A good night’s work, the skeleton thought to himself, quickly taking another drink to drown out the quiet, contrarian voice that echoed softly in his hollow skull, repeating the words back to him with a biting sarcasm.
A gaggle of buxom witches had filtered in, their inviting, green skin and skimpy, black gowns catching his attention a moment. Desire flared up like a flame, a light quickly snuffed by the miasma of despair that had haunted him all Halloween night.
He’d done a good job by all accounts: put a good fright in a good lot of good people. A good night’s work, repeated the echo in an unforgivably curt tone.
He took another drink, trying to forget; but the memories came. Back in whatever year it was, centuries ago, him and the blonde girl with bouncing curls and a voice like nectar, a smile that had stolen his heart, and her soft, white hand in his rough and dirty one.
He whispered her name into his drink.
They had run away together, run away into the night, to spend the night alone, but they weren’t. Someone had followed, snuck up behind, killed him with one blow. He remembered her screams; vaguely recalled her reaching out to him as she was dragged away.
He had haunted the forest where he’d been murdered ever since, terrifying anyone who happened upon the lonely grove the lovers had meant for their bower, but eventually, the city spread, cut down the trees, and built over his unmarked grave.
By this point, he’d given up the whole forlorn lover bit. Didn’t play well. Most people will just laugh at a skeleton asking strangers if they’ve seen…he shook his skull. But he’d learned. Jump scares always worked, lighting himself on fire and popping up out of the ground screaming about Hell. It did the trick, got him the scares, and people remembered.
Memories. You had to make people remember. If you’re forgotten, you’re gone, he reminded himself. But who are they remembering? that insidious, inner voice asked.
“I don’t know,” he said aloud, taking another drink.
Tale Told 