Two paltry hours of sleep later, however, Robert woke to the sound of something stirring outside of his tent. He had left the camp fire burning as he was uncomfortable in spending another night in darkness, and its flames seemed to dance, shifting and changing shape in the night air, casting shadows all around onto the thin canvas of Robert's tent like a naturally occurring cinema screen.
Casting one shadow in-particular; the shadow of someone sitting by the fire.
Robert froze, his mouth went dry and his breathing became shallow and anxious. He could not believe that he had been so stupid to persuade himself that no one was following him. In lighting another fire he had led them directly to where he slept and now they had the upper hand. God knew what they wanted!
[...]
With one eye, he peeked through the slit between the two flaps of canvas, slowly. There it was. Someone sitting at the camp fire. By his build, Robert was certain it was a man. The back-light of the camp fire made it difficult to decipher any of his features, but the shoulders were broad, strong, and it was clear that this man had been in the wilderness for some time, as it appeared that he was wearing rags of cloth which hung loosely around him. His head was covered in long strands of black, wet hair which had clumped together in places, presumably because it had not been washed for some time.
Staring at the back of the man's head, Robert tried as best he could to subdue his fear. [...]
Something was odd about the way the man was sitting. First of all, he was sitting still. So still that you would be forgiven for mistaking him for a statue. Not the slightest movement was made, nor was there any indication of life at all. No subtle shifting of weight, no rising and falling of breath. Nothing.
While this stillness was unnerving, it was Robert's second observation which bothered him the most. The man was sitting forward, facing the fire, but the shape and position of his upper body and head was somehow... off. They did not seem to quite add up, his frame seemed unnaturally positioned.
A crackle from the fire followed by a wayward flicker of light revealed the truth. The flames lit up the area momentarily; the light bouncing from tree to tree, even onto Robert's tent and reflected back onto what surrounded it.
Two pin points of light momentarily shone in the night through black clumps of matted hair. Yes the man's legs were facing the fire, but his body and head were horribly contorted, twisted into an inhuman posture. The man's legs were indeed facing the fire, but his head and body were facing the Robert.
This was no man at all.
How long it had sat there staring at Robert in that tent, waiting, he did not know, but a creak of movement from its neck was enough to send Robert out of the tent, into the woods, consumed by a terror so profound that it could be likened to madness.
