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rs。
Ghost leaned back against Steve。 〃It doesn't hurt；〃 he said …to Steve？ to the twins？ He knew not； he cared not。
〃What doesn't hurt？ Who are you talking to？〃
〃Death doesn't hurt；〃 said one of the twins； and a light came into his silver eyes。 〃Death is dark； death is sweet。〃
The other twin took up the litany。 〃Death is all that lasts forever。 Death is eternal beauty。〃
〃Death is a lover with a thousand tongues…〃
〃A thousand insect caresses…〃
〃Death is easy。〃
〃Death is easy。〃
〃DEATH IS EASY DEATH IS EASY DEATH…ISEASYDEATHIS…〃
〃Shut up！〃 Ghost screamed。 The chant swelled inside his head； became the rhythm of his heartbeat； sucked him in。 〃Stop it！ Leave me alone！〃
Then Steve's arms were around him； and instead of the twins' rotten…spice odor there was only Steve's smell； beer and dirty hair and fear and love； and Ghost buried his face in the soft black cotton of Steve's T…shirt。 When he opened his eyes again； the twins were gone。 Ghost heard only the faraway roar of the power plant across the water； saw only the branches of the oak； tangled and twisted； stretching up to the clear； glittering sky。
Ghost didn't talk much on the drive back to Missing Mile。 He told Steve only about the lovely feral faces of the twins and their bright silks and their bewitching dead smell。 He didn't want to wonder； he said； what kind of an omen those twins might have been 。 。 。 or； worse than an omen； if they might have been real。 Instead he finished the whiskey and went to sleep with his head hung out the window and his hair streaming in the wind； and Steve looked from the shimmering road to the hill of Ghost's cheek； the dark curve of his eyebrow； the satin scrap of his lashes。
Again Steve wondered what manner of things lived in that pale head； what Ghost was made of； of what substance were his visions。 Steve had heard nothing back there on the hill； nothing but the wind and the power plant's faraway hum。 He had seen nothing but the old scarred oak tree； wild against the sky。 But he believed that Ghost had seen a pair of twins long dead； the twins that had died in his dream and e back to life in his waking hours。 Steve no longer even considered disbelieving the things Ghost saw and heard； the things Ghost knew without knowing。
Steve's faith in the high omniscient gods of his childhood …Santa Claus； the Easter Bunny； and an eccentric creature apparently designed just for him； the Haircut Fairy…had been blasted by older； more worldly friends who advised him to stay awake and see whether it wasn't his dad spiriting away the carefully wrapped package of dark and unruly hair clippings； whether it wasn't his mother delivering all those mystical goodies。 The Easter…morning chocolate never tasted quite se wondrously creamy after he found out that it wasn't brewed and molded under the roots of a tree deep in some enchanted forest； in the vast subterranean workshop of a gl…ant rabbit he had pictured as bearing a strong resemblance to Bugs Bunny； but with bright pink fur。
Years later； when his aunt and cousins took him to church； he suspected that this was more of the same magical gobbledygook updated for grown…ups。 With the cynical hope of an eleven…year…old he prayed for the successful flight of the hyperspace machine he and his friend R。J。 were building in the Finns' garage。 But the motors they had salvaged from hair dryers； refrigerators； and one precious wrecked motorcycle left them stranded on earth； no matter how many adjustments they made； how many dials they twisted； no matter how many times R。J。 pushed his glasses up on his nose and checked the spiral notebook from Walgreen's that contained his calculations； no matter how bitterly Steve cussed and kicked at the mess of machinery。
Steve thought his belief in magic might well have died there； at the hands of a God who cared nothing for a hyperspace machine built by the labor and thievery and faith of two skinny； sweaty boys who had hoped all through a long summer。 Steve's faith might have been shattered beyond salvation； might have died right there on that garage floor； along with the snips of wire； the scraps of metal； the broken drill bit that his dad whaled him for。
He might never have believed in magic again。 But a few weeks later…right around this time of year； he realized； twelve years ago to the month…he met Ghost； and everything changed forever。
It was near the end of his eleventh summer； when the season was about to turn； when Steve was poised at the last reach of childhood。 The passions and excitements of children no longer seemed so heady to him。 He felt faintly silly for having tried to build a hyperspace machine； or indeed for doing anything that was not dictated by the realm of the practical。 He cringed now to think how different he might have been。 He might never have picked up a guitar； might have graduated from N。C。 State with a bachelor's degree in advertising or some such deathsome thing。 If he hadn't met Ghost。
The locusts were still singing in the trees and in the long weeds by the side of the road； but their song grew sad； the harbinger of another summer's end。 School was in session。 The days would be relentlessly hot and sticky for another month at least； but some new coolness in the night air signalled the golden mantle of fall。 As at the beginning of every school year； there Was a new kid。 This year the new kid was a pale； frail…looking boy whose hair was a little too long to meet the current standards； who came to school wearing shirts that were clean but always seemed to hang from him too loosely。 Steve sat behind him in class and saw that his shoulder blades were as distinct and articulated as the joints of birds' wings。
By rote the new kid was ignored at first； though there was some discussion of his funny name and his hillbilly origins。 Then； by virtue of his appearance； his quietness； and his disinclination to join in the sixth…grade touch…football games at recess； he was judged a fag and thereafter jeered at。 Everyone knew he must be smart because he'd e up a grade and was a year younger than the rest of the class。 Most of the kids in Missing Mile had something weird about them： their fathers had died in the big fire at the old cotton mill； or their mothers worked as strippers in Raleigh； or they lived out on Violin Road and were so poor； the rumor went； that they had to eat roadkill。
These children were happy to have someone to look down upon。 The new kid didn't seem to care； or even really notice； even when the sixth…grade boys zinged him with pinecones and chunks of gravel； he looked around bewilderedly as if he thought they might have fallen out of the sky。 He checked out grown…up hooks about space from the school library and spent his recesses in the fringe of woods at the edge of the yard。
Steve was curious。 He'd heard the new kid and his grandmother had moved here from the mountains； and he wanted to hear about the mountains。 He and his parents had driven through them once； and to Steve they had seemed a place of dark mystery； of lushness； of a foreboding beauty that verged on the sinister。 In the mountains you wouldn't need a hyperspace machine； in