Don't Fear the Reaper (The Indian Lake Trilogy, #2)

by Stephen Graham Jones

Jennifer pushes the rolled cuff of her county jacket down over it, offers her right hand instead. The index, middle, and ring fingers are, literally, chewed between the knuckles and first joints.

John W. Gardner says that History never looks like history when you’re living through it, yes. What does it look like when you can’t stop living through it, though? When it’s not even history to you yet?

What Tab told him after his big wreck senior year was that Indians never really die. That you can tell that by how he was still there, when that Grand Prix should have killed his ass. You can tell by how there’s still Indians everywhere, after the cavalry had been trying to kill them ever since Columbus—ever since the Vikings. Ever since that cold windy walk across from Russia, even.

That men do not learn very much from the lessons of history is the most important of all the lessons of history.

Monsters happen, Mr. Armitage. I don’t need to tell you of all people this.

But it did confirm for us what the footprints suggested: she could walk on water. Meaning she was probably a ghost. It made her the best secret ever.

If he’d been thinking, he’d have snatched the framing hammer out of the garage, not these, but going back would be cheating. If you start a job with tool X, then tool X is the only thing you can allow yourself to make use of.