They shivered. The moon shone on their innocent faces. ‘Why does the moon remind you of the Bone Man uncle Frank? Franco settled on the end of their bed, his face hidden from the moonlight, but nevertheless, casting a faint shadow on the bedroom wall. He whispered, and they leant in towards him. ‘They slipped into Liverpool on small sail ships, steered by the light of the moon. The human cargo had endured rough and stormy seas, many were left weakened by the journey. Promised a better life. As they disembarked the Bone Man lined them up in the moonlight, segregated the healthy from the weak.’ He paused. ‘The weak were unpaid and worked to death in quarries. Cheap labour. The healthy were herded to a warehouse at the dock.’ He made a slashing motion, with his hand on his neck. Their eyes opened wide as they shrank back into their bed covers. ‘Why?’ ‘He sold their organs for research, stored their bones in trunks, that was how he was discovered. The sculpture outside your house is in memory of the dead… Good night kids.’
In his workshop, Frank made ash from bones. Ash had so many uses, he wouldn’t have to store them, he could sell them too.
FlashFlood is brought to you by National Flash-Fiction Day UK, happening this year on 27th June 2015.
In the build up to the day we have now launched our Micro-Fiction Competition (stories up to 100 words) and also our annual Anthology (stories up to 500 words). So if you have enjoyed FlashFlood, why not send us your stories?