Bag of Bones   ::   Кинг Стивен

There was no waxy look of ill health about him, and none of the falling-away in the face, principally around the eyes and in the cheeks, that I associate with encroaching infirmity. “So’re you,” he said, letting go of my hand. “We was all so sorry about Jo, Mike. Folks in town thought the world of her. It was a shock, with her so young. My wife asked if I’d give you her condolences special. Jo made her an afghan the year she had the pneumonia, and Yvette ain’t never forgot it.”

“Thanks,” I said, and my voice wasn’t quite my own for a moment or two. It seemed that on the TR my wife was hardly dead at all. “And thank Yvette, too.”

“Yuh. Everythin okay with the house? Other’n the air conditioner, I mean. Buggardly thing! Them at the Western Auto promised me that part last week, and now they’re saying maybe not until August first.”

“It’s okay. I’ve got my Powerbook. If I want to use it, the kitchen table will do fine for a desk.” And I would want to use it—so many crosswords, so little time. “Got your hot water okay?”

“All that’s fine, but there is one problem.” I stopped. How did you tell your caretaker you thought your house was haunted? Probably there was no good way; probably the best thing to do was to go at it head-on. I had questions, but I didn’t want just to nibble around the edges of the subject and be coy. For one thing, Bill would sense it. He might have bought his false teeth out of a catalogue, but he wasn’t stupid. “What’s on your mind, Mike? Shoot.”

“I don’t know how you’re going to take this, but—” He smiled in the way of a man who suddenly understands and held up his hand. “Guess maybe I know already.”

“You do?” I felt an enormous sense of relief and I could hardly wait to find out what he had experienced in Sara, perhaps while checking for dead lightbulbs or making sure the roof was holding the snow all right.

“What did you hear?”

“Mostly what Royce Merrill and Dickie Brooks have been telling,” he said. “Beyond that, I don’t know much. Me and mother’s been in Virginia, remember. Only got back last night around eight o’clock. Still, it’s the big topic down to the store.” For a moment I remained so fixed on Sara Laughs that I had no idea what he was talking about. All I could think was that folks were gossiping about the strange noises in my house. Then the name Royce Merrill clicked and everything else clicked with it. Merrill was the elderly possum with the gold-headed cane and the salacious wink. Old Four-Teeth. My caretaker wasn’t talking about ghostly noises; he was talking about Mattie Devore.