Lance Pendrake (stitchcraft_) wrote in summerview, @ 2019-01-22 22:03:00 |
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Entry tags: | open, zmarie roque, zsamson martens |
The Mummy Hand
22th of January SAMSON MARTENS ✦ MARIE ROQUE AN EX-HAND RUNS AMOK ONGOING |
Samson had been living here for just over a week and every day he marvelled how ugly the appartment was. It was unclear whether the stencilled wallpaper was purposefully this shade of nicotine yellow or whether it was due to old age. There were altogether far too many plates with pink roses on the walls and the furniture had been selected by someone who had a great appetite for curlicues. There was even a highly unneccessary cat door: twice now Samson had been awakened by a feline interloper on his bed. Obviously, it had been decorated by a blind eighty year old with exceedingly bad taste. But the rent was relatively cheap and, since the landlady was quite deaf in addition to being old, she did not seem to mind the footsteps of his customers on the floor above hers. A white staircase wrapped around the old house, leading to a small balcony. There was another appartment for rent above Samson's, but he had not seen the tenant there yet. The front door led directly into the room that was intended to be a living room, but Samson used it as his warehouse and shop. He used the many shelves and end tables to put his wares on display - from dreamcatchers to protective needlework and misfortune cookies, from enchanted music boxes to ritual knives and spell ingredients - and anything he did not have enough space for he kept in boxes and crates, covering them with clothes and blankets. His personal items were kept in the small kitchen and the bed room, although he kept some of his ware in his fridge or under his bed. He closed the door behind the delivery men who had put three crates in the middle of the room. After quickly checking the inventory list, he went to get his crowbar and began to pry open the crate, which had been nailed shut. With a slow, anguished creak, the lid was raised. As soon he figured he had enough leverage to pull it off the rest of the way, he stepped forward, eager to check the contents. That's when it went for the jugular. Samson reacted instinctively, slapping the thing that came for him away. It landed in front of one ottomans. That's when the witch got a good look at it. It was an old, old, old hand. It had the color of faded parchment and was wrapped in tattered bandages. It raised its index and middle finger menacingly, and Samson saw the thick, grimy, black-rimmed nails. A mummy hand. You'd think the vendor would mention that it was not quite as dead as advertised. Samson approached it tentatively, murmuring: "Nice hand, steady hand, good hand, you don't want to run away from me..." The hand seemed to be alert, and when Samson came too close, it dashed away, moving like a quick crab accross the faded red carpet, hiding under the couch. Samson cursed as he got on its knees. The mummy hand, which was used to being cursed, was not impressed. It pressed itself against the wall, gingerly trying to escape Samson's reach. And then, just as the witch thought he would be able to grab it by the thumb, the hand made a made dash for the far end of the room. When Samson looked up, he saw it going for the cat door. "No! No no no no!" Yes. The hand was gone, out in the open world. |