In a forgotten corner of a decaying town, a skeleton named Clyde resided in an abandoned graveyard. Though his bones were brittle and covered in dust, Clyde had a heart—figuratively speaking. He longed for companionship, often watching children play in the fields beyond the gates, their laughter echoing like music in his hollow ribcage.
One moonlit night, Clyde decided to approach the village. He fashioned a tattered cloak from old leaves and vines, hoping to appear less frightening. His bones clinked softly as he shuffled toward the flickering lights of the nearby homes, heart racing with anticipation.
His first encounter was with a group of children playing tag. They squealed in delight at first, but their laughter turned to shrieks as they saw his skeletal form. “A ghost! Run!” they shouted, scattering like leaves in the wind. Clyde’s heart sank.
Determined, he ventured into the village again the next night, this time bringing gifts: shiny stones and forgotten trinkets he had collected. He placed them on the doorstep of the kind woman who lived at the edge of the town. When she opened the door, her gasp echoed in the stillness, and she quickly shut it, leaving Clyde alone in the shadows.
Days turned to weeks, and the chill of loneliness seeped deeper into his bones. Yet, he still tried, leaving gifts for the children and sometimes drawing pictures in the dirt, hoping they would see him as a friend, not a monster.
One fateful evening, as he sat atop a hill overlooking the town, he noticed a small girl sitting by herself, tears streaming down her cheeks. Intrigued, he approached slowly, whispering gentle words that only the wind could hear. When she turned and saw him, her fear melted into wonder.
“Are you a friendly skeleton?” she asked, her voice trembling.
Clyde nodded eagerly, gesturing to the treasures he had left in the grass. The girl’s eyes widened with delight as she picked up a shimmering stone, her fear replaced by curiosity.
From that night on, the girl visited him each evening. They shared stories, laughed, and played games under the stars. Clyde felt warmth fill his hollow chest for the first time. He finally had a friend.
But the village soon learned of their secret meetings. Whispers spread like wildfire, fueled by fear. One night, the townsfolk gathered, torches in hand, determined to rid themselves of the “monstrous” skeleton who had bewitched the girl.
As they stormed the hill, Clyde and the girl heard the commotion. He shielded her with his bones, urging her to flee. But she refused. “You’re my friend!” she cried.
The mob reached them, torches casting flickering shadows. They saw Clyde, now a protector rather than a monster, and they hesitated. But fear won, and the crowd surged forward, torches raised high.
In that moment, Clyde felt a sharp pang of despair. With one final act of bravery, he swept the girl behind him, whispering, “Run!”
The torches blazed, and the villagers hurled them at Clyde, flames igniting the dry grass around him. As he stood there, a wall of fire consuming his fragile form, he smiled softly, knowing he had made a friend—if only for a moment.
The flames roared and the wind howled, but through it all, the girl stood, tears in her eyes, remembering the warmth of a skeleton’s heart. The villagers retreated, leaving only the echo of her cries behind, as Clyde’s ashes drifted into the night, forever chasing the laughter he longed to join.
