Grew a head? Then had it cut off?!
Allen found his words utterly absurd, yet those scars did not look fake.
On closer inspection, he could even faintly make out traces of a spine at the largest scar.
Had he really grown a head?
A chill rose within Allen, and he instinctively gripped the Folding Knife in his mouth.
But he quickly let go, stumbled backward a few steps, and dropped to the floor with a look of terror. "Y-you're telling the truth?"
Old Henry chuckled breathily again. This time, Allen saw it: whenever he laughed, the flesh around those scars heaved, like arms swinging, except they had been forcibly cut off.
"I heard there are strict limits on how long you can stay in the sea. Once your time is up, they force you to come back up," Allen said quietly.
"That's what they say, but miners spend their time soaking in the sea. Accidents happen."
"Yeah, being in that sea is no picnic." A sailor beside them joined in. "The moment you enter the water, it feels like several people have moved into your head. Some talk, some sing, and you can't tell which one is you."
"Yes. Sometimes I even wonder whether the original me is already dead."
Old Henry spoke softly, his voice still overlapping and repeating. Several distinct voices spoke the very same word, some high, some low, some even sounding like strange shrieks and wails.
"Those people cut off my head. I looked at it, and it looked at me. Suddenly, it smiled."
"My vision seemed to flip. I was lying on the ground, looking up at that terrified young man. That young man died. The one who lived was Old Henry."
Old Henry blinked slowly and grinned.
Allen's face twitched. That chill returned,