The Hand of Death

Suspense Stories | Jan 18, 2013 | 6 min read
48 Votes, average: 4 out of 5
This is one of those stories that just starts as is, don't blame me for the unorthodox syntax, it would not be the story it is if I followed every other good boy's rules. If author David Mitchell got away with writing gibberish in his great Cloud Atlas book then why can't I? But just who do I think I am? My old metal type writer impatiently clicking away in this small hot and humid room is past your imagination. Crushed white sheets of paper scattered around the wooden floor with half started sentences no one will ever see, scurry along their way to the garbage bin. A half filled bottle of sugar cane moonshine sits pleasantly on my old walnut desk and a box of rich flavored Cuban cigars in the half opened drawer. Who am I kidding? I'm just a guy with an Ipad and a lot of half time on my hands. Well, enough of me, this is supposed to be a short story so let's get to the other half...

Now I will tell you about my close encounter with the hand of death. And yes, to all those incredulous readers, this story is totally true, well I probably have exaggerated some parts, but who would read it if I just plain out said that... Well then that would not be a short scary story.

It all starts back yonder when I was a teenager. Meet my uncle. Uncle Eliseo was that type of special uncle, the type that we all had or wished we had when we were growing up. Making funny faces and always saying things that ashamed the rest of the family. Eliseo was the uncle that would take me to flea markets and garage sales just as cool as trips to Disney. He was the one with the star gazing telescope and the magic treasure hunting device, the uncle that made us wonder and dream.

I must have been around fourteen years old back then, well maybe a little more, but I would be ashamed of admitting it. A distant family member had just passed away and we were all at the funeral. Before this death I don't remember any one dying, so it was a big deal for me. It was my first encounter with death. As usual my uncle was there joking around and making everyone feel horrible. Well, I guess you too would feel horrible if you were dying to laugh and couldn't because in a funeral it is a well known protocol that everyone should look dark and gloomy.

It was on our way back to my home that the eerie event started to unfold. My mom did not own a car so we ended up driving back with my special uncle. As soon as we got in the car Eliseo started implying that the dead family member would be trying to get at me.

"You will be sleeping," he said "and the dead will pull at your legs."
"It will creep under your sheets, its cold deteriorated hands will grab you." he continued.

Obviously this frightened me and even more while he kept on making these monstrous faces of how the cadaver would look when it came back from the grave. He curved the fingers in his hand making a claw and reached out to grasp me from the front seat. It was not until my mom came to the rescue that he stopped, although I could still see him making grotesque faces through the car's rear view mirror.

That awful night his words hauntingly followed me to my bed even and grasped at me even as I took my mandatory bath. I cautiously kept looking through the plastic shower curtain just in case the evil dead would come and visit. Not sure what I would have done if they did come to visit, other than throw them my bar of soap and hope the dead slipped on the floor. But I guessed not much harm could happen to an already dead person so I knew I would be out of luck if he did come at me.

After my quick dry back bath I made a dash to my room and into my bed with the sheets over my head. If you are really into this story you'd probably already figured out that I did not put off the light, nice try, but my mom also noticed and came by and off they were. After that, it was just me, the dark room and the sheet over my face... "Dare I not open my eyes," I thought.

It must have been three in the morning when it happened. After struggling in some strange dream I was suddenly awoken by death. Death had come to visit me and its intention? To drag me with it to the dark dungeons of hell! Death had grabbed my hand and would not let go. My heart pounded like a train. I pulled away, but it still had a tight hold on my hand. "Oh God!" I thought, "This is the end of me." I pulled in vain, but it had a cold tight grip on my hand, it would not let go. Atlas my uncle was right the cadaver had come to take me away.

Terrified I jumped out of the bed into total darkness. Still my hand was grasped by death. I could feel its claws sinking deep into my skin. At that moment I came to the desperate conclusion that death would have to fight me till the end. It would not take me so easily into its perilous dungeon belly. In horror I ran against the wall and in doing so I banged death's hand against the wall... Still there! "This was war!" I thought. I banged it again and again while desperately running out of my room.

By the time I got to the hallway I'd banged death's hand around 8 times and still death did not let go. Each time its cold claws holding me tighter. As I banged it again this time punching through the gypsum board I screamed "Let Go!", as I felt the pain creep up my arm. "This is it", I thought... the point where we have tried everything in vain and still we are goners. And then I did what any other fourteen year old with death holding on to, would do. "Mom!", "Mom!" I desperately screamed for my mother. It took just seconds before the hallway was fully lit, my mom standing in front of me, her curls on her head while I was in my underwear still banging my hand against the dry wall.

Wait! Did I say I was banging my hand against the wall? Shit, it was my hand. So where was death's hand? Did it just drop off along my get away through the hallway? And then slowly, but surely it started to all come to me. Although my hand was still hurting like hell it also had a familiar feeling. Like little needles… a tingling feeling… And then like a flash it was plain and clear as water. My hand had fallen asleep during the night making it feel like it was being grasped. I must have slept on top of my hand that night. "Crap", I thought, feeling totally silly while my mom was still asking me what the hell was going on.

Well there is not much more to say other than that was my experience with the hand of death. But was it all just coincidence or was there more to it. Why that night? It has never happened to me after that day. So what made that night so special? Was it coincidence or something darker? After that event my mom had a good talk with my uncle. And the first thing my uncle did? He came by said, "I told you death would get you". I guess I will never know why this all happened that night. My uncle Eliseo hanged himself last year... miss you uncle this one is for you.

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