The statue was right where the pub rumours said it would be, tucked away behind the church with no saint with only its hands reaching out past the overgrown holly. Somewhere behind those jagged leaves was a granite face that allegedly mimicked anyone who made eye contact with it.
They never said just how realistic the statue looked to begin with, before you even made eye contact with it. They never said how it had been recently painted in such delicate brushstrokes that the broken capillaries on its nose looked perfectly natural and yet flicker to stone to your own skin in the blink of an eye.
They never said it could move too and yet the same hands that were barely visible five seconds ago now held the holly back so that the statue could get a better look at you. It tilted its head this way and that, checking its surroundings for other witnesses before slinking back behind the densely packed leaves.
They never said just how realistic the statue looked to begin with, before you even made eye contact with it. They never said how it had been recently painted in such delicate brushstrokes that the broken capillaries on its nose looked perfectly natural and yet flicker to stone to your own skin in the blink of an eye.
They never said it could move too and yet the same hands that were barely visible five seconds ago now held the holly back so that the statue could get a better look at you. It tilted its head this way and that, checking its surroundings for other witnesses before slinking back behind the densely packed leaves.
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