There was a sparkle in the eye of the dark haired man, as he watched from the last row. He laughed to himself quietly. It was done, he told himself; it was all over with and no one would ever guess he had done it.

He walked away from the bank just as everyone else would. With both hands in his pockets, Julius ambled into the crowded streets of New York. As he distanced himself further from the bank, he increased his speed. His brow was furrowed and his right hand twitched eagerly inside its pocket.

Suddenly, he tripped and as he hoisted himself up, a hand was felt leaving his pocket. “Oh no!” he realized, “there is a severed hand.” It was too late; the hand had already found its way down the man’s pants. It was a cold hand.

“Wow, that was unpleasant,” he thought, “this is going to get awkward.”

The hand slowly crawled down his leg and started to rub his big toe. The toe began to grow until it became bigger than the foot itself. Then the toe started talking and it told him he must leave this place. It told him if he ever returned he would be haunted for eternity by the severed hand.