I recognized her eyes as soon as she walked through the door. I froze. I couldn’t do this right now.

You see, I’m a treasure hunter. There’s a lot of money in it if you know where to look. The reason I wound up here, however, was because that darn map led me here. I must have read the map wrong.

It couldn’t be that the map _itself_ was wrong; I had paid much too great a price for that possibility.

Besides, I knew the guy. Great cartographer, slightly sleazy… but aren’t we all? He wouldn’t con me. He wouldn’t dare. He wouldn’t dispose of his best customer… yet, at least. The map read “Nisí Sarpedon” in beautiful calligraphy across the top. Some other language it must be. The man was quite multilingual as it was, so that explained it, surely.

The map seemed older than most of his, all weathered and torn in a few places. The stains seemed to go beyond spilled coffee or the occasional squashed bug. Maybe someone was drinking wine to achieve the kind of crimson color that blotted into a second, smaller island. I guess mapmakers get tipsy too.

His instructions were clear. I sailed the many nautical miles across the ocean just past Libya, stopping in the middle of the island belt off the coast of Turkey. The island matched the description well. Same shape. Same lush Mediterranean woodlands.

I dropped my anchor and paddled ashore in my dinghy as to not beach my ship. It was a magnificent island indeed. But alas, I forged on. I hiked to the heart, compass and map in hand, until I arrived at the cave. It was unremarkable, just the shadow of a rocky overhang, hidden behind curtains of layered vines.

I brushed them aside to peek within, cobwebs oozing in to my hair. A chill crept its way up my spine. There was light coming through a crack in the wall, making it visible that the cave seemed lived-in. How strange of such an uninhabited place of isolation.

There was a commendable attempt at furniture made from whatever fallen logs lay around.

But all of a sudden, I heard a noise. While most would think it was the rustle of wind-blown branches or an animal stepping on a stick, those in my line of work know that this is seldom the case.

This was the sound of a person.

I hadn’t before seen her, but I recognized her eyes as soon as she walked through the door. I froze. I couldn’t do this right now. Not when I was so close to treasure.

The girl’s face resembled stone, framed by errant strands of snakes.

This was no girl.

This was Medusa.

And I would never see the light of day again.