feet wrapped in rags

…the children come out from the alcoves and holes, ragged scavenger ghosts huddled together and shuffling along the dusty floor, their hollow eyes sweeping back and forth, mouths gaping . . . they are in thrall to an old woman, an older ghost, who herds them like cattle and feeds off of their misery…

I stand on the rickety wooden steps, watching them from above, not daring to step down into the range of their clutching hands.