Perfect Host

I was fourteen then. I was sitting in the car waiting for Dad to come out of the hospital. . . She was hanging out of a window on the second floor of a near ell of the hospital. Her hair was dank and stringy, her eyes had mud in them, and her teeth were beautiful. She was naked, at least to the waist. She was saying "Mister!" and she was saying it to me. The Perfect Host is a dark and chilling sto...