The worn and notched head of the hammer sailed past my face. I could see it in such clear detail as time froze around us. I had leaned back just in time to avoid the murderous swing, and as my eyes shifted from that deadly hammer to the face of my interlocutor, I saw, clearly for once, the mad, insane rage that had been the subject of all the grotesques I had been studying: the demons upon the walls—one had come to life.
I understood then, why forgotten artisans had in ancient times carved that face, again and again.
Tale Told 