Tikbalang's Snare

It didn’t make sense. Ink was supposed to stay on paper exactly how it was drawn. But Nathan was looking at it, and as sure as the trail had disappeared beneath his feet, the ancient strokes had also rearranged themselves on the page.

“The map,” he cried to Leslie, “it’s changed!”

The girl stopped. “What? That’s impossible.”

“No, look! The temple should be over here…” he pointed. “But there it is in front of us, under those dipterocarps. See it?” He took a few steps through the underbrush toward the ruins.

“Yeah. It must be a different one. Look at the carving over the entrance.” A shrieking face was chiseled in the stone, twisted in agony with horrible gaping features.

“Maybe we missed it before?” suggested Nathan.

“No, I would have seen it. I’m sure this is a different one.”

“I know I recognize that face from somewhere… wait! The map! It was in the compass rose!”

“Are you crazy? There’s nothing there.”

“No, remember? You even made a joke about its nose yesterday.”

“Right… so what happened to it?”

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