The Turning of the Bones - An excerpt

The boat was small, a tiny sailboat. A fishing boat, perhaps, with no cabin or cargo area. At first, he thought the bottom of the boat was covered with debris. But then he realized what he thought was debris was human remains.

Tattered cloth. Bits of broken bone. Chunks of flesh and other bits left rotting in the sun. Odd that the birds hadn’t been working on this mess, he thought, his mind racing as it tried to make sense of the scene. Then he saw movement.

“Look there, Dosseh!” he said.

“God, one of them is still alive!” Dosseh said. He reached into the boat, holding his hand out. “Here, take my hand. We’ll help you.”

The hairs on the back of Etse’s neck raised as an arm rose slowly from under the human remains. It was slender, emaciated. Almost skeletal in appearance. The movement struck him as wrong, somehow, and he reached to Dosseh’s shoulder to pull the man away.

“Dosseh, I don’t think...”

That was all Etse managed to say.

The thing in the boat became a blur of motion, pushing it-self up from the deck of the boat and latching itself to Dosseh’s arm. It wore nothing but tattered rags, and its skin was covered in what looked like infected bite marks… and it moved faster than anything Etse had ever seen.

Its jaws locked onto Dosseh’s flesh just below the elbow, below where the studded shirt would perhaps have warded off its teeth. Blood spurted. Dosseh let out a yell, and tried to pull his arm away, but it held him fast with both hands, ripping a strip of flesh from his arm.

Dosseh screamed and kept screaming as he punched the thing in the face with his free hand, once, then again. The blows seemed to have no effect at all. Then with a sudden movement that was uncanny, it scuttled up his arm, jaws clamping on his throat. Dosseh fell backward from the boat, losing his footing and falling, his head slipping under the water, the thing crashing down with him.

Etse reached into the water. He grabbed hold of the thing with both hands by its shoulders, straining to pull it off Dosseh. It clung to the downed man with a fantastic strength. Then it whirled on him, launching itself clear of the water, claws scrabbling for Etse’s throat. He thrust out both arms, just barely keeping the snapping jaws away. But the momentum of its charge lifted him from his feet and threw him back into the wa-ter.

The waves closed over Etse’s head, those deadly claws still locked in their grip around his neck. Etse struggled but was un-able to even lift his head from the sand. His lungs burned for air already. His arms were getting weaker. Any moment now they would falter and the thing would have him.

Then it was gone. Firm hands grabbed him by his woven armor shirt and hauled him up. Etse felt cool air on his face and gasped, gulping deep breaths. Breathing had never felt so good!

“Are you all right? Are you wounded?” It was Kwadwo who’d hauled him up from the water. Etse struggled to bring his gasping breaths under enough control to answer.

“I’m not hurt,” Etse managed to get out. “Dosseh?”

Tetteh shook his head, and Etse looked down into the water. Dosseh’s body lay there on the sandy bottom, staring up at them, eyes wide open. That could have been me, Etse realized. Almost had been him. If Dosseh hadn’t stepped in to block him, it would be Etse’s body still on the sea floor.

“Damn it,” Etse said. He snapped his attention back to the thing, which was surrounded now by the rest of the patrol. They baited it in turns, working together to keep it from getting to any of them. One would get its attention, back away – and then another man would sink his sword into it from behind.

But their swords didn’t seem to be doing much good. One of the thing’s wrists hung limply, half severed. And it oozed blood from more than one gaping wound. Rotted intestines had spilled from its side. Yet it kept fighting. And Etse could see the men tiring.

Then one guardsman jumped back a hair too slow, and the thing had him. Its claws caught his sword arm, and its mouth followed, snapping down like a vice on the fleshy forearm. The man screamed for help, pummeling the thing over the head with his free fist while it gnawed on him. Two other men stepped forward, stabbing their swords into its back with little effect.

The scene sickened Etse. But more than that, he felt hot an-ger. Those were good men the thing was hurting. Killing. And he’d had enough.

His sword came free from its scabbard almost without a thought. Kwadwo said something behind him, but he couldn’t hear. He was lost in the movement of the sword now, gliding in to face this horror. His blade whistled, almost catching it in the head, but instead struck one of its arms, detaching it at the el-bow.

That got its attention! It turned from its prey, jaws snapping at Etse. The man it had savaged collapsed to the ground, clutching his wounded arm.

It darted in at Etse, trying to get past his sword, but he side-stepped the movement and it lost several fingers. He’d take the thing apart one bit at a time if that’s what was required to final-ly kill it.

It rushed again, and he stepped off to the left, avoiding its good arm. It turned, following his dancing movement impossibly fast. Etse’s blade sang through the air as he blocked three slashes. The monster leaned in toward him, jaws trying to bite his face, and he only just got his sword between him and that terrible maw. Its teeth gnashed on his blade, some snapping off as it tried to bite through the steel.

He twisted the sword, pulling it clear of the creature’s mouth and opening a gash across its cheek. Ichor dripped from its wounds.

Two patrolmen closed on the thing from behind, stabbing swords into it to pin it in place. The creature hissed, and tried to turn on the men, but the men grimaced and held on. Their swords held it fast.

“Now, honhommawne (demon), we will see how well you do without a head,” Etse said. His sword split the air one more time, taking its head from its shoulders.

The thing collapsed in a heap as soon as it was headless. All semblance of life was gone in an instant. The men withdrew their swords hesitantly, and who could blame them? Etse half expected the thing to come back to life and attack them again. But it stayed there, oozing putrid blood onto the sandy beach.

“Sir, over here,” another patrolman called. Etse fought to recall his name – Kudowor. He’d never felt it was so important to remember the names of these men before now.

“What is it, Kudowor?” he asked, working to cement the name in his memory. The guard was standing near where the creature’s head had landed, his sword drawn.

Etse came up alongside him and gaped down at the head. It was gritty, covered with damp sand. Oozing ichor from its neck. Rotting flesh dangled in tatters where it had been dam-aged during the fight.

But still the thing gnashed its teeth together, trying to reach them.

“It still didn’t die?” Kwadwo asked. He’d followed Etse over, and his eyes promised a conversation later that Etse did not relish. He winced inwardly – he was supposed to stay out of harm’s way on these patrols, not step into it. But he worked hard to keep his outward demeanor calm and still. If he’d had to do it over again, he would have done the same anyway.

“No, it didn’t.” Etse poked it with his sword tip, and it hissed up at him.

“There must be a way to kill the thing,” Kudowor muttered.

Kwadwo drew his sword. “This was blessed by the Ahene Akamfo (Chief Shaman) himself,” he said. “If any weapon can end this honhommawne, it can.”

He stepped forward, the thing hissing wildly at them, teeth clashing together. Then Kwadwo stabbed his blade downward, punching through the thing’s skull. It went suddenly still.

Everything was quiet for a long moment, and then the men began cheering. Etse felt a wallop across his back and turned to see Kudowor grinning at him.

“Well fought, Etse,” Kudowor said.

“Thank you,” Etse replied. He tried to keep the pleasure out of his voice, and the heat from his cheeks at the compliment. Kudowor was, after all, a warrior veteran. He’d seen more battles than Etse had years. But behead a monster, and it seemed much was made equal that was not before.

“Is Utuka’s wound bound? Good!” Kwadwo was barking orders, snapping the men back to reality. “Anatsui, Nii, wrap that thing up in a cloth. We’ll drag it behind the kwapawnkah. I want the obirempon to see it.”

“What the hell was that thing, Kwadwo?” Nii asked.

“Damned if I know. Perhaps the Asantehene will,” Kwadwo replied.

Etse wondered what his father would think of the creature. Wondered if in all Ki Khanga, anyone had ever heard of such a thing.

“Kudowor, give me a hand, would you?” Etse murmured. The other man tilted his head sideways a moment, then nodded. Etse stepped back out into the water, Kudowor following be-hind.

Dosseh lay there on the bottom, still staring up sightlessly at the sky, his mouth open in a wide “O,” his neck ripped open even wider where the thing had gnawed at him.

“Help me get him to shore?”

“Aane, of course,” Kudowor replied. Together, they lifted the dead man from the water.

The Turning of the Bones is available for preorder now. Click the link below to get your copy. Official release date: July 7, 2025

The Turning of the Bones