Straw, Bone and Flesh

A Big and Beastly Story | 4,313 Words

The story you are about to read is purely fictional…I think…Either way, the names and locations have been changed, you know, just in case…

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Jackson’s hands started to shake as beads of sweat formed on his forehead. He looked over at his wall calendar, surrounded by old newspaper clippings and garbled sticky notes on the brink of blowing away if he ever opened a window. Today’s date clearly circled first in a red marker, then a black X over it. He couldn’t believe it had been a year. One full year since what happened to him and his inability to convince anyone of what he saw.

But, as far fetched as his story seemed to his therapist one year ago, the solution for “moving on” was to write it all down. Go back there in his memory. Jackson used the least of his shaky hands to pluck a cigarette from behind his ear and place it between his lips.

As a journalist at a small local newspaper, Jackson’s assignments were rather boring. Sporting events and fundraisers held by politicians who would never make it further than their local government. He hated it. So when the opportunity came for him to take an assignment to a small town next to his that he remembered hearing rumors about when he was a kid in school, he jumped at the opportunity. Finally, his big break to learn the truth and maybe boost his resume for bigger and better assignments.

He struck a match and found himself staring at the matchbook. The logo read Yosemite Lodge but what he saw instead was a logo far more familiar; Millie’s Diner. The place where it all started to go sideways.

Millie’s Diner has to be where my story begins.

I could tell you about the creepy guy at the gas station just outside of Raylee. The way he smirked at me, unashamed of his many missing teeth, when I told him where I was headed. Or how, when I drove away I swear I heard him laughing but when I looked in my rearview mirror he was nowhere to be seen.

Millie’s diner was the only place in Raylee where the locals gathered. There was one convenience store but I wasn’t looking for a can of soda or a bag of chips. I was looking for answers and a place to stay. A diner seemed like as good a place as any in a small town like this to find those things. It was just like any small town you may have heard of or read about in the same context with murderers or chainsaws. One street light. Old, broken down, houses with even older people sitting on their dilapidated front porches staring at you as you drive by them. And for some reason they’re always wearing a white t-shirt with shades of red and black that has you wondering how much of that is their blood or someone else’s but not so stupid to stop and ask.

In a town like this it’s fairly easy to find the place where everyone goes because it’s the only place to go that has lights on and beer on tap. I parked my car just outside of the front door. No other cars in sight and I wondered if they were even open. A sign on the door said so, but the windows were covered in so much dirt I couldn’t really see inside.

I pulled open the door. The familiar bell chime put me in a false sense of ease, which I needed seeing as everyone inside stopped what they were doing or saying to turn and look right at me. Seems mostly everyone who frequented Millie’s Diner was already present and accounted for so who the heck was I waltzing in? At least, that’s the impression their stares gave me.

I put on the best smile I could muster and walked up to the bar to sit on the only stool available. On either side were a pair of the most inebriated men I ever had the misfortune to smell. It was so pungent I swore I got secondhand drunk by the time I walked out of there an hour later.

I won’t bore you with the lack of information I received from the namesake herself; Millie. She offered me a room upstairs but that was about all she was willing to do for me. I walked out feeling half drunk and defeated. That is, until Marie the local librarian ran right into me. They say good news travels fast, especially in a small town and in this case that is exactly why Marie crossed my path.

“Why are you here?” She asked me quite abruptly.

“The Harvest Festival,” I replied probably much too quickly. I knew when I arrived that no one would speak to a journalist so I needed the most reason for my being there in case I was ever asked.

She sized me up rather quickly, shielding her eyes from the morning sun. She leaned in close and said, “This is my first Harvest Festival here. Everyone seems to be tight lipped about it, even with me. Don’t you find that odd?”

I shrugged. Was she testing me? Lying to see if I would take the bait? “What could be odd about a Harvest Festival?” Little did I know she would have an answer for me.

Marie said she had something to show me and believe me, she wouldn’t be the last person on the female persuasion to say that to me from the moment I arrived in Raylee. But with the Harvest Festival just a day and a half away, I knew I didn’t have time to vet whether someone was lying to me or not. Besides, Marie was rather sweet and innocent looking. Librarian seemed like the perfect profession for her, even if it did happen to be in a rather creepy backwater town.

I followed Marie further into town where there was what looked like an abandoned factory. I looked around the front and sides of the building looking fora logo or something to tell me what happened inside but all I found was the word TEXTILE spray painted on the only door I could find.

She looked at me as if I should be distinctly aware of just how odd this abandoned building was. But if you’ve seen one you’ve seen them all, right?

“Sorry, it’s just an abandoned building. I don’t get—” She shushed me and put her pointer finger on my lips. She took my hand and pulled me around one side of the building just as the door I mentioned earlier, opened.

Several older women and some children spilled out, talking to each other and giggling. They didn’t seem to notice us spying on them. Before I could ask who they were, Marie took my hand yet again and pulled me quickly towards the door that was slowly closing behind the women who just left. She managed to catch it and fling it open wide enough for us to enter.

It took my eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness inside after being outside but I heard the sound of the machines first before I could make out anything. It was a sound I could remember hearing when I was little. My grandmother was a seamstress. She made and mended dresses for her neighbors as a way to make a little extra money on the side.

Once my eyes adjusted I realized we were standing in a serious sized factory that had dozens of sewing machines all neatly lined up. Some of them were occupied by women who appeared to be sewing a large garment.

“What is this place?” I asked Marie.

“You tell me,” she said, shrugging her shoulders. Just then a little boy ran up to both of us.

“Who are you? Are you here to help for the Harvest Festival? Poppa always says we need more help or we’ll never get it fixed in time.” The boy skipped away, presumably to tell his poppa that strangers were here.

“Who was that boy and why didn’t he recognize you?”

“If his Poppa is who I think he is, that would explain it. The Bancroft family own the rather large house you must’ve seen on your way into town?” I nodded. “Yeah, well, they’re always too busy to spend time at a place like a library. Tobias Bancroft wastes no time letting me know that whenever our paths cross. Believe me, I make sure that doesn’t happen very often.”

“What are we doing here, Marie?”

She sucked her teeth and rolled her eyes before taking my hand and pulling me towards a side room. She seemed to know this place a little too well for me. Inside a room marked “PERSONNEL ONLY” she held up what appeared to be the largest pair of overalls I’d ever seen in my life. My face must’ve revealed just how much I didn’t care because she slammed it down and moved on to another garment laying beside it and held it up as well. Another rather large clothing item. She what about to show me another when my jaw dropped. She could tell I was looking at something behind her and spun around to see. Marie nearly staggered backwards as she tried to step back in fright. Piled high behind her, shrouded in darkness, was the largest stack of straw I’d ever seen and I’d wager a guess that Marie had never seen anything like it either. I’ve heard of storing straw but never this many. In a town this small, this much bales of straw was just excessive.

“You tell me this isn’t really weird? Why are they spending so much time sewing clothes that would never fit the average person? It makes no sense, right?”

“…they were right here, Poppa.” We heard the little girl’s voice nearby. Without stopping to consider our options for explaining what we were doing there, we decided it would be best to try and sneak back out and we would’ve made it too if not for the little boy running after us when we made it outside. “My Poppa doesn’t believe me that you exist and were checking on the Tall Man’s clothes.”

Marie looked at me, puzzled. She had no idea what he was talking about, but I knew all too well.

Jackson grabbed his bottle of Jack Daniels. Empty. He wanted to throw it in frustration but slammed it down on his desk instead. He leaned back in his chair and grimaced as he felt the sweat adhere to his shirt. He hated that feeling and he squirmed to try and get comfortable. But he couldn’t. It was damn hot. He was about to stand and open a window when he stopped, hearing the familiar crunch of having just rolled over something on the floor. He looked down and saw a blue folder. The word “RAYLEE” in large letters on the tab. He gulped and with a sweaty hand he backed up in his chair to free the folder and pick it up with two fingers.

He placed it on the keyboard in front of him like it was a specimen that could pass on some infectious disease if he wasn’t careful. He knew what he’d find if he opened it. He hadn’t looked in this folder in a year. But he had to. The words ‘remember’ and ‘write it down’ echoed in his ears. He wanted to keep on forgetting!

He flipped open the folder and there it was. Like a long lost nightmare. He wretched his mouth but managed to swallow it back. It was just a child’s drawing. What was wrong with him! But he knew now what it represented. The long black lines for the legs and the arms. The brown crayon color. Strips to represent the straw. The little girl who barely came up to this giant’s knee. And those red eyes. They stared at him and he dared to stare right back. Sure, it was a child’s drawing. But it was a damn accurate one! And only Jackson knew it.

Have you ever seen a field of bones? I have and no matter what you may think or what anyone tells you, the reaction a human has to seeing a field of neatly cleaned bones is damn near indescribable, but I’m going to try.

A little girl ran up to me the following morning and handed me a drawing. I thanked her, as I assumed all adults should do when a child makes a drawing for them. I was a stranger but she took the time to draw a picture of me and her standing side by side.

But when I inspected it closer, I realized the figure standing next to her wasn’t me at all. At least, I had a feeling it wasn’t me. I didn’t have red eyes and the clothing it wore, while rudimentary for a child, I knew were overalls and a long black coat. Similar to what I saw being sewed over at the textile mill.

“Who is this?” I asked her, expecting her not to answer. I had become used to people here not answering me or just ignoring my questions entirely. In fact, I had all but decided to pack up and leave that very afternoon. Then the girl spoke.

Well, she giggled first. Like my question was an obvious silly one. She must’ve assumed everyone knew who it was. Even a stranger. “The Straw Man, silly.”

She started to skip away singing a song I didn’t recognize:

Straw Man. Straw Man.
It’s harvest time again.
Straw Man. Straw Man.
Say you’ll be my friend.

We’ll find you some good meat.
The kind you really like to eat.

Part of me wishes I let her finish her little song but I didn’t. Instead, I grabbed her arm and spun her around. “Hey, mister. Let me go or I’ll scream.”

“No, don’t do that,” I said, quickly letting her go and backing off. “I just wondered if you could tell me more about Straw Man? I thought his name was Tall Man?”

She looked back and then behind me and when she felt no one was watching she leaned in close and asked me the worst question I’d ever heard, “Wanna see how I help?”

I wish I hadn’t nodded my head. I wish I hadn’t followed that little girl into the cornfield. I’m not even sure that girl was real. Especially, as she disappeared into the cornfield the moment we got there. I could hear her giggling and I did my best to follow the sound. But when I reached what must’ve been the center of the cornfield, I no longer heard her. I could only hear the loud beating of my heart.

Maybe it was the bright hot sun beating down then ricocheting off the gleaming white on the row after row of tables, but I had to quickly cover my eyes and for some reason I remember dropping to my knees.

Surely my eyes were deceiving me. I blinked several times, though it felt like hours, waiting for my eyes to adjust and my breathing to calm before I returned to my feet. I stumbled to the nearest table and extended my arm. My fingers brushed against the bone. Yes, I said bone. I gripped one and lifted it. Heavy. Long. Thick. I put it back with a thud that seemed to echo in my ears. I turned my head slowly to see dozens of tables, each with more bones than I could possibly count in one day.

“Cool isn’t it?” The little girl appeared out of nowhere, dropping a bucket much too large for her to be carrying, at my feet. The soapy water sloshed around, spilling onto my shoe. “Well, I think you better go, mister. Poppa will be coming round soon to check my work. Has to be finished by tonight.”

“What’s tonight?” I asked, feeling dizzy and queasy. Where did these bones come from? Grave robbers? And what did they need them for?

“The Binding, silly!” She shook her head at me and proceeded to carefully lift a bone that wasn’t quite as clean as the others around it and dunk it in the soapy water.

How I made it out of that cornfield, I don’t quite remember. But my next stop was the library. Marie needed to know that whatever was going on around here wasn’t safe. But my curious nature also wanted to witness The Binding.

Jackson wiped his mouth, staring at himself in the reflection of the window to to his left. The cleaning lady would have to deal with the aftermath of what was in his trash bin. A mixture of crumpled up pages filled with half-written notes that wouldn’t make any sense to the average, let alone more intelligent species of the human race and generously covering these missives was a mix of bile and multi-colored alcohol recently consumed. He leaned back in his chair and chuckled at the pungent smell that permeated his room. Reminded him of his car. Apparently, long gone now. He didn’t actually know where his car ended up after the fire.

One day Jackson just woke up in a hospital room, his left hand handcuffed to his bed. He had been mumbling words like “straw” and “bones” and “flesh” that troubled more than just the doctors and nurses. It took a long time and a lot of meetings with professionals before Jackson was allowed to leave the hospital.

Now, he’s faced with the blank page again. Images flash in his mind. A little girl giggling. A pile of bones so shiny and new. Pieces of clothing larger than he’d ever seen placed out in the middle of a cornfield, as if sleeping, waiting for someone to come and put them on. Not just anyone. Some call him Straw Man. Others Tall Man. But to Jackson it was the stuff of nightmares. The kind he knows he’ll never wake from.

I lit a cigarette out of habit. After only being around me for half a day, Marie was already beginning to show signs of irritation at my chronic smoking. She stopped cautioning and just made an obvious show of rolling her eyes at me instead.

“Must you do that now? What if they smell it or see the smoke?”

I stared at Marie sideways. We were presently surrounded by corn stalks taller than us and though the sky was nearing nightfall, we could also make out various swirls of smoke. They appear to be forming a large circle or oval but we couldn’t be sure.

“We need to get closer. I can’t see or hear anything from here,” I said, dropping my half-smoked cigarette and stamping it out with my foot.

“Shh!” Marie said, holding a finger up to her lips. I heard it too. It sounded like someone running very fast through the cornfield right at us. I tried squinting to see if I could catch a glimpse of who or what was running so fast but by the time my eyes adjusted to the setting sun it was too late. That little girl who took me to see her handy work ran past me. She turned as she went past and smiled at me before disappearing as she did before.

“Follow that girl,” I said, wanting to kick myself for saying something so corny in a cornfield. It was a good thing she wore a long white robe that illuminated in the darkness and stood out like a flowing sheet in the wind behind her, leading the way. When I saw dozens more of those same white robes I skidded to a stop, Marie bumping into my back but we managed to get out of sight before being seen. Or, at least, we assumed no one saw us. How wrong we were.

I couldn’t make out what the sea of white robes were facing but there was one person chanting in a language I had never heard before. I looked over at Marie who shrugged and shook her head as well.

The chanting man got louder and drums joined him. Then everyone raised their hands up in such perfect unison I nearly fell backwards. What followed was a sound and a smell I’ll never forget as long as I live.

I’m not sure whether I heard or smelled first but the crunching and clicking sound was very distinct. Like something being built in real time. The robes started flowing left and right. I couldn’t tell if the people in them were rocking or marching in a circle. There were far too many of them to count or keep track. Then the smell of burning and rotting flesh permeated my nostrils and I fell to the ground ready to retch.

I turned to check on Marie but she was gone. I rocked back onto my butt and looked around, my eyes squinting from the smell. I had to get away. As far away from whatever was happening just so I could catch my breath. But I wasn’t sure which way to go. The white robes seemed to be gone from my line of sight. And the smoke in the sky covered the light of the moon. I managed to get to my feet and put my hands out in front of me to try and feel my way. I heard someone strike a match and turned in its direction. The flame illuminated Marie’s face. Her poor terrified face staring right at me. I wanted to ask her what was wrong but stopped when I felt hot breath on my neck.

The match went out as a voice as loud and wide as the night sky said, “FOOD?” Almost like a question more so than a statement. Then a series of matches were struck and used to light candles that all the people who must’ve been wearing white robes had now shed and were instead wearing black. Marie was being held firm by two people while a third came up behind her and put on a white robe.

I would later assume it’s the sacrificial color. Pure flesh. Pure food.

I spun round and stared into the red eyes of a thing whose head was larger than my entire body. I was frozen in awe as I watched it stumble to its feet. Every move it made was a series of bones crunching. Bones that clearly came from what I saw earlier. But not nearly enough to make it as tall as it was now. Its face was made of hundreds of patches of skin, stitched together in the most brutal of ways. The smell made my want to retch again but I was prevented when a pair of hands grabbed me on either side and a third came up behind me with a white robe. Looking around I saw more white robes appear, at least a dozen of us. Most of them were terrified but a few seemed stoic and unafraid of the beast that stood several stories high.

The black robed people all started chanting now, pushing and shoving us closer to it. The easier to kill us if we didn’t run.

Marie was further ahead of me and the beast looked down at her, ready to take its first victim. This was not how I wanted to go out. So, I did the stupidest thing anyone in my position could do. I grabbed a candle from the nearest black robed person and before anyone could react to what I was doing, I touched it to the hem of the beasts pants, that had bits of hay sticking out.

It didn’t take long for that one little flame to catch and for the beast to scream out in what I can only describe as pain. The leg that lit up like a roman candle toppled him to one knee. He swatted me like a fly and I remember feeling like I actually took flight. I could hear screaming and running and feel heat all around me. I blacked out after that.

“Mr. Roberts, time for your meds,” his nurse said, knocking lightly on his bedroom door before entering.

“How many times do I have to tell you, Terry, call me Jackson. I hate going by Mr. Roberts. Makes me feel as old as my father.” Jackson pushed himself away from his desk and spun round in his wheelchair.

“How’s the wheelchair working out for you, Mr.—er, Jackson?” He asked, handing Jackson a cup of pills and a tall glass of water.

“Not too bad. I’m just glad I can get out of bed now,” he said, downing the pills with one large gulp of water. Terry looked over his shoulder at Jackson’s computer screen.

“Is that it then? The whole story.”

Jackson looked curiously at Terry. He never realized how young he was till now. A lot like himself. Naive at what the world had in store for him. Hungry to uncover some mystery, only to be jaded by the answer.

“Sit down, Terry. Have you ever heard about the Tall Man from Raylee…”

Terry sat on the edge of Jackson’s bed and listened intently to a story that could easily be confused for a fairytale. A fable. A lesson taught to children. Though what lesson does a forty foot tall scarecrow made of straw, bone, and flesh that feeds on sacrifices in exchange for a good harvest teach children? None.

Which is why this isn’t a fairytale or a fable. And the next time you find yourself driving through a small town with a population under two hundred and a burgeoning cornfield, make sure you have a full tank of gas, lock your doors, and whatever you do don’t talk to the children.