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  — Satan, it’s Etan. I don’t know where Noel went. He flaked. He’s fucking lost it. I don’t think he’s into you anymore. I’m sorry. But I just need to talk. You don’t need to do anything heavy.

  — Whoosh, rustle.

  — Can’t you talk? I can’t believe that’s not one of your deals. It can’t be that tricky.

  — Whoosh, chirp, chirp, rustle.

  — Oh, right, wait. I forgot. Here, let me … press Play.

  — Click, whirr.

  — Okay, I call to you, Satan. I can’t fucking deal with this world anymore. It’s so intense right now. I don’t know if it’s me, or Noel, or that George guy, or Bob, or everything.

  — It’s black, black, black, black, black, black.

  — Come on, please. I’m so fucked up. I really need you. Look, I killed a dog and everything. It’s yours. Take it.

  — It’s black, black, black, black, black, black.

  — Weird. That’s you, isn’t it? I mean what The Omen is singing. ’Cos those aren’t the usual words, I’m pretty sure. Well, I’m not completely sure. I don’t know this song as well as some of their others. Okay, is this you?

  — We’re black, black, black, black, black, black.

  — Right. Whoa. Good, good. Listen. Will you do me a huge favor? Obviously, I’ll pay you back.

  — We’re everything you’ve dreamed, you’ve dreamed.

  — Can you reverse time? I want to go back to how it was before Noel and me asked you to give him that Dagger freak. Except I’ll be the only one who remembers what happened since then. So, that. That’s what I want. What do you say?

  — Black merges with black, black merges with black.

  — Meaning what, man?

  — We’re gonna turn you so black, black, black, black.

  — Are you going to do it or not? No offense.

  — Death is so black, black, black, black, black, black.

  — What are you fucking saying?

  — You’re gonna die, die, die, die, die, die.

  — Go ahead.

  — We’ll help you die, die, die, die, die, die.

  — Totally. Go ahead.

  Etan spied Noel by the decrepit, rank creek bed. He crouched, made a scruffy decision, then clutched at Noel’s jeans, balls, dick, and maybe pubes, in that order. Sure enough, they went rorschach.

  Noel kicked Etan’s shin. Then he gathered his pencils and pad, and took off in the direction of home, cursing everyone’s emotions but his own. To get there, he had to pass through that acre-square place only they’d recognized, which was fucking unfortunate.

  Etan caught up with Noel, despite the new limp.

  Maybe the place had some vibe, strange. Maybe things fell together a certain way, either by artistry, or by nature’s vast accident, and worked the feelings of simpler folk, say these guys. Or that explained why Noel hugged Etan back. Or it was boredom, or guilt.

  Etan stripped. He possessed Dagger’s pale, meatless body, or almost. But his face messed so hard with the original, Noel had to open his sketchpad, and prop it nearby to stay hard and all that.

  Noel stripped. He was so unbelievably cute, on the surface at least. No one in town should have been that important to Etan. It killed him.

  7:11: He’s screwing me. Hard to write.

  7:14: Tried to look back at him.

  7:18: Gonna try again.

  7:19: Not sure what I saw.

  7:22: Had to bite my hand for a minute.

  7:26: Excuse me.

  7:26: You said something.

  7:26: His lips said, No, I didn’t.

  7:32: Biting my hand again.

  7:38: He rolled me over.

  7:39: Worse like this.

  7:41: He put his face before mine.

  7:42: Looking at me.

  7:48: Shut my eyes for a while.

  8:48: He’s still looking.

  8:52: His lips said, I can’t believe it.

  8:57: Bit my hand.

  9:03: He looks confused.

  9:05: Worse pain.

  9:07: Hard to write.

  9:08: Can’t think.

  9:08: His lips said, I don’t believe it.

  9:10: He shut his eyes.

  9:13: Thinking.

  9:14: Might write, I love you.

  9:16: Waiting ’til he opens his eyes.

  9:18: Waiting.

  9:20: He hit me.

  9:21: Not sure if I feel it now.

  9:22: He hit me again.

  9:23: More.

  9:24: Gonna shut my eyes.

  Bob and Etan traipsed miles up the steep, fading trail. Then Bob carried him most of the last stretch, ’cos he was exhausted. When they reached the plateau, Bob’s spooky “house” was this jagged black rug, airborne bits of which twirled between a gridwork of flames and some current.

  Etan warmed, then Bob told him this story. About Dagger, and George, and love, and a town just like theirs, except even more backwards. There was some Satanic stuff, but the love was confusing. So that screwed up the far better, creepiest parts, which was maybe Bob’s point.

  The fog built up, did its worthless magic. Etan lost Bob, stumbled around, found the trail. When the embers went out, Bob slipped a gun from his coat, and located his head. Back in town, his death made this noise like when any guy killed something out in the woods, so no one heard.

  — I can’t believe we’re doing this. Brr.

  — Light the candles. Be cool.

  — Okay, but you owe me.

  — Now kill the cat, and put it in the middle. You remember the drill.

  — You do it. It’s your thing.

  — Fine. Hand it over. There, there. Big fucking deal.

  — Yuck. Keep that away from me.

  — There. Now hit Play.

  — This is so lame. I can’t believe you’re still into this shit. I can’t believe—

  — Ssh. Satan, you there?

  — I hate this song. Can I say that?

  — Shut up. Satan, make yourself known. Do your thing. Do something trippy like put out the candles, or screw Noel, or something, so we’ll know.

  — Ow.

  — Cool.

  — I’m faking it, asshole.

  — You know what, Noel? Things like that are why I’m doing this, if you care. You’ve gotten so complicated or something.

  — Oh, wait. Shit. It’s real now.

  — Liar.

  — Ow, ow. Ask what you’re going to ask, for God’s sake. Ow.

  — Okay, okay. Satan, I want George as a sex slave. He’ll want me. He’ll … I’m sort of embarrassed to say it, but … love me, and …

  — Hurry.

  — He’ll do anything I want, in bed and wherever else. So, that’s it. And, you know, thanks in advance.

  — Why does he always screw me?

  2:03: Sitting here.

  2:04: Bird. Red one. In that tree.

  2:05: Two of ’em.

  2:05: Sitting close together.

  2:08: They’re just looking at everything.

  2:10: For enemies, I guess.

  2:12: They’re never sure.

  2:13: Birds are one thing multiplied?

  2:14: ’Cos of love?

  2:16: One flew off. Can’t see him.

  2:16: Other one doesn’t care.

  2:18: Feel like shooting the other one.

  2:19: Is this my thought?

  2:20: Can’t decide.

  2:21: Hate myself sometimes.

  2:23: It flew off.

  2:25: Should have killed it.

  2:26: Just looking around.

  2:27: Those two guys again. By the creek.

  2:28: One of ’em’s looking at me.

  2:28: He reminds me of someone.

  2:29: Can’t remember.

  2:30: Wondering if I should wave.

  2:30: Just did.

  2:30: He waved back.

  2:33: Bored.

  “Just go talk to him.” Noel shrugged. He was sitting
cross-legged, head lowered, a few locks of flyaway hair in his eyes. Still, he liked the effect on his drawing. It was cribbing together a face out of some swirled, crushing memory that made its way through a dense feeling, possibly love. “What’s your problem?”

  “I will, I will.” Etan swatted flimsily at a bee. It came rocketing off the pond, which stunk of things he didn’t care one shit about. But he looked there, deeply into that mulch, and thought about death, so as not to seem too wild for Noel. “Give me a second.”

  “You’re gonna blow it.” Dagger’s blank, graphic face edged fractionally from the loose web of lines, eyes first. They loved Noel for coercing them back, even if nobody else saw anything but some loose pencil marks. Still, the idea got Noel hard, as Etan saw. “Make your move.”

  “Okay.” Etan studied Noel’s crotch. It was way too meaningful, being Noel’s. So he concentrated on George, who was nearly as cute, if nothing else. That, plus the crystal meth lodged up his nostrils, got Etan hard. It wasn’t perfect at all, but nothing could be in this town. “Wish me luck.”

  A little town stuck far away in some obscure hills attached to the rest of the world by a dirt road that swerves dangerously through ugly trees and a fog so dense no one else thinks about making the drive though occasionally strangers will come by mistake and take a brief look around then realize how unimportant its buildings and residents and beliefs seem whereupon they’ll turn back not moved enough to tell anyone they’ll ever know for the rest of their lives that it crossed their circuitous minds once.