Ringfinger 

Prologue - A Man and a Voice

“Hold your left hand in front of your face. You have five fingers. Perfectly normal, functional fingers. At one end is the largest, your thumb. Next to it your pointer, or index finger. Then your middle. After that, the finger known as the ringfinger. We'll return to it shortly. Beyond it is your smallest finger, the pinky. Do you follow me so far?”

The largest part of what was once a man lay in a puddle of blood and gasoline, inundated in shock and screams. It was on some highway somewhere, late at night, dark, loud, smoky. A tractor-trailer lay overturned on his car, which in turn lay overturned on the lower half of the body of what was once a man. Shaking, trembling, ears ringing, he craned his neck up to assess the damage to his body. Yup. He was dead. Just below his navel was steel and concrete without enough space for him to exist in between.

“Focus. Focus on my voice and follow what I say. I can help you, but we have to be quick. You don’t have much time left.”

Right. Right. His hand. He tried to lift his right arm, but there was nothing there. Left hand. He lifted it in front of his face. He knew it was there but it was almost too dark to see.

“Good. Yes, that’s the hand. Those are the fingers. Can you see them…? If you can’t talk, that’s fine, just nod. You have to do at least that much.”

It was too dark. He was dreaming. It was a bad dream, but at least he was no longer sad. This voice promised help and he had nothing to lose by this point. Might as well obey. He could use any kind of help, probably.

“It’s too dark for eyes like yours, isn’t it? Here, this is the most I can do for you.”

There was a plastic-like click behind his head and his hand was drenched in the blinding light of a cell phone. Something shifted in the wreck balanced above him and the screaming in the background suddenly switched off. He nodded as he examined his hand, somehow not even scraped or bruised from the car accident.

“Each one of your fingers has strengths and weaknesses. A purpose. A thumb that can grasp, a pinky that can promise. Your ringfinger represents marriage. Belonging. Ownership. You give it to the one whom you love, until death do you part. Understood?”

Nod, nod. It really was an important finger, the remains of a man thought, as unimaginably unbearable pain threatened to finally make itself known on the edges of his awareness. He only now noticed the blaring car horns, stuck on full blast. It was overcast, so he couldn’t see the sky.

“Hold your hand in front of your face and turn it so that your palm can be seen. Where your finger meets your hand. Where the skin creases. Do you see it? One act of consecration is all the Four-Fingered God asks. Cut off your finger from that crease, just above the knuckle, and offer it to the Four-Fingered God. Worship the Four-Fingered God and you won’t die tonight. You won’t die ever again.”

The last remaining essence of a man then suddenly burst into flame as the gasoline around him ignited. He meant to scream, but the fire stole his oxygen.

“Your teeth! USE YOUR TEETH!”

Writhing in the inferno, his finger went into his mouth. He crushed and bit and tore, pulled and pulled, trying to cut his finger off, trying to save himself.

“A promise carved in stone.

Deeper than the sea.

Sever flesh and bone.

Offer it to me.”

As soon as the voice finished its prayer, the finger came off. Blinded and on fire, the last seconds of a man reached into his mouth with his now four-fingered hand, grabbed his offering of a finger between thumb and index finger of the same hand from which it was removed, then held it up to the sky. The finger was snatched from his grasp and at the same moment it felt like a snake bit his hand.

With a grunt and the feel of wind whooshing around, the fire was out and the wreckage was sent crashing and tumbling further down the road. Something ropey wrapped around under his shoulders and dragged him into the forest along the side of the road. His sight came back just long enough to see his charred and mangled insides unraveling on the road behind him, then curling up and returning to his body as if not wanting to be left behind.

- - -

Something that used to be a man but was now much more somehow made it to work the next day, only four hours late. His boss was quite upset, but little things like this didn’t bother him anymore.