Chapter 7
Chapter
Seven
The breaking light of dawn has my eyes fluttering open. My first thought is that the world is a strange color. I blink a few times before I realize the unusual hue is a result of the giant sunglasses that I am wearing.
I pull them off and then shift my gaze to BJ.
I have no recollection of taking them off of him and putting them on me.
Not only was I not drunk to where I wouldn’t have remembered that, but I also would have had to go to the garage and get the ladder.
And there’s no way I could have done that while sleeping.
Plus, I’ve never sleepwalked in my life.
I look down at the sunglasses and then back up to Mr. Bonejangles.
“Did you put these on me?” I ask, blinking up at him in the morning light. Of course no answer comes. At least not verbally.
And then the LED eyes shift down to look at me instead of staring straight ahead.
I drop the sunglasses, my hand darting up to cover my mouth.
But when his giant skull angles down toward me, I walk backwards until my back hits the fence.
I blink hard, sure this is just a trick of the light or maybe my overactive imagination.
That night in the kitchen I thought he was watching me, but when I looked again his eyes were dark, just as they should have been.
Sure, I thought he had saved me from falling, and then again I thought he had comforted me when I was crying, but that was easy enough to convince myself I was imagining it all.
A lonely woman’s mind, manufacturing comfort and kindness in the face of loneliness and need.
I blink, hard. But there is no doubt, his eyes remain locked on mine, head angled down. I am not imagining this. This is the first time I saw him move.
“Oh, shit,” I squeal, and cringe backwards.
His eyes change to a wide, panic-stricken look, and then to my ultimate shock, Mr. Bonejangles moves not just his eyes, not just his head, but his whole skeletal frame. He walks forward right off the metal base until the electrical cord goes taut and then pops right off.
Even without power, his eyes remain lit, and he keeps moving until he reaches me. His knees bend and hips flex until he kneels down in front of me, staring with pleading eyes. His arms stretch out towards me as if he wants to come to me, but is approaching me like a scared pup.
My own knees go weak, and I slide down the fence panel to sit down hard on the ground. I’m paralyzed, not by fear, but by surprise. I sit there, unmoving, unsure what to do or say. Instinctively I somehow know he will not hurt me as much as I know this is real.
He is real.
The pleading eyes start to well up with LED tears as he slowly stretches a bony hand further towards me in invitation.
“Oh, no. No, Mr. Bonejangles, don’t be sad,” I say. More than anything, I want to erase the sadness from his incredibly expressive eyes. Need to.
I stand on shaking legs and walk towards him, my hand outstretched to mirror his. My heart counts the seconds with pounding beats until my warm fingers slide into his plastic grip.
Gently, so gently for a giant skeleton, he pulls me in to stand between his spread femurs, his eyes changing to red hearts in place of the tears.
“Mr. Bonejangles?” I murmur, tipping my head back to look up at him.
He releases my hand to wrap his bony arms around me. One large skeletal hand covers my ass and legs and the other my back.
I brace myself, hands closing around his ribs. Instead of cold, artificial plastic, he feels warm and buzzing with energy. I look down to where I’m touching him and trace my fingertips over his ribs and sternum, marveling at the feel.
Looking back up at him, I murmur, “BJ, you feel—alive.”
At the HOA meeting, I had spoken about the joy of Halloween. But this? This is so much more than joy. Exhilaration bubbles up through me, bursting like the bubbles in my pumpkin porter. Only this is far, far more potent. I already feel warmth threading through my veins.
Electric fission pulses between us as our heads slowly inch towards each other. My hands tremble where they lay against him, or maybe that’s him. I can’t think, can’t speak as the distance closes between us feeling like the most natural thing in the world.
He pulls me in until our mouths meet. The smooth edge of his teeth brushes my lips first. Hesitant.
Questioning. So different from a mouth with lips and flesh but all the more exciting because of it.
The exhilaration of his being sentient melts instantly into lust, pouring through me like molten wax from a jack-o’-lantern candle to pool hot and heavy between my thighs.
My mouth parts in answer to his, like kissing a twelve-foot sentient skeleton is the only logical conclusion to this wildly illogical situation. There is no fear, only hunger and the deep, pulsing need to explore.
The first press of my lips against him feels like being wrapped in a cozy sweater against the chill of an October morning. When I open my mouth, the taste of Fall teases my tongue, like crisp apples and fallen leaves layered with pumpkin spice.
A fine vibration rumbles through his massive frame, like a groan trapped within his marrow, as I rise onto my toes and grip his collarbones, trying desperately to pull him closer. I drag my tongue along the sharp ridge of his teeth, and a feral moan escapes me before I can stop it.
His enormous hands are gentle as they cradle me against him. He lets me map the textures and shape of his mouth while his hands start to roam up and down my back, caressing the curves of my body, each of us getting braver in our explorations.
He pulls me in until my heaving breasts rub against him with each ragged inhale, and I find myself shifting so the edge of his ribs are dragging directly over my aching nipples, pebbled into tight aching peaks. When my gentle giant nibbles my questing lips with his teeth, I suck in a breath.
All too soon, the outside world pulls us apart with slamming car doors and voices. I leap back on unsteady legs and hiss, “BJ, they can’t see you move or they’ll take you away.”
His eyes bleed sadness before he gives me a nod and then slowly slides his hands off of my body to stand and walk backwards until he is back in his original position and staring vacantly at the street.
I look down at the grass, the indentation of his knees affirming what just happened. This wasn’t some crazy early morning hallucination. I reach up and ghost a finger over my swollen lips, further proof that I really had been kissing a twelve-foot skeleton.
“To be continued,” I say and then spin to head to the gate and see what’s going on.
At this point, I’m not sure whether I should be more shocked over the insanely hot kiss I just had with a skeleton or the line of cars pulling up out front. People are pouring out and walking towards my house.
I go out to meet them, making sure the gate is closed behind me and making a mental note to pick up a lock.
“Can I help you?” I ask the first person standing at what is quickly turning into a line down the sidewalk.
“I can’t believe it's you!” she squeals, bouncing her on her feet. “I’m here for the skeleton pictures.”
“The what?” I ask, unsure what the hell she is talking about.
She cocks her head at me and says, “The skeleton pictures? Didn’t you announce last night that this was part of your photography business? There’s posts about it all over online.”
Damn. Word spread fast. I didn’t think people would really show up for photos, but thank goodness they have since I used that line to protect BJ from the HOA.
“I’m not quite ready yet,” I say.
“No worries, we’ll wait,” someone from the group of people waiting behind her chimes in.
I nod with a weak smile and head inside.
As I brew a cup of coffee, I realize this is actually a great opportunity.
I can fulfill what I said about this being a part of my photography business and have a welcome change in subject matter.
I was getting a little salty about photographing happy couples and families while my own life was so lonely.
Now, I’ll get to photograph Mr. Bonejangles and people who love Halloween. A slow smile spreads across my face as I realize not only could this really work, but this will be fun. A well-deserved change of pace. Besides, it won’t last long. How many people will really come?
While the coffee brews, I head to the garage and sort through the box of carefully curated outfits I had organized into bags for the month. A small twinge of regret hits me as I let go of my dreams for dressing him up everyday and instead think about what will photograph the best.
A lot of the outfits were just one or two little things. If the line outside is anything to go by, these pictures will generate enough money that I could go all out on props. I see a lot of time searching for inspiration and shopping online in my future.
But for today, I circle back to the beanie, scarf, and the giant PSL latte cup. It’s the most complete outfit I have for him, and I know people will love it.
By the time I’ve wolfed down a bagel and burnt my tongue on my coffee, I’m shocked by the line that has assembled. I drag the ladder back out of my garage and set it up in front of BJ to start dressing him.
“Alright, big guy. I know we had a whole month of outfits planned, but there’s been a slight change of plans. The good news is, I’ll be looking at you all day long,” I tell him as I wind the scarf around his neck.
He gives me an LED wink, and I laugh.
“The bad news is, so will everyone else. I’ll get us some private time as soon as I can though. Promise.” I take one more minute and cock my head as I stare at him in his beanie and scarf, a smile blooming on my face. “You really are a handsome fellow.”
When I’m climbing down, I hear someone calling my name from the gate. I leave the ladder up in case people want to stand on it and head out to see who is here now.
Opening the gate, I smile to see Dawn on the other side.
“Damn Tori, everyone wants a piece of this,” she says.
I keep the smile pinned on my face and push the disappointment over my carefully laid plans aside. This is a good thing, I tell myself. How can I be disappointed over doing the exact thing I said I want to do—spread Halloween happiness.
“Yeah, I just wasn’t ready. I don’t have props or pricing or anything,” I reply.
“What can the Spooky Bitches do to help out?” she asks.
Her question stumps me. I’ve never had help before.
I’ve been a one woman show my entire career.
Even my ex never helped with set up or tear down or the million other things I could have used a photography assistant for.
He had made it clear that he wasn’t going to help me with my business, and I didn’t have the funds to support hiring an assistant.
Without one, I couldn’t really scale up either.
It was always a weird limbo to be stuck in—I needed to make more money to make more money. With that in mind, I reply, “I don’t know that I can pay anyone just yet.”
Dawn wrinkles her nose. “Spooky Bitches is a sisterhood. We support each other with the only expectation of whoever we help pays it forward. If we get pizza and beer, well that’s always a bonus for starving college students.”
I lean past her and look at the line that just keeps growing. “I don’t think that will be a problem. I’m thinking we charge twenty bucks for a pic and email the file.”
Looking over at how great BJ looks and how sad the ladder looks next to him I’m struck by inspiration. “Do you think someone can go pick up a couple hay bales and some pumpkins? I’d love to make this setup a little better.”
Dawn whips out her phone and her fingers fly across the screen. “Done.”
“I guess we’re doing this,” I say and wave the first person in line forward.