The person in the hooded cloak lead me by the elbow to one of the near stone huts. I noticed that there was a trail all along the top of the ridge, a trail that wandered from beehive to beehive. The sharp, fresh, familiar smell of spruce permeated the whole scene, making me feel both at home and very alien.

The hooded thing lead me down the two steps to the sunken door and waited for me to enter. It was very polite about it, and once I had ducked under the low lintel it hurriedly followed me inside and busied itself with making the place presentable. Or at least what it seemed to consider presentable. The dim interior of the hut was filled with discarded debris, stuff I could only think of as junk: broken wheelbarrows, bits of driftwood, half a chair. Nothing livable. I couldn't really tell the difference after it finished whatever it thought it was doing, but it seemed to be trying to be hospitable. I sat down in the spot it indicated, and it bowed and sat down across from me, crossing its spindly legs and throwing its hood back. I got my first good look at my host.

The dim light softened the shadows on its face, making it harder to distinguish its features. Its face had a stretched, pained look, but that was its blank state, because its expression was entirely empty of emotion. Except for the bright eyes that darted around between peering at me, it barely moved a single muscle on its face, even when it spoke. It had only wispy hair. I couldn't figure out if it was supposed to be male or female, it didn't seem so much to be inbetween but rather to not have the question apply at all.

It had found a a mug with a broken handle and a jug with a chip missing from the lip. Pouring a liquid into the mug, it offered it to me. "You shall drink," it said.

I took it and smelled it. I had no idea what it was, but it didn't look very pleasant. I pretended to sip it to be polite. It reminded me of visiting my fussy aunt with the weird cooking. I tried to think of a way to ask where I was.

"You like it?" It seemed to be eager to please. "I like your face. I wish that it was my face. I don't like my face anymore." I couldn't really think of much to say to that.

"I was born with it," I said, "So I don't see how it matters."

It cocked it's head to one side and wiggled its ears, which made the skin on its forehead stretch tight. "You came from somewhere else."

"Yes," I said, relieved that I didn't have to find a way to ask about it. "Do you know where I came from?"

"No," it shook its head, stretching its mouth into what was probably intended to be a friendly grin. "If I knew how to go there, I would have gone for a visit. If everyone there is as pretty as you, I would like to visit that place."

"Most of them are prettier," I said, "But I would like to know why I couldn't visit here last time I tried."

"I've heard tales," it said, steepling its bony fingers. "There are rules for such things. The powers have their own rules, but the lowly must obey them all."

That sounded worrying. I asked, "The powers? There isn't some kind of wicked witch who is going to hunt me down or get you in trouble or something, is there?"

"No, I live by myself. A collector. A dabbler. Not one to get involved in the problems of others." It stood up and started pacing. "The others stay away. That's better, because they are ugly and I am ugly too. I thought I was going to be beautiful, but she tricked me."

"Maybe I should be going," I said, starting to stand up.

It was right there, taking the mug from me. "You are a guest. You have no worries."

"I need to be going," I said, taking a step towards the door.

It spread out its arms, blocking the light as it screeched, "I will be pretty when I have your face! Trade me your face!" It grabbed at me and I yelled. I shoved it. Even though it was taller than I was, it was so light that my push sent it toppling. I ran for the door, trying not to trip on anything sharp or jagged.

It was on its feet quickly, its cloak torn on a broken chair and its limbs waving wildly. It was definitely not human. No human was ever that skinny. It barely had any body at all, just a trunk that held its bony limbs together. In one hand was a dull-colored knife it must have had hidden in its cloak.

I was outside before it caught up to me, but it was fast and I had to stoop down to duck out of the doorway. Running on four limbs, it crashed up the low steps and leaped at me, stabbing at my legs. I went down, rolling over and kicking at the thing's face. The face tore, and I realized that it was tied on, a stolen mask of skin stretched to cover the thing's real face. It screeched and slashed at my feet with its bronze knife.

The knife cut right through my denim pants. I felt the knife slide off my leg brace, too dull to penetrate the plastic. Kicking back at it, I pulled away. Struggling to my feet, I plunged downhill and into the woods, leaving its screeching cry behind me.