Return to Riondo

And I know many things, for I will find nights. I know many strange tales, hidden in the hearts of men and women who have stepped into the shadows. Yes, I know the nameless terrors of which they dare not speak.

Yes, friends, it's time for the Whistler, rated by independent research, the most popular West Coast program in radio history. The main story, it was midday in the tiny Mexican village of Riano. The air was still quiet, and the streets a glaze of white hot dust.

As the bus creaked to a halt at the far end of the single main streets, a lone passenger stepped down, stood for a moment looking around him. Moving away from the bus and along the street, it all came back to it.

The neglected fountain marking the plaza, I faded the sods along the little row of shops, the old cafe. All the same on change. Just as when he had left some that same bus almost a year ago.

At that time Roy Collins was certain that he would never have reason to return. But now he did have a reason for return. A good reason. Crossing the plaza, the guitar music he heard reminded him again of his former mining party.

Old Dan Bosley and Paul. Yeah, Paul Fallon was the youngest and the leadie. He interested only in learning to play that second-hand guitar. He picked up somewhere. But now it was Lola Mendez. Roy wanted to see the girl who ran the tiny cafe.

Lola! Lola! It's Roy, Roy Callan. No, no, no. What's that make? Come on. Oh, send your droos. Hey, get easy. They got really stairway Lola from you. Oh, no, no, I did not. I don't know what the thing's in your own.