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

by Stephen Graham Jones

Back when, he’d had the little console one stacked on top of the grandaddy of all console televisions because the picture only worked in the top one, while the sound only worked in the bottom one. So, together, with both of them clicked to the same channel, he could see and hear just fine, thanks.

Or, no—she’d have had to, wouldn’t she? The sheriff’s daughter? If the sheriff’s daughter doesn’t raise six different kinds of hell, then her classmates never accept her, always thinks she’s a rat.

Stacey Stacey Stacey Graves Born to put you in your grave You see her in the dark of night And once you do you’re lost from sight Look for water, look for blood Look for footprints in the mud You never see her walk on grass Don’t slow down, she’ll get your ass

As Karl Marx says, History repeats itself, first as tragedy, second as farce, which is to say: all these episodes of violence eventually become cartoons. Time mollifies, multiple tellings codify, and then history repackages.