The Invisiblo FistyCuff

Author: Stanley Unwim

I was working on something but it was going nowhere so with the help of Ai I had it translated into Unwanese. Makes it much more readable as a story…
So a half-man-half-nibble enterprise….

His parly-parents had dropped off the perch a couple of year-lengths back, leaving the old dwelling-house completely untouched in a state of static-dormancy. However, the tick-tock came along to clear out the clutter-junk and sell off the whole brick-and-morty! So off he went with cardboard boxies, black bin-baggies, and two whole month-spans of annual leave-away to declutter the whole caboodle.

All amongst the pile-up of old rubbish-rubbish were real gemmy-treasures of expensive value! Records for the gramophone, tape-cassettes, video-flicks—some of which were right naughty adult-spicy—plus family photo-albums (definitely no spicy-naughty stuff there!) and all sorts of bits and bobs gathered over fifty year-spans in the abode. A proper treasure-trove of memory-tat!

In the back of a bed-chamber cupboard, he discovered a smallish wooden chestlet. Very well-kept, no damage-dents, but not overly posh. He yanked it out, plonked it on the duvet-bed, flicked two metal clippy-latches, and released the front-catch. Upon opening—gasp!—it was lined with lovely red silk-padding, and snuggled inside was another box of total blackness!

Possiboldly wood, felt like timber-grain, but no grain to be seen! Definitely not plastic-synthetic, as it was proper cool to the touchy-feely. He lifted the black cube out for a good old look-see. Smooth sides, no hinges, no lid-cap—just a solid block-cube. But turning it upside-down revealed a square opening-hole! He stuck his mitt inside to scramble-scratch about, but the interior was as smooth as a baby’s bottom-bum. A lovely looking object-d’art, probably worth a few bob, so into the “keep-it” pile it went, ending up in another cupboard back at his own pad.

He asked around at antique-shoppes and pestered the relatives, but nobody had the foggiest notion what it was. Not a single word in his parents’ daily diaries either.

A few month-spans later, he fetched the inner black box out to use as a bit of a fancy desk-ornament for guests to fiddle-faddle with. He pondered what to put inside. Too odd-shaped for flower-blooms (might ruin the timber-wood), too big for pencil-pens. So, off he popped to grab a measuring-ruler. As he pushed the ruler down into the dark abyss to measure the height—DING DONG!—the doorbell went off!

Down the stairs he trotted to collect a parcel-package from the postie-man, slouched into the kitchen-room, brewed a fresh coffee-cup, and pinched a couple of ginger-nut biscuits from his top-secret stash. When he trotted back upstairs to the box, he noticed the inch-markings on the ruler had gone completely missing! He pulled it out, only to find the end that had been inside the box had vanished into thin air! He could still feel it with his fingers, but it was total see-through! Not like glass-window or plastic-clear, but 100% invisible-gone! A right strange turn of events!

To test the theory, he grabbed a few coins from his night-stand, popped them in the box, and re-enacted his little routine: walked downstairs, clattered the front door, washed a cup, nibbled another ginger-nut, and came back up. Lo and behold, the money-coins had gone invisible too!

For his next trick, he dropped a glass marble in, set the timer, and watched closely. After a few minute-spans, the marble began to fade, and within four minutes—poof!—completely gone! “How about a tin-can of lager-beer?” he thought. He grabbed a cold one from the fridge, waited four minutes, and the can vanished! He reached out, felt the invisible can, popped the tab, and poured the liquid out. The amber nectar was completely visible, but the can itself was invisible as a ghost! Brilliant, but… what was the point-use? Making small nick-nacks disappear didn’t have much practical value, so he stashed it back in the cupboard.

A few days later, he checked back and—lo and behold!—the ruler and coins had fully returned to normal sight! So the spell-magic wasn’t permanent after all! He stroked his chinny-chin-chin. What could he disguise and bring back later? Might be right handy for holiday-travel! Would an X-ray scanner still spot it?

Then, foolishly, without using his upper-brain, he took the box and shoved his entire left hand right inside, watching it slowly vanish! “A few days of invisible hand won’t do any harm,” he thought.

Ooh, what a massive mistakey-error!

The hand went clear-invisible, but then—YEOWCH!—the pain hit him fast and hard! It felt as if his entire fist-mitt was being roasted over an open fiery-furnace! The only relief was running it under the cold-water tap for twenty minute-spans. After that, the burning stopped, but a deep, throbbing ache kicked in—like a thousand bones had been smashed into mash-potatoes with a heavy hammer! He flexed his fingers with his right hand; it felt completely whole, but the unbearable, pulse-pounding agony was relentless! He jammed his arm between two soft, cold pillows and prayed for the pain to stop.

Luckily, after half an hour, the agony faded away. “Is that it?” he thought. “All done and dusted?”

Alas, no! A dreadful, putrid stink of rotting flesh-meat began to waft up into the air! At first it was just a tiny sniffle, but soon the whole bed-chamber reeked like a graveyard-cadaver! He brought his invisible hand up to his hooter—URGH!—it was his invisible fist! And the stench was getting worse by the minute!

Nothing could stop it. He slammed the bedroom door shut, yanked the windows wide open, hoping it was just a temporary phase. But hours passed, and the rotten-meat hum remained as thick as soup!

What on earth was he going to do now? How could he walk down the high street with an invisible fist that smelled like a dead horse? Deep joy, indeed!