Викрадач трупів

           Theyhadbythattimegotnofartherthanthecross-roaddowntoAuchenclinny. Therainstillpouredasthoughthedelugewerereturning,anditwasnoeasymattertomakealightinsuchaworldofwetanddarkness. Whenatlasttheflickeringblueflamehadbeentransferredtothewickandbegantoexpandandclarify,andshedawidecircleofmistybrightnessroundthegig,itbecamepossibleforthetwoyoungmentoseeeachotherandthethingtheyhadalongwiththem. Therainhadmouldedtheroughsackingtotheoutlinesofthebodyunderneath; theheadwasdistinctfromthetrunk,theshouldersplainlymodelled; somethingatoncespectralandhumanrivetedtheireyesupontheghastlycomradeoftheirdrive. 

           ForsometimeMacfarlanestoodmotionless,holdingupthelamp. Anamelessdreadwasswathed,likeawetsheet,aboutthebody,andtightenedthewhiteskinuponthefaceofFettes; afearthatwasmeaningless,ahorrorofwhatcouldnotbe,keptmountingtohisbrain. Anotherbeatofthewatch,andhehadspoken.Buthiscomradeforestalledhim. 

           ‘Thatisnotawoman,’saidMacfarlane,inahushedvoice. 

           ‘Itwasawomanwhenweputherin,’whisperedFettes. 

           ‘Holdthatlamp,’saidtheother. ‘Imustseeherface.’ 

           AndasFettestookthelamphiscompanionuntiedthefasteningsofthesackanddrewdownthecoverfromthehead.