The Sickness

Malin Hillemann

9/28/12

Observer Quick Write

 The Sickness

I saw the man coming from afar, his hard, leather shoes tapping as he came slowly down the hall. Nobody else seemed to see him. I saw his white, ghostly figure looming over the children as they slept. I was scared,  but as I saw him come slowly towards us I froze in place, not knowing what to do. He wore his top hat, and hobbled on a cane. I remembered that hat, the one that used to lie in the attic. It was always there, covered in cobwebs and dust. It was strange to see it on this man’s head now. The children breathed lightly, lying on their cots, everyone of them chilled by the freezing cold blowing through the door that stood ajar. I was scalding, the blisters of my hands throbbed throughout my whole body, making me tingle with the sudden jolt of heat. The man had gotten closer now, he stood only a few cots away from me. Unable to see that my eyes were fixed on him. He hit his cane across the floorboards, tapping on the souls of the sleeping children. I did not want to be next. I did not want this ghost of a man to slap his cane against the floor below me, to make my body shake and vibrate, and to be carried away in his hands. I wanted to stay here with all of the children, but most of them had already gone that night. They left to go to a happier place, without sickness, blisters, and cold. I would miss this place, but as I saw the other children’s limp bodies I knew it would be unfair for me to hide from this man. And so as the man approached my bed, I readied myself for the worst, and “CRACK!’ I heard the sound of the cane hitting the bottom of my bed, and then, I was gone.

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