Anatomy of the Delightfully Disturbed

The Twisted Fingers

The road wanders here, but in my empty beliefs I fear it will find no end. No notion of repentance. No resistance to descend. Neither a sound nor a flutter did mutter in the trees. I am tired of life. I am tired of me. My lamp light is bright. It is the beginning of the night. A time when men should sleep and feel comfortable in their beds. But I – am a monster, and I, unlike many, am dead.

My bony fingers clutched the reins as my horse did lightly trot, in dread that I may fall from him to sleep upon this wasted lot. "Oh," said I, "my weary daydreams, where can a bed be this night? Not in such woods," I did declare, "can one find respite." So I looked on to my horse-mate and patted his matted mane. His clops a light hop with each and every step upon this curs'ed plain. I leaned forward and whispered in his uncanny ear. "Be afraid of sleep and resting, my lame and lacking dear. For claiming sleep brings weakness into a person's bed. Even so the strongest man is weakest when he rests his weary head." My horse and I traveled on from the land of ideas and reason. To a place unknown to us, a place that lacked a season.

Darkness nestled around my eyes; my arms yielding to my sides. The darkness's calling so profound that I almost dropped my satchel on the ground. I suddenly burst awake! The hour was early but the night was late. How far had we wondered? I had no clue to ponder. No roads had we crossed or rivers had we glossed. Simply to state the obvious, we were lost.

The bent and burnt trees of some fire long ago hovered over us like twisted fingers digging up from far below. Melodious black skies broke between the branches. A single sliver of the moon and flickering stars shone like smiling glances. Besides my light, my road was dark, inside this encompassing road of trees under this opposing arc.

Then behold before me, a glow, a twinkle so faint. Seemed to halo and crinkle like gold around a saint. "What might that be?" I curiously stated. "A person, a place, an angel elated?"

Quickly I leapt from my horse, snatching my light. "Over here!" I cried my voice in delight. "I'm here, right here in this terrible night!"

No one answered me, so I tied my horse to a tree. And from there I scurried forth to the gleam, hoping desperately it was more than what it seemed.

To my resolve a house appeared. Its majesty extended as I grew near. "As real as I," I cried! A renewed vigor filled my eyes. To the door I hastily shifted. My spirits once low had finally lifted.

Knock, knock, knock went my eager hand upon the door. Bock, bock, bock, it echoed strong on the inside floor. Bang, bang, bang, my hand greatly pounded. Step, step, step, approaching footsteps sounded.

The door opened just a crack, and two thin lips jutted a shout. "What business have you here? Get back! No solicitors, no peddlers. If any, get out."

"Sir," I pleaded, "or Madame." The voice too muffled for me to tell. "I am a wanderer, an ex-panderer, and a knell. I am a man that has lost his way. If any at all mercy I beg you, could I possibly stay? I promise I will pay."

The lips disappeared behind the door. First came one voice, then came more. "Let in a wanderer? I do jest!"

"Let in the payer! It'd be best."

"But what if he finds what lies beneath?"

"A horror so twisted he will never sleep."

A child laughed as a haunting reply. It a weak yet a terrible blistering cry. I unsure how to respond stood there tired. I yawned.

So formed the lips again at the door, only these were redder and fuller than before.

"Like no good Samaritan to refuse a being in need. Come in, dear shadow. Come in, indeed."