The sea turned a rheumy
yellow, like a rush cage with
a canary hung in darkness.
Ice had been driven on
the heavy current from
Point Ayre, but who was watching?
H was reduced to a circle of
wet chewing tobacco. The slush-
lamp had not been lighted.
“Och,” said Maug, as if
dangling by the neck from
the great, twisted God’s teeth.
His broken laugh fell among
the wind and tide. H thought of
the Ramsey, sleep, and the beyond.
But it was too late for that
refuge. Maug was evil’s
housemate, and now H needed him.
Above the boom of the sea, he
could hear death at
the door he had opened, coming.
H stumbled through the lane
with Maug, as rain
cracked the dome of the sky.
Maug clearly had horns, and
the governor knew it.
A ghost clung to his past.
“Who is it you’re dragging
after us?” said H. “Or
what?” Maug was dying to say.
Gregory Kimbrell 