Skeleton Man Read Online Free
Author: Joseph Bruchac
open my eyes. I look at the clock next to my bed. It is morning, time to get ready for school. I rummage through my suitcase and the cardboard box and find what I need. I donât feel like putting my clothes into the creepy wardrobe. When I was little my mom read me that book about the wardrobe and the lion and the witch. I wished then that I had a magic wardrobe that I could crawl into and end up in some strange land. Now that I really am in astrange land all I want to do is crawl back home. But if there was some kind of magic door in that wardrobe, itâd probably take me someplace even worse than this.
I take my toothbrush and go into the bathroom. The only good thing about the room is that it has a bathroom connected to it. It means I donât have to go out into the hall or downstairs yet and see him. Thereâs a bathroom built in because the former owners tried to run a bed and breakfast. Thereâs actually an old sign leaning on its side against the house: DARK CEDARS BED AND BREAKFAST . The name alone is enough to scare people away from it. But I think it probably just didnât work out because this place is too far from the center of town, even though it is near Three Falls Gorge, which is the townâs main place of âscenic beauty,â as our chamber of commerce puts it. When my uncle got this place he took down the sign.
While I am in the bathroom I look at myself in the small, smoky mirror hanging over the sink. I think I have the kind of face that only a mother could love, but both my parents tell me Iâm wrong. They think thick eyebrows that almost meet in the middle and ink-black hair that grows so thick I need hedge clippersto trim it are positive assets. âThereâs so much you can do with that hair,â my mother says. Like get it cut short and dyed blond. My nose is okay, not bumpy or too short or too long, but my lips are too thick. My cheeks look as if I have apples stuffed in them, and when I smile my teeth are straight, but there is this gap between my incisors on top. âBraces will do wonders for you, dear.â As if, I think. I canât wait until Iâm old enough to get a real makeover like they have sometimes on the shopping channel.
Still, though Iâm not thrilled with how I look, I donât hate my looks. I can just see lots of room for improvement. And I know that people must like my face at least a little because whenever I smile at someone they almost always smile back. Except for my uncle. I tried smiling at him yesterday. He just studied my face like a scientist looking at some strange new bug until my smile crawled away and died. I wonât try that again.
I sigh and lift up my chin. At least I donât look like a terrified victim in some slasher movie. I just look like a kid about to catch the bus. I leave the bathroom and try the door. Itâs not locked from the outside anymore. It neveris by this time. I peek outside carefully, my backpack with a large, empty plastic container in it over my shoulder. No sign of anyone up or down the hall.
As soon as I start down the creaky stairs, he hears me.
âCome down to breakfast,â he whispers up the stairs. Heâs standing at the bottom, half hidden by the old coatrack. He turns and walks away. He doesnât like me to see his face in the morning. Or ever, for that matter.
I go into the sunroom. It looks like it used to be a screened porch once. It has a floor of cold stone tiles and is connected to the back of the house. Its four big windows and sliding glass door were probably meant to let in the sun and give you a view of the garden. But there is no sun today, and there hasnât been a garden out there for a while. The places where flowers once grew are overgrown with nettles and burdock and a few small sumac trees, their leaves all red now that thereâs been a frost.
Although thereâs room in the sunroom for several tables, thereâs just the one.
I take my toothbrush and go into the bathroom. The only good thing about the room is that it has a bathroom connected to it. It means I donât have to go out into the hall or downstairs yet and see him. Thereâs a bathroom built in because the former owners tried to run a bed and breakfast. Thereâs actually an old sign leaning on its side against the house: DARK CEDARS BED AND BREAKFAST . The name alone is enough to scare people away from it. But I think it probably just didnât work out because this place is too far from the center of town, even though it is near Three Falls Gorge, which is the townâs main place of âscenic beauty,â as our chamber of commerce puts it. When my uncle got this place he took down the sign.
While I am in the bathroom I look at myself in the small, smoky mirror hanging over the sink. I think I have the kind of face that only a mother could love, but both my parents tell me Iâm wrong. They think thick eyebrows that almost meet in the middle and ink-black hair that grows so thick I need hedge clippersto trim it are positive assets. âThereâs so much you can do with that hair,â my mother says. Like get it cut short and dyed blond. My nose is okay, not bumpy or too short or too long, but my lips are too thick. My cheeks look as if I have apples stuffed in them, and when I smile my teeth are straight, but there is this gap between my incisors on top. âBraces will do wonders for you, dear.â As if, I think. I canât wait until Iâm old enough to get a real makeover like they have sometimes on the shopping channel.
Still, though Iâm not thrilled with how I look, I donât hate my looks. I can just see lots of room for improvement. And I know that people must like my face at least a little because whenever I smile at someone they almost always smile back. Except for my uncle. I tried smiling at him yesterday. He just studied my face like a scientist looking at some strange new bug until my smile crawled away and died. I wonât try that again.
I sigh and lift up my chin. At least I donât look like a terrified victim in some slasher movie. I just look like a kid about to catch the bus. I leave the bathroom and try the door. Itâs not locked from the outside anymore. It neveris by this time. I peek outside carefully, my backpack with a large, empty plastic container in it over my shoulder. No sign of anyone up or down the hall.
As soon as I start down the creaky stairs, he hears me.
âCome down to breakfast,â he whispers up the stairs. Heâs standing at the bottom, half hidden by the old coatrack. He turns and walks away. He doesnât like me to see his face in the morning. Or ever, for that matter.
I go into the sunroom. It looks like it used to be a screened porch once. It has a floor of cold stone tiles and is connected to the back of the house. Its four big windows and sliding glass door were probably meant to let in the sun and give you a view of the garden. But there is no sun today, and there hasnât been a garden out there for a while. The places where flowers once grew are overgrown with nettles and burdock and a few small sumac trees, their leaves all red now that thereâs been a frost.
Although thereâs room in the sunroom for several tables, thereâs just the one.
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