Him Standing Read Online Free

piece of cedar that was large enough for a life-size mask. I split it with a tree-felling wedge and a small sledgehammer. I had to be careful. I wanted a perfect half round to work with. I needed the grain in the wood to be consistent and clear. I carefully chiseled the bark off. I moved slowly. I tapped the end of the chisel lightly, then guided it forward with my hands so the bark would come off easily. It took some time, but I ended up with a glistening, reddish surface with a fine grain. I’d never done this before. But somehow I knew how.
    That didn’t bother me. What bothered me was how I suddenly was able to just carve at will. Normally there was a subject, someone I could look at, that made the magic happen. But now there was nothing. There was only the recollection of the dreams. There was only the painted face. I tried to go through the specifics of the dreams. I wanted to figure out which legend Gareth Knight wanted me to carve. But all I could see was the dim painted face of the man in the wigwam. That’s when my hands began to really move on their own.
    I hadn’t had a clear look at him since the first dream of the waterfall. Even that wasn’t detailed enough. The face was flat. It had no edges or angles or hollows, and I didn’t know what the bone structure was. All I saw was the leering, painted face. But my hands knew what to do. I sat there for hours every morning. It was like I fell into a spell. Time just disappeared. I don’t know what happened to me during those times. But I do know that by the time I came out of them, there were shavings all around my feet. And I felt thick. Like my blood was sludge. Like my head was stuffed with cotton. Opening my eyes was like coming out of a coma. It was like I had left the world behind me. I felt odd, out of shape, not comfortable in my own body.
    Every morning I would wake and sit with my coffee, looking out my window over the neighborhood. Every morning I would try to get a fix on the face. It wasn’t a legend, but it was the one thing that kept coming to me. I couldn’t shake it. I was worried Knight would call off the deal. I wanted that money. I wanted it bad.
    Then I would move to my work table, and the day would disappear.
    One day, after about a week of this, the telephone rang. I didn’t answer it. I couldn’t. Nothing existed for me but the mask, the face. I couldn’t take my eyes from the work I was doing. It rang again. I let it ring. It rang three times before I could break out of the trance I was in to pick it up. Finally I picked it up.
    â€œYes?” The word came out of me dully.
    â€œIs that you, Lucas?”
    â€œYes.” It was the same thick voice.
    â€œLucas?” It was Amy. “Are you all right? You sound different.”
    â€œYes,” I said again. It seemed to be all I could say.
    â€œLucas, you’re scaring me. I haven’t seen you in nearly a week. You don’t call. You don’t answer voice messages, and you sound like you’re stoned.”
    â€œYes,” I said.
    â€œI’m coming over there right now.”
    I lay the phone in its cradle and stared at the wall.
    I was still doing that when Amy walked into the apartment. I turned slowly to look at her. She shrank back against the door.
    â€œOh my god,” she said. “Lucas.”
    â€œWhat?” I asked. I tried to smile, but the muscles in my face felt odd.
    She walked toward me slowly. Her eyes were wide. “Your face,” was all she said.
    â€œWhat about my face?” My mind was clearing now that she was here.
    â€œIt’s different.”
    â€œDifferent how?”
    â€œIt’s older. It’s definitely older.”
    â€œCan’t be,” I said, coming back to myself. “It’s only been a few days.”
    She looked around the room. Except for the mess on my work table, the place looked tidy. When she came to sit across from me, there was a worried