Murder Mittens- I wrote this and would love feedback!
Epilogue
Three bodies had been found and all three scenes had one thing in common, bloody paw prints trailing away from the crime scene. The murders were a joke to that weird town, not the deaths but the fact a curious cat had found its way to each crime scene. The small neat impressions of cute paw prints stamped on old rickety wooden steps leading up to Mrs. Avery's house, the linoleum floors of Mr. Duncan's kitchen, and the old dirt road Mateo Reyes would ride his bike on.
Part 1
In our town, the horizon was a straight line, no mountains or buildings tall enough to interrupt it. A handful of streets stitched together in a rough grid. An old water tower, and grain elevators, both aged by the sun and wind, these added to the town's overall color palette of dusty brown, rusted tin grey, and washed out bone white. The town sat flat with constant gusts of Oklahoma wind, it carried the scent of manure, diesel, and cut hay. The wind traveled like rumors, quick, and sharp, it moved through people the same way, slipping from porch to porch, and window to window.
Solana and I liked to meet up late at night in the woods, the place where the trees grew thick enough to swallow the wind. We'd sit on a fallen log and smoke the old American Spirit cigarettes I stole from Grandpa's garage. It was the only place in town that felt hidden, like the nosey neighbors couldn't see us, no one would ask if my parents were coming back to get me and no one asked Solana about her parents' drug addiction. The sound of leaves and twigs crunching under our footsteps was drowned out by the buzzing of cicadas.I was bent over, shielding my lighter from the wind, when something yanked hard at the back of my t-shirt, I nearly choked on the first drag. I turned around ready to shove Solana off me, but the look on her face stopped me. It was drained completely of color, eyes wide and fixed on something over my shoulder. Her fingers were clenched onto my shirt like she was holding onto the edge of a cliff. She pointed her finger past the side of my face, I followed as her finger guided my eyes to a bike laying abandoned. A bike with red tape on the handles—we both knew it was her little brother's bike. Solana's breath staggered shallow and sharp beside me.
"He wouldn't leave it," she whispered. "He would never leave it."
Before I could answer, we heard the sheriff's dog, a low bark that grew louder and angrier and closer. Through the trees, we saw Sheriff Rowan moving slowly with a flashlight, her light cutting through the dark. The dog pulled at his leash, nose to the ground, looking, then lunging out of Sheriff Rowan's hands. Solana grabbed my wrist, her long paint chipped nails digging into my skin. We didn't wait, we didn't call out, we didn't ask questions, we ran. We ran so hard and fast that I would taste the iron in my mouth, and feel stray branches scratch at my arms and legs.
Solana and I didn't stop running until the trees thinned and the old barn behind my house came into view, leaning slightly like it was tired of standing. We slipped inside and pulled the door shut behind us, the hinges squeaking as if we had startled them. The ladder to the hayloft wobbled as we climbed, creaking and swaying under our weight, until we reached the top with puffs of dust and hay rising up as we collapsed down. Moonlight shone through the slits in the wood board walls, breathing so heavily it felt like knives in my lungs, laying on my back I lifted my head to see Solana turn to lay on her stomach, her body spasmed and twitched as the sounds of her muffled sobs was the only thing that accompanied the howling wind outside.
The dark night sky slowly lightened into a pale blue, almost peaceful until the loud interruption of sirens crashed like waves on the shores of our sleepy town. Solana jumped out of her makeshift bed and slid down the ladder with sticks of hay glued on her face and red lines from the outer corner of her eyes, showing how her tears had trickled down her face even while she slept. I scrambled down after her, quickly slipping into the house to grab the keys to grandpa's truck and paused for a second to watch him restlessly toss and turn on the couch with the light blue glow of the tv and early morning light coming in through the windows. I thought about how mad he would be after he found his truck was gone and me with it.
I slipped back outside and ducked into the garage, Solana was already there, pacing. When she saw the keys, she didn't say anything, just climbed into the passenger seat. I pulled the gear shifter down and pressed my foot into the gas pedal backing out too fast, gravel spitting out from under the tires. Clouds of red dust lingered in the air as we pulled out on the road following the sirens south, toward the edge of town, pulling us closer to the forest. Toward the place we'd run from only hours earlier.
The road was suddenly blocked by three police cars. Sheriff Rowan's cruiser was pulled off into the grass, positioned diagonally to act as a barricade at the entrance of the path that led to the forest. I slowed, watching as the officers carried Mateo's bike and loaded it into a squad car before they disappeared back into the woods. Solana gasped, hitting me and screaming for me to stop and let her out. Before I could even put the truck into park, she frantically jumped out of the car leaving the door open and ran after them into the forest. I left the engine running and chased after her, my heart pounding.
I saw her shoulders slump as she crumpled to the ground, hands and knees touching the red dirt and letting out a raw, wrenching scream, her tears rained down turning dirt into mud. The officers froze, startled by the sudden sound of her screams, and rushed toward her. That was when I saw what they had been blocking, Mateo's body. He was lying on his back like he was stargazing, one leg grotesquely folded beneath him, his knee jutting outward, the bone above the ankle snapped and piercing through the skin, a dark pool of dried blood beneath it. My eyes locked onto his face, and saw a sight worse than his mangled leg. Mateo's face, his mouth open wide and one eye socket hollow, a socket with cuts and jabs into the raw pink flesh that now sat empty, tears of thick blood dried and cracking, the other frozen wide in terror. Bloody smudged cat paw prints starting near Mateo's face trailed deeper into the woods.
Red dirt turned brown and patches of grass grew, littered with sticks, pine needles, and the occasional mushroom. I stood frozen, watching the county officers wrestle Solana toward the cruiser, Sheriff Rowan stood over Mateo's body with her arms crossed tightly against her chest, her shadow falling across him, her face twisting with disgust as her gaze followed Solana who thrashed her arms and legs as the other officers picked her up and dragged her away. Something soft grazed my ankle, a small black cat tripped and fell around my leg using it as support to stand back up. I knelt down without thinking and ran the back of my hand along his spine, he tilted his face up and I started scratching underneath his chin. I noticed that his eyes were clouded, milky blue, and sightless, yet somehow fixed on me all the same.
Part 2
In the last week, since they had buried Mateo, I still hadn't seen Solana. Sunday morning grandpa and I went to the diner after church; we sat in silence, he watched me drench my pancakes in syrup, and I watched him stir sugar into his coffee which was accompanied with the sound of the spoon clinked against the ceramic mug. The front door opened and closed often. The clanks and creaks of everyone's Sunday best shoes clacking against the worn out wooden planks, splattered with sticky spots of syrup and scuffs that scratched deep in the wood from pushing together tables to accommodate for when the large families came in. The conversation around them floated lightly above the grief that still hung in the air. People joked about the paw prints found at the three different crime scenes. The grisly details of bent bones and missing eyeballs were barely mentioned, as it was easier to cling to the image of a deranged killer with a kitty sidekick than to face the reality of what had happened.
Earlier in the week, the first of many farm animals had begun disappearing. I followed grandpa around to do our chores only to hear him mutter something about coyotes, a hen gone from the coop, and the missing old barn cat. No blood, no signs of struggle, just absence. I tried to tell grandpa that coyotes aren't that clean, but he didn't have anything to say in response. "Why don't you run off and pay Solana a visit, and I'll call the station and have them come down here and figure this out," Grandpa suggested as he shoo'd me out of the barn.
Solana had gotten worse, candles burned in her window, wax spilled and hardened on the wall and into the carpet. I sat perched on the edge of her unmade bed; she was on the floor, legs folded beneath her, hands hovering over a makeshift ouija board she'd crafted herself. Her eyes were wide and feverish, pupils too large, whispering slowly, "It's still here… It's watching, it's collecting… It's creating." I didn't speak, I couldn't. My throat felt tight; my hands grabbed the fabric of my white church dress in my lap. I was too afraid to interrupt, too worried about what she might be conjuring, or what she thought she was conjuring.
However, my worry was short lived after I heard a soft meow and scratch scraping against the wooden door of her closet. Solana's head snapped toward the closet, then straight back to me as I stood. Her eyes widened further, panic and guilt flashing across her face like lightning. I didn't think, I shoved past her, yanking the closet door open, revealing my lost barn cat hiding behind a shoe box; his eyes glinted in the dim candlelight. I yelled at Solana claiming she'd gone insane. I scooped up my cat, and pushed through Solana who was guarding the doorway. Her voice trembled, "Stop! Mateo needs to have the cat!" She pleaded.
Confusion and anger took over my mind as I ran down the dirt road, barefoot, landing hard on a rock, slowing me down and made me squeeze the cat harder, who was trying to wiggle free from my arms, meowing pitifully as we made the five minute run home. By the time I had burst through the back door that led into the kitchen, the braids in my hair had loosened and fallen leaving wavy strands sticking to my sweaty forehead, and my mouth tasted like iron. I dropped the cat from my arms and leaned against the door I had just slammed shut.
Still breathing heavily, the sound of two pairs of boots came marching towards me, Grandpa jogged over to me once he saw the state I was in. I crumpled in his arms and he lifted me up and sat me on the kitchen counter. The dirt caked onto my feet mixed with blood from the scrapes and cuts that had come from running over sharp rocks and whatever else was in the field behind my house, turning the dust and dirt between my toes into a dark red mud.
Sheriff Rowan stepped inside the kitchen clearing her throat announcing her presence. Grandpa's eyes followed her as she pulled out a wooden stool out from underneath the counter next to us and sat down, continuing the conversation they had been having from before I had barged in. "We're not calling it a theft yet, but someone's moving animals. Carefully. No mess. No signs of struggle." She paused. "It's deliberate." Grandpa's eyes flicked toward me, sliding me a wet washcloth for my feet. "Three goats," she was saying. "And the Wilkins' chickens, no blood and no tracks."
"Well it's not coyotes," Grandpa muttered.
"No," Rowan agreed. "Coyotes don't open latches, and they leave something behind."
Before anyone could say anything else, the front door banged open so hard it struck the wall. Solana stood there, her long black hair frizzy and tangled, in between gasps of air trying to catch her breath she blurted out "It's… not..what…what you…what you think…" Grandpa left my side looking concerned and brought Solana into the kitchen.
Sheriff Rowan's posture instantly stiffened at the sight of Solana, she barked an order at her "YOU need to calm down" she jabbed her finger in the air towards Solana. I noticed that Solana had brought the shoes I had left at her house with her, Rowan's voice startled her so much she dropped my clunky mary janes and she too fell hard on the floor. "I didn't hurt them! I didn't hurt anyone" Solana's voice cracked. "I didn't do anything to the cat. I was… but I didn't! I was just trying to help him, talk to him." "Help who?" Rowan snapped back quietly, "Mateo?". My voice broke the lingering silence, stoking the flames, "Why did you steal the barn cat then? Where's the rest of the animals?" Solana lifted her head and her eyes fixed on the mountain of bloody, dirty rags. "It's collecting, it needs the animals." "You thought stealing farm animals would bring Mateo back?" Rowan challenged. Grandpa looked toward me again, and this time his eyes were different, not full of concern as they had been earlier, now it was suspicion and fear. Grandpa gave a nod to the Sheriff, he stood up slowly and stepped over Solana, towering over her, with a firm flat voice "Solana, you need to come with me." Solana shook her head violently, her hair whipping her own face. "No, you don't understand, it watches, it watches her," she pointed at me, her eyes shiny and filling up and spilling out tears, leaving her face wet and red. Grandpa put his hand on my shoulder. "It likes her," she muttered before slowly getting up, then bolting out the back door. Shock stunned all of us and no one moved for what seemed like minutes. Then Sheriff Rowan swore under her breath and started running out after her in pursuit, before closing the door she barked an order at Grandpa and I, "Stay Inside." Grandpa's grip on my shoulder tightened, "Mina," trying to comfort me. It didn't matter, I was already looking past him. Tears filled my eyes and my vision got blurry watching as Rowan flipped on the lights and sirens on her car, and rolled down the road following Solana. Grandpa grabbed my face with his hand and used his thumb to swipe away the tears that had dropped from my eyes. He went upstairs to get the proper things to clean the cuts on my soles. I plopped down on the cold tile. With sharp pain shooting up from underneath my feet, I walked to the front door, pressed my face up against the screen, causing the gritty dust from outside to blow in my face. I let my eyes unfocus on the pattern of the screen and onto the afternoon sky outside, the treeline in the distance on the other side of a field of tall grass swaying in the wind with a short wooden fence in front of it. Sitting on one of the fence posts was the cat I had seen from the morning Mateo's body was found.
My body moved before my mind had a second to think about what I was doing. My feet sank into the dirt down the stairs from the porch, digging my toes into the cooled ground which gave a bit of relief from the stinging feeling on my soles. Its pale milky eyes reflected the afternoon sun, beckoning me to follow. The cat plunged headfirst into the tall grass on the other side of the fence.Quickly I ducked in between a gap in the fence. The cat trotted ahead, pausing every so often so I could keep up before entering the treeline. My chest tightened and I hesitated for a second. I thought I heard Grandpa calling my name from the porch, but my feet kept walking.
I felt determined to figure out if this was the town's sidekick kitty. I caught a glimpse of a black tail weaving between the tree trunks, its dark small body blending in with the forest as the sun began to set. The earth beneath me was softer now, the damp ground covered in rotting bark and fallen leaves. The trees were more dense than ever and the only source of light was the big round moon acting like a spotlight, bleeding in thin strips through the trees above. The cat stopped in a small clearing, a place I hadn't recognized, what once was a house turned to ruin probably from a tornado. The frame leaned at an obtuse angle, the beams of the house splintered like broken ribs, walls and parts of the roof lay in pieces, a lonely porcelain toilet sat weathered and yellowed, with grass growing through the broken tank and vines anchoring it to the ground. Everything that had been above ground was twisted, lifted, and scattered, everything except for the storm shelter.
The wooden cellar door, moldering and broken, lay on top of concrete stairs. Straining my eyes trying to see beneath the door, the cat hopped through one of the jagged cracks. The sound of paws padding down stairs piqued my curiosity. I leaned down, placing my hands gently around broken panels, the wood gave out with a sound of a crack, one second my weight was balanced on brittle boards, and the next rotting wood scratched against my palms as I fell through the door. My shoulder hit hard on a concrete slab landing, knocking the wind out of my lungs, my teeth biting down hard on my tongue, so much so that my mouth filled with the taste of blood. Above me the rectangle of dark sky, the natural proscenium glowed like a spotlight from the moon. My eyes began to flutter close, becoming harder and harder to keep them open, until eventually the curtains in front of my eyes closed.
Part 3
My consciousness came back to fragments of different sounds, dull ringing, dripping water hitting a puddle. I was really awake. This wasn't a nightmare. Rough fibers of rope ground into my skin when I flexed my hands. Booming and echoing sounds came from something heavy being pulled down the stone stairs. Then, the smell of rotten eggs, not faint and not distant, instantly flooded the air as a thick stink burned my eyes. Spindly fingers curled around the edge of the wall, before pulling the rest of its body out from hiding. Its limbs bent wrong, limbs too long, stringy black hair hanging forwards, blocking the face. The other hand held the ankle of a huge stag. The sound from the dull slide of the body was dissonant to the scraping of antlers against the cement walls. The hand dropped the ankle, and the hooves knocked together with a hollow clack. Long nails tapped softly against the cellar floor circling the carcass. A low hum vibrated through the air. The monster stood up on its hind legs at the sound of my shaking and mumbling.
"Good… you're awake," It said with more croak than voice. It turned back to the fresh carcass. I could hear the sound of a soft puncture, then the slow, wet tear of skin. The monster gripped the antlers at their base, and pulled. The sound wasn't clean, it was fibrous. The thick tissue resisted before finally snapping and splitting the rack of antlers free. For a moment, everything went still, then it let out a deep long exhale. It seemed satisfied, and turned towards me. I didn't see its eyes; I saw horrors where eyes should be. I felt its focus lock onto me. Its long claws clicked softly against the stone as it approached me, dragging the massive antlers behind it, scraping on the floor leaving a faint chalky trail.
"Don't fight," It murmured gently, as if comforting a child, "It has to fit."
Cold fingers with cracked skin gripped my jaw, tilting my face upward as the antlers were lifted over and placed above my head. Heavier than I expected, the broken base of bone dug against my scalp. I cried out as sharp splinters of antler were shoved into my skin.
"There," it whispered, its voice trembling with pride, "You're perfect now."
I felt unbalanced, wrong. The antlers tilted my head backward, forcing my chin up toward its face. Its head tilted sharply with hair swept away from its face and translucent skin. Bare skin was stretched over where the eye sockets should be. Its grin was wide with lips pulled thin to reveal too many small uneven teeth stained yellow and red.
"Tonight…" it continued, almost tenderly, "when the moon is highest," crouching closer, mouth stretching wider, "I will take what makes you speak… what makes you breathe… and most importantly… what makes you see."
I choked on a sob.
"It is not cruelty," It said quickly, "It is construction," the monster added, "I am lonely… but soon I will not be."
Its claws traced around my eyes.
"You will be the final piece to finish my friend."
Its icy hands grabbed my shoulder and pushed my body hard against the ground. My shoulder slammed against the hard floor. Its gangly fingers clasped tightly around my ankles as I was dragged towards the stairway. The antlers scraped loudly against the floor, catching on cracks, and also the stairs. The first step hit me, then the next as the stone smashed into my skull. Each impact rattled through my bones; my vision blurred from the repeating impacts and loss of blood. The smell of sulfur was replaced by the fresh air of a cold night.
My back slammed onto dirt instead of stone. We were outside now. The ground was bumpy and damp. Leaves stuck onto my face as it dragged me further through the grass and over roots that caught on my arms. Without warning, it yanked me up on my feet. My body folded forward, then jerked back as I was pushed into a tree. New ropes tied me onto the tree, and the knots cinched tightly, cutting off my circulation. The weight of the antlers tilted my head towards the ground. My once beautiful white church dress was now soaked in blood, smeared with dirt, and streaked green from grass.
My eyes drifted down past my dress and towards the tree across from me; there sat the "friend." The body was a round, pink pig with a swollen belly, but the limbs were those of an enormous bear. A raccoon's striped tail lay limply attached to the butt of the pig. The flesh joining together the different animals was covered in bloody seams. Everywhere across its body and legs, there were ragged holes of infected meat oozing out blood and wiggling with worms and maggots. To accompany the bugs, there was an eyeball shoved deep into each and every single cavity of decaying tissue.
The eyes on the body blinked, never together, some rolled, some stared out, and some focused on me. Lightning struck close by like nature's whip, scaring me half to death with an earsplitting crack and low rumble of thunder. The wind gained momentum, bending trees and breaking branches, while wet leaves lashed against me.
The sky lit up just for a moment. The monster stepped around from the tree its friend was leaning on. Its long limbs had started unfolding, each segment of its spine clicking together vertebrae by vertebrae. No longer hunched and animal-like, it was now impractically tall, staggering and stalking to retain balance at its true height. Its arms nearly reached the ground, shoulders rolling inward toward its narrow chest. Joints angled abnormally, and black, needle-like claws only bent in one place toward the end. Stringy black hair swayed in front of its face and occasionally clung to it. A fully smooth face, not scarred or stitched, just blank. Interrupting the face, a wide stretched mouth split the face open back towards the jaw. Its constant smile revealed small uneven teeth, too many in one place, shoving each other out of order, sitting twisted and tilted.
Rain poured harder as the sounds of steps sludged through the mud, slowly, deliberately towards me. Lightning flickered behind it. The towering silhouette fell over me. It lowered its head down under the tree's crooked arms.
"You.. will be the one… the one to make him even…… the one to bring balance…" The monster lectured.
"He rejected the other three so you have the last chance to make it work," it spouted nervously. "If this fails… I will remain alone… I will have to start over… do it again."
The stench of sulfur returned as its fingers uncurled, displaying slick and sharp claws, extending towards my face. Its spiked finger traced around my eye carefully, a quick stutter escaped my throat, as the skin below my eye stretched, the tip of its claw slid through the soft skin behind my eye. It paused there, pushing against my eye and building pressure. My deep breaths fractured into shallow gasps, its other hand palmed the side of my head as I tried to turn away.
"Stay still," It hissed.
The pressure grew heavier and its claws pierced and snapped my optical nerve that held my eye in place. A bright flash blurred my vision, and the pain burned directly behind my eye, the feeling of cold air reaching somewhere it had never reached before. My remaining vision rose and fell, making the shapes of the monster in front of me and the trees behind me smear together. Another flash of lightning lit up the clearing and for a split second the world turned white.
In that moment I saw everything, the monster's arm buried halfway into my face, its claws hooked behind my eyes. The monster pulled, my eyeball slid free from my socket, pain jolted through my head just like the lightning in the sky.
"Perfect," The monster exclaimed with eagerness.
I could hear the soft squelch of its feet as it turned away from me. My world reduced to the sound of rain, thunder, and the murmurs that the monster would occasionally let out.
"Look," It jested.
But I couldn't. My vision had gone dim, the world felt too far away. My body grew heavy and numb, I could feel the puddle of once warm blood I had been standing in finally cool. The monster returned to me, grabbing my chin and forcing my head up, unbothered by the weight of the antlers. The monster's murmurs sounded distant and distorted. Its cold hands tightened around my neck, but I barely felt them anymore. My whole body had already gone cold. I tried to breathe, but my lungs wouldn't listen. No air came in. No air went out. Somewhere between that moment and the next, I died.
Part 4
The darkness didn't last. A moment later I was pulled back into the world, but not into my body; I hovered above it, weightless but still tethered, as if some invisible thread still tied me to the ruined thing lying in the mud below. My head lolled beneath the heavy crown of antlers, my church dress no longer white or covered in grass stains, now soaked dark and stiff with my own blood. I drifted there in the narrow space between my limp, lifeless body and the monster that was busy placing my stolen life into something else.
I crept closer, peering over its shoulder, trying not to make any sudden movements. The stitched creature twitched violently on the ground, its mismatched limbs jerking in uneven spasms as life forced its way through borrowed bodies and flesh. The body of the beast was that of a pig, its round belly rising and falling as it fought to breathe, uneven gulps and pants as the creature took its first breaths as a new united body.
Its head was a goat's, shuddering inhales and exhales coming out of the nose that was surrounded by eyes. Five human eyes deliberately placed peculiarly across the goat's face. The goat's own eyes sat where nature had intended for them to be, they sat dull and glassy. Beneath them were two human eyes, forced into divots of sliced apart flesh, one a washed out blue the other a dim hazel, both swollen and sticking out, as though the skin had rejected them, as if they were trying to escape. At the very top of the head in the center of the forehead a single brown eye pressed into place like a jewel in a crown. All of them had the same lifeless gaze, cloudy unfocused pupils. Dead eyes pretending to see.
Then I noticed the last pair. Bright green.
They were between the goat's natural eyes and the lonely brown eye. They looked as wrong as all the other eyes, glossed over and defeated, but these eyes were stitched in more carefully than the others, precise thread weaving together fur and skin.
I recognized those eyes.
They were the eyes I had spent my whole life looking at without ever truly seeing; staring back at me from bathroom mirrors, from dark windows of grandpa's truck at night, or through the reflection of a shiny spoon at the diner. Those were my eyes.
My eyes.
My bright green eyes stared back at me now, grotesquely sewn into the skull of a goat.
The creature's body continued to shudder beneath the monster's hands, the different parts struggling to agree on what it meant to be alive. Its claws dug deeper into the mud, carving trenches into the wet earth. The raccoon tail lashed once… twice… then stilled.
I watched, unable to look away.
The goat head lifted slowly, all seven eyes staring in different directions at first, unfocused and glassy. The blue eye rolled uselessly in its socket, and the hazel one gave out a twitch.
But the green ones, my green ones.
They blinked.
A strange pressure built somewhere inside, like a good stretch after being asleep for too long. For a moment the forest tilted, trees stretching tall and warped. Mud blurred my vision, and pine needles scraped under something rough and unfamiliar. I dragged in a ragged breath that choked through my throat.
I tried to step back, I tried to scream. Instead massive claws flexed in the dirt and a low broken bleat crawled out of my mouth.
The monster stepped away from the creature, away from me, and admired its work like a painter admiring the beauty of a finished piece. Its long fingers brushed along the stitched seams, pulling at loose threads, and adjusting pieces that didn't quite sit right.
I could feel the weight of the bear claws pressed into the earth, the raccoon tail twitching faintly behind me, and pig's lungs dragging in thick muddy air. And my eyes. My eyes stared out from the goat's skull.
The monster turned and began walking into the woods, satisfied. My new legs jerked forward. One step, then another. The forest felt different that close to the ground, smells were overwhelming, wet soil, rot, pine sap, and old blood somewhere. Every sound snapped sharp in my ears sending jolts of fear through my new body.
We passed a rusty horse trough, half filled with rain water and fallen leaves, my head dipped down toward it, the surface rippled and trembled. In the reflection a goat's skull stared back at me, seven eyes staring from its patchwork face. Only two of them were alive, the two bright green ones.
When I blinked the reflection of the creature blinked with me.