Bateman- Skeleton Form

  . . . smiles we gave to one another . . .

  “What is it?” Miller called up.

  Sam’s voice, less enthusiastic: “It’s, um . . . it’s a human form . . . skeletal . . . it just exited the little girl’s room . . .”

  Actually, the writer informed me, Sam was wrong. It came from Robby’s room, since Robby is, in fact, the focal point of the haunting.
...

  “Holy Christ,” one of them shouted. “What the fuck is it?”

  “Bob.” This was Sam, I think. “Bob, it’s coming down the stairs.”

  The song stopped midlyric.

  Miller and I were facing the grand staircase that flowed into the foyer and the adjacent living room.

  There were clicking noises.

  (I am not going to defend what I’m about to describe. I am not going to try to make you believe anything. You can choose to believe me, or you can turn away. The same goes for another incident that occurs later on.)

  The only reason I witnessed this was because it happened so quickly, and the only reason I did not immediately turn away was because it seemed fake, like something I had seen in a movie—a prank to scare the children. The living room might as well have been a screen and the house a theater.

  It was lurching down the staircase, pausing on various steps.

  It was tall and had a vaguely human form, and though it was skeletal it had eyes.

  Rapidly my father’s face was illuminated in the skull.

  And then another face replaced it.

  Clayton’s.

  I was stunned into rigidity.

  My panting could not be heard above the meters or the cameras.

  The skeleton-thing was now standing at the bottom of the staircase.

  It was making the clicking noises with its teeth.

  Within the skull were eyeballs.

  Suddenly, it launched itself toward us.

  Miller and I quickly backed away and when we did, the thing stopped.

  It began raising its arms, extending them upward.

  The arms were so long that finger bones scraped the ceiling.

  I was moaning.

  What were we waiting for? I didn’t understand what we were waiting for it to do.

  My father’s face flashed on again, followed by Clayton’s.

  As the faces rapidly interchanged, sharing the skull, the resemblance between the two men could not be questioned.

  It was the face of a father being replaced by the face of a son.

  It kept clicking its teeth, as if chewing something invisible.

  Its fingers started trailing across the ceiling as it moved toward us.

  When it started lowering its arms, both Miller and I noticed something.

  It was carrying a scalpel.

  As it lunged toward us I braced myself, my eyes locked open.

  “I hear you,” I whispered. “I hear you.”

  And then the lights in the house flickered for a moment.

Lunar Park, chapter 27