Children wept in midnight sorrow; it was a haunted wind, through bustles of Georgia oak that lined the black countryside along dirt roads to nowhere. One more yellow iris soaked into the night, and he watched those headlights become doused by velvet spirits. The creeks that cut through the thicket burned a fiery red, catching glimpses of the blood moon that smiled malice to the curve of the earth and the sun in the shadows. But it was, otherwise, a particularly black night.

He waited by the bank on the moss edge of a stone bridge listening to the old river lap time and granite, and to the wind bringing bad news from across the world in deep discontent that reminded him of the harmonica in his pocket. Time in the dark never seemed like time, at least the kind that is measured in quartz ticks and minutes. He got lost along the ledge, going nowhere, between before and again, drunk on moonlight and black smoke. Hours passed. They passed him by and he never got the chance to wave them down and ask where they were headed. Hours, and hours, and hours, and hours...

And then he came, just like they said he would. He was there but his eyes didn't steal enough stars to break through the dark. His voice was all around, in the quickening of wind and the rattling of dying leaves; and it sang hymns from Godless houses.

"Hello John," it spoke. He looked around and saw no one, not a sliver of pressed cotton or a bloodshot glance.

"Hello." John said, smiling strangely.

"Why have you come?" the trees seemed to ask, in fragile dam breaks of angry wind, high and low like dying train engines.

"I came because I've been all over this world and never found a single man who was better." John's black linen hair rustled wildly.

"Pride. There's always pride before the fall," it cackled.

"Naturally, but I've earned my pride. I came here because there was no one left to play. I've seen them all and none are as good as me. I'm the best, and I've come to prove it".

"So much pride."

"Play me. Play me and you can have what you want."

"And the terms?"

"If I win you give back their souls, all those who died at 27 with the blues in their blood. If you win I'll gather the greatest under your hands".

"And your soul."

"And my soul."

John smiled a cold flourish and pulled his guitar from the case. He never knew how to be afraid.

"Deal?" he asked the night.

"Deal", it answered back.

And a thin sigh spooked the branches ahead as the grass shuddered and the leaves shook. John thought it sounded like fear.