I looked out straight away, and I could see Steven Messenger, from the back, standing inside the wire of our property, maybe two meters from the window. He had his bed roll, etc. But when he turned, as if he knew I was watching, there was no face. Well, certainly not his movie face, with flesh and skin. This was the shape of a face, but empty, except for two grey hollows for eyes, like the eyes of a cave fish.
—Strange Objects, by Gary Crew
The children, if that was what they were, had circled me just as troops in wartime will do, seeking the advantage in coming at the enemy from an unexpected direction. They were now ten feet ahead, their backs still to me, but slowly they began to revolve - yes, revolve, as a weight suspended on a line will revolve - until I saw their faces at last.
Monstrous offspring, foul beasts: a random scattering of small black eyes cast over the upper part of their features, a dozen or more, like raisins in dough; no nose on either, but twin slits divided by a thin stretch of septum; and their mouths were lipless grimaces drawn back over jagged rodentine teeth, with sharp protuberances at either side like the venomous fangs of a spider.
