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seemed to sleep beneath my feet as I ran,
a mustang over moonlit playa; a cheetah
in high gear. No fear, no brakes, consumed
by some irrational itch to cruise along
shadowy thoroughfares, traveled by demons.
Brendan Was Waiting
in a battered mud-colored Bronco.
Climb in. You look great.
Winded. Hair plastered by my
escape sprint. He was a liar.
A smooth, gorgeous liar.
Wanna go up to Chamberlain Flat?
Secluded five miles up a rutted
dirt track, the played-out mine
was a notorious party spot.
Supposed to be a party up there.
Anything could happen at a party
up there. Good things. Bad things.
Truly evil things.
Ever hear about Evan Malone?
Evan Malone, urban legend—eighteen
and in league with Satan, skinning
goats up at Chamberlain Flat.
My brother went out with his sister.
So he was more than just a parental
fabrication meant to scare kids
away from abandoned mine shafts?
He was real, okay. Kyle met him.
Met him and what? Dressed up like
Halloween, prayed to the devil,
