Long ago, in England, there lived a man who traveled all over the place in search of a woman to marry. He saw many wemen, young and old, rich and poor, pretty and plain, but none of his liking. Until one day, he came upon one, she was rich, she was young, she was prettier, and most of all, her left arm was made of shiny gold, from the top shoulder all the way down to the tips of her fingers. He married her at once.
They lived quiet happily in a faraway small village. But, his wife wondered, “does my husband love me half as much as he love my golden arm?” So, everynight, she said to him, “Honey, would you promise, when I die first, would you promise to bury me with my golden arm?” And, everynight, her husband responded, “Of course, dear.” Surely enough this is the story to go on. The wife died before her husband.
In the funeral, the busband wore the blackest dress and put on the saddest face all day long. But at night, he lay awake and couldn’t get to sleep, because he kept on thinking about the golden arm and things that the golden arm could buy with it.
So, he jumped out of bed and walked to the darkest graveyard, dug out the body and cut of her golden arm, hid it under his coat. On the way home, a harsh wind began to blow, he shivered and shook, because the golden arm was as cold as ice.
When he finally got home, he went to bed and put on a cover to warm his body. He hid the golden arm under his pillow. And then, he heard a voice, “who… who…”. At first he thought it would be just the wind, but he listened to it carefully, “who’s got my golden arm?” he knew, he must be hearing something. The voice became louder and louder. And it right outside of his house. “Who’s got my golden arm?” “Where’s my golden arm?”
The man tried to run, but the only exit was the front door. And the voice was coming up. The stairs creaked and groaned, and the voice repeated, “Who’s got my golden arm?” “Where’s my golden arm?” Just then the bedroom door opened. Walked in a ghost, his dead wife, her skin was pale as milk, and her eyes looked nothing. His wife glided to him, but her husband was calm and quiet. He asked his wife, “why are your lips still red?”, his dead wife replied, “it will disappear soon.” “and, why is your cheek still pink?” “it will disappear soon.” “ why is your hair still shiny?” “it will disappear before long.” “and where is your golden arm? It’s not there?” “You, you, it’s you who stole it. Hand it to me. To me!”
