-c- 2008 Mcgraw-hill Ryerson Limited -

The next morning, August died in his sleep. Elias found him with a smile on his face, one hand reaching toward the nightstand where the compass used to sit.

Here is a complete, original story written for you. The Geographer’s Compass

The woman’s face flickered. For a second, he saw something else underneath—not bone, not muscle, but a kind of deep, slow movement, like sediment at the bottom of a river. Then she was his mother again, stepping closer.

“Impossible,” he whispered, but he climbed down anyway. -C- 2008 mcgraw-hill ryerson limited

Elias sat down beside him. The sun was setting over the hayfield, turning the grass to gold. A normal sun. A normal field.

For now, he helped his grandfather inside, made tea, and listened to the old man breathe. One rattling breath at a time. One small, ordinary miracle after another.

She smiled, and her smile was perfect, and that was the problem—it was too perfect. No crow’s feet. No chapped lips from the arctic wind. She hadn’t aged a day in thirteen years. The next morning, August died in his sleep

Delilah circled once, landed on a small lake that hadn’t been there before, and taxied to the shore. She looked at him for a long time.

It sank without a splash.

“I saw her,” Elias said. “The thing. It wore Mom’s face.” The Geographer’s Compass The woman’s face flickered

Elias held up the compass. The needle pointed northeast across the tundra.

“It’s broken,” Elias said, trying to hand it back.

If anyone finds this, do not follow the compass. Bury it. Leave this place. There are things older than geographers here.

Ninety years. Tivon had been here for ninety years, trapped by a thing that wore the faces of the dead.

“Eli,” she said, using his mother’s nickname for him. “You came.”