“What is he doing?” Maya whispered.
“Run,” Maya breathed.
Leo raised the cassette recorder. The red light blinked. Snip. Snip.
He was tall, unnaturally so, wearing a tattered, mud-stained parka. His face was a smooth, featureless oval of dark, polished wood, like a mask carved from a coffin lid. In one hand, he held not shears, but a long, serrated trowel that dripped with something that glowed faintly bioluminescent—root sap, or maybe blood.
“What is he doing?” Maya whispered.
“Run,” Maya breathed.
Leo raised the cassette recorder. The red light blinked. Snip. Snip.
He was tall, unnaturally so, wearing a tattered, mud-stained parka. His face was a smooth, featureless oval of dark, polished wood, like a mask carved from a coffin lid. In one hand, he held not shears, but a long, serrated trowel that dripped with something that glowed faintly bioluminescent—root sap, or maybe blood.
