Gone to See the River Man (Gone to See the River Man, #1)

by Kristopher Triana

The people we make suffer stay inside of us longer and more deeply than those who we bring joy, don’t you think?

I love that time of year and always enjoyed going for hikes while listening to my Walkman, playing bands like The Cure, Tori Amos and The Smashing Pumpkins (what were your favorites growing up?).

“So if you hear me howlin’, where the whisperin’ cedars blow, you’ll know I lost my darlin’, to the waters down below.”

As the light spread, the man’s hands came into view, and Lori winced at the sight of them. Not only were there thumbs on each side of the hands, giving the player four altogether, but there were five fingers between those thumbs, curled and arthritic, and yet they strummed and plucked with ease. The palms and backsides of both hands were covered in fingernails that sprouted out of his coal-black flesh like horns.

That’s what he wants, she realized. The pain of others. Our suffering. Our heartache and regrets. Our grief and fear. All so his music can be unflinching and true, raw as road-rash flesh. Every note he plays is a drop of blood from someone’s heart.

“Yes, we’ll gather at the river! The beautiful, beautiful river! Gather with the man at the river. Runs red with all our blood.”