Stan Milgram was lost in endless darkness. The road ahead was a strip of light, but on each side he could see no signs of life at all, nothing except pitch-black desert landscape stretching away into the distance. To the north he could just detect the ridge of the mountains, a faint line of black against black. But nothing else-no lights, no towns, no houses, nothing.

It had been that way for an hour.

Where the hell was he?

From the backseat, the bird gave a piercing shriek. Stan jumped; the sound made his eardrums ache. If you ever plan to motor west, he thought, don’t take a damn bird on the highway, that’s the best. He’d put cloth over the cage hours ago, but the cloth didn’t shut the bird up anymore. From St. Louis down through Missouri, and on to Gallup, New Mexico. All the way the bird would not shut up. Stan checked into a Gallup motel, and at around midnight the bird began to scream, earsplitting shrieks.

There was nothing to do but check out-with all the other motel guests yelling at him-and start driving again. The bird was silent, once they were driving. But he pulled off the road for a few hours during the day to sleep, and later, when he stopped at Flagstaff, Arizona, the bird began to scream again. It started before he even checked into the motel.

He kept driving. Winona, Kingman, Barstow, heading for San Bernardino-San Berdoo, his aunt called it-and all he could think was this trip would be over soon. Please, God. Let it be over before he killed the bird.

But Stan was exhausted, and after driving more than two thousand miles, he had become strangely disoriented. Either he had missed the San Berdoo turnoff or…or he wasn’t sure.

He was lost.

And the bird still shrieked. “Your heart sweats, your body shakes, another kiss is what it takes…”

He pulled the car over. He opened the door to the backseat. He took the cloth off. “Gerard,” he said. “Why are you doing this?”

“You can’t sleep, you can’t eat-”

“Gerard, stop it. Why?”

“I’m afraid.”

“Why?”

“It’s too far from home.” The bird blinked, looked at the darkness outside. “What fresh hell is this?”

“This is the desert.”

“It’s freezing.”

“The desert is cold at night.”

“Why are we here?”

“I’m taking you to your new home.” Stan stared at the bird. “If I leave your cloth off, will you be quiet?”

“Yes.”

“No talking at all?”

“Yes.”

“You promise?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. I need it quiet so I can find out where we are.”

“I don’t know why, I love you like I do, after all the changes-”

“Try and help me, Gerard. Please.” Stan went around and got in the driver’s seat. He pulled out onto the road and started driving. The bird was quiet. The miles rolled by. Then he saw a sign for a town called Earp, three miles ahead.

“Mellow greetings, ukie dukie,” Gerard said.

Stan sighed.

He drove forward into the night.

“You remind me of a man,” Gerard said.

“You promised,” Stan said.

“No, you are supposed to say, ‘What man?’”

“Gerard, shut up.”

“You remind me of a man,” Gerard said.

“What man?”

“The man with the power.”

“What power?”

“The power of hoodoo.”

“Hoodoo?” Stan said.

“You do.”

“Do what?”

“Remind me of a man.”

“What man?” Stan said. And then he caught himself. “Gerard, shut up or I will put you outside right now. ”

“Ooh, aren’t you the twisted bunny.”

Stan glanced at his watch.

One more hour, he thought. One more hour, and that bird was out.