"Three goats and an off-key accordion; that's my final offer." The old man's gray tongue slid over his crusted lips like a slug. He craned his neck forward as if to peek into Jurdan's clasped fist.
Jurdan's neck prickled and he took a hesitant step backward, staring down at the hunched man. Clearly the rock was precious to him, but as far as he could tell it didn't contain any gemstone or metal in it. Uneasiness churned in his stomach. "Three goats?" he said, chewing the offer in his mind. He examined the animals in the pen. They were clearly well-fed, and their coats were clean and thick. If he sold two and kept one to sell its milk, he'd have... well, he'd have enough money that he wouldn't have to worry about it for quite some time. It was too good of a deal.
"And an off-key accordion," the man said eagerly, rubbing his papery hands together.
Jurdan barely glanced at the yellowing, chipped accordion resting beside the pen. "I don't care about the accordion."
The old man's lips curled up into a near-toothless grin. "It's part of the deal nonetheless. You might learn to appreciate its music."
Cautiously, Jurdan opened his fist and glanced down at the jagged black rock. Its glassy edges gleamed red in the waning sunlight. He didn't want to think about what his parents would do to him if they found out he had passed on an offer of three goats for a stupid pebble. Aside from that, he couldn't let his little sister go hungry anymore.
"Fine," he said at last, swallowing his apprehension. He had no sooner opened his fingers before the old man snatched it from his palm like a striking snake. Jurdan's legs buckled underneath him. He let out a startled breath and coughed in raspy wheezes as he caught himself.
The old man laughed and stood up straight, his voice suddenly strong and clear. Black hair sprouted from his scalp, and his skin stretched and tightened across his face. "Oh!" He covered his lips and winced, pulling his hand back to check for blood. "I'll have to get used to these," he said, running his tongue over a full row of teeth.
Jurdan's body ached in a hundred different places, but he rose shakily to his feet. "Whass habbening?" he asked. He touched his mouth and his stomach dropped. His fingers trembled as he felt the four teeth that were scattered across his gums.
The old man tucked the rock into his pocket and smiled down at him. "Don't worry, you'll get used to talking in no time."
Jurdan let out a wail of terror as he watched the man's face morph and tighten until he was no longer staring at an old man, but himself. "No!" he cried, his voice raspy and weak. Tears welled in his eyes.
"Ah, tears," he said. "I assume you hear it, then?"
"Hear id?" Jurdan repeated. For a moment the despair ebbed into confusion.
And then the music started. It was quiet, but the notes were so horribly out of tune that the dissonance could not be ignored. He covered his sagging ears, but the music still rang clearly in his mind. "No, no, no," he moaned. It was like an awful itch that was just out of reach--there was no way to make it stop.
"I know, lad. I know." The man wearing his face patted his shoulder in sympathy. "You'll get used to the curse in time," he said. "It could always be worse, though." He waved a hand to the pen, where the three goats gnawed blissfully on grass. "You could have turned out like your family."
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Okay, here's the next one:
I glanced frantically about the room, hoping no one noticed.
