Phantoms

PHANTOMS


         Elliot lay sulking in Room 23 on the third floor of Mercy Hospital. It had a nightstand, a TV bolted to an adjustable arm, and a bed. He had no posters, no Nintendo, no model airplanes hanging down like you’d see in the room of most ten-year-olds, no pets, no parents, and no legs.
         Tragically, in a devastating car crash, the lower half of his body was crushed like a cockroach beneath a hard sole shoe. The doctors explained that they had to remove his legs, or he would’ve died. Elliot didn’t believe them. He thought they had sold them to someone else. “You can’t trust doctors,“ his Dad had told him. “They don’t care about nothing but money.“
         Elliot wanted to get out of bed, go to the window, and pull open the drapes. He had an undying urge to see the world outside. After so much death, he needed a glimpse of life; although he couldn’t move, he imagined the city outside dazzling with lights and wanted to be part of it more than anything. He wept for all the things that might have been, and for what could never be again. He wanted his life back, his parents back, but most of all, he wanted his legs back.
         After a few minutes, he regained control, dried his eyes, and blew his nose. He couldn’t understand it. It felt like his legs were there. In fact, he could have sworn his left foot itched. Throwing back the covers, he stared at the empty half of the bed where his legs should have been but were now temporarily invisible.
         He crumbled back into his pillow, blubbering again, weeping, wailing. He prayed for his legs to come back, begged for them to return, and willed them with every fiber of his being. A tremendous sense of peace, of reassurance, came over him, and then he slept.
         Elliot dreamt he was running down a long corridor. Looking down at his legs, he saw that they were bleeding, smashed, and broken, his pulverized feet leaving red smears upon the linoleum.
         He awoke abruptly, out of breath, his flesh crawling, and a chill settling on the nape of his neck. Outside, in the dimly lit hallway, he heard the padding of bare feet. Squinting into the choking shadows, Elliot saw the grisly stumps of his legs. He motioned for them to enter, and they stumbled forward and stood at his bedside. They were terribly bruised, broken, and gangrenous, the white glint of bone showing at the tops. Elliot pulled back the covers and ripped off his bandages, and then patted the mattress as if coaxing a dog. The legs jumped into the bed and painfully, magically, reattached themselves.
         The nurses later said that Elliot’s screams were heard throughout the hospital. When help finally arrived, they found him dead in front of the window. It's still a mystery how he got there with no legs.