Joey Lester crept up on the water like it was a living thing. His ratty tennis shoes stepped with considerable success over twigs and slid into the drifted leaves with as small of a sound as he could manage. They said the devil lived in the water - or maybe the granddaddy fish that could swallow a man whole - but most likely, an old steam shovel left behind when the coal ran out and the strip mine was left for nature to hide in runoff from the surrounding shale hills. Sometimes, in the late spring and early summer mostly, the water was clear and inviting. Mostly, it was a pungent tea of murky stagnation just right to call a devil’s brew. Joey walked quietly in hopes of catching Old Nick with his goaty breaches down and his horns askance after a night of hell-bent debauchery. Grandma&rs...

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