The team of preservers had wrapped up the body as quickly as possible, horrified by the gruesome claw-like appendages that had grown out of the man's elbows. As dusk fell, the body was left overnight in the place where the experts had worked on it. All was eerily quiet in the deserted shack, save for a few small gusts of wind that whistled through the windows.
As if a storm was brewing, the whistles of wind grew louder and suddenly more frequent. Even the cracks in the wood played the same lonely tune along with the windows. Pieces of trees and stones were blown into the sides of the house, creating a great cacophony. As noisy as it was, the noise seemed to keep a constant rhythm.
The few torches that kept the house illuminated were blown out, causing darkness to fall in the small hut. The body stayed put, only a few edges of the bandages flapped loosely in the wind. In a sudden burst of wind, the door flew open and slammed against the wall behind it, leaving a slight dent in the wood. Through the door came a shapeless mass of darkness, oozing around the sides of the door and slithering to the wooden floor. It found its way to the body and seeped into the bandages. The wind whispered again, resembling something that sounded like a hissing voice.
"Not through . . ." it whispered, "Not yet . . ."
A figure appeared in the door—a small, hovering figure that clutched a lantern.
"Shinda," the figure whispered, "You're the only one who can guard the truth."
There was no response from the body. The small floating figure chuckled and disappeared. He reappeared at the body's side and, in an instant, both he and the body had vanished.
The small figure appeared with the remains of the body underground, in a tunnel that led to a small door. Water dripped softly from the rotting ceiling, and all was eerily quiet. The Poe giggled mischievously and lifted the body using his own two stubby arms, proving a surprising strength for his size. He went through the door and brought the body with him, managing to move it through in the same way he had. When the Poe entered the small chamber with half of Shinda's body, he dropped it to the ground with a "thud" and touched the spot where the no-longer beating heart was contained.
"Shinda . . ." the Poe hissed, "I'll tell you what you must do."
Shinda's torso suddenly moved, eventually reaching a "sitting" position. The head hung loosely to one side, his mouth shut tightly. The Poe approached the body's face and touched it with his lantern.
"Hee hee hee . . ." the Poe giggled, "What a miserable sight you are."
The body didn't respond.
"I suppose I must rejuvenate you first," the Poe sighed. With a flick of his tiny wrist, the small ghost brought the head of the body up so that it was upright, and a wave of some invisible force seeped through the bandages. "I'll make you so fearsome, that your own family wouldn't be able to look you in the eye," the Poe mumbled, "No one shall take the truth from you. No one would dare."
As if it were being inflated like a balloon, the body's stomach began to expand. Shinda's legs sank into what appeared to be a murky ground, though the ground was completely solid. The face, through a series of cracks, started to elongate under the bandages. When he'd completed the molding of a new, terrifying creature, the Poe touched a finger to its chest and the creature's mouth opened, letting out a roar.
"Oh, oh, mustn't get too excited," the Poe scolded, "But, Shinda . . . you're alive once again."
The creature that once was Shinda, a man, stretched his jaws open with more snapping sounds. He opened as wide as he could, only to display two rows of massive teeth that protruded through the bandages.
"Eeheeheeheehee . . ." the small ghost giggled, pleased with himself. "The magic has served you and I well, Shinda," he said as the creature lumbered around confusedly. The ghost produced a small, circular looking-glass that looked like an eye. "I need you to guard this, Shinda," the Poe said, "it contains the dark magic that I used in life to find the truth—the very same dark magic that possessed you in life. The Lens of Truth. Now that I'm . . . heh . . . dead, I can no longer protect it as well as you can."
The creature let out deep groaning sounds and tilted its head to the side at a gruesome angle. The Poe merely laughed at the display, as though the creature was a confused dog.
"Of course, of course. You need something more threatening about you than just big teeth and two claws. But what else . . ."
The small ghost considered this for a moment, until he spun around, vanished for a second, and then reappeared holding four more bandaged appendages—human arms, possibly from other corpses in the twisting tunnels. The Poe planted the arms into the ground near the creature and tugged at the hands, stretching them to triple their original size.
"That's more like it," the Poe giggled, "You look absolutely terrifying now."
The Dead Hand creature looked up at the ceiling, revealing a long and bony neck. The Poe came close to its face and whispered one more time to the guard of the Lens of Truth.
"Your last gift as a magic-bearer like myself," the Poe said, placing the Lens of Truth into a chest and sealing it away, "Is the power to regenerate these limbs as much as possible. Keep the Lens safe from thieves, and destroy whoever tries to steal it from you. You'll be able to put your hands to good use once again, Shinda. Oh, and by the way . . ." The Poe tapped a rhythm on the stone wall with his tiny hands. "In life, they called me Bongo. But I suppose there's no point in mentioning that to you."
In a bout of continuous giggling, the Poe vanished once again and left the Dead Hand creature in the chamber, alone.
