The Pale Man came to life. His black fingertips, pointy like thorns, cracked into motion with a spasm. His gaping mouth drew a tortured breath, and his right hand grabbed one of the eyeballs from his plate in his right hand, as his left turned, spreading its fingers like a terrible flower. The eyeball fit perfectly into the hole gaping in his left palm, and when his right hand had received the second eyeball, with a pupil as red as the grape Ofelia had eaten, the Pale Man raised both hands to his eyeless face to find out who had woken him. Ofelia hadn’t noticed what she’d done.
