A needle is all there is in the room. He wants to pick it up, but it’s hot. He pulls back his hand and sucks at his finger. As he continues looking at the needle, it starts to burn red. Smoke rises from the glinting steel.
In an instant, it’s back to silver, and then red again. It continues to flash. Sometimes it stays red for a second or two, other times for perhaps half a second.
The needle flashes on and on, hour after hour, and he keeps looking at it, as if there is a hidden message in the rhythm of flashes and if he looks at it long enough, he finally understands. But the understanding never comes.
Hours later, finally the needle flashes red one last time and then goes back to its ordinary glinting silver color. After a few minutes, he gingerly reaches for it and touches it with the tip of a finger. It’s cold. He takes the needle and looks at it. It’s just an ordinary sewing needle, and he is still a prisoner.
Apparitions 