This story never started with me.
It started with a young boy in some cold and quiet forest in Montana, under the light of a full moon, years before I had done anything worth writing down.
In fact, the only reason I’m telling this story is because he can’t write; maybe he never learned how, or maybe he forgot. Wouldn’t be the only thing he’s forgotten.
So, please keep in mind that even though I wander a bit, this story isn’t about the vampire in Arizona, or the incident with the succubus in Tijuana, or even about that business with the witches in Oregon.
It’s about my friend, and how he saved my life.