DARRELL VICKERS – ‘BU HOUSE: CHAPTER EIGHT THE WAGES OF SUN

The noonday sun was not so much a “red and ruby chalice” as a “brain-cell deep fat fryer.” While the weather where the ocean meets the land is as cool and refreshing as a mermaid’s breath, the temperature rises one degree for every foot you step eastward from the PCH. By the time you reached the Cult Mansion, you could smelt base metals in your hat. It was so hot, people were envying Jeffrey Dahmer’s fridge victims. It was positively molten.