Dad didn’t object but mom said I wouldn’t like it. I gently touched the dead man’s hand and recoiled, surprised by the coldness and rigidity.
It was hours later that same night when I awoke from a nightmare in which I knew I had felt that dead man’s cold hand on my face. I was petrified and ran to mom and dad for comfort.
Years later, I realized that if a cold hand had actually touched my face, it most likely came from my teasing older brother in the upper bunk.
To this day, I believe that dead men tell no tales…and touch no faces.
Keith Kappes is a columnist for The Morehead (Ky.) News. Contact him a email@example.com.