I never played dead man’s finger music cards again. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget the look on my grandpa’s face when he caught me. He was so disappointed – in me, and in himself for ever teaching me how to play the game in the first place.
I remember being fascinated by it as a kid. You had to flick your fingers really fast to make the right notes, and it sounded like a whole ensemble of musicians playing together. But it was also sort of dark and spooky, like there was some kind of hidden danger lurking beneath the surface. Grandpa said that it was an old Native American game, and that you had to be careful or else you’d end up summoning a spirit from beyond the grave.
I didn’t believe him at first, but after seeing his reaction I knew better than to mess around with those cards again. It’s been years since that day, but I still can’t help thinking about what might have happened if he hadn’t walked in when he did.
