Clive Barker - The Thief of Always

"Lulu?" he called. "It's Harvey."

She wasn't there, but he was relieved to see that her bed had been slept in, and that she'd apparently been playing with her pets recently. The doors to the doll's house were open, and the lizards were everywhere underfoot.

There was one strangeness however. The sound of running water led him through to the bathroom, where he found the bath full almost to brimming, and Lulu's clothes scattered in the puddles on the tile.

"Have you seen Lulu?" he asked Mrs. Griffin when he got downstairs.

"Not in the last few hours," she replied. "But she's been keeping to herself." Mrs. Griffin looked hard at Harvey. "I wouldn't pay too much mind if I were you, child," she said. "Mr. Hood doesn't like inquisitive guests."

"I was only wondering where she'd got to," Harvey said.

Mrs. Griffin frowned, her tongue working against her pale cheek as though it wanted to speak, but didn't dare.

"Anyway" Harvey went on, deliberately goading Mrs. Griffin, "I don't believe Mr. Hood exists."

"Now you be careful," she said, her voice and frown deepening. "You don't want to talk about Mr. Hood that way."

"I've been here...days and days," Harvey said, realizing as he spoke that he'd lost count of his time in the House. "And I haven't seen him once. Where is he?"

Now Mrs. Griffin came at Harvey with her hands raised, and for a moment he thought she was going to strike him. But instead she took hold of his shoulders and shook him.

"Please, child!" she said. "Be content with what you know. You're here to enjoy yourself for a little time. And child, it's such a little time. It flies by. Oh Lord, how it flies!"

"It's just a few weeks," Harvey said. "I'm not going to stay here forever." Now it was he who stared at her. "Or am I?" he said.

"Stop," she told him.

"You think I am here forever, don't you?" he said, shaking off her grip. "What is this place, Mrs. Griffin? Is it some kind of prison?"

She shook her head.

"Don't tell me lies," he said. "It's stupid. We're locked up in here, aren't we?"

Now, though she was shaking with fear from head to foot, she dared to make a tiny nod of her head.

"All of us?" he asked. Again she nodded. "You too?"

"Yes," she whispered, "me too. And there's no way out. Believe me, if you try to escape again, Carna will come after you."

"Carna..." he said, remembering the name from the conversation between Jive and Marr.

"He's up there," Mrs. Griffin said. "On the roof. That's where the four of them live. Rictus, Marr, Carna-"

"-and Jive."

"You know."

"I've met them all but Carna."

"Pray you never do," said Mrs. Griffin. "Now listen to me, Harvey. I've seen many children come and go through this House-some of them foolish, some of them selfish, some sweet, some brave-but you, you are one of the brightest souls I have ever set eyes on. I want you to take what joy you can from being here. Use the hours well, because there'll be fewer than you think."

Harvey listened patiently to this. Then, when she'd finished, he said: "I still want to meet Mr. Hood."

"Mr. Hood is dead," Mrs. Griffin said, exasperated by his persistence.

"Dead? You swear?"

"I swear," she replied. "On the Brave of my poor Clue-Cat, I swear: Mr. Hood is dead. So don't ask about him ever again."

This was the first time Mrs. Griffin had ever come close to giving Harvey an order, and though he wanted to press her further, he decided not to. Instead he said he was sorry for bringing up the subject, and wouldn't do it again, then left her to her secret sorrows.

What the Flood Gave Up (And What It Took)

Well?" said Wendell, when Harvey came to his room. "What's the story?"

Harvey shrugged. "Everything's fine," he said. "Why don't we just enjoy ourselves while we can?"

"Enjoy ourselves?" Wendell said. "How can we enjoy ourselves when we're locked in?"

"It's better in here than it is out in the world," Harvey said. Wendell looked at him in astonishment. "That's true, isn't it?"

As he spoke he grabbed hold of Wendell's hand, and Wendell realized there was a ball of paper in Harvey's palm, which he was trying to pass between the two of them.

"Maybe you should just find a quiet little corner and do some reading," he said, glancing down at their hands as he spoke.

Wendell got the idea. He claimed the balled-up note from Harvey's hand and said: "Maybe I'll do that."

"Good," said Harvey. "I'm going to go out and enjoy the sun while I can."

That was exactly what he did. He had a lot of planning to do before midnight, which was when the note told Wendell they should meet to make their escape. Surely even the forces that guarded the House had to sleep sometime (the business of keeping the seasons rolling around couldn't be easy) and of all the hours to slip away, midnight seemed the most promising.

But he didn't suppose it would be easy. The House had been a trap for decades (perhaps centuries: Who knew how old its evil really was?) and even at midnight it would not be so foolish as to leave the exit wide open. They would have to be quick and clever, and not panic or lose their tempers once they were in the mist. The real world was out there somewhere. All they had to do was find it.

He knew when he saw Wendell for Halloween that the note had been read and understood. There was a look in Wendell's eyes that said: I'm ready. I'm nervous, but I'm ready.

The rest of the evening passed for the two of them like the performance of a strange play, in which they were the actors, and the House (or whoever haunted it) was the audience. They went about enjoying themselves as though this was a night like any other, heading out to play trick-or-treat with a show of loud laughter (even though they were both shuddering in their borrowed shoes), then coming in to eat their supper and spend what they hoped would be their last Christmas in the House. They opened their presents (a mechanical dog for Wendell; a magician's kit for Harvey), said their goodnights to Mrs. Griffin (goodbye, of course, not goodnight, but Harvey didn't dare let her know) and then went to bed.

The House grew quiet, and quieter still. The snow no longer sighed at the sill, nor the wind in the chimney. It was, Harvey thought, the deepest silence he'd ever heard; so deep that he could hear his heartbeat in his ears, and every rustle of his body against the sheets sounded like a roll of drums.

A little before midnight he got up and dressed, moving slowly and carefully, so as to make as little noise as possible. Then he headed out into the passageway, and-slipping like a thief from shadow to shadow-hurried down the stairs and out into the night.

He left not by the front door (it was heavy, and creaked loudly) but by the kitchen door, which brought him out at the side of the House. Though the wind had dropped, the air was still bitter and the surface of the snow had frozen. It crackled as he walked, however lightly he trod. But he was beginning to hope that the eyes and ears of the House were indeed closed at this hour (if not, why hadn't he been challenged?) and he might make it to the perimeter without attracting attention.

Just as he was about to turn the corner, however, that sweet hope was soured, as somebody in the murk behind him called his name. He froze in his tracks, hoping the darkness would conceal him, but the voice came again, and again called his name. It was not a voice he recognized. Not Wendell, certainly, nor Mrs. Griffin. Not Jive, not Rictus, not Marr. This was a frail voice; the voice of somebody who barely knew how to shape the syllables of his name.

"Harrr...vvvey..."

And then, all of a sudden, he knew the voice, and his heart-which had been working overtime since he'd slipped out of bed-grew so loud in his ears it almost drowned out the summons when it came again.