“Can’t stop me, I’m the dead boys!” “No!” Stan Uris screamed. His eyes bulged above bruised-looking crescents of skin—shockflesh, Bill thought randomly, and it was a word he would use in a novel twelve years later, with no idea where it had come from, simply taking it, as writers take the right word at the right time, as a simple gift from that outer space (otherspace) where the good words come from sometimes.
