A Strange Proposition From A Stranger [FICTOID]

“I beg your pardon?”

“Will you hold my hand?” the strange little man asked.  He held his cap in one hand and a locked dented toolbox in the other.

Olivetta, the world famous model, looked at him in disbelief.  She was waiting for the designer to take her measurements for the sequin gown she was to wear at the fashion show after the luncheon.  How did this odd little man get backstage?

“You’ll have to leave,” she said in a haughty, cultured voice.

The odd little man ignored her command.  “Will you hold my hand?” he repeated.

Olivetta looked for her cellular phone, intending to call the venue’s security force to banish the odd little man.  She remembered she left it in her apartment.  Drat!  Of all days to do that!

“Will you hold my hand?” the odd little man repeated a third time.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” she hissed, not as cultured this time.  “Go!”

“Will you hold my hand?”  The odd little man was nothing if not persistent.

“No!  Now get out of here!”  Brooklyn started edging back into her voice.

“Will you hold my -- “

“Okay!  Okay!  Fine!  But once I do, you leave, understand?”

In answer the odd little man set his toolbox down and unlocked it.  Olivetta rolled her eyes.  What weird fetish does this guy have?

She felt his hand in hers:  His cold, hard, dried out hand.

She looked down and screamed, too shocked at the sight of the severed mummy’s hand to drop it.

Meanwhile the odd little man exited the building, whistling.

© Buzz Dixon