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The Case of the Severed Man

'Twas an early December dawn. Though it may have been some time ago, I remember this event quite distinctly. Listen! as my account unfolds-how easily I can recall this event, despite the years.

In the early hours of a December dawn, I was startled by a sound. A sound like that of the clock as the seconds pass, only with more of a ring to it. Once I had been able to get myself out from under the burrow of blankets, I crept to the window-since this is where I believed the sound had originated. Slowly, I pulled back the curtain to find the source of this strange sound.

Once the curtain was pulled away I could see a severed finger, resting what I presumed to be the knuckle-bone in the flower box. In the background, I also spotted a reasurring wolf. I felt it inhospitable not to let in the finger, so I opened the window as it inched itself in. I put on a pair of shoes, put on a jacket and tip-toed out the door, holding the disembodied finger in my palm.

Outside, I heard a sort of moaning. Though I wanted to be afraid, an eagle o'er head told me otherwise. The finger and I neared the edge of the woods. "In here?" I asked. The finger proceeded to make a sort of motion, which I precieved to be a nod, with the very tip of itself. So, we entered into the deep woods.

As we neared the heart of the wood, the groaning grew louder. At some point, a bear had joined us on our journey. I didn't feel frightened, for it walked beside me. Then the bear, the eagle, the wolf, the finger and I witnessed what we came to witness.

What we saw may not be suitable for children, though I myself was only a child at the time. It was a man, in pieces, laying upon the dewy ground. It was quite a sad moment, for I recongnized the man. Though, I found it strange that he was there-for he was just in my dream, he hadn't come out before. The creatures, the wolf an I stood there solemnly-watching the writhering man. It wasn't much longer before I realized, the window was open-and a sort of sound rang through-out the room. A sound similar to that which a clock makes as the seconds pass.





 
 
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