Looking Underground: Part Three
Phantom Limb
Every so often, Jack would peer over
at the glass jar sitting atop his desk
and scrutinize the severed hand inside.
The way it floated in the viscous liquid
it looked as if it could be animated
in some kind of articulating gesture,
and, even with its slightly gnarled fingers
and its unhealthy-looking cast of color,
it seemed so life-like, as if still alive,
not the dead hunk of bone and flesh it was.
When they had amputated his right hand
Jack had requested they let him keep it
and had them put it in a jar for him,
so as to take it home for a memento.
That was some years ago, but still the damn
thing captivated him as it always had.
And now, it was something of a paperweight
that sat atop his work desk, on display
for both him and anyone who came in.
He had no shame about it. On the contrary,
he and his clientele found it amusing
and an interesting conversation piece.
As he glared at it, he imagined that
he still had it and wore it on his person.
Just then, while thinking of his long-lost hand,
he felt it move in response to his will.
Holding the nub in front of him, he stared
at the air where his hand would've been
and wiggled his fingers. Yet, they weren't there!
He knew it must be a trick of the mind,
and yet it thrilled him. He had his hand back.
Or, at least, it felt like he did. He tried
it out and the sensation was wonderful!
Hand or no, he was overjoyed by this,
thankful he could at least feel it again.
Glancing back at the hand inside the jar,
he saw that it was moving on its own,
and soon realized he was in control!
Strange Conveyance
If you were to ask me before that day
I would've said I didn't believe in ghosts.
After all, many strange and odd beliefs
can be chocked up to the imagination,
and it's only wise to be skeptical.
But I was always one who needed proof
regarding anything that was in question,
and considered myself a man of reason.
Yet, I cannot deny what I have seen,
and I'm certain they do indeed exist,
from an encounter with one of their kind
that simply has no other explanation.
It was late in the evening. I had taken
a call from work due to a situation
they had had at the office and, while talking
with my colleague, I had picked up a pen
out of sheer boredom and was mindlessly
doodling on a scrap of notebook paper.
When, something about it drew my attention.
Glancing at it, I noticed I had written
myself a note, and, looking it over,
I thought it strange that there were words at all.
But it was quite coherent, and directed
at myself about a quandary I was in.
At first, I didn't know how this could be.
I thought maybe my mind had played a trick
on me somehow, and it was all some kind
of bizarre joke I had pulled on myself.
But as I read into what it was saying,
I realized that there was something more
than just a little strange about it: for
it read that I was dead and now a ghost;
and that I'd been living without a body;
and how it was torture not being able
to interact with the world around me,
or sense or feel much of anything at all.
I found it rather dark for my own likes,
baffled by how I could have written it.
While thinking about what it meant, I kept
my hand in place hovering over the page,
when, suddenly, I lost control of it
(as if my hand was being dragged along,)
and it started moving all on its own,
and went on writing the rest of the message!
In a state of barely contained panic,
I read what it was saying as it went,
while it outlined a man's predicament;
that he had passed away some time ago;
and how, with my help, he can live again,
if I would only let him have his way
and lend him my body for his own use.
The Novelist
The novelist's death had gained wide notice,
for he had left behind a cryptic message,
found in a desk drawer and soon brought to light.
Once the following letter was published,
it quickly caused a frenzy in the media,
for some had read his books, while others hadn't,
and a genuine concern began to grow.
But it also sparked a curiosity and interest
to read his work despite the author's wishes.
The message left behind upon his death:
"Life was well worth it, though in misery,
for The Demon has given me back my life,
and I never thought I would find such peace.
But I wish to set things right before I die.
Just know that I wrestled this vile creature,
who filled my ear, compelling me to write.
Please, heed my warning: never read a word
within the pages of those twisted volumes.
They are filled with demonic spells, elusive,
dark magic that could destroy a person!
Or lead to a life of strictest servitude,
like me, powerless to resist its will!
Regardless, I shall make a sincere effort
to seal these books, if at all possible,
and plead with you to consider the payment:
the cost of my own life, ended in blood!"
[This was the entirety of the note as found
in the desk where he sat slumped in his chair.]