House With Good Bones Novels & Stories

The Vance house was all glass and steel, a cold cage perched over Blackwood Lake. It screamed Julian’s success. To me, it just screamed. I stood in our bedroom, bare feet in the cream rug, wearing a robe worth a fortune. It felt like a costume. My skin was buzzing, waiting for the sound that would wreck my world.

They moved like ghosts toward the blighted plain. The air became thick and smelled sour. The ground was soft and full of dead things. The tower looked like a skeletal finger scratching the sky. They could see many figures moving at its base. Then they saw the bone yard. It was a wasteland of white bone. Great ribs stuck out of the earth like a ruined church. The dragon’s skeleton had been broken apart for pieces. In the center, a few large bones remained, including a massive leg bone and part of a skull. This was where Silas gathered his power.

“Well, I’ve got your back. Let’s see what secrets the Blackstone Pack holds, then.” As they approached the pack house, Kane’s sharp eyes took in the looming structure of the Blackstone mansion. It was large, formidable, its stone walls framed by tall, ancient trees that created an eerie canopy around it. The pack house sat high on a hill, almost hidden, as if it wanted to keep its secrets close.

“You’re humans. We’re werewolves. There’s a significant strength difference.” “I wouldn’t underestimate the House of Men if I were you,” Marquis Johanssen interjects. “They have an abundant supply of wolfsbane. Even I don’t know where they’re getting it. And it’s not only wolfsbane. They have repellants, the weaknesses of every creature, they have in their arsenal.”

She was in Havermouth. Her heart pounded in her head as she slowly turned to look back the way she had come, and her vision shifted, refocused, sharpened perhaps. Amongst the greenery was bone. Skulls with vines woven through eye sockets. Femur formed the fencing in front of the houses, rib bone curved over plants offering them fragile shade and shelter, the points of spears leaning up against the side of a house were tipped with carved points of bone, a door handle, a piece of jewellery…

His son had just started medical school, and he once told me how to tell real bones from the fake ones some laboratories keep. These look all too real. And it gets weirder from there. A whole wall is decorated with weapons. Whips, swords, piers, daggers, throwing knives. “Alright, so he lives in a gothic mansion and has a huge collection of bones and weapons,” I mutter, hurrying ahead, “That doesn’t mean he’s— —I walk into a glass wall. Swearing, I jump back. Lamps light up over my head. The life drains from my legs.

She greeted showing us to the seats. "Thank you Ms. Maggot." Responded I as I kept my eyes looking around in amusement. The place wore a rare design of animal bones and skeletons that if they were found in anyone's house at that time, they would execute them for practicing sorcery. The sounds that led out of her house rang like metallic bells that for sure came from the hanging bones upon the ceiling. "Please have a seat." Simmons led down first as I still stood astonished with the looks and beauty.

The darkness of the room was all around her. The smell was the same as she smelt last night but heavier. She got the mitt and opened the door, and looked in to see the coals on the bottom still glowing red. She knew she could not really go into the unit until they were out completely. She looked around in it and then saw the one thing she was hoping she wouldn’t. A bone. A long human bone. She stood there and looked into the unit some more.

“Ass up, face down?” “God, yes.” Henry clears his throat. “Uh, appliances would need updating. But the bones are solid.” Sloane stage-whispers, “So’s your biceps.” He laughs now, shaking his head. “You two haven’t changed.” I grin. “You have. Look at you. All confident and Realtor Ken.” “More like Craigslist Ken,” he mutters, but there’s a blush high on his cheeks now. “Want to see upstairs?” We follow, climbing the narrow staircase with Sloane muttering, “If he turns around and his ass is as nice as his arms, I’m proposing.”