The Shape Speaks

Fred turned his head back toward the shape. Its trunk was now erect, with its "legs", if that is indeed what they were, still recumbant. Fred could see what looked like hands of a sort jutting from the sleeves of the workman's uniform. The hands were as white as the mask-like face. Both the hands and the face were a glossy sort of white, a gloss was similar to the reflection from a glazed dish. Indeed, the 'man' seemed to be artificial - manufactured and refined out of a type of clay.

Fred was just crossing the passage out when he heard a sound from the white 'man.' It was a single word, spoken in a voice that sounded eerily human.

1. "Friend?"
2. "Halt!"

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