I'm staring at my left hand when Emily wakes.
"What's wrong, honey?" she asks, still bleary with sleep.
"My hand is numb," I say.
She sits up, suddenly frantic. "Numb? Like you can't feel anything?" she asks. "Nothing?"
"Nope," I say, flexing my fingers slowly.
She jumps out of bed and pulls open the drawer of her bedside table.
"What's the problem?" I ask.
"She's found us!" she shouts, pulling a small cardboard box from the drawer.
"What?" I ask. "Who?"
She pulls a large pin from the box.
"The Bedwitch!" she hisses, and stabs my hand with the pin. It starts to bleed.
"Hey!" I shout, pulling my hand away.
"Did you feel it?" she asks.
"No," I say, "But it's bleeding."
She grabs the wrist of my hand and pulls it toward her.
"Not much," she says, and stabs the hand again.
I try to tug away, but she holds me tight.
"Did you feel that?" she asks.
"No," I say. "No pain, but I wish you'd stop."
"Gah!" she yells, and stabs me again.
After the sixth puncture, I feel it.
"Ow!" I yell. She pokes me again.
"I said Ow!" I yell again, pulling away. This time she lets me go.
"What is going on?" I ask.
"The Bedwitch," she says, and hands me a tissue for my increasingly painful hand.
"I've never heard of that," I say, dabbing at my tiny wounds.
"They say that in deepest night she steals the hands of the innocent," she whispers, settling back into bed. "And replaces them with unfeeling meat."
She turns toward me. "She uses the hands to commit black deeds, David. Black, black deeds."
I stare at her for several seconds, thinking she's lost her mind, and then she starts to snicker.
"Jerk," I say, laying back down, turning my back to her. "My hand is killing me."
"I can't believe you bought that," she says.
"Pheh!" I grumble, and close my eyes.
"I mean really," she says, and then her tone changes. "You? Innocent?"
My breathing catches in my throat at the realization.
She knows.
"What's wrong, honey?" she asks, still bleary with sleep.
"My hand is numb," I say.
She sits up, suddenly frantic. "Numb? Like you can't feel anything?" she asks. "Nothing?"
"Nope," I say, flexing my fingers slowly.
She jumps out of bed and pulls open the drawer of her bedside table.
"What's the problem?" I ask.
"She's found us!" she shouts, pulling a small cardboard box from the drawer.
"What?" I ask. "Who?"
She pulls a large pin from the box.
"The Bedwitch!" she hisses, and stabs my hand with the pin. It starts to bleed.
"Hey!" I shout, pulling my hand away.
"Did you feel it?" she asks.
"No," I say, "But it's bleeding."
She grabs the wrist of my hand and pulls it toward her.
"Not much," she says, and stabs the hand again.
I try to tug away, but she holds me tight.
"Did you feel that?" she asks.
"No," I say. "No pain, but I wish you'd stop."
"Gah!" she yells, and stabs me again.
After the sixth puncture, I feel it.
"Ow!" I yell. She pokes me again.
"I said Ow!" I yell again, pulling away. This time she lets me go.
"What is going on?" I ask.
"The Bedwitch," she says, and hands me a tissue for my increasingly painful hand.
"I've never heard of that," I say, dabbing at my tiny wounds.
"They say that in deepest night she steals the hands of the innocent," she whispers, settling back into bed. "And replaces them with unfeeling meat."
She turns toward me. "She uses the hands to commit black deeds, David. Black, black deeds."
I stare at her for several seconds, thinking she's lost her mind, and then she starts to snicker.
"Jerk," I say, laying back down, turning my back to her. "My hand is killing me."
"I can't believe you bought that," she says.
"Pheh!" I grumble, and close my eyes.
"I mean really," she says, and then her tone changes. "You? Innocent?"
My breathing catches in my throat at the realization.
She knows.
Dean, this was amazing on so many levels--I mean really. :)
Posted by: Gretchen | July 09, 2007 at 05:03 PM
:Shock:
Posted by: Taiger | July 09, 2007 at 06:28 PM
Wow... I agree with Gretchen on this one. Tres, um, good. Bien? I love trying to speak other languages.
Posted by: Celes | July 09, 2007 at 07:33 PM
It was once believed that a numb patch on the skin was the mark of the devil and thus the bearer was a witch. Just thought I'd mention it.
Posted by: Shawn | July 10, 2007 at 09:53 AM
This never happened at home. Never. That's an absurd suggestion. For one thing, my name isn't Emily.
Posted by: the wife | July 12, 2007 at 02:22 PM
It's not? Dang, I'm at the wrong blog.
Posted by: Enna Isilee | July 13, 2007 at 03:51 PM