Peter Straub - If You Could See Me Now

“No, nobody thinks it’s haunted,” she said, still looking at me with determined curiosity. “Lots of us kids go there. Nobody bothers you there.”

I remembered the mess of blankets and cigarette butts on the ruined floor.

Zack said, “Listen, I’ve got plans—”

“What was it for ? Why did he build it?”

” I don’t know.”

“Why did you call it his dream house?”

“It’s nothing. Forget about it.” I could see her begin to look impatiently around the bar, as if to find someone who would tell her all about it.

“You’ve got to know about my plans—”

“Well. I’ll find out from someone else.”

“I’ve been doing some things—”

“Just forget about it,” I said. “Forget I ever mentioned it. I’m going home now. I have an idea.”

The bartender was beside us again. “This is an important guy, you know,” he said, putting his hand on my shoulder. “He wrote a book. He’s some kind of artist.”

“Also,” I said, “I think I’m going to give you some novels. You’ll like them. They’re right up your street.”

“I considered we might see you in church today.” Duane was still wearing his suit, the old double-breasted pinstripe he had been wearing to church for ten years or more. But the new informality had touched him too: beneath the jacket he wore a tieless open-collared shirt blue with patterns of lighter blue. Alison must have given it to him. “Do you want some of this? It’s Tuta’s day off over at your place, isn’t it?” He lifted one big hand toward the mess that Alison had left bubbling on the stove — it looked like pork and beans., with too much tomato sauce. Like the general disorder of the kitchen, this too would have riled his mother who had always prepared gigantic lunches of roasted meat and potatoes boiled so long they crumbled like chalk. When I shook my head no, he said, “You should go to church. Miles. No matter what you believe in, going could help you out in the community.”

“Duane, it would be the most blatant hypocrisy,” I said. “Does your daughter usually go?”

“Sometimes. Not always. I reckon she has little enough time to herself, taking care of me and doing for me the way she does around here, so I don’t grudge her some extra sleep on Sunday. Or a couple of hours with a girlfriend.”

“Like now?”

“Like now. Or so she says. If you can ever trust a female. Why?”

“I was just wondering.”

“Well, she has to get along to see her friends sometimes. Whoever the hell they are. Anyhow, Miles, this is one day you should have gone.”

Then I heard the emphasis I should have heard the first time. And wasn’t it unusual that Duane was still wearing his suit an hour after the service? And that he was sitting in his kitchen instead of doing an hour or so of work before lunch?

“I’ll bite. Why today, especially?”

“What do you think of Pastor Bertilsson?”

“I’ll spare you. Why?”

Duane was crossing and uncrossing his legs, looking very uncomfortable. On his feet were heavy black brogues, immaculately polished. “You never exactly liked him, did you? I know. He maybe did go a little out of line when you and Joan got married. I don’t think he was right to bring up all that old stuff, even though he did it for your own good. When I got married, he didn’t talk about any of my old mistakes.”

I hoped that his daughter would forget all about my reference to the Dream House — it had been a serious betrayal. While I was trying to think how I could tell him that I had let his secret slip out to his daughter without actually telling her anything about it, Duane got over his own nervousness and finally got to the point.

“Anyhow, like I was saying, he said a few words about you today. In his sermon.”

“About me ?” I yelped. My guilt disappeared like flash powder.

“Wait, Miles, he didn’t actually name you. But we all knew who he was talking about. After all, you made yourself known around here, years ago. So I guess most everybody knew who he was talking about.”

“You mean I’m actually having sermons preached about me? I guess I really am a success.”

“Well, it would have been better if you’d been there. See, in a community this size — well, a small community like this sort of draws together if any trouble happens. What happened to those two girls was a terrible thing, Miles. I think a man that can do something like that ought to be slaughtered like a pig. The thing is, we know none of us could have done it. Maybe some over in Arden, but none of us here.” He shifted in his chair. “While I’m talking on this I ought to say something else. Look. It might be better if you didn’t go around trying to see Paul Kant. That’s all I want to say about that.”

“What are you saying, Duane?”

“Just what I said. Paul might have been okay when he was a kid. but even then you didn’t know him all that well. You were only here in the summers.”

“To hell with that,” I said. “Suppose you tell me what was the point of this sermon of Bertilsson’s.”

“Well, I guess he was just saying how some people—”

“Meaning me.”

” — some people put themselves outside normal standards. He said that’s dangerous, when everybody’s got to pull together, times of trouble, like now.”

“He’s guiltier of that than I am. Now I wish you’d tell me what crime Paul Kant is supposed to have committed.”

To my surprise, Duane flushed. He turned his eyes toward the pot bubbling on the stove. “Well, it’s not a crime, exactly, not that you could say a crime, exactly. He’s just not like the rest of us.”

“He puts himself outside normal standards. Good. That makes two of us. I’ll make a point of seeing him.”

We stared at one another for a moment or two, Duane fidgeting, looking out of his depth. He appeared to be afflicted with moral uncertainty. In a dubious cause he had acted dubiously. He obviously wished that he had never brought up the questions of Bertilsson and Paul Kant. I remembered the idea I’d had in Freebo’s Bar — an idea brought up by my tactless mention of the Dream House. “Shall we change the subject?”

“Hell, yes.” Duane looked relieved. “Do you feel like having one of those beers?”

“Not now. Duane, what did you do with the rest of the stuff from Gramma’s house? The old pictures, and all the furniture?”

“Well, let me think. I put the furniture down in the root cellar. It didn’t seem right to sell it or throw it away. Some of that stuff might be valuable someday, too. Most of those old pictures I took down I put in a trunk in the old bedroom.” That was the bedroom on the ground floor, where my grandparents had slept during my grandfather’s life.

“All right, Duane,” I said. “Don’t be surprised by anything you hear.”

July 17

So that was what he said just before the really strange business began. Don’t be surprised, something like that. Don’t be surprised by anything. Then he went off toward the old house like a rocket was in his pants. He was all sort of excited — he was drunk some too, Sunday morning or no Sunday morning. I could smell the booze on his breath. Later I found out from my kid that he’d been over to Freebo’s, down on Main. You know? He was just sittin’ there with Zack, suckin’ up drinks like it was Saturday night. Kind of funny, considering what he tried to do to Zack later. Maybe he was sort of trying him out, you know? Testing him? That’s what I think, anyhow. I think maybe he was keeping his mind on Paul Kant too, to see if he could use him like he tried to use Zack. What a choice, huh? But I don’t know. I don’t understand that whole Paul Kant business. I guess none of us will ever know what happened there.