“The Skeleton Man”
by Chloe Robbins

The split-faced woman can’t believe her luck at finding a skeleton sitting so pretty in the light of a woodland campfire. Luck, or perhaps fate. Her name is Crystal and she isn’t from around here. She’s never heard of The Skeleton Man, though he’s famous. It’s said to be the most ghoulishly delicious sight, watching him invite his own bones outside himself for a dance. No blood or crassness, just a skeleton waltzing with its flesh. Lonely together.

But Crystal doesn’t know any of this. All she knows is that he’s left his bones sitting out for the night, his skin folded like laundry before the fire. His skull ripe as a berry for the picking. For the stealing.

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