This short story is an excerpt taken from the book The Thing at the Foot of the Bed and Other Scary Tales by Maria Leach.
The Golden Arm
Once there was a man had a woman for a wife named Elvira, and this woman had a golden arm. She was awful proud of it. It was solid shining gold from the shoulder clear down to the nail of her little finger. She liked it even better than the real one.
Every night when she went to bed she used to say to her husband, "If I die first, promise to bury me with my golden arm."
"Yes, Elviry, I promise," the man would say, night after night after night.
Well, it happened that the woman got sick and died. The man buried her and her golden arm along with her, just as he promised.
But after a while he began to think about it. He began to think about what he could do with all that gold. It seemed a shame for it just to lie there in the ground. He began to want the golden arm. And the more he thought about it, the more he wanted it.
So one dark night in the middle of the night he decided to go get it. He put on his long dark coat and he lighted his lantern and he went trudging through the cold dark lanes till he came to the graveyard. And he dug up Elvira and took the golden arm.
He tucked it under his long coat and started back home. On the way home it started to rain, hail, snow, and blow. But he didn't think anything of that. He got home all right.
When he got home he didn't know where to hide the golden arm, so he pushed it under the covers of the bed. The he jumped into bed himself and shivered and shook. He couldn't get warm because the golden arm was cold as ice.
And the wind rose and he heard a voice wailing
W-H-E-E-R-E'-S M-Y G-O-O-L-D-E-N A-A-A-R-M?
The man pulled the covers up over his head so he couldn't hear it. But he heard it just the same.
He heard it coming down the road. It was crying in the road
W-H-E-E-R-E'-S M-Y
and on the porch
G-O-O-L-D-E-N
and at the door
A-A-A-R-M?
And the wind howled over the top of the door
W-H-E-E-R-E'-S M-Y G-O-O-L-D-E-N A-A-A-R-M?
The man shivered and shook under the covers. Then he peeked out.
And he saw it.
It was by the bed.
And--it pounced
YOU'VE GOT IT!
There is another version of this story, though. Instead it involves a toe instead of an arm.
Si las paredes podrían hablar, podría perforar los agujeros en ellas así que cerrarían el infierno para arriba.
Meowrik, here's a story. When I was little, there was this one kid in my class who I could not stand. He made me cry, laughed when I did bad at something, and a whole other jerky stuff. So I would tell my older siblings how I didn't like him. OVER AND OVER. So whenever I talked about how i didn't like him, my older siblings would say things like "Dude, you're like obsessed with him." or "I think you're in LOVE with him, because you talk about him too much." They made me mad, but I learned that when I don't like someone, I should keep it to myself and not torture others about what they already know. I was eight when I learned this. You're fifteen. Grow Up.
A day without sunshine is like night.