4
I gasped and jerked back. The face moved out of the shadows and stalked toward the foreground of the painting. There was more than just a pale face. The figure was that of a painfully thin man with an overcoat draped over his frame. The flesh on his hands and face was the pallor of death, and the black eyes stared at me with an unbending will that frightened me more than anything.
I scrambled backward and hit the wall beside the door. More figures appeared, three in number. They were piggish men with flat noses and flaring nostrils. Their belts held scabbard sheaths and gun holsters.
I dared breath as they reached the bottom of the portrait, but I couldn’t move. Those black eyes had captured me in their horrific willpower. Warm tears streamed down my face as I tried to will m
