Estimated reading time: 8 minutes
I was alerted to the fact that there was a tiny man living under my thumbnail one rainy Sunday night, while flossing my teeth.
“Hello,” shouted a tiny voice. “Can you hear me?”
Pausing, I looked outside the bathroom and towards where the TV was fixed to the wall.
“Please. You’re hurting me.”
I dropped the string of floss in the sink and searched the room, but the voice followed every step.
“That’s better. Can we come to some sort of amicable agreement?”
At that moment there was a sharp pain under my thumbnail. My fingernails weren’t overly long, so I was surprised that the quick had been exposed and raised the thumb to my mouth.
“No, don’t do that!” The voice was closer now. “If you do that, I’ll come to a terrible end.”
I focused my attention on the end of the thumb. The painted nail was slightly chipped, but there was something else there. Bringing the thumb closer, I spied it moving along the nail edge. It disappeared suddenly, before I turned my palm over. Gently pressing the pad of my thumb with a forefinger, I noticed a tiny figure, human, lying prostrate and curled under the nail.
“Hi,” the little man waved. “Sorry to bother you.”
Feeling faint, I sat on the edge of the bed and pivoted the neck of the bedside lamp for a better view. Curling my fingers into a fist and raising the thumb, I watched closely as the little man crept over the finger nail. He sat on it like he was straddling a fence, and held his tiny hands in his lap. He was well-dressed in a long blue tunic, cinched at the waist with what appeared to be a brown belt. He wore small dark gloves that exposed his fingers. His legs and feet were bare and while his head was uncovered, he had a small thatch of hair. He sported a little brown beard that ended in a point below his chin.
“Thanks for your attention.”
My mouth moved but no words came out.
“Sorry if I frightened you.” The tiny man raised his palm in the air, no bigger than a pinhead. “I realise you must have questions.”
“Just one,” I said, releasing my breath. “What the hell?!”
The man crossed one leg over the other, but finding his balance was impaired, reverted to his seated position, gripping the nail on either side with his gloved hands.
“I do appreciate this is somewhat unusual and there—can you hear me OK? I know I’m shouting but it does hurt one’s chest to do so.”
I carefully lowered my hand to the bedside table, watching as he leapt from my nail and onto the surface.
“If you wouldn’t mind,” he said, cupping his mouth with his hands, “exhaling in the other direction and tilting your head away, so your ear is nearest to me, that would be wonderful.”
I lay down in my natural position in bed and adjusted my head so that it was inches from the strange man.
“That’s better,” he said, close to my ear. “Dangerous world. And it gets a lot more dangerous if you pop a lung shouting all the time. Anyway, where were we? Oh yes. Awfully sorry about the fright, but needs must.”
“What needs must you have?” I asked, staring up at the ceiling.
“Why, the basic needs of any man, woman or child. The need to survive. The greatest of all. You disagree?”
“I don’t.”
“Then you agree?”
The hands at my side balled into fists. “Are you insane? Am I insane?”
“Far from it. This looks like no padded cell from where I’m standing. Though the wallpaper does leave a lot to be desired if one is passing comment.”
Turning my head to face the little man brought a panicked shout, and he ran behind the alarm clock. He peeped out only when I had turned my head back, staring skyward again.
Summoning what little calmness remained, I asked, “What. The Hell. Are You?”
“Glad you asked. And introductions should have opened proceedings. I’m a little out of practice. I’m Holston. And you are?”
“Not your name. I mean, who are you?”
“I don’t quite follow,” the tiny man responded. He had now retaken his position at the end of the table and was comfortably within talking distance again. “I’m a man. Bachelor if you ask. Then again, depends who you ask.” There was a short sharp laugh. “Fond of equestrian sport. What else? Thirty-four years old. Love a good bourbon, even in the summer.”
I rose from the bed and paced the room, rubbing my temple. There was a tumbler on the bedside table from the previous night which I hadn’t removed. Was it something I drank? Did someone slip me a pill? Acid? Was I roofied? A tiny squeak from the table interrupted my thoughts. The dot, what could have been an ant from this distance, ran in circles around the table. I sat and reclined on the bed again, taking deep breaths.
“Better? You didn’t tell me your name.”
“Cris.”
“That’s a rather boyish name if you don’t mind me saying. Is it short for something?”
“Yes,” I said, measuring out long even breaths. “It’s short for, if you don’t tell me why I found a tiny man sleeping under my thumbnail, I’m going to flatten you with my hand.”
“Ah,” the voice said. “Understood.”
I turned my head to face the figure, breathing through my nose. Hesitating for a moment, he decided to remain standing and stepped closer so I could better see him.
“I’ve been squatting you see. I have no home of my own. You’ve been a wonderful host for me this past month. You’d be shocked at what sorts of nooks and crannies and crevices and foul places I’ve found myself in this past year.”
I felt the colour rise to my cheeks, but the tiny man appeared not to notice. He was pacing the floor, shaping his thoughts with his little gloved hands.
“I’m trying to get home, you see. One day I might, but it’s been ever so trying. Jumping from host to host.” He paused and looked up expectantly before continuing. “In any case, I dare say I’ve outlived my welcome this time.”
“Where is home?”
The man’s face brightened. “I can’t recall. But I see her face. And our child. I see them in my dreams.”
“I thought you were a bachelor?”
“I said ‘it depends who you ask’.”
I could feel a headache strobe at the front of my face. I reached for the lamp, careful not to graze the table surface with my arm, and turned it off. The room darkened.
“Thank you. I haven’t gotten used to your artificial light yet.”
The ceiling held my gaze as I listened to the wind blow in one ear, while in the other, the voice of a tiny aristocratic gentleman no bigger than a pimple.
“What do you want?”
“A place to call home. For just a little longer.”
“Sleep there. On the table.”
“Too drafty.”
“In a drawer then.”
“Too many hazards. Cobwebs, spiders, cracks. One can break one’s leg if not careful.”
“Then why under fingernails?”
“Because toenails are too foul-smelling.”
“Why nails at all?”
The tiny man considered this. I had almost given up hope of an answer, ready to turn to see if I could find his tiny shape in the gloom.
“I feel protected there. Under the nail. Connected. I can feel the heartbeat. Your heartbeat. It feels as if I’m never alone. Does that make sense?”
The rainfall had grown harder outside and pattered on the window rat-tat-tat. I curled the duvet up to my neck, and rubbed my socked feet together for heat. I quietly listened to the rhythmic beating of the rain. There was a wind behind it, one of those sounds like banshee wails. But for now, I was also protected. Safe from harm. Sleep had almost taken me when the tiny voice appeared out of the dark.
“I’m sorry if I offended you earlier. Cris is a lovely name.”
Smiling, I opened my eyes and strained in the darkness to find him. He was sitting, cross-legged watching me. I reached out my thumb. Initially it startled him, until finally, he stepped boldly onto my thumb and slotted underneath the nail.
This story was written for the ambitious creative project, ‘The Weekly Kook’, where I release a brand new short story every week for a year, totalling…yep, you guessed it – 52 stories.
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