32 | Psychopomp Magazine
While his parents exchanged glances, Jimmy held up the tube from his clumped-up shirt.
“Remember that boom last night? This is what crashed down from the sky.”
“Is that right?” Mrs. Bell said. “What do you think, Will? Something military? A drone?”
Mr. Bell peered at the tube. “No drone. Maybe part of a telecom satellite. Some fiberoptic piece of junk that shorted out and came back down to earth. Not sure it’s good for anything, son.”
“Sure it is.” Jimmy snatched back the tube, looked around the room for something to try to mess with. Then he stared at his plate, smiled, and plunged the tube into his ham steak.
“Look,” he said, “it’s a ham-handle!” He picked up the ham by the tube. Ready to bite deep.
He stopped when he noted the look of horror on his parents’ faces as they stared at the meat on the end of the “handle.” The flesh reddened and flexed. It looked almost alive.
Once Jimmy pulled out the vibrating handle, the ham steak returned to the lighter shade of pink that the other pieces of meat in the Bells’ plates had. The handle stopped shaking. The show had ended.
But our community would never be the same.
Mrs. Bell clapped hands over her gaping mouth. Mr. Bell stared almost a full minute at the mysterious tube and the thick cut of ham steak. Both Jimmy’s parents looked scared. Disgusted.
Jimmy waited, turning everything over in his mind.
Mr. Bell chewed on his trembling lip and took a big breath before he spoke.
“That is one queer thing you’ve found, boy. You’d best get rid of it.”
Jimmy thought otherwise. He knew he’d found something special.