Look on a map, any map, along the border of Texas and Louisiana, look for a town called Black River. You won’t find it.

Take the turning off of route 42, where the McDowell’s, dust riddled and abandoned since before anyone gave a shit, sits uncomfortably close to the turnpike. Drive straight along the road for 7 miles and take a left turn at the smashed tree. You’ll know it when you see it.

Do that, and you’ll find yourself in Black River, a town with a name so dreadfully self aggrandising that you’ll swear you’ve seen it on a map before. But, of course, you haven’t.

Sam Spector hadn’t used a map, but he needn't have bothered; he’d been on the scent of his prey for 7 hours now and all paths led to Black River.

The scent grew thin in the air, overtaken by fatty meat from the diner and fresh vegetables from the garden centre, each of them waging a spectacular war from opposite sides of the road.

Sam didn’t think much of this; he’d get the sent back tonight, when the town slept and his prey stopped off for something to eat. He knew it’s patterns, this was the third small town he’d followed it to in as many days.

Sam drove farther down the road. Until he came across a cheap motel built on a hill. He turned into the car park between the motel’s landing and the back wall of Squiffy's Squeaky Clean Pet Parlor and walked up to the motel. 

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A young woman sat at the reception desk. Sam booked a room with her for the evening, sliped his suitcase under the bed in his room, and slept.

——————————————————

David Ackley walked like a man on a mission, even when, usually, he wasn’t. But tonight he had women to attend to, five, to be exact. 

He watched out the diner window as a car passed on the road. 

“Audrey,” he called over to the waitress with a smile on his face. “You see that?” 

“See what?” Audrey has grown tired of the stilted interactions she’d been having with Ackley for, Oh, was it six weeks now? For some reason she couldn’t fathom, he’d taken to drinking the coffee this place brewed up. Two cups. Every evening, at nine. Monday to Friday. Wouldn’t leave till 1am, sometimes later.

Well, she thought, eyeing his unhealthily lean face dismissively, made she could fathom why.

“That car, Audrey. There hasn’t been a car to pass through town at this hour for as long as I can remember. I think he’s a newcomer.”

Is six weeks as long as you can remember you fucking creep?

“Oh, well I don’t know. Sometimes we get those.”

“Since when?” 

“Since you.”

“I’ve been here six years. I'm hardly a newcomer.”

Audrey sighed. “Exactly. Who said he was a newcomer. Could just be passin’ through.”

“I doubt that.” Ackley brought his coffee cup upto the bar and left without another word. 

——————————————————

Blanche Modem And Alice Applebee we’re sitting out on their porch when the car went by. 

“You think that’s him?”

Blanche looked up from her crotchet. “Huh?”

“The one he warned us about, do you think that’s him?” Alive gestured to the car, now pulling into the motel car park down the street.

“Well.” Blanche chewed it over for a second. “I don’t see who else it’d be.”

Alice leaned back in a huff. “Better get in, it's gettin’ near dark.”