Flesh that Binds [An original horror story] Part 2 of 3

What do you do when all you’ve ever known is gone? A career, a life, your family...

Prepare yourself for a 5-star story of twisted woe...

Flesh that Binds

Harold couldn’t argue. Even though he hadn’t been there with his masters since the early days, he had played a vital role in their latter. After all, when the brothers had first found him they had been as lost to themselves as he had been. On the fateful day in which they stumbled into the makeshift shelter in Kingstown with nothing but the clothes on their back, it had been Harold who had crawled out of his hole and offered them solace. Under the protection of the withered cloth the three had huddled around the coloured flier that shone with the light of hope, finally understanding the direction of their path. Finally finding a place to belong.

It had not been easy by any measure. Bound only to the shadows Ben and Charles slept through the day and travelled at night. Echoes of unmentionably cruel names reverberated through their heads as, with every passing day, they began to lose hope. Every time Harold returned with news of the ongoing negotiations their hopes sank even lower. And so they waited, biding their time until the day that Harold came back with that smile on his face that told them that they were in. They had found their home.

‘Stop dragging your feet. You’re going to leave tracks, Harold. Was I not clear when I told you that I did not want us so easily found?’ Harold looked back where the lines of grass trailed under his heavy footing. ‘The moment that they realise our absence they will be on us like hounds.’

‘A thousand apologies. I’ll tidy them up, sir.’

‘No, don’t bother,’ Charles resigned with a wave of his hand. ‘Just make sure to be more discreet. We already know that they’re going to be searching for us by sunrise. Therefore I’d at least try to delay the search for as long as possible. For the first time in my life I wish no audience for the Burnem Brothers.’

‘Not a problem, sir.’

They walked together in the quiet of dawn. Though no words were spoken, Charles’ head swirled with a million thoughts, all fighting to be heard. The corpse that he dragged like a paralytic drunkard bounced with every laborious step, irritating his skin as their bodies rubbed together. A dancing marionette with his brother as the strings. Harold walked faithfully at his side, head bowed. It took extra effort for Charles to maintain his composure. To walk with his head held high and power in his strides as with every passing moment he could feel himself becoming weaker. Each time his heel made contact with the earth he could feel his energy decomposing, spraying into the soft ground like a million spiders scrambling for freedom. The smell of his own sweat rose, joining with the moistness of the mist, and invaded his nostrils. The denseness of the odour feeling like a cloth was being held to his nose. Yet still he walked.

How did it come to this? Harold silently questioned as he struggled to grip the reality of the situation. Over the years he had shown himself to be a loyal servant, taking commands without batting an eyelid, knowing that the kindness that the other performers showed him were worth a million days lived in his past life. Though he was often taken for granted by the very pair that claimed him, he would never have wished it away. His master was right. Time is a cruel thief.

And what choice did he have now? At the end of it all he could not break such a bond, taking Charles’ commands without question, ignoring that small voice in his head that doubted that he’d be able to perform the task. Charles had been specific. Charles had been clear. Each point served its purpose and, he supposed, that it was the only way that the act could play out. The closing stages of the story of the duo, though laced with an unshifting finality, shone faintly with a glimmer of hope beyond reason.

That was what pulled Harold through.

‘Just over there, sir,’ he whispered through gritted teeth, steeling himself.

There was nothing out of the ordinary amongst the stones. Only the persistent foliage and the cracked marble. ‘Well, either you’ve failed at your final task and the plot is not where I wished it to be, or you’ve exceeded my expectations and hidden it masterfully. I’ll hold my breath until we’re closer.’

Take every breath you can, Harold wanted to say. But he knew better than to tell his master what to do. Returning his gaze to the grassy slope a flicker of silver flashed from the lining of his boot. The hidden blade whispering in the moonlight.

It wasn’t until he almost stepped into the pit that Charles saw it for what it was. Harold, seeing his master’s danger, threw his arm across their path, instantly stopping the puppeteer and his dummy. On the floor the grass, though masterfully disguised, had been previously disturbed. With closer inspection the blades of grass were carefully scattered over a covering of loose dirt, which balanced lightly atop a thin sheet supported by four strategically placed rocks. One for each corner. Any passers-by – not that any ventured this far any more – would walk non-the-wiser past the hole. Even Charles had to bow a silent nod of approval to Harold.

‘Marvellous,’ his words said, unmatched by the expressionless face behind. The sight of the grave stood as the final reality of what stood before them.

Tune in tomorrow for the final haunting part of this chilling tale!