Simon froze. The glowing rectangle was now filled with the horrible
visage of a haggard, ghastly corpse. He shrieked in fear, helplessly
falling to the ground. It was nothing short of a miracle that he
eventually scrambled to his feet with his flailing limbs. He dashed
outside frantically, wailing at the top of his lungs for help.
Before long, a large crowd had gathered around the storehouse. The
fearsome object was retrieved from where it was embedded in the wall,
yet the dreadful face on its surface remained. Its garbled speech
continued, and would not cease, no matter how much it was pounded by the
blunt end of an ax. Its once smooth and glossy surface was now
shattered, further distorting the mangled face. Frustrated, the tribe
decided to entomb it in the pond, under the trunk of the Mother Tree. It
was said that on quiet nights, when even the crickets refused to chirp,
a crackling voice can still be heard by the edge of the water…