The Tell-Tale Hand (Patreon)

With apologies to Mr. Poe.

T-t-t-tap.

T-t-t-tap.

T-t-t-tap.

The impatient, staccato quadruplet rang out faintly. The riffle of four finger tips striking a hard surface one after the other from pinky to index finger was insistent, belligerent.

I first heard the tapping a few weeks ago, faint, distant, indistinct. I thought if was the sound of water moving in the pipes in the wall. Each night the sound grew louder and distinct.

T-t-t-tap.

It wasn't in the wall.

T-t-t-tap.

It was coming from under the bed. Now, dear reader, I am no child afraid of the dark or of monsters in my closet or under my bed.

T-t-t-tap.

I keep nothing under the bed. Almost nothing.

T-t-t-tap.

There is a box. But, I haven't opened that box since I first put it under the bed several months ago.

T-t-t-tap.

It can't be coming from the box. The box merely contains a hunk of inert plastic. I probably need to explain why someone would put a hunk of plastic in a box under their bed.

T-t-t-tap.

Her name is Tonya. We were dating. I told her once on a date that I thought she would look cool if she were a mannequin. Who wouldn't? Right? But, Tonya was particularly suited. She was slim and tall and her smile could light a room.

T-t-t-tap.

She laughed at the idea and I was hurt. She apologized for laughing. She knew I loved mannequins. She agreed that she would make a good mannequin.

T-t-t-tap.

A few weeks later, she came to me excited and said she had discovered a spell that could turn her into a mannequin. I thought she was making fun of me. And she could see that on my face. She uttered a few words and her body froze in place and she turned into a mannequin.

T-t-t-tap.

The smile frozen on her face was glorious. I was about to touch her when her form shimmered again and she was human again. “Isn't that cool?” she said.

T-t-t-tap.

I agreed, of course. But why had she not stayed a mannequin longer? She said she only had so much magic and if she stayed long she would not be able to turn back. I made sure she did not see my disappointment.

T-t-t-tap.

For the next few months, she would be my mannequin for a few moments. And over time the duration got longer. The more she did it the longer she would be perfection. I encouraged her to practice as often as she could.

T-t-t-tap.

Yet, when she had attained an hour I still felt robbed, cheated, offended when she would inevitably resume being human. It was unfair. I treated her so well as a mannequin. Why would she want to be human?

T-t-t-tap.

I tried to convince her that I could learn to restore her so she would not need to worry about putting a duration on the spell. I tried. I tried for over an hour and in the end she only became human again because her spell had ended. For days we tried this. I just could not get the restoration spell to work.

T-t-t-tap.

My heart wasn't in it. I never wanted her restored. When she was a mannequin, she was perfection. Couldn't she see that?

T-t-t-tap.

Another few months passed, I became obsessed. I researched transformation magicks to find a way to prevent her restoration. Tomes and scrolls about transformation passed before my eyes for weeks until I found a footnote. The ultimate footnote on transformation.

T-t-t-tap.

The next time she transformed, I removed her right hand from her arm. It was so simple. I did not breathe as I waited for the eighty-seven minutes and sixteen seconds to pass when normally she would be restored.

T-t-t-tap.

She was not restored. She remained a mannequin. Joy and rapture filled my heart. She stands in the corner of the room to this day. Enshrined. I keep her dust free. She is dressed in fine silks. She stands with one arm akimbo, the other by her side. Her smile lights my room.

T-t-t-tap.

But, now there's that incessant tapping. It comes from the box. I should get rid of the box.

T-t-t-tap.

I have opened the box. I have looked inside. It contains a plastic right hand, delicate and feminine, its finger outstretched and relaxed. The nails are decorated in blue with tiny daisies centered on the nail, just like the left hand on the mannequin is decorated.

T-t-t-tap.

The hand does not move. It is plastic. It cannot be the source...

T-t-t-tap.

Of the...

T-t-t-tap.

Tapping. I hear the tapping even when I can see the hand is still.

T-t-t-tap.

I can hear the tapping when I go to work.

T-t-t-tap.

I can hear it on the train on the way to work.

T-t-t-tap.

I can hear it in my case on the way home from the station.

T-t-t-tap.

It will not stop.

T-t-t-tap.

I have read more books about transformations that were interrupted. They say if I reattach the hand she will be restored.

T-t-t-tap.

I cannot do this. Surely, after all these months as my mannequin...

T-t-t-tap.

Surely, she would never see me again.

T-t-t-tap.

Her anger would be a dagger through my heart.

T-t-t-tap.

I cannot take that chance.

T-t-t-tap.

I must live with the tapping.

T-t-t-tap.

T-t-t-tap.

T-t-t-tap.

T-t-t-tap.

T-t-t-tap.

I had a nightmare. She came to life. Fury radiated from her in blinding waves of light. She did not smile. She said nothing. I could not move. She pulled my pants down and grabbed my plastic cock and balls. She twisted and they turned as if on a screw.

They came off in her hand. She laid on my bed and pleasured herself with it. I got none of the pleasure. She did not acknowledge my existence until she had come. She pulled it out and dropped it on the bed.

She left the room. She was gone for good. I saw the room brighten at sunrise and dim at sunset. Day after day, all I could see was the wet dildo that had been my cock laying where she left it.

T-t-t-tap.

T-t-t-tap.

T-t-t-tap.

In another nightmare, she was somehow restored and cast a spell that turned me into paper. Then she tore me up into confetti and toss me in the air as she left the room.

I awoke in a cold sweat.

T-t-t-tap.

T-t-t-tap.

T-t-t-tap.

T-t-t-tap.

“STOP!!!”

T-t-t-tap.

“JUST STOP!!”

T-t-t-tap.

T-t-t-tap.

Why

T-t-t-tap.

won't

T-t-t-tap.

it

T-t-t-tap.

listen? Why won't it obey? She is perfect. Does she not understand?

T-t-t-tap.

T-t-t-tap.

T-t-t-tap.

T-t-t-tap.

T-t-t-tap.

Her hand...

T-t-t-tap.

No.

T-t-t-tap.

Her hand...

T-t-t-tap.

Why didn't I see it?

T-t-t-tap.

She is not perfect. She is missing a hand.

She was perfect. She was. But, she isn't.

She is missing a hand. She is not perfect.

T-t-t-tap.

T-t-t-tap.

T-t-t-tap.

T-t-t-tap.

What have I done? What have I done?

T-t-t-tap.

T-t-t-tap.

T-t-t-tap.

I looked at the mannequin.

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Its cheekbones were too puffy.

T-t-t-tap.

One of its legs was longer than the other.

T-t-t-tap.

Its hair was a mess. When had I last combed it?

T-t-t-tap.

Its left eye was wider than its right eye.

T-t-t-tap.

It was not perfect.

T-t-t-tap.

She was not perfect.

T-t-t-tap.

And I am even less perfect than my dearest Tonya.

T-t-t-tap.

Dearest Tonya.

T-t-t-tap.

Ton-yuh. Ton-yah. What kind of name is Tonya? Even it is not perfect.

T-t-t-tap.

I cannot remember the sound of her voice.

T-t-t-tap.

I was the voice of an angle.

T-t-t-tap.

Or was it? Was it imperfect as well?

T-t-t-tap.

Was it shrill and demanding?

T-t-t-tap.

Did I do this so I would not have to hear it again?

T-t-t-tap.

I have not heard her voice in many months.

T-t-t-tap.

T-t-t-tap.

T-t-t-tap.

I miss it.

T-t-t-tap.

The dreams sometimes have us cuddling on the sofa. I tell her about my day. Then, her lips move and I cannot hear what she says. I tell her I cannot hear her and she gets angry. She is obviously shouting at me and there is no sound.

T-t-t-tap.

T-t-t-tap.

T-t-t-tap.

With trembling hands, I opened the box and picked up the hand.

T-t-t-tap.

I thought the fingers moved but it was just a trick of the eye.

T-t-t-tap.

I brought the hand to the mannequin.

T-t-t-tap.

“Please don't judge me harshly, My Love.”

T-t-t-tap.

“I miss you.”

T-t-t-tap.

T-t-t-tap.

T-t-t-tap.

“I was wrong. You don't have to be perfect.”

T-t-t-tap.

T-t-t-tap.

T-t-t-tap.

T-t-t-tap.

T-t-t-tap.

T-t-t-tap.

T-t-t-tap.

I reattached the hand.