Phantom Legs

Like so many other stories I've been posting lately, "Phantom Legs" was written during that odd short story spurt in late 2005/early 2006. The only reason I've been putting up so much old work is because my focus has been on getting ready for the Blogject (starting right here Jan. 6, 2010) and I haven't been turning out much of anything new lately because of that.

Frankly, I'm not too fond of the very beginning of "Phantom Legs". It was a pathetic attempt at making it seem like the main character, Henry, was singing in the car.

This story was a sort of experiment in lots of dialogue, as well as in dream sequences. That part of it, I do like.

Anyway, enjoy!

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Phantom Legs

“I give you my love!
“I give you my life!
“I give you it all!
“You’re my love and my everything!”

He didn’t hear the honking of the car that was headed right for him over his singing, nor did he react quickly enough to avoid hitting it when he finally noticed it.


He woke up in the hospital three days later to see his parents, his twin brother, and his younger sister and brother by his bed.

“Carly! He’s awake! Mom! Dad! Gerald! He’s awake!”

The sound of twelve-year-old Russell’s voice seemed to give focus to his thoughts, and he was actually able to respond with s gesture when his mother asked him if he was in pain and where. He hated his family seeing him like this, especially Russell and ten-year-old Carly, since they were so young.

“Henry, there’s something else,” his father was saying.

“Huh?” He was surprised his mouth worked. It felt dry and kind of slow, like his jaw was stuck in jelly. It was hard to move it. His tongue felt heavy.

“Both your legs were hurt pretty badly in the accident. They... they had to amputate them. There was no chance of repairing them.”

If he had had the energy or the strength, he would have thrown the blanket from over his body, but his arm felt too weak to raise. He tried to wiggle his toes, but nothing happened. He looked down at where his feet should be, but the blanket rested flat on the bed. The bumps made by his body ended just a few inches past his hips. His father wasn’t lying; his legs were really gone.

He broke down and cried.


He was let out of the hospital and given little hope of ever walking again.


The countless weeks confined only to bed, the days and days of physical therapy, and the hundreds of shots and medications all finally turned into infinite hours spent in a wheelchair. He had a great difficulty in getting to the second-floor bedroom he shared with his twin brother Gerald, and taking a shower was now out of the question. Just sitting up was hard, with his torso ending just below his hips.

Returning to school was harder than returning home. The once-popular baseball player was no longer able to play, invitations to get-togethers and parties slowed to a stop, and the loss of driving ability killed his social life with surprising efficiency. Even navigating the halls to get to class was a trial.

He was fortunate that his brain was left undamaged. He possessed a great mind, and now it finally began to show in his schoolwork. The loss of his baseball-playing ability was both a blessing and a curse in that. But now, rather than spending all his time at the practice field, he started to spend his evenings with his younger brother and sister, tutoring Russell in math, playing Scrabble with Carly... and he was suddenly quite glad the dog actually knew how to play fetch, and enjoyed playing for hours at a time.


And for the first time in his life, he started to dream... and remember his dreams. Or dream, since there was only one, and he had it almost every night.


The field went on for miles uninterrupted, until the trees began, almost all at once, turning from flat, empty grassland to dense forest in the matter of a few yards. Wildflowers– shades of blue, purple, orange, white, pink, red, and even some colors he didn’t know– dotted the plain in small bunched and broad clumps all the way to the treeline. The air was perfumed naturally by the flowers, which despite the wide array of colors, shapes, and sizes, seemed to all have the same sickeningly sweet scent.

Something– not a voice... not an intuition... not something he could really identify– pulled him to the trees. He ran, his legs carrying him over the grasses faster than he had ever run on the baseball field. He reveled in the feeling of his legs moving under him, carrying him across the grass and flowers in great bounds, knowing he would not– could not– misstep. The wind blew on his face, ruffling his hair. He could feel the soft ground give way slightly under his weight. He always wore soft boots in this place, but his feet never hurt.

He reached the treeline and slowed to a halt, peering into the darkness of the leaf canopy. It was not pitch dark in the forest; patches of light streamed almost enchantingly through gaps in the leaves. He stepped into the trees, following the thin and almost invisible path that led into the depths.

He reached the clearing: a beautiful, almost perfectly circular open space in the middle of the trees that seemed a haven of sorts– the ideal retreat from civilization. A crystal-clear stream rippled across the clearing, ending in a deep pool that played home to fish and frogs, the splashing and croaking of which sent a delightful music through the air to his ears. A single tree dotted the clearing, not quite dead center– a majestic oak, big enough around that it would take at least five people to surround it, if not more. Or was it an oak? It resembled an oak, but a succulent-looking fruit with smooth purplish-blue skin hung off the branches, each one at least as big as his fist, the lowest ones just barely out of reach. Dew dripped from the tree’s leaves and from the fruits, despite the midday sun. A ring of unidentifiable crimson flowers surrounded the regal tree, and they sparkled in the sunlight as if covered with silver glitter.

He jumped across the stream, not wanting to mar its perfection by tramping through it while wearing his boots. The flawless deep green grass gave way under his footsteps, springing back into place, unbent, after he moved on. There was never any sign that anyone came here.

A stone, just big enough to sit on and flattened by age, lay just outside the ring of flowers by the tree. He sat. And waited.


“He has come back.”
“Yes, he has.”
“He comes back almost every night, now.”
“He used to never come here.”
“But he is here again. Now. On the stone.”
“Shall we speak to him?”
“Yes, we shall.”
“Let us speak to him.”

Three people, each of them only as tall as his hand, floated down to hover barely two feet in front of his face. Each had delicate wings: one of a dragonfly, one of a butterfly, and one of a bird.

“You have come back.”
“I have.”
“Why have you come back?”
“Yes, why?”
“You have not found the one yet.”

He closed his eyes and hung his head.

“The one who will give you what you most desperately want.”
“No... I haven’t found the one yet.”
“Why have you come back?”
“Where can I find the one?”
“The one to give you what you most desperately want...”
“The one to give you what you most desperately want...”
“What you most desperately want...”

He whispered, “My legs...”

“He wants his legs.”
“His legs.”
“He must find one willing to trade. Legs for legs.”
“And bring the one here.”


He woke, sweating, and reached down under the covers to where the remaining stumps of the legs that used to be were all he felt.


“So how were everyone’s days today?”

The family sat around the dinner table, going through their thrice-weekly dinner report. As dumb as he thought it was, it was something his parents insisted on, and he was not one to argue.

“We had a spelling bee today, and I got third place!” Carly proudly pulled a white ribbon from her pocket and showed it off.

“Gerald?”

“In gym, we played dodgeball against the JROTC kids. We creamed them!”

“Russell?”

“I had the weirdest dream last night. I was running through this forest on a path I could hardly see, and I was completely lost. I kept hearing Henry’s voice, calling me, but every time I would get close, his voice moved to another direction, and farther away.”

“Henry?”

He stared at his little brother, the rest of the family forgotten.

“Henry?”

His mind suddenly snapped back to where he was. “Oh, sorry. Uh... I’m almost finished with my still-life painting in art class.”


“Henry, can you help me with my math homework? We’ve started putting letters with it, and I’m completely lost.”

“Actually, Russ, I wanted to ask you something about your dream...”

The field went on for miles uninterrupted, until the trees began, almost all at once, turning from flat, empty grassland to dense forest in the matter of a few yards. Something– not a voice... not an intuition... not something he could really identify– pulled him to the trees. He reached the treeline and slowed to a halt, peering into the darkness of the leaf canopy. He reached the clearing: a beautiful, almost perfectly circular open space in the middle of the trees that seemed a haven of sorts– the ideal retreat from civilization. He jumped across the stream, not wanting to mar its perfection by tramping through it while wearing his boots.

A stone, just big enough to sit on and flattened by age, lay just outside the ring of flowers by the tree. He sat. And waited.


“He has come back.”
“Yes, he has.”
“He comes back almost every night, now.”
“He used to never come here.”
“But he is here again. Now. On the stone.”
“Shall we speak to him?”
“Yes, we shall.”
“Let us speak to him.”


Three people, each of them only as tall as his hand, floated down to hover barely two feet in front of his face. Each had delicate wings: one of a dragonfly, one of a butterfly, and one of a bird.


“You have come back.”
“I have.”
“Why have you come back?”
“Yes, why?”
“You have not found the one yet.”

He called. “Russell! I’m here! Follow my voice!”

“I can’t find you!”

“He is calling for someone.”
“Has he found the one?”
“The one to him what he most desperately wants?”

“Russell! Follow my voice!”
“I can’t! It’s dark, Henry! I can’t see!”
“Follow my voice, Russell! I’m here! I’m right here!”
“Henry, it’s too dark. I’m scared!”
“Just follow my voice! Follow it, Russell! You can find me! You can!”
“Henry!”

“Is he the one?”

Russell burst into the clearing and almost fell onto the ring of flowers.

Three people, each of them only as tall as his hand, floated down to hover
barely two feet in front of his face. Each had delicate wings: one of a dragonfly, one of a butterfly, and one of a bird.


“Are you the one?”
“Are you the one?”
“The one to give him what he most desperately wants?”
“Yes. I am.”
“You will trade? Legs for legs?”
“Trade?”
“Legs for legs?”
“Yes.”
“The fruit!”
“The fruit! The fruit!”


A single piece of the fruit with smooth purplish-blue skin hung down just in front of his face. He plucked it, and the branch that had supported it disappeared upward again.


“Eat it!”
“One bite!”
“One bite!”


He took a bite. It was sweet and sour at the same time. The flesh was firm but soft enough to swallow whole. Dark ruby juice dripped down his chin and dotted the grass before sinking into the earth below. From each drop grew a deep purplish-blue flower.


“He had tasted the fruit!”
“No turning back!”
“The one must eat, too!”
“Eat it!”
“One bite!”
“One bite!”


Russell took the fruit and bit into it. It was bitter and salty at the same time. The flesh was soft but had to be chewed to soften it. Pale sapphire juice dripped down his chin and dotted the grass before sinking into the earth below. From each drop grew a bright reddish-orange flower.


“He has tasted the fruit!
“No turning back!”
“The one must speak!”
“Speak!”
“Speak what you will give!”

“I will give... my legs for his.”

“He must speak!”
“Speak!”
“Speak what you most desire!”

“I most desire...”

He woke, sweating, and reached down under the covers.