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and frowned.

"All right, look," Slate said. "This park cleaning stuff is very effeminate, so if you don't leave us in peace, I'll bust your face in just to feel manly about myself." He leaned over the caretaker. "Do I make myself clear?"

The caretaker looked up at Slate with a mixture of fear and indignation. John held his breath, knowing Slate would kill the man if he felt the need to. The staredown continued. John was nearly out of breath by the time the caretaker broke off and stormed back to his bike.

"The community of Maplethornwood appreciates your service," he snapped. He hopped on the bicycle and rode off.

"Humans," Slate muttered. "Can't live with 'em, can't exterminate them without excessive effort." He looked down at John with a hissing groan, his lip snarling upward. "Effort sucks."

"I'll say," John said. He decided he didn't enjoy discussing the eradication of humanity with a powerful supernatural creature. He wished another pig would fly past and provide an excuse to change the subject.

Thinking about the pig made John remember the slingshot and Slate's reaction when he first saw it. John struggled to his feet and held out the item in question. "What is this thing?" he asked. Slate paused, formulating an answer, so John glanced around in agitation.

"You see, it's, uh"

"Hey! What happened to Harry?"

Slate appeared relieved at the subject change. "He annoyed me, so I chased him off." He puffed with his own smugness.

"Right. So what's this slingshot?"

Slate deflated a bit. "Nothing. It is absolutely nothing. It is a pathetic trinket from a county fair."

John gazed into the pure, brilliant jewels. He smiled. "No trinket could launch a pig like that."

Slate rolled his eyes with mock exasperation, but an undercurrent of unbridled fear was apparent. "Again with the pig. Sometimes a flying pig is just a flying pig. Obsessing over it, that's just weird." Slate drew himself up to his full height and billowed open his cape in a very dramatic and menacing way. "Drop it in the nearest trash receptacle and forget about it!"

"Why don't you?" John held the slingshot up, bringing it closer to Slate. Slate took a hesitant step back, then another.

"I won't touch such silly trash."

John's smile grew wider. "Come on, take it! It's so nice. Maybe you could just hold it for a moment." He recognized the item's aura now; it was an aura of pure good. He knew, as Slate stepped back from the item, that this was his best opening. He tossed the slingshot in the air towards Slate. Slate's hand snapped outward, palm up, a motion of pure reflex. An expression of horror and disbelief appeared on his face as the slingshot landed in his upturned palm.

Something bumped into John. He turned to see Harry.

"Ah, you didn't think I'd just leave, did you?" Harry then noticed the stricken look on Slate's face. "What's with him?"

"Oh, let's just watch and see."

"I'll get you for this, human!"

"Ooh, this is gonna be good," Harry said.

"Damnation," Slate said. He vanished, leaving behind only a faint wisp of smoke.

"That was kinda anticlimactic," John said.

"Yeah, but this'll still make for a cool story to tell your grandkids someday."

John nodded.

* * *

Decades later, John finished telling the tale to his granddaughter.

"That was a pretty neat story, Grandpa, but it would've been better without the pig. That was silly!"

John smiled, wished her good night, turned the lights out, and left her to her dreams.

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