Harold waited until Dill had closed the door then eased the van into the spot closest to the lifts. He turned off the engine and got out, dropping the keys into his trouser poct as he walked around the van to the back doors.
The overhead lights didn't do them justice. The left door was fine, undamaged but for a scratch in the gold leaf of the shop name but the right-hand door would need to be replaced altogether. He couldn't imagine trying to tap that dent out with a rubber mallet. The golem had slammed into the metal panel with enough force to bend the steel to his features. The shape was so perfect it could almost be cut out and used as a carnival mask. A panel beater would have labelled it his finest work, so precise that it gave the optical illusion, when Harold squatted to be at eye level with the mask, it popped into an optical illusion and seemed the be stretching toward him, strangely reminiscent of the low-budget sci-fi horror flick Alien Squared, where the human foetus emerges from the alien's stomach and chews its way to freedom.
Cautiously he looked around to ensure no-one was watching, the put his head into the optical illusion, pressing his skin against the night-cold metal. How hard did something have to be to distort steel like this? He was quite certain the golem had remained undamaged from the experience. The corner of the van attested to the golem's grip; the metal was buckled into the thin shape inside a fist. He was put in mind of the plasticine at his mother's. What would strength like that do to a human body?
A scream echoed through the parking lot, elongated and ring in pitch until it was suddenly cut off like a cleaver on a line of sausages.