Beneath the streetlamp stood a statue.
The shattered half-face, the broken wing, the empty, broken bowl.
Exactly the same.
No, it *was* the one from a moment ago.
"Damn it..." Thomas felt his scalp prickle as the lantern in his hand swayed.
He was sure he'd already passed that intersection. How did this thing get ahead of him? 'Is someone playing a prank on me?'
"Who? Who's there?" Thomas shouted, mustering his courage.
No one answered. There was only the moaning of the wind as it passed through the broken bowl, like a funeral wail.
Thomas didn't dare look at the statue again. Head down, he hugged the wall and practically jogged as he dashed past the intersection.
This time, he heard a sound.
Behind him.
The harsh, grating sound of stone scraping against the ground.
SCRAPE—
Thomas whipped his head around.
The street behind him was empty. The intersection was pitch-black, and he couldn't see a thing.
