“I peeked over the bunk’s edge and studied the face below me, now only a black oval, like a fencer’s mask, and, because I stared too long in the dark, the face began to boil and writhe.”

“I studied him surreptitiously over the edge of the bunk, and soon I could see alien features forming on the face below me—Martian mouth, Andromedan eyes, staring back at me with evil curiosity. It made me feel weightless and dizzy when the mouth spoke to me with the voice of my grandmother: ‘Right now,’ Strangler Bob said, ‘you don’t get it. You’re too young.’ My grandmother’s voice, the same aggrieved tone, the same sorrow and resignation.”
—Denis Johnson, “Strangler Bob”