Naibor woke abruptly and sat up with a start. Something had touched him! Looking around, he could see nothing but the usual rock and stubble, surrounded by the shadows cast by the half-moon that had finally risen in the night. His heart beat furiously. He waited watchfully, listening for the slightest sound.


With the corner of his eye, he caught sight of something moving. A shape detached itself from the shadows and came rushing toward him. It was a floating head. The face was grotesque and misshapen, with oversize staring eyes and a cavernous mouth. Terrified, the prince threw his hands up to protect himself.


Another bodiless head appeared and came at him, and then another. They came at him from all directions—apparitions of death, some shriveled and some bloated, but all horrible to see. Naibor shrunk back against the rock wall behind him. They mocked him by floating up in front of his face and then quickly disappearing. He was pushed and poked at by unseen hands while the heads laughed shrilly with gurgles and squeaks.


“Who are you?” Naibor squeezed from a tight throat. “What do you want?” His assailants only hissed loudly in reply. … He was trapped!


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