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 be
hin
d wa
sn’
t co
ncea
led
, giv
en t
hat
he
r spr
ee i
s fa
r fr
om g
rac
efu
l. I s
till h
ave
n’t
foun
d
her,
It wa
s la
ying
on
the
che
st o
f a
dea
d m
an
in a
n al
leyw
ay.
The
de
ad
man
is, o
r wa
s, P
hoe
nix
be
en
look
ing f
or:
the
jour
nal.
Ma
lone
, on
e of
the
th
ugs
work
ing
for
tha
t so-
call
ed
Worm
Lo
rd, R
ufu
s Se
ptim
us.
Yes
, he’
s th
e
R
ega
rdl
ess.
I do
n’t k
now
wh
at t
his m
an
did
to
dese
rve
ha
ving
his
che
st to
rn o
pen
, but
it
wa
s. I
assu
me
she
did
it, t
hou
gh a
dm
itte
dly
I did
n’t
see
the
mu
rde
r.
A
top
the
jour
nal
was
a Po
laro
id p
ictu
re o
f th
e c
orps
e. N
ext
to h
im, t
he
cam
era
itse
lf.
I’v
e in
clud
ed
bot
h. T
he c
am
era
’s pr
obab
ly u
sele
ss t
o yo
u, b
ut f
or t
he s
ake
of
com
plet
enes
s
If
you
nee
d m
ore
info
rma
tion
fro
m he
r, I
will
cont
inue
my
pur
suit
of t
he
girl.
Oth
erw
ise,
at
pres
ent,
she
’s ca
usi
ng ju
st e
nou
gh u
phe
ava
l an
d ki
lling
the
rig
ht “
wron
g” m
en
tha
t I’m
inc
lined
to le
t h
er c
onti
nue
with
th
is bi
t of
mer
ry-m
ak
ing.
Th
e jo
urna
l fa
irly
stra
igh
tfor
war
d, t
houg
h. I
don
’t th
ink
my
inte
rpre
tat
ions
will
add
an
y-
thin
g spe
cia
l, bu
t I t
hou
ght
I mi
ght
give
you
an
ide
a of
wh
at t
o ex
pec
t.
Th
e ir
st p
art
— t
he p
art
whe
re I
like
to
thin
k of
Alic
e a
s “T
he G
irl”
— h
as
som
e int
ere
stin
g
r
ead
ing.
It s
tart
s wi
th T
he
Han
d O
n My
Nec
k (p
. 3),
whe
re
she
ind
s th
e in
spira
tion
to
und
er-
t
ake
thi
s lit
tle p
roje
ct, l
et’s
say
, an
d m
oves
righ
t in
to t
he i
rst
par
t of
Mid
nigh
t Ro
ads
(p.
4),
h
er r
unn
ing c
om
men
tary
on
life
on t
he r
oad
. It
get
s int
eres
ting
fro
m th
ere
, wi
th A
Spo
t of
H
isto
ry (
p. 4)
, and
he
r ir
st in
ter
view
wit
h on
e of
he
r cla
n: a
his
tori
an,
as it
tur
ns o
ut. S
he
also
i
nclu
des
Th
e Tr
uth
(p. 9
), w
hich
wa
s ap
pare
ntly
na
iled
to t
he
door
of
her
mot
el ro
om.
Mor
e of
her
Mid
nigh
t R
oad
s (p.1
1) f
ollow
, an
d t
hen
The
Anc
ient
an
d th
e M
onst
rous
(p. 1
2), h
er
in
ter
view
(an
d I
use
tha
t te
rm v
ery,
very
loo
sely
) wit
h a
part
icul
arly
who
rish
Sa
vage
by
the
n
ame
of
“Glin
da
.” Th
en,
we h
ave
Th
e PS
A (p
. 20
), if y
ou
will,
an i
nter
view
wit
h a
cac
klin
g, jos
tling
b
rood
of
neo
nate
s, w
hich
pro
vide
s an
int
eres
ting
cou
nte
rpoin
t to
Ora
l Tr
adit
ion
(p. 2
3), h
er in
ter
-
The
ne
xt se
cti
on —
sor
t of
an
inte
rlud
e —
is a
piec
e I
pick
ed u
p fr
om a
not
her
She
riff
on t
he
v
iew
with
Ko
nsta
ntin
Kor
ab.
o
ther
sid
e of
the
cou
ntry
. It’
s ba
sica
lly a
n in
terv
iew
cal
led
Witc
hes
, Kis
ses a
nd
Bom
bs (
p. 27
).
1
I tra
cke
d h
er, a
s y
ou a
sked
. H
er t
rail
has
n’t b
een
ha
rd t
o fo
llow:
the
ca
rnag
e sh
e’s
left
no
t ex
act
ly. B
ut
some
wh
ere
alon
g th
e w
ay s
he i
na
lly re
linq
uish
ed
her
grip
on w
ha
t yo
u’ve
on
e wh
o g
ives
me
all t
hos
e pro
ble
ms.
it’s
in a
sep
ara
te b
agg
y.
T
h e
h
a n d
O
n
M
y
n
e c k
They have Sarah and Little Jack.
Jesus, I don’t even know who
They
are. Maybe it’s a Him. Or a Her.
Shit, I just don’t know! I tried
to leave them out of it, tried to
make the break. I moved halfway
across the country (the “night
country,” one of us said, and I
promise that you haven’t seen this
place until you’ve been here only at
night, long stretches of empty, hungry
night) to get away from them so I
didn’t expose them to any of this. It
wasn’t my choice to be what I am,
but now I have to live with it —
Live with it
. I can’t even stop
talking like that. Like I’m still alive.
Shit!
Okay, Alice. Calm down. You know
how they talk about being “hot-
blooded,” like when you’re angry? It’s
literal for me, now. Wasn’t before.
Before it was just a… a thing, a
descriptive thing, a poetic thing. But
the blood inside, it’s normally cold,
slow, like molasses or corn syrup.
Then I get scared. Or angry. And it
gets warm. Hot. Not just temper-
ature hot, but the way putting a
chili on the tongue burns the skin
hot. I wish I could sweat.
All right. Let’s go over the
thing. Let’s take this one step
at a time.
Someone took my sister
Sarah and her son, Little Jack.
They have pictures of them.
Bound to chairs in… it’s dark in
the shots, but I think it’s some
kind of ballroom.
The letter says they’re safe.
For now. I tore most of it
apart, but… I still have a piece
of it. Here:
The “tasks.” My god, I don’t
know what He/She/They
expect of me. This list of
names. I’ve not heard of most
of them. And the ones I have?
They don’t talk to me. They
won’t
talk to me, and I can’t
imagine talking to them. I wouldn’t
make it through the night. I’m
supposed to find things out?
Certain things? Specific things?
The “List of the Savage and
Macabre,” the letter calls it.
I’m not going to make it. One
of them will destroy me. They’ll
eat me or tear me apart or rape
my corpse or… I don’t know what.
But I’ve heard the stories. I’m young.
I’m too young. They won’t suffer my
stupid questions. They won’t suffer
me taking notes or plunking down a
tape recorder.
Shut up, Alice! You have to do
this.
Have to
. Sarah. Little Jack. If
you don’t finish this, who knows what
will happen to them? Who knows what
He’ll do to them?
Yeah, He. Him. I’ve decided it’s a man. It
must be. Only a man could be so cruel.
I guess it’s time to go to work. The clock
is ticking.
3
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