Faces of Fear by Graham Masterton Read Free Book Online

him any clue as to who the artist might have been.
    All it said was ‘trademark used by Moon Brand Ltd for their Wheat Flakes, ca. 1937.’
    He borrowed the book and took it to his local copy-shop so that he could make a colour copy. It was there, on a wet Thursday afternoon, that he discovered who had painted the hungry moon, and the answer was so obvious that it almost made him slap his forehead like a cartoon character.
    The girl who was operating the copier pulled out a sample and said, “Is the colour all right? That leaf doesn’t look very green.”
    Leaf, green. Green, leaf. And right next to the leaf was a rusty-coloured watering-can. Dun can. The hungry moon
had
been signed, after a fashion, by Duncan Greenleaf.
    The girl stared at him. “Are you okay?” she asked. “You don’t look very well.”
    He was so old and frail that he was almost transparent. He sat by the window, staring out over the gardens, wrapped in a camel-coloured dressing-gown with braided edges, the sort of dressing-gown that only children wear. His nose was large and well-sculptured, and his hair rose from the top of his head in a fine silver flame. He held his wire-rimmed spectacles in his lap as if he no longer cared to see anything very distinctly.
    â€œDuncan, you’ve got a visitor,” said the plump nurse with the pink cheeks.
    Duncan Greenleaf raised his head. His eyes must have been startlingly blue once, but now they were faded and glutinous, and Marcus wasn’t sure whether he could see him or not.
    â€œMr Greenleaf? My name’s Marcus. I’m an admirer of yours.”
    â€œAdmirer? You’re not a homosexual, are you?”
    â€œI meant that I admire your work.”
    â€œI haven’t worked for fifteen years, dear boy. A few sketches, that’s all. The eye can see and the brain can understand, but the hand won’t do what I want it to do.”
    Marcus sat down opposite him. “I’ve come about the hungry moon. Well, I’ve always called it the hungry moon. The trademark you painted for Moon Brand Wheat Flakes.”
    Duncan Greenleaf gave a querulous sniff. “What of it? I painted scores of trademarks.”
    â€œI know. But the hungry moon was the only one with a little boy in it. A little boy with only one hand.”
    There was a very long silence. To begin with, Marcus wasn’t sure if Duncan Greenleaf had heard him. But then the old man unfolded his spectacles, put them on, and looked at Marcus with an expression that was close to sadness. “Yes. A little boy with only one hand. I’m surprised you discovered him – he was very tiny, wasn’t he? Very tiny indeed.”
    â€œI used a magnifying glass.”
    â€œYes, you would have had to. I used a magnifying glass to paint it.”
    â€œThe background – that’s the view from the back of your house, wasn’t it? The chap who bought it from you is an old school friend of mine.”
    â€œYes, you’re right. Looking westward, toward Glynde.”
    There was another silence. Then Marcus said, “Who was he? The boy being eaten by the hungry moon?”
    Duncan Greenleaf slowly shook his head. “It’s an old story, Marcus. One that’s best forgotten.”
    â€œBut why did he have only one hand?”
    â€œThe other … he lost.”
    â€œCan’t you just tell me what it means? I’ve been thinking about it on and off for years. Now I’ve met you – now I’ve seen where you used to live … the whole thing’s come alive again. Please.”
    Duncan Greenleaf shrugged. “They didn’t believe me then. There’s no reason why you should believe me now.”
    â€œWhy don’t you try me? Please. I seriously think I’ll go crackers if I don’t find out.”
    The plump nurse brought them two cups of weak tea and a plate of soft digestive biscuits. When she had gone, Duncan Greenleaf said,