~~~

The man loved his wife. He loved her mop of blonde hair. He loved her tawny eyes and warm breath that smelt of peardrops. He loved the way she walked like a penguin. But above all, he loved her solid gold left hand.

Poor woman! She died while she was quite young, and the young man was filled with emptiness. He felt like he had lost a limb.

On the night after the funeral, the man went back to the graveyard, and he was carrying a spade. He found his wife's grave, and he dug for an hour and dug up his wife. At once, he unscrewed her left hand and took it back home with him. In fact, so as to be completely safe, he hid it under his bottom pillow.

But when the man got into bed, it didn't matter whether he closed his eyes or kept them open: his bedroom still swarmed with dancing white lights, like insects' stings or stars. And little white bones were floating through the air.

Then the man saw his wife - his wife's ghost - drift up to the foot of the bed.

'Where is your mop of hair?' he asked.

'Fallen out,' she said. 'Turned into dust.'

'Where are your eyes?'

'Marbled,' she said. 'Marbled and shrivelled.'

'And your breath?'

'Cold,' she said. 'Cold and wormy.' And then she stepped along the side of the bed. The man could have reached out and touched her.

'And your left hand?' he asked. 'Wife, where is your left hand?'

The woman leaned forward and bent down. 'GONE!' she shrieked. 'IT'S GONE! AND YOU'VE GOT IT!'

~~~

Geez woman you need to calm down.

heh

~ tol bean out