Why? Because it fits.
When she woke at sunrise, she squirmed out of her sleeping bag, stood up, opened her car door, and draped the bag over it to dry off millions of pinprick dewdrops that had bloomed on it during the night. When she turned to face the dune at the canyon rim, her attention snagged on a weird image.
Standing on the dune’s crest, back-lit by the sun so that all features receded into shadow, was a squat figure. The specter maintained absolute stillness on two short, thick legs that rose into a torso dominated by a barrel chest. On its shoulders balanced a heavy black head adorned by a headdress from which protruded two curving horns. Continue reading “Another excerpt from The Pictograph Murders”