I want to tell you about Mia.

Mia never knew when to shut up and listen. Sometimes it seemed she only had to open her mouth and an unending breeze of random topics floated out: stuff that had no link to the next titbit of stuff. And, regardless of what I had to say, she never stopped talking at me. Junk was all that came out of Mia's mouth; that, and the smell of blood.

Funny – she was so quiet when I first met her.

Mia had stood at the side of the road, hitchhiking during the dark hours of early morning: a small woman - a mousy blonde some might say – young or old, it was always hard to tell. I remember thinking she must be stupid, standing alone at the side of the road like that, making such an easy target of herself. But she had flagged me down, and I pulled the car over.

Mia jumped into the passenger seat. "I know what you're expecting," she said, "but hear me out first."

That was the first thing Mia ever said to me. I thought perhaps she was a prostitute, new to the game because she looked so fresh and clean. And that she could have absolutely no idea what I was expecting.

She leaned over bringing her face close to mine. "I've wanted to meet you for a long time," she whispered. "Please. Drive. I have a gift for you."

Maybe it was loneliness that made me trust her; maybe it was the smell of blood on her breath. I still don't know why I gave in so easily. I had driven, following Mia's directions, to a dirt track that cut into a wood. I parked and we left the car. She took my hand and led me through the trees. We came to a clearing, and that was where I found Mia's gift.

It was a young girl – seventeen, eighteen maybe – with a mass of black hair, and black make-up that had run and smeared across her face. She was skinny, naked, kneeling on the leafy ground, yet still somehow statuesque. Her eyes were vacant, and I later learned that drugging people was a favourite trick of Mia's.

"Do you need to take her somewhere special?" Mia asked. "Should we get her back to the car?"

I shook my head and pulled a cutthroat razor from my pocket.

Mia gasped, excited, and her eyes gleamed in the moonlight. "Can I watch?"

I shrugged.

The girl in the clearing didn't react as I approached her; she didn't shy away as I opened the cutthroat; she didn't flinch as I walked around her, slicing the skin of her back and chest and arms. She just stared off into some unknown distance, and her blood ran freely.

I stepped back from her, and from behind me, Mia spoke in a low voice.

"Is the razor important?" she asked. "Like a ritual knife or something?"

"No."

And that was the first thing I ever said to Mia.

As for the cutthroat, there really is nothing special about it. I don't even remember where I got it from. Using a sharp blade is just the quickest way to make someone bleed, I suppose.

"So what now?" Mia said, eagerly. "When does Max arrive?"

Max ...

I still don't know what Mia was expecting on that first occasion. Perhaps she thought there would be some grand pre-show, like the warm summer night would suddenly change to bitter winter. Or maybe the moon and stars would disappear, and the shadows would rise up, hissing and screaming, to announce Max's arrival ...

The only sign that he was around came when the girl fell face down on the clearing floor, as though she had been shoved in the back. She came upright again, as if someone was controlling her on puppet strings, and then the skin of her arms and body ripped away as easily as ripping off a blouse. The skin flew into the air, spraying blood, and disappeared.

The dead girl looked normal enough around the face and head and from the waist down; but the exposed muscles of her torso and arms glistened wetly. Max had been and gone, just like that, just as he always does.

"Fuck," Mia whispered. "That's the coolest thing I've ever seen," and she knelt beside the girl and began licking the blood from her raw body.

.