“Do not speak his name!”

The cry came from across the way, from the man who leaned beneath the shade of a great palm.

The woman he’d called to turned away from the little girl by her side, to whom she’d been speaking, and turned to the man. When she saw who it was, she smirked.

“Why not?” she asked. “He’s long dead. Are you afraid he’ll come for your other arm?”

She approached him, for it was him she had come seeking.

He did not move, but his eyes did, dropping to peer at the girl.

The girl’s own eyes were seeing him.

And seeing beyond him.

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