Step to the Stars by High Philip E

Author:High, Philip E. [High, Philip E.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780575110564
Publisher: Gateway
Published: 2011-09-29T05:00:00+00:00

AWAKENING

He was twenty-five years old when it first happened and he confessed to himself that he was frightened.

He told no one because he was convinced (one) that no one would believe him or (two) he would be forced to seek psychiatric help.

His name was Anthony Bretton and he was a skilled draughtsman who worked for one of the major motor companies.

The incident happened one Sunday morning in July and was certainly not due to a hangover. He, and a few friends, had been on the beach the previous day, swimming or racing each other in dinghies.

He awoke, stretched and scratched the top of his head with his right hand. It hurt, must have a pimple there or something. Only a few seconds later his forehead tingled and he brushed at it with his left hand,

It came away smothered in blood.

What the hell! Got to get a towel or handkerchief or something. He reached forward with his right hand to throw back the bedclothes and froze.

It was not his hand.

It was not even a human hand.

This hand was brown, thin and scaly. A membrane stretched from the palm upwards to the top knuckles of the fingers, linking them together.

Long curved nails grew from the tops of the fingers and one of them was bloody.

Bretton knew he was in the throes of a panic but it was a frozen panic. He had no idea what to do. His first instinct had been to spring out of bed and run from his own hand!

It was fixed to him. A quick glance informed him that the change began at his elbow and stretched downwards.

There was no physical pain of any kind and the webbed hand felt quite normal.

Wild solutions, quickly dismissed, passed through his mind.

Got to ring for an ambulance. And say what?

Suppose an ambulance and a doctor came—would it mean an amputation?

It wouldn’t stop there, would it? People would come to see him, scientists from all over the world. He’d become a showpiece and the media would get in on the act. He’d never live a normal life again.

No use running away, the hand was not something one could conceal indefinitely.

He made to get out of bed but, as he did so, he became dizzy and darkness enveloped him.

He slept and, when he awoke it was early evening.

His hand was normal again but the change brought him little comfort. He knew the experience had been real, it had been no dream. Would it happen again and, if it did, when? If it did, suppose it happened in public? Dear God, perhaps sitting in a restaurant with a girl, looking down and seeing one’s hand change—

Bretton did not get over the incident quickly, it was four months before the nightmares began to lessen. A year before the worrying thought no longer crossed his mind every time he entered a public place.

It was three years before he forced himself to abandon the bright silk scarf he carried in case of emergencies—something to throw over or cover his hand in case of sudden change.

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