short story entitled "Hands"

Hands

If you could see as I do, you would know what it is about the human hand which interests me. Hands! They come in different shapes and sizes– big hands and little hands, delicate artistic hands and stubby practical hands! But every pair of hands is unique. Each little line, spot and fold of skin has is own special significance. Palmistry is an extremely difficult and challenging art, even for experienced practitioners such as myself. It involves weaving together various isolated strands of meaning in order to unfold the secrets hidden in the rich tapestry of an individual life.

Each pair of hands tells its own story. Some are more interesting than others. But one pair of hands in particular revealed an unforgettable story. This is the story of Daisy May. She was the new owner of the Hillside Tavern and was by far the most beautiful and genial woman in all of Townsville. To add to her credit, she had good business acumen and an engaging personality. The woman had barely arrived in Townsville a few weeks ago and already the Tavern was flourishing.

One day, Daisy May came to me to have her palms read. Her smooth white palms were covered in a complex and delicate pattern of lines. All the signs pointed towards a long and happy life ahead – full of vitality and the promise of love. But I was troubled by the presence of the little crooked line on the far side of her palm. It meant that great danger lay ahead. Silly Daisy May merely laughed in disbelief.

Her scepticism soon disappeared when Logan Wolfshiem drove into town. It was then that the murder occurred. From the moment I saw the mutilated corpse, I knew that it could only have been the work of a werewolf. The unfortunate victim was covered with a series of savage animal like bite marks and gashes. A tuft of blackish grey fur was also found caught on a branch nearby. This was strange as there were no large animals to be found in the woods. Besides, the murder had occurred on a full moon night.

Folks in the area now took special care to avoid Logan. They would have had him convicted if they could but there was no evidence to prove that he had committed the crime. Thus, Logan with his dishevelled hair, shaggy beard ,dusty trench coat and grimy suitcase struck fear into the hearts of the inhabitants of Townsville who regarded him with silent hostility.

By this time, Daisy May and I had become close friends .One evening, I went to Daisy’s Tavern for some ale. It was nearly closing time and the tavern was empty except for the two of us. Suddenly the bell at the entrance rang and Logan walked in. He said that his car had broken down about a mile back because his engine had overheated. He asked for directions to the nearest source of water which was a stream which ran by the edge of the woods ( Townsville was a primitive place and lacked modern amenities such as telephones, running water and indoor plumbing.) I did not believe a word of it.

Moreover, Daisy May’s behaviour had suddenly changed from the moment that Logan set foot in the tavern. Daisy seemed mesmerised by his savage yet hypnotic presence. Then to my surprise, the silly girl offered to accompany him. I suppose she thought she knew better. They always do. My offer to go along with them was rejected. Daisy May laughed and said that old bones were too much trouble .I would only realize the true significance of those words later. But at that moment, My apprehension turned to horror as I glanced at Logan’s palm as he proffered his hand to receive the delicate fingers of Daisy May.

Hand in hand , as if in a trance, they headed in the direction of the woods. “Come back! Oh, please come back! Don’t you understand? Great danger lies ahead,” I cried in desperation. But as always my warning went unheeded. Further and further they walked until they were mere shadows silhouetted in the light of the rising full moon. Suddenly, one of the figures turned and two red eyes gleamed in the darkness.

Two corpses were found the next morning. The woman had died of a single wound made by a silver bullet( the only way to kill a werewolf). Strangely however, her face was quite peaceful. The corpse of the man unfortunately had suffered a more gruesome death; bearing the grisly telltale bite marks and gashes of a werewolf attack. The gun which fired the fatal bullet and a bottle of wolf bane extract (the scent makes one irresistible to female werewolves) lay beside him. What a howler! I guess it was a case of fatal attraction! But at least the murders stopped.

Ah! Hands! Didn’t I tell you it was an art to lift the cobweb veil of obscurity and solve the riddle presented. But in the end it is always our choices which determine our fate. After all, the future is in our hands.