Clive Barker - Thief of Always

"I'm not happy," Harvey said.

"And why's that?"

"I left all my presents here, and I don't know where."

"No problem," said Rictus. "I'll find 'em for you."

"Would you do that?" Harvey said.

"Sure, kid, " said Rictus, persuaded that his charm was working again. "That's what we're all here for: to give you whatever your heart desires."

"I think maybe I left them up in my bedroom," Harvey suggested.

"You know I think I saw 'em up there," Rictus replied. "You stay right here. I'll be back."

He took himself up the stairs two and three at a time, whistling tunelessly through his teeth as he ascended. Harvey waited until he disappeared from sight and then went to check on Wendell, letting Stew-Cat slip away.

"Ah, now, look at this!' a voice said as he appeared at the kitchen door.

It was Jive. He was standing at the stove, as sinewy as ever, juggling eggs with one hand and tossing pancakes in a pan with the other.

"What do you fancy?" he said. "Sweet or savory?"

"Nothing," Harvey said.

"It's all good," Wendell piped up. He was almost hidden behind a wall of filled plates. "Try the apple turnovers! They're great!"

Harvey was sorely tempted. The buffet looked wonderfully tempting. But it was dust. He had to keep remembering that.

"Maybe later," he said, averting his eyes from the heaps of syrup-drenched waffles and bowls of ice cream.

"Where are you going?" Jive wanted to know.

"Mr. Rictus is finding a few presents for me," Harvey said.

Jive smiled with satisfaction. "So you're getting back into the swing of things, kiddo!" he said. "Good for you!"

"I've missed being here," Harvey replied.

He didn't linger, just in case Jive saw the lie in his eyes, but turned and headed back into the hallway. Stew-Cat was still there, staring at him.

"What is it?" he said.

The cat took off toward the stairs, then stopped and cast a backward glance.

"Have you something to show me?" Harvey whispered.

At this, the cat bounded off again. Harvey followed, expecting her to lead the way upstairs. But before she reached the bottom step she veered off to her left, and led Harvey down a narrow passage to a door he had never even noticed before.

He rattled the handle, but the door was locked. Turning to look for Stew-Cat, he found her rubbing her arched back against the leg of a small table set nearby. On the table was a carved wooden box. In the box was a key.

He went back to the door, unlocked it, and pulled it open. There was a flight of wooden steps in front of him, leading down into a darkness from which a sour, dank smell rose. He might have declined to descend had Stew-Cat not hurried on past him, down into the murk.

With his fingers trailing on the damp walls to the left and right of him, he followed Stew-Cat to the bottom of the flight, counting the steps as he went. There were fifty-two, and by the time he had descended them all his eyes had become reasonably accustomed to the gloom. The cellar was cavernous but empty, except for a litter of rubble and a large wooden box, which lay in the dust maybe a dozen yards from where he stood.

"What is it?" he hissed to Stew-Cat, knowing the creature had no way of replying, but hoping for some sign nevertheless.

Stew-Cat's only answer was to run across the floor and leap nimbly up onto the box, where it began to claw at the wood.

Harvey's curiosity was stronger than his fear, but not so much stronger that he dashed to pull off the lid. He approached as though the box were some sleeping beast, which for all he knew it was. The closer he got the more it resembled a crude coffin; but what kind of coffin was sealed with a padlock? Was this where Carna had been laid, perhaps, after the beast had dragged its wounded body back home? Was it even now listening to Stew-Cat scratch on the lid, waiting for release?

As he came within a yard of the casket, however, he laid eyes on a clue to its contents: an apron string, left hanging out of the box by whoever had locked it. He knew of only one person in the House who wore an apron.

"Mrs. Griffin!" he whispered, digging his fingernails under the lid. "Mrs. Griffin? Are you in there?"

There was a muffled thump from inside.

"I'm going to get you out," he promised, hauling on the lid as hard as he could.

He didn't have the strength to break the lock. In desperation he began to search the cellar, looking for some tool or other, and found himself two sizable rocks. Hefting them, he returned to the casket.

"This is going to be noisy," he warned Mrs. Griffin.

Then, using one stone as a kind of chisel and the other as a hammer, he assaulted the lock. Blue sparks flew as he struck at the metal, but he seemed to be making no impression until, all of a sudden, the lock gave a loud crack and fell to the ground.

He paused for a moment, a feather of doubt brushing his brow. Suppose it was Carna's coffin? Then he threw the rocks aside and hauled off the lid.

XVII

The Bitter Truth

He almost shouted out loud, seeing the terrible state that poor Mrs. Griffin was in. She was staring up at him with wild eyes, her hair pulled out in clawfuls, her face purple with bruises. A foul rag had been stuffed into her mouth. Harvey carefully removed it, and she began to speak, her voice a hoarse whisper.

"Thank you, my sweet, thank you," she said. "But oh, you shouldn't have come back. It's too dangerous here."

"Who did this to you?"

"Jive and Rictus."

"But he ordered it, didn't he?" Harvey said, helping her up. "Don't tell me he's dead, because I know that doesn't matter. Hood's here in the House, isn't he?"

"Yes," she said, holding on to him as she climbed up out of the box. "Yes, he's here. But not in the way you think..." She began to weep, the tears clogging her words.

"It's all right," Harvey said. "Everything's going to be all right."

Her fingers went up to her face, and touched the tears. "I thought...I thought I'd never cry again," she said. "Look what you've done!"

"I'm sorry," said Harvey.

"Oh no, my sweet, don't be sorry. It's wonderful." She smiled through her tears. "You've broken his curse on me."

"What curse?"

"Oh, it's a long story."

"I want to hear."

"I was the first child who ever came to Hood's House," she said. "This was many, many years ago. I was nine when I first walked up the front path. I'd run away from home, you see."

"Why?"

"My cat had died and my father refused to buy me another. And what do you think Rictus gave me the very day I arrived?"

"Three cats," said Harvey.

"You know how this House works, don't you?"

Harvey nodded. "It gives you whatever you think you want."

"And I wanted cats, and a home, and-"

"What?"

"Another father." She shivered with fear, remembering the horror. "I met Hood that night. At least, I heard his voice."

Stew-Cat had come to her feet, and she paused to stoop and gather the creature into her arms.

"Where did you hear him?" Harvey asked.

"In the attic at the top of the House. And he said to me: If you stay here, forever and ever, you'll never die. You'll grow old, but you'll live until the end of time, and never weep again."

"And that's what you wanted?"

"It was stupid, but yes, I did. I was afraid, you see. Afraid of being put into the ground like my cat." A new wave of tears came, running down her pale cheeks. "I was running away from Death-"

"-straight into its House," Harvey said.

"Oh no, child," Mrs. Griffin said. "Hood isn't Death." She wiped away her tears, so as to see Harvey more clearly. "Death is a natural thing. Hood isn't. I would welcome Death now, like a friend I'd driven away from my door. I've seen too much, my sweet. Too many seasons, too many children.