Driving. Men from town started disappearing to the hills. Sometimes in their own cars, sometimes in cars they had taken from neighbors. It was a short drive and it seemed they drove slow. Fine men, trustworthy men, men with families and jobs. When we started following them it became clear that the men were not driving the cars to the hills. No. The cars were driving themselves to the hills with the men inside. We spent long hours wondering how a car could compel a man to drive. And we followed the cars on foot. For fear of being discovered, we would turn back before the men had reached the top of the hill.

Then four children began to pedal up the hill on their bikes. We followed them instead, and even when a white oil was dripping from the underside of the cars, we followed the children. Their bikes had little tires that became slick with the oil, but they swerved and pedaled on. When we got to the flats at the top of the hill, it became clear that the cars were not driving the men. No. The hill was calling the cars because the men were inside. The cars had stolen the men because the hill was strong. The men were driven by the cars and the cars were driven by the hill.

And when the cars reached the top of the hill, they swerved around the wrecks of the other cars, slowly and steadily. The cars found the holes that the hill had dug for them, and the cars flipped over to fill the holes, burying the men in the hill. We heard them cry.