JК
Bag of Bones :: Кинг Стивен
Страница: 418 из 425Mattie says I’m your littleguy now, she had whispered. Mattie says you’ll take care of me. I was trying to—as much as the fucking slowpokes at Human Services would let me—but the waiting was hard. Frank picked up the Scotch and tilted it in my direction. I shook my head. Ki had her heart set on snowman-making, and I wanted to be able to face the glare of early sun on fresh snow without a headache.
“Frank, how much of this do you actually believe?” He poured for himself, then just sat for a time, looking down at the table and thinking. When he raised his head again there was a smile on his face.
It was so much like Jo’s that it broke my heart. And when he spoke, he juiced his ordinarily faint Boston brogue. “Sure and I’m a half-drunk Irishman who just finished listenin to the granddaddy of all ghost stories on Christmas night,” he said. “I believe all of it, you silly git.” I laughed and so did he. We did it mostly through the nose, as men are apt to do when up late, maybe in their cups a little, and don’t want to wake the house. “Come on—how much really?”
“All of it,” he repeated, dropping the brogue. “Because Jo believed it. And because of her.” He nodded his head in the direction of the stairs so I’d know which her he meant. “She’s like no other little girl I’ve ever seen. She’s sweet enough, but there’s something in her eyes. At first I thought it was losing her mother the way she did, but that’s not it.
There’s more, isn’t there?”
“Yes,” I said. “It’s in you, too. It’s touched you both.” I thought of the baying thing which Jo had managed to hold back while I poured the lye into that rotted roll of canvas. An Outsider, she had called it. I hadn’t gotten a clear look at it, and probably that was good. Probably that was very good. “Mike?” Frank looked concerned. “You’re shivering.”
“I’m okay,” I said. “Really.”
“What’s it like in the house now?” he asked. I was still living in Sara Laughs. I procrastinated until early November, then put the Derry house up for sale. “Quiet.”
“Totally quiet?” I nodded, but that wasn’t completely true. On a couple of occasions I had awakened with a sensation Mattie had once mentioned—that there was someone in bed with me. But not a dangerous presence. On a couple of occasions I have smelled (or thought I have) Red perfume. And sometimes, even when the air is perfectly still, Bunter’s bell will shiver out a few notes. It’s as if something lonely wants to say hello. Frank glanced at the clock, then back at me, almost apologetically.
“Frank, how much of this do you actually believe?” He poured for himself, then just sat for a time, looking down at the table and thinking. When he raised his head again there was a smile on his face.
It was so much like Jo’s that it broke my heart. And when he spoke, he juiced his ordinarily faint Boston brogue. “Sure and I’m a half-drunk Irishman who just finished listenin to the granddaddy of all ghost stories on Christmas night,” he said. “I believe all of it, you silly git.” I laughed and so did he. We did it mostly through the nose, as men are apt to do when up late, maybe in their cups a little, and don’t want to wake the house. “Come on—how much really?”
“All of it,” he repeated, dropping the brogue. “Because Jo believed it. And because of her.” He nodded his head in the direction of the stairs so I’d know which her he meant. “She’s like no other little girl I’ve ever seen. She’s sweet enough, but there’s something in her eyes. At first I thought it was losing her mother the way she did, but that’s not it.
There’s more, isn’t there?”
“Yes,” I said. “It’s in you, too. It’s touched you both.” I thought of the baying thing which Jo had managed to hold back while I poured the lye into that rotted roll of canvas. An Outsider, she had called it. I hadn’t gotten a clear look at it, and probably that was good. Probably that was very good. “Mike?” Frank looked concerned. “You’re shivering.”
“I’m okay,” I said. “Really.”
“What’s it like in the house now?” he asked. I was still living in Sara Laughs. I procrastinated until early November, then put the Derry house up for sale. “Quiet.”
“Totally quiet?” I nodded, but that wasn’t completely true. On a couple of occasions I had awakened with a sensation Mattie had once mentioned—that there was someone in bed with me. But not a dangerous presence. On a couple of occasions I have smelled (or thought I have) Red perfume. And sometimes, even when the air is perfectly still, Bunter’s bell will shiver out a few notes. It’s as if something lonely wants to say hello. Frank glanced at the clock, then back at me, almost apologetically.