MO WAS STARING AT HIMSELF as he fastened a noose around the joist in the living room. The dark-haired man materialised next to him and then despite looking terrified he allowed Mo to slip the rope around his neck.
The whiskey stung on the way down and the next time Mo looked up the man was swinging, violently kicking around in the air. He fought to get out of the noose, but it didn’t work this time either. Soon he grew still, gently swaying where he hung. His face was swollen, his tongue hanging out of his mouth, and his unseeing eyes were bulging. The room filled with a scent of rot and Mo dipped his nose into the glass to escape it.
He looked at the snake tattoo on the man’s left forearm. He’d seen it many times already, but it fascinated him because it was the last thing to disappear
