My eyes fly open but heavy eyelids quickly race back toward each other. I force them open only to find them blocking out the light a moment later. I listen to the soft sounds of the night. Nothing unusual strikes my eardrums. I reach for my phone, which resides on my bedside table. Instead of bumping against it, my hand passes through the plastic and metal box and then through the oaken table beneath it. I pause with my hand buried in the whirls of wood. Puzzled I raise my hand to my face. The dim glow of my night light shines through my now translucent appendage. I blink. Everything disappears.
I open my eyes and look toward my hand again. My arm now appears to end at the elbow. Every now and then my fingers flicker into visibility followed by my wrist before both fade to nothingness.
“Oh no.” I whisper, raising my other hand to my mouth.
Reassured by the feel of my hand pressed to my lips, I glance down at my feet. A quick survey confirms that the rest of my anatomy remains solid. Only my right hand, my dominant hand, seems to be affected.
“The experiment worked!” I exclaim.
My excitement only lasts as long as it takes me to rush to the door to share my findings with my sister. My hand slides through the doorknob. My arm bumps the door and my hand returns to its solid state. I scream. A fiery pain rips through my lower arm, as if some unseen force ripped it from my body. I whimper.
I am still whimpering when my sister comes out of her room, rubbing her eyes. “Are you okay?”
I bite my lip to hold back the soft keening sound and shake my head. I gesture with my left hand.
She raises both hands to her face to cover her gaping mouth. “It worked. Our experiment worked.”
“Not quite the way we hoped,” I add.
Her eyes widen as she takes a closer look, “Is your arm stuck in the door?”
I nod my head, afraid to risk letting the smallest sound escape my lips because screams of anguish might follow.
She casually reaches into the pocket of her robe and pulls out a plastic tube with a needle inside. “If we can get you free, we can test the cure?”
“You have that on you?”
She shrugs, “I should have been a Boy Scout.”
As she finishes speaking, she lunges forward and pulls on my trapped arm. I scream preemptively, only stopping when it finally registers that the pain subsided sometime during our brief exchange.
“Saw your arm playing misty for me and figured I should free you so I could do this.” She jabbed the needle into my arm.
This time, I manage to bite back my scream. Only a light squeal slips past my lips. She has administered enough shots to find my veins with ease. I ponder my lack of worry at this fact for a moment. Then she takes my solid hand in both of hers. I look to her face, but her eyes remain focused on my disappearing appendage.
I turn my eyes in the same direction. As my hand returns to normal, I place it over hers, squeezing tightly. Her smile turns to an impish grin as she meets my eyes.
“Now that we know the experiment works, what will we do with the serum?”
I smile back. “Whatever we want.”
Friday the Thirteenth asked for a celebration. I hope this helped divert your minds from men in old school hockey masks...unless he snuck up behind you while you were reading...in which case, my bad.
