He smiled, and it was like he had sprouted daggers from his face. They slid out from his gums and overlapped with glistening white edges. His throat elongated, and down the layers was yet more pointing, growing, needle-tip blades.
“I cannot wonder what a soul tastes of, don’t you ask the question?”
It was barely English, and it was barely a voice–a vibration that simply wrapped around the ears.
The eyes bulged until they pushed red against the skull’s edges. It was more and more of him forward.
And Sally realized she had backed into a corner.