Jennifer resides in the Midwest with her husband, and three children. She writes both fiction & non-fiction and currently has two projects in progress, in wildly different genres. She’s looking forward to completing a collection of short horror stories which she’s hopeful to release later this year.
For updates about Jennifer’s work please visit her HERE.
SIXTEEN BONES
by
Jennifer Osborn
“Duke, come here boy,” Earl called to his faithful companion. The golden retriever was asleep on the cowhide rug in front of the fireplace. Opening one eye, the pup picked his head up to meet Earl’s gaze.
“That’s a good boy, come here buddy.”
Duke stood up slowly, stretching his tired body.
“Do you know what today is?”
The old dog wagged his tail in anticipation; it thumped rhythmically against the hardwood floor. Duke’s tail, along with the ticking of Earl’s antique grandfather clock, made up the soundtrack of the cabin. On special occasions rain came down on the tin roof and accompanied them, completing the song.
“It’s your birthday!” Earl grabbed both sides of Dukes face, running his fingers through the thick golden fur, “you’re getting old my friend. We’re both getting old.”
Earl thought back to the day Duke had come home with him, he was just a puppy then, riding on Earl’s lap in an old Chevy truck. Duke had clumsily run across the yard and up the front steps of the cabin on paws that were too big for his little body. The puppy had been a peace offering really, a tangible apology to his wife and his son, an apology that they never fully accepted. Karen had still divorced him just as soon as Rhett graduated high school, leaving Earl and Duke to fend for themselves. He hadn’t seen either of them since they left, twelve years ago.
Duke, the old dog, was turning sixteen years old today and Earl wanted to make it his best birthday yet - for all he knew, it could be his last. The thought of life without Duke pained Earl’s stone heart, he wasn’t sure what he would do in the woods all alone without his best friend and he knew firsthand that grief worked in funny ways sometimes. But – those were worries for another day, for now it was time to celebrate his loyal companion.
***
Earl pulled a round yellow cake out of the oven and set it in the windowsill to cool before letting the screen door slam shut behind him. Grasshoppers leapt out of his way as he crossed the grassy field that separated his toolshed from the cabin. The old man grabbed a white handkerchief out of his back pocket and used it to wipe sweat off of his brow, the Texas humidity thick in the air. The toolshed had seen better days, but it was still standing even if did lean to the left now. Earl swung the door’s wooden latch upwards and pressed on weathered wooden slats, causing the door to swing open with a creak.
Labored, panicked breaths escaped the petite blonde woman in the corner as Earl approached. She was blindfolded and gagged with torn pieces of plaid shirts, her wrists and ankles bound with barbed wire.
Earl grabbed a rusty pair of tree cutters from the wall, “don’t worry honey, I don’t need all of them. I’ll leave you a few. Duke’s turning 16 today. A dog is a man’s best friend you know, he deserves the best.”
The woman screamed from beneath her gag as Earl placed the cutters at the base of her index finger, clamping them shut with enough force to snap bone.
“Duke needs sixteen bones on his birthday cake sweetheart. I figure 10 fingers and 6 toes will do.”
***
Duke’s tail wagged wildly as Earl lowered the cake to the floor. Ten severed fingers and six severed toes acted as birthday candles, though Earl didn’t dare light them on fire. The top of the cake was stained crimson with blood, a color Earl assumed Duke would love if he weren’t colorblind. The old dog salivated, hardly able to contain himself.
“Here you go buddy, happy birthday to you… happy birthday to you… happy birthday…”