There is a statue in the park of a woman… some people call her an angel, although the statue has no wings. Her hands are cupped in front of her in a gesture that’s vaguely prayer-like. She’s made of bronze, tarnished black.There is a plaque set in a concrete plinth in front of her with the sculpture’s original name, but the rusty plate is impossible to read.

People who know call her “Our Lady of Desire”.

Pilgrims go to the park to tell the Lady what they want. They whisper their desires in her ear. Some write them on a piece of paper and leave it in her hands, or under the slightly raised heel of her left foot. Some people leave gifts when they do this: bits of food, a libation poured on the ground, a personal momento.

A lock of hair.

A bit of blood.

They tell her their desires, and ask for her help.

Not everyone who speaks to the Lady receives an answer. She does not deal with simple wants or passing fancies, only all-consuming desires. Those who bear such an affliction and who approach her earnestly will always receive relief. In most cases, a desire that was previously unflagging will begin to wane, and even disappear.

Addicts have been cured by Our Lady of Desire. Hearts have been mended. Shattered lives reclaimed from the brink of despair.

In most cases, that’s what happens. But the Lady is capricious and fickle. In some cases, she is not so kind. In some cases, she does not look with mercy upon a supplicant. To these unfortunate few, the Lady does the worst thing she can think of: she gives them what they desire. Addictions are fed. Hearts are broken. Orderly lives disrupted beyond the point of repair.

Is there something that you want? Something that you need? Something that you can’t get but can’t live without?

Our Lady of Desire might help you… if you’re willing to risk the price.

“Yes, Morton,” the director said. “We did, and we’re very happy at the thought of working with a legend in the business, especially since you’re returning to it after such a long absence, but we have a few questions.”

“Well, did you watch the demo tape?” he asked her. “I think that should explain everything pretty well.”

“Yes, we did. We watched the tape.”

“Well… what did you think?”

“A vole, Morton?”

“Yeah, a vole. Morty the Love Vole.”

“Kids don’t know what that is.”

“Well, that’s why it’s educational,” Morton said, exasperated. “Morty the Love Vole doesn’t talk down to children. He’s not afraid to take them to new places… strange places, even scary places.”

“Scary places?”

“You know, places that make people uncomfortable at first. Places that make them squirm un,” Morton said. “Like in the song, ‘Fear of the Unknown Is Just Comfortable Familiarity Waiting To Happen’.”

“We actually thought that song was a little… unwieldy.”

“Well, I’ve got another one called ‘Have You Hugged A Stranger Today’.”

“Morton, leaving all that aside… kids don’t need to know what a vole is,” the director said. “Couldn’t you say it’s a mouse?”

“But the puppet is a vole,” Morton said.

“Kids don’t know the difference.”

“But then we’re talking down to them,” Morton said. “Anyway, he’s Morty the Love Vole because ‘love’ is ‘vole’ spelled sideways.”

“Spelled what?”

“Sideways,” Morty said. “‘Mouse’ spelled sideways is… I don’t know. Useom. Sueom. Nothing good, anyway. Look, the puppet is clearly a vole.”

“Well… I think we’d have to ask you to redesign the puppet anyway.”

“What? The puppet is perfect.”

“It’s… unsettling,” the director said. “It’s like you took a latex model of a dead rodent, blew it up, and grafted your own face onto it.”

“Yes, exactly!” Morton said. “Well, I used a computer to sort of blend my face with the vole’s. It wouldn’t look realistic, otherwise.”

“‘Realistic’ isn’t quite the word I’d use,” the programming director said. “Have you ever heard the phrase ‘uncanny valley’, Morton?”

“That’s where Morty the Love Vole lives,” Morton said. “The Uncanny Valley of Happiness.”

“On a, ah, somewhat related subject… we’re kind of giving you the benefit of the doubt and assuming that the fact that the puppet’s, uh, anatomically complete is simply a side effect of the fact that you used a real vole as a model. That’d haved to be fixed before we could think about putting it on the air.”

“Actually, I was planning on fixing Morty on the air,” Morton said. “You know, to teach the kids about the importance of spaying and neutering your pets. And your Love Voles. This would be after the sex ed episode. I have another puppet made for that one.”

“You know, Morton, I’m not sure you should be working in children’s television.”

“I just have to find the right model for the face,” Morton said.

“Goodbye, Morton. I don’t think we can work together.”

“You sound like you have a nice face.”

“I’m hanging up now, Morton.”

“…I love you.”

Is there something that you want? Something that you need? Something that you simply can’t find anywhere else? There is a man on Monticello Street who simply isn’t there, and he can help you.

He’s merely a trick of the light, and so you have to be looking at him to see him. He disappears if you close your eyes. That’s how you know he isn’t there.

He sells things to people. All sorts of things, but tickets, mostly… tickets for shows you’ve never heard of and to places that aren’t on any map, to clubs where the rarest of tastes are catered to.

His prices are negotiable.

They always seem reasonable at first.

All sales are final.

He can be hard to find, since you have to be looking at him to see him. Most people who do find him do it by accident, the first time. Those who feel satisfied by their first dealing often seek him out again.

Some of them even find him.

In the annals of such things as recorded by those who are paying attention, no one has ever been known to deal with him more than three times. Some people, having experienced his services that often, spend all their time wandering up and down Monticello Street looking for him again. Passersby often take them to be homeless or assume they are strung out on drugs.

It’s not a terrible assumption, really.

Eventually even the most desperate of addicts give up, though… or at least, it must be assumed that they do. They haunt the length of Monticello Street for days or weeks or longer, and then the day comes when they simply aren’t there.

Is there something you want? Something you need? Something you simply can’t find anywhere else? Go to Monticello Street and find a man who isn’t there. You’ll only see him if you’re looking at him.

His prices will seem reasonable.