The statue was outside again, clutching a dead pidgeon so tightly that there was no way to mistake how the poor thing had died. Three days in a row she'd woken up to find it waiting for her, a new bird in its hands and more blood staining the cheerful blue flowers on her welcome mat.
By now she knew what she had to do to make it go away. She moved without really thinking about what she was doing or why she wasn't trying to do anything else, the sooner she acted, the sooner it left and she had better things to do than try to push it or break it again.
No, the only thing she'd found that worked was to gently tap the statue's fingers, hold back the shudder as they curled up like pencil shavings instead of simply lowering. When the fingers were fully curled she took the dead pidgeon and smeared some of its blood on her chin.
The statue tilted its head as usual, dropped its arms as usual and began to walk away as usual.
Unfortunately she hadn't paid enough attention this time, not realising how little blood she'd used. The statue moved so fast she didn't even have time to blink before it had darted forwards and crushed her neck to the point where her body just gently slipped to the floor.
It walked away, carefully turning her head around to face its own as it contemplated the neighbouring doors.
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