Before it can go out, he lights a second that shoots off light as dusky-red as the roses which grow beside the picket fence around the new pool.
Marty lights one of the triangular twizzers and watches as it spouts fire as yellow as his dad’s lucky golf shirt. The Fourth, the Fourth, happy Fourth of July to me! The snake’s bright flame gutters low, flickers, goes out. He brings out a snake, strikes a match, lights its fuse, and watches in entranced silence as it splutters green-blue fire and grows magically, writhing and spitting flame from its tail. He tears open the wonderful bag of fireworks and then pauses for a moment, captivated by the summer night-the somnolent chirr of the crickets, the low, fragrant breeze that barely stirs the leaves of the trees at the edge of the woods, the almost unearthly radiance of the moon. Marty slips the latch on the double doors, pushes FORWARD again, and rolls outside. The chair rolls forward, humming quietly. When it is facing the verandah doors, he pushes FORWARD. He wanted two silver bullets, and a gun to shoot them with, and he wanted Uncle Al to come over on New Year’s Eve, the night of the full moon. “ So what do you want from me?” Al asked. He can shut me up.” And Marty spoke with such chilling simplicity that Al was almost convinced. As the Reverend Lowe, he can’t do anything. He’s the werewolf, he’s the Beast, it’s him, and he’s waiting for the full moon. “He hasn’t talked to my dad, and he hasn’t talked to my mom, and he hasn’t talked to me.” “Marty, there could be a hundred reasons for th-” “No. Aren’t you going to ask me what happened? Aren’t you going to ask me if he called up my father and told him I’d sent him a note saying why don’t you kill yourself and another one saying we’re closing in on you?” “He didn’t do that, did he?” Al asked, knowing the answer already. “ That’s why I signed my name to the last two. “Christ, Marty! Did it ever occur to you that you could be wrong?” “Sure it did,” Marty said.
“You shouldn’t have sent the man notes, anonymous or otherwise!” Uncle Al said sharply. As he had been taught in English class: Yours truly, Martin Coslaw.
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