And at exactly 12am, like every other night since his death, the skeleton rose from his grave to meander the musings of the fellow residents in the graveyard. Feeling spritely this morning, the rise was swift, a good sign for the hour to come. He’d only ever pushed being out to an hour. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to ever stay for longer but for the moment the time was managed to maximise. Spending the day underground thinking questions and keeping tabs on the fellow blocks; when they were occupied, not, stolen from – the works. He was, in his mind, an expert of the site.
He’d often thought about tricking Steve, the groundskeeper, into letting him give tours. Picture this, instead of the dreary black iron archway- a big wall with a door, small velvet rope. Exclusivity is the name of the game here folks. You walk up- we already have the selection prepared, tea or coffee; Irish variants available, we don’t discriminate here. Experience would be everything! Though sadly Steve’s game’s goals were those of decrepitation.
This morning he headed straight for Tony’s corner.
The sound of bone clanging against itself initially takes time to fully appreciate it. The first hundred years are rough, but after that I found it quite soothing. Organised like a marimba, 13 bones lay snugly across two planks held parallel to the floor by a neck strap, the ton working the beat played with a rhythm that as a ton, you couldn’t not move to. When speaking anecdotally, one might, in the land of the living, find themselves referring feeling it in their bones. This phenomenon is in-fact factually factual. You can’t just walk on by a rhythm like that and not bop. Tony flowed like a river downstream. His beat something you get lost in, if you step in for the ride best not forget your life jacket. Jamming in time the skeleton bopped his way to Tony.
“Tone, I’ve got a question for you and I’m going to ask it straight.” the skeleton said. His head bouncing in time with his words, bobbing his body, clicking along his bony fingers to the clacking. Knowing the hour was short Tony swiftly began nodding on the downbeat. His facial expression was lost due to the lack of anything resembling a face. “Where’d you get all those different sounding bones?”
At this Tony’s shoulders went up, out of time he swung back the next beat to recover. To give him credit, he was subtle, but the skeleton missed nothing. The skeleton followed Tony’s gaze out beyond the plains that the site bordered. The moon lazily hung by the stars.