The Man with Cold Hands (Part Three)

Part One
Part Two

I shivered.  I couldn’t get away from The Man’s voice.  It resonated through my whole being.

Should I fight back?  Should I try and escape?  A million thoughts ran through my mind while I scanned the room looking for a door.  Or a weapon.

Then I saw it.  A scalpel.  The metal gently glittered in the tiny bit of light that was in the room.  I quietly moved over to the table, grabbed it and held it tight while I crouched down.  My legs were in severe pain.  I could barely feel my toes.  There was an aching in my belly that I couldn’t place either.  Perhaps hunger.

I saw The Man’s shadow move towards me.  I jumped up and swung the blade wildly in the direction of The Man.

Slash.

I stopped and faced him.  I had cut him across the chest, but he was not bleeding.  He smiled as he stepped closer to me and reached his hand to my face.  His hand was cold as he gently stroked my face.

“Poor thing,” his voice whispered a low grumble.  “You don’t even remember.  I wonder what they did?  I know you can hear me, but I wonder why I can’t hear you?”  He continued to touch my face as he spoke.

My fear subsided, but I was confused and angry.  I hit his hand away and stepped back.  He cocked his head to the side while his eyes looked me over.  He then suddenly straightened up, and clapped his hands together.

“My dear, our bodies weren’t meant for this.  It’s time to leave now,” his voice carried with authority.

He reached out to me once more, but this time, the skin on his arm seemed to stretch out.  It stretched and tore to pieces, falling like rubber to the floor.  I gasped, and stared in wonder at the arm that was left coming towards me.  It was like soft, slimy leather, and a dark forest green with flecks of shiny purple bumps.  It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, so I touched it, and the ridges and scales moved under my hand.  There were no fingers, but rather one long appendage that seemed to stretch for miles.  It wrapped itself around my waist and up to my face.  I wrapped my arms around the slimy arm of the creature and nestled my face into it.

The rest of The Man’s skin tore and fell to the floor.  He grew upwards and outwards and let out a giant moan.  His enormous blob-like body heaved with every breath he took.  I looked up to his mind (for he had no eyes) and I grabbed his arm even tighter.

“There you are,” the voice sighed.  “I told you I’d always find you.  Now it’s time for you to take off your suit.  Let’s go home, my love.”

 

Copyright 2014 Meg Swensen

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