by Shane Mehling

My father told me he saw Satan with skin the color of an abandoned barn tuning my guitar. While I was sleeping he saw demons with napkins made of ivory thread polishing its maple body. He told me about their icicle-shaped talons and how they chattered with each other, like their tongues had been cut from their mouths. They shrank into nothingness the second he gasped out of disbelief, but he saw their eyes and knew they'd be back. Years after I gave my guitar away to the neighbor kids I asked my father about that night and he grinned. Turns out he just really wanted me to play the drums.


Shane Mehling lives in Seattle, which is actually not even in the top 40 rainiest cities. (Go ahead, look it up.)