Published 'Parlour Papers' 1994

He picked at the bones, feeling hungry enough to lift them and beat his own

brains out.  That would certainly be a longer lasting method of assuagement

than simply sucking on their residues of marrow.

            Then, the door banged loudly, as if such an interruption was delayed purely

for this crucial moment of contemplated self-annihilation.  There was either

someone with raw knuckles on the other side of the door or the door itself

demanded escape from frame and hinges.  And if it were the latter, what the

cause? - wind being the most likely, implied by the empty sounds in the

chimney-flue or, at a push, the door was as sentient as the bone-picker and

desired its own share of self-annihilation.

            "Come in."  He concealed the bones behind his back.

            The door opened with a grating croak, to reveal a figure in white.  The

whiteness was not as a result of clothing, nor even the billowing wisps

often associated with spectral phenomena.  What was certain, however, the

knuckle theory could easily be discounted.  It had no hands and, probably,

no arms, even it did have the hands.  In fact, the figure was not human at

all, despite its vague leaning towards a human shape: some features that

looked as if they could be rearranged to form the most beautiful face the

bone-picker had ever seen, together with curves, arches and angles that

indicated shoulders, buttocks, belly and breasts, the most extruded parts

forming vestigial limbs down below.

            "Yes?"  He surprised himself at the way he used a formal language at all,

to address the visitor, let alone English.  He was not even sure about his

reflex attitude of regarding it as the viable entity which the word

'visitor' required.  The most logical response was to ignore it, since the

chances were that it did not exist in any shape or form.  Ghosts, he could

believe - just.  But, this?  It would have over-stretched credulities far

more gullible even than his own.  Yet, the capability of existing at all,

even as a human being, necessitated limitless permutations of spirit and

chemistry converging in space and time.  Thus, nothing could be believed and

everything doubted, even doubt itself.

            The figure of white, evidently desiring its own share of self, swept into

the room and sucked upon the ready-picked arrangement of lonely bones.

            The door yawned shut.