Thousand: Four Hundred Thirty-Seven

Bernie finds himself facing, not the pad of a caterpillar foot or the claw of centipede, he finds himself face to face with a grimacing woman. Tears stream from her eyes and make tracks in the dust on her forehead. Her chin trembles and he sees where spittle also has traced trails from the corners of her lips up her cheeks. He makes to lean over again, but a bark from the woman arrests him. “Don’t! Don’t look! Don’t look at them! Yes! Yes! The foot at the end of every leg is a skull. Like me. My hair long