Living with Boys

John Winchester stood in the center of the crossroads with a box in his hand. It was a full moon, and the world was painted in blue-green light, from the flat blades of grass on all sides of the road to the gravel beneath his feet that had become a cold alien landscape of sharp edges and shadows. He had not begun to dig a hole for his box. He just wanted to breathe the clean night air for a moment before he dug himself down and called the demon.