Shelby Gill

He slowly tipped his hat toward me, and I lifted a hand to reciprocate. He was still cloaked in darkness, but Billy had said if you stare long enough, if you just endure the stinging pain of inflammation, you’d see his face.

A silver candy bowl sat perched on their lap. Its large, human hands wrapped around the edges.

“What are you so afraid of?” he asked.

“Strangers at gross bowling alleys,” I replied. 

“Emmett stabbed and killed your friends this evening,” she said bluntly.