Jonas

Clean white vertebrae spiraled out carefully, almost artfully.

Two small roofs were placed right in the center, like punctuation.

No signs of a carcass nearby.

No blood.

Just the bones.

It felt like a message.

Or a warning.

maybe both.

I didn't even lock the door behind me, just drove until the trailer disappeared in the mirror.

That night, I crashed at a cheap motel near Kingsford, kept the TV on, didn't even bother brushing my teeth.

I lay on top of the covers, fully dressed, shotgun propped against the wall, barely slept.

Next morning, as I was repacking my bag, I found the CD player right there on top of my clothes, which made zero sense because I was absolutely certain I'd left it from the counter inside the trailer.

I stared at it for a long time,

Then, without really thinking, I opened the lid.

Inside was a different disc, no label.

Just a shiny black surface with a single scratch down the middle.

I don't know what made me do it, but I hit play.

The kid's voice again.

Don't tell him no.

Don't tell him no.