I don’t think anyone knew what to do with me. I don’t think they even really knew what had happened. I didn’t even really know. Frank said he would take me in. It was kind of him. He had no family, and so I wouldn’t terrorize a wife, or frighten his children. But Frank’s hair fell out, and an old man named Frank died; the same happened to everyone, they all died; I’m still here. I don’t know if I can die.
It was somewhere in South America. I suppose no one would care if I mentioned the exact place, but I promised, we all promised, to keep our lips sealed. I wouldn’t want anyone going there anyway. But somewhere, working for—I suppose I shouldn’t say that either—we stumbled upon a people as of yet untouched by science: our science was as yet untouched by them.
We were set upon suddenly, and taken captive. I don’t know why I was picked. They had to pick someone, I’m sure, and maybe they liked the look of my head. They were most gentle. They took me to their temple, and I was left with their dark skinned priestesses. Before leaving, their warriors had secured me to a strange altar, organic in appearance, like a mass of black coiling roots grown up through the floor. The men placed me against this, and the black tendrils of that altar enclosed around me. I have seen something similar in that strange plant which devours flies. I was placed in the trap in such a manner so that I could still see and hear, just my body was stuck in this altar’s mouth.
They brought forth a trough of sorts, more a small bucket, filled with a sweet smelling liquid, and placed it below my head. A priestess would, from time to time, sink her ladle into this soup, and then bear the contents to my lips. I think it was alcoholic. I didn’t notice the effects at first, but slowly everything began to blur together. As time wore on, and I grew less cognizant, the girls forced me to drink more and more. I thought I was dreaming—the edges of my vision were obscured in haze—but I suddenly plummeted into the vat of liquid below, sinking to the bottom of the brew.
When I awoke, I was paralyzed. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t speak, I couldn’t breathe. That was the real dreadful thing, not breathing. My mind was in a panic, trying to pull air into my lungs. It was dark all around me, and I half thought I must be dead, that this was eternity: darkness, terror, and absolute solitude.
Then I felt a hand, fingers brushing my hair. They coiled into a fist, and pulled me from the black recesses of what happened to be some earthenware box. I blinked in the blinding light, and heard the screams of my companions. Behind me, the strange language of the natives shouted, and I shouted. I shouted in English, speaking a perfect translation of what was said:
“Reach into the jar.”
I could see a bit better now, and I saw my friends. In front of them was a jar. Sam reached his arm into this, and I saw a disgusting sneer overwhelm his face. He pulled one of the native’s heads up into the light and screamed:
“What the hell?”
The head in his hand spoke, I suppose translating Sam’s obscenity, and the natives laughed. So, by this means some compromise was reached. We parlayed, and the details here are unimportant. They would escort us back to the river, and our boat, we would return to our lands, and give back, well, I can’t really tell you what it was.
Like I said, Frank was the one who took me in after that. I couldn’t quite go out in public, but it was easy to sneak me around. Sometimes he’d carry me in something, and get me into a movie theatre. That was the most I really ever saw of other people. Before dying, Frank made sure someone was looking after me. That’s how I got in this library. They know about these things. I suppose I’m part of their collection now, a selection of their oddities, the talking severed head.
Tale Told 
2 Comments