Excerpts from The Witness and The Park
By David Fingerman
The Witness
Francis hoisted himself up and went to press the down button and begin his slow descent. As the scaffold began its way down, a wind whipped around the corner of the building. The safety rope that dangled over the edge, snapped up. The metal clasp smacked him painfully in the knee. His leg buckled and Francis lost his balance. The cigarette flew from his mouth as he slipped into the safety bar, and like a gymnast, did a flip over the top.
His eyes went wild as he somersaulted off the structure. He flailed his arms blindly for anything to grab onto that wasn’t air. Miraculously, his hand smacked into the safety rope. Fist instantly clenched, Francis held on, literally for his life. The evening shade cast its shadow over a face in agonizing pain as Francis felt the rope burn into his hand. A twisted arm felt as if it was being pulled from its socket.
“Don’t look down, don’t look down, don’t look down,” he kept repeating to himself, while staring up at the bottom of the scaffold.
Uncontrollably, he looked down. The burning fist clenched tighter around the rope, fingernails dug deeper into his palm, drawing blood. The street, the cars, the people, all seemed to be moving in circles as the wind spun Francis like a tangled telephone cord. He jerked up his head and concentrated on the platform above.
The scaffold crept down the building but Francis knew he wouldn’t be able to hold on nearly long enough.
The Park
Everybody knew that you didn’t enter the park on Halloween night. It was common knowledge that anyone who crossed that boulevard on October 31st might never be seen again, at least alive. And the few who had made it out alive were never again right in the head. At least that was the story Andrew had heard since he was old enough to understand words. . .
The wind picked up and the moon hid behind a cloud. Andrew began to walk toward the street. He stopped. Something behind him creaked. He waited, frozen. There it was again, more of a squeaking sound. Andrew slowly turned. The moon came out from behind the cloud.
The most beautiful girl he’d ever seen sat on a swing, gently rocking back and forth. The moon glowed off her long blond hair and white dress, making them look almost florescent. The sleeves were short and she wore no jacket or coat, and yet, she didn’t seem at all cold. Her head bowed down and it looked as if she might be crying.
Andrew walked over. “Are you all right?”
It seemed as if she hadn’t heard him. He was about to ask again, but she slowly lifted her head. She looked a little older than Andrew, maybe fourteen or fifteen. But, what really stood out were her eyes. It must have been a trick of the moon. As she turned to look at him, he saw that her eyes were yellow, like a cat. And she smiled.