Brian Evenson

A twelve?”
“That’s right,” said Gous, then rattled off in a schoolboy’s voice, “Leg, toe, toe, toe, toe, toe, left arm, finger, finger, ear, eye, ear.”

A twelve?”
“That’s right,” said Gous, then rattled off in a schoolboy’s voice, “Leg, toe, toe, toe, toe, toe, left arm, finger, finger, ear, eye, ear.”

The room was large, Spartan in furnishing: a bed sitting low to the floor, a low desk, a small bookshelf, a reclining chair. In the latter sat a man wearing a bathrobe. He was missing an arm and a leg, his robe cut away and left open at shoulder and hip to reveal the planed surfaces, hardly stumps at all. The other arm and leg were intact, though the hand was missing all but two of its fingers, the foot all but the big toe. Both ears, too, had been cut off, leaving only a hole and a shiny patch of flesh on either side of the head. One eyelid was open, revealing a piercing eye, the other closed but deflated, the eye under it clearly absent.