The Fingers of White - Tales from the Milkwood Lounge

The Fingers of White

It was there, out in the woods that I began to run. The frigid air clawed at my skin and pawed at me through my light clothes. I wasn't prepared for this... Maybe I thought that if I pretended such a thing was impossible, it wouldn't happen. "Out of sight, out of mind," they used to tell me. Well, it wasn't working for me anymore. The slender, pale fingers grasped with a vice-like grip. There was no escape, but at times like these logic goes out the window.

The forest was not alive. To be sure, I don't truly know if it was dead either. The faintest hints of green were still there, but much was hidden behind the white. The fingers had gotten at that too, I supposed. Every inch of greenery had been caressed to sweet oblivion. The animals were gone, and all that remained of their passing was the occasional footprint. For seemingly illogical beings, they knew what had been coming. They had planned for it. I may have education and a sense of civility, but at the end of the day (and perhaps all along), I was the illogical one. The proof was that I was the one running now. Perhaps it would be too late for the heavens to forgive my stupidity.

As I bumbled through the forest in my bare feet, I tried to keep my eyes on the path. There were obstacles here, for it was not a path well-traveled. The obstructions were hard to spot though. All was white and soft, which gave the impression of comfort, but it was only a clever ruse for the illogical ones. The fluffy, white texture concealed the harsh, rough underbelly that lurked just out of sight. Like the surface, it too was cold, but even more unforgiving and far less attractive. The white was incredibly cold too.

My feet were numb and almost slippery as I stumbled. The fingers had long found my toes and ankles. Their broken nails had dug deep and I was unsure if I'd be able to ever get them out again. I whimpered from the pain, but I didn't have time to dawdle. The fingers were still there. Still pawing. Still groping. They wanted more.

I tripped over a mound and crashed into the white. The fingers gripped me all over, but I beat them back. My shouts and hollers echoed through the forest. Panic had set in, and sheer willpower became my strength. The fingers continued to stroke and prod, but the nails had not yet come out. That would be later, if not at all (I hoped).

It was as I crested a small hill that I saw what appeared to be salvation. A merciless gray sun teased me with dim rays of light that offered little more than illumination. Perhaps that was all I needed though. I saw my destination ahead. It was my last hope.

Out in a wide, open plain it stood. A single-story, but sturdy and stubborn. It looked old and rough, but it offered me a chance at safe haven. Its eyes were dark, and it looked out over its domain with an uncaring passiveness that gave the impression that it was merely waiting. Perhaps...it was waiting for me. All this time, we were meant to cross paths.

My pondering was disrupted from behind though. The fingers emit a loud, whistling howl. It was a shrill and unwelcome attempt at seduction.

"Come back to bed, my love." They crooned in unison.

I could feel the prickling of the back of my neck as they exhaled. I shivered with revulsion and began to flee again. Curiosity got the better of me though. As I ran, I gave into temptation. I wanted to look at it. To behold what it was. To potentially see the nexus of my fears. 

I did not like what I saw. There was darkness at the core, but I would hesitate to call such a thing evil. It simply was. The forest behind me was consumed in its wake, and I was unsure if it would ever emerge again. It wore an obsidian veil that seemed to absorb the day's life. It was a tattered garment that I wagered had been woven long ago. What lay beyond the veil was difficult to describe as I could not look for very long. 

Without a doubt, there were faces. Oh my, were there faces! More than I could ever imagine. Some smiled, some wept, and even more were indifferent. The faces were not alone though. There was more. Much more. I saw achievements and tragedies. Betrayal and shock too. There was much that I could not comprehend beyond the faces. For a logical illogical, it was all too much!

I turned from the veil and wept as I careened down the hill to the plain. The fingers attempted to wipe the tears from my cheeks, but the droplets merely hardened at their presence. My grief would linger, and only I would be able to wipe them away.

Upon my arrival on the plain, the white began to fight me. The white was deep and it embraced my legs and knees as though it were a child that yearned for me not to leave.

"Please, don't go!" A small boy shouted in my mind. "I'll be good this time! I won't misbehave! I need you!"

I ignored the pleas though. I was so close to the safe haven I had seen before. I was tired, but my body pushed onward. I kicked the clenching embrace from me as I shuffled onward. My feet were uncaring at this point.

I struggled up the steps and clenched at the front door. The fingers erupted from its dented, brass handle, but only for a moment. I ignored their harsh scratches as I wrenched the door open and stumbled in.

Upon entry, the shadow of the fingers remained, but their calls were restricted to the outside. The marks they had left on my body remained, and I doubt that I would ever truly forget the embrace of the white. Despite that, I had a moment to catch my bearings.

The room was smaller than I had expected, however I expect that desperation makes all things look grander from the surface. A large wardrobe towered to my left. It held numerous articles of clothing. A pair of purple sweatpants, a worn military uniform, and a stained pair of jeans with the tags still on them each hung neatly from their wiry hangers. There was comfort there, but also a sense of uselessness. Nothing in that wardrobe could help me now.

Beyond the wardrobe was a black desk with an open book laid out atop it. An exquisite pen of many colors scribbled in the book of its own accord. The ink was a deep red, which I found gravely unappealing. Perhaps the most troubling aspect of this was that no one seemed to hold the pen, however for some reason I did not question this anomaly. I strode across the room to look at the book's contents.

I did not fully understand the words before me, but they spoke of someone (or potentially many) looking through windows. Some windows were large enough for a grown man to fit through, while others were so small that only a hand might be able to reach through. In any case, they all watched in relative silence (or so the words described). What they saw beyond the windows eluded me. The book's large story was not fully about these voyeurs. There were many words, and countless pages. I longed to pull up a chair and read through its contents. What it would feel like to turn to page one and start from the beginning...

A loud groaning came from outside, I think. I turned my gaze from the book for now. Across the room was a large bed. Its covers were dark green flannel mixed with the deep blue of midnight. The pillowcases were black satin. It felt warm to the touch, and I felt sorely tempted to rest upon it. I was so very tired...

Another groan rang out, which was followed by a jolting crack! The floor lurched out from beneath my feet and I fell with my head smacking upon the wooden floor. A fog clouded my mind for some time before I attempt to rise. I gripped the windowsill for support and rose to my feet. Through the course of doing so, I looked out into the beyond.

I was sinking, so the window told me. Up above, was a jagged hole of white with broken fragments of my haven floating in the center. It seemed as though I was already well below the white for the hole was small and steadily shrinking in size. I could feel my descent and my ears reacted to the slowly adjusting pressure of the surrounding abyss.

I was leaving it all behind. The light poked through the jagged hole, but it was little more than a star now. All that was left behind was now extraterrestrial. I do not know where I was going, or even where I was, but I was going. 

As the light of the jagged hole became little more than a pinprick, I turned from the window and walked over to the bed. It was time to rest for I was very tired.