The Devil’s Right Hand
A love story horror mystery with a tip of the hat to Steve Earle
I was just sixteen when I met Billy at the Merla Mae over by Jericho Road, and I wanted him more than anything I ever knew. Don’t ‘zactly know what it was about him — he wasn’t tall, not too handsome and even then there was something eerie about him. But every part of me burned when I first laid eyes on him.
I walked up to him, smiled all bold, and said “I’m Maria”.
He crinkled his forehead a little. “Billy Austin.”
I nodded over to his car — a sweet little ’66 Mustang — and said, “You wanna take me for a ride?”
He was surprised, I guess, cause he laughed and said “You’re nothing but a child, sweetheart”, though he weren’t no more than eighteen hisself. Took me out anyway though, and that was the start of it.
Mama didn’t care for Billy much. He lived on the other side of town, what we called Nowhere Road ‘cause the only way outta there was jail or the army. But I was a young country girl and he was my first, so I didn’t think too much ‘bout that.
We were together six months maybe, and l loved him more than I can tell. We’d stay up all night on the roof of his rickety old house talking about heaven or hell, and he’d look at me all serious and say…
