helps; it’s like medicine for the soul.
    I drove to a supermarket on the way home, a large store that stocked a lot of stuff the smaller shops near my house didn’t seem to order in. I had no idea what I was going to make for dinner, but I did feel that it was necessary to make a bit of an effort. I hadn’t treated Carole as well as I should have. She’d done nothing to deserve the way I’d been ignoring her, or the fact that I’d failed to even give her a call after our last date. The only thing she was guilty of was liking me and wanting to deepen our