The man’s hands hung over the side of the bed like serially bifurcated dicks, twitching and wriggling in the morning sunlight. In the chair next to the bed lay a book entitled, “Forty Thousand Curses the Easy Way”, a book untouched by dust and glowing a bit (though whether or not this was caused by the sun or an inner glimmering I cannot say.) I stood by the door, waiting. And watching.
For many moments, the man did not move anything but his strange fingers; and then, without warning, a fly flew in through the flue and landed right on the man’s hairy upper lip. I could see it cleaning itself with vomit, the most ticklish dance a fly knows. With a quickness came the man’s hand and away flew the fly back up the flue.
“What in chrissakes’ are you doing in my room, Dickie? What are you touching my nose for while I’m sleeping? Ain’t it early? How late is it? It seems early. I was up late. Too early for me. Get me up later. What the fuck, Dickie? Get out of here. Stop staring at me like that. You know, I’ve been studyin’ my curses so as I could maybe gain some sort of power over you by threatenin’ you with magic and withcraft. But I know you wouldn’t have liked that, so I stopped reading about it and went to bed instead. But I was up late. So can you get outta here already? Geezus.”
I shook my head, confused as to who Dickie was and why the owner of the house I had been burglarizing thought I was this man instead of the man that I truly was: a thief and a murderer. I suppose I will never know, I thought, and I took out my knife.