by Shining in the Dark- Celebrating 20 Years of Lilja's Library (retail) (epub)
He recognized several names: Lovecraft, Robert Bloch, Ramsey Campbell, Robert E Howard. Others were unfamiliar to him, and some books didn’t have any writing on the spine, or else the spine had fallen off.
“Sit down,” Oswald said, pointing to his bed. Albert was about to make an acidic comment in response, but thought better of it. He obediently sat down on the bed, which was lumpy and uncomfortable. Oswald took the desk chair, resting his chin on his interlinked fingers. “So?”
Albert took a deep breath, then told him the whole story. The evening they had played the game, the spell he had intoned, the arrival of the creature he suspected of being a star vampire. The way it had followed him wherever he went. He left out the events that had taken place earlier that evening; obviously he would have liked to boast about the fact that he’d had sex with Olivia, but he didn’t want to make Oswald jealous. When he’d finished, he asked: “Do you believe me?”
Oswald nodded slowly. “Yes. Is it here now?”
Albert pointed towards the bookcases. The creature reached almost all the way up to the ceiling; it billowed out into the room, stretching towards Oswald. “There.”
Oswald glanced sideways, then turned his attention back to Albert. “And what was it you wanted to talk about?”
Albert snorted and shook his head. If Oswald believed his story, then his calm demeanor was incomprehensible. The creature’s malevolent presence was on the point of swallowing him up, and yet he was just sitting there. Several disparaging remarks occurred to Albert, but then he thought of Olivia. Of that soft, moist wonderful experience that could be his once more if only he found a way, so instead he said: “I want to know if there’s a spell to get rid of it.”
Oswald stared at him. For a long time. His gaze travelled up from Albert’s loafers to his Acne jeans and his Fred Perry sweatshirt, and finally he looked Albert directly in the eye.
“And if there is,” he said, “why should I tell you?”
* * *
Albert’s parents were home by the time he got back. His father had gone up to bed, while his mother was sitting at the kitchen table with her usual camomile tea. Albert poured himself half a cup, sat down opposite her and asked if the play had been good.
“Yes… Not particularly uplifting, but it was very intense and the acting was excellent. I thought Olivia would still be here—has something happened?”
“No, she just had to go home, that’s all.”
“I saw the prawn shells in the trash…”
“Mmm.”
Silence. Albert sipped his tea. His mother leaned forward, looking concerned. “Are you okay, sweetheart? Is something bothering you?”
Albert kept his eyes fixed on the table. Something was bothering him. Perhaps his defenses had been breached after the evening’s rollercoaster of ecstasy and despair; the words just came out.
“What if I’m… evil?”
His mother frowned. “Why on earth would you be evil, sweetheart? Where’s this come from—is it something to do with that game of yours?”
“No, it’s nothing.” Albert got to his feet. “Night Mom.”
* * *
Albert went into his room, locked the door, connected his phone to his computer and downloaded the pictures he had taken in Oswald’s apartment. He had simply waved his cell phone around and clicked a few times on his way to the front door; Oswald hadn’t noticed a thing.
After running the images through a photo editing program and improving the exposure and definition, the wretchedness of Oswald’s home was crystal clear. Albert had even managed to snap the woman who was presumably Oswald’s mother, and if he wasn’t mistaken, that patch by the sofa was vomit. He adjusted the contrast to make it stand out even more.
Oswald had refused to tell him anything, but had hinted that De Vermis Mysteriis wasn’t an invention at all, but was in fact a real book, and that he might just have a copy. He wouldn’t say another word.
It was obvious that Oswald was ashamed of the conditions in which he lived, and Albert had decided to pressurize him on this sensitive issue in order to make him reveal what he knew. He downloaded the improved images onto his phone and went through them just to check that they were sufficiently humiliating even on the smaller screen. Perfect.
He went to bed, curling up under the duvet that still smelled of what he and Olivia had done, and thought about his final option. If Oswald continued to refuse in spite of everything, then Albert could set the creature onto him. It seemed reasonable to choose Oswald, since he was the only one who understood what it was all about. If Oswald didn’t cooperate, then he would have to take the consequences.
The more Albert thought about it, the less malicious it seemed to him. Oswald had only himself to blame if he didn’t take into account the resources at his opponent’s disposal. All’s fair in love and war, et cetera et cetera.
Albert had grown so used to the creature’s presence in his room that he had consigned the sound it made to a corner of his consciousness where it no longer bothered him. Tonight, however, when he had turned out the light, that demented giggling was unusually clear. As if it really could read his mind, and was looking forward to what tomorrow might bring.
3
THE OPPORTUNITY AROSE during the lunch hour. It was a fine autumn day, the air high and clear, and a lot of the students were outside. Even Oswald, who usually spent recess lurking in the library, was leaning against the post to which the basketball goal was fixed. Albert went over to him.
“So,” he said. “Have you given any more thought to what we talked about yesterday?”
Oswald kicked at a broken hockey stick and shook his head. “Nope. Why should I?”
“So you’re not going to tell me what to do?”
Oswald glanced at Albert. There were dark shadows under his eyes, and when he smiled Albert could see a yellow film covering his teeth, as if he hadn’t cleaned them for quite some time.
“You don’t get it,” he said. “You really don’t get it.”
“Possibly not,” Albert replied, taking out his phone. He clicked on the folder of photographs from Oswald’s apartment and showed him a couple of them. “But I do get the fact that you wouldn’t want me to share these. On Facebook, for example.”
Up until that moment everything had gone according to Albert’s script. Right now Oswald was supposed to look around in horror, beg Albert to put away his phone, then agree to help him. But that wasn’t what happened at all.
Albert began to sense that there might be a problem when Oswald gazed at the pictures with a total lack of interest rather than blind panic, but the real deviation from Albert’s plan occurred when Oswald picked up the hockey stick and slammed it against the basketball post, the sound reverberating around the schoolyard like a church bell.
People turned to see what was going on; Oswald raised his arms, waving like a drowning man, and yelled at the top of his voice; “Hey everyone—come over here! Albert’s got something to show you!”
The students had nothing in particular to do, and were drawn to whatever was going on like wasps to a pot of honey—something sweet to alleviate the boredom.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Albert hissed.
Oswald showed those yellow teeth again. “You’re laboring under a misapprehension, Albert, if you think I have something to lose.”
A circle of interested observers had gathered around them, and Albert realized he was screwed, for the moment at least. He was sufficiently socially aware to know that he couldn’t possibly pass his phone around. Posting pictures on Facebook and adding “Check this out!” in passing was one thing; demonstrating physical responsibility for the action was something else altogether. It would appear mean-spirited, vengeful and downright nasty. Demeaning.
Fortunately getting out of the situation was no problem; all he had to do was dismiss Oswald’s trumpeting as yet another sign of his stupidity. Albert had nothing to show them. There were a lot of people now, including Olivia. Albert tr
ied to catch her eye but she was looking only at Oswald, who had stopped waving his arms. He pointed at Albert and said: “This is Albert—you all know him. Albie. He came ’round to see me last night to ask for my help with something, and when he didn’t get it he took some pictures that he’d like to show you.”
Okay, so that was his game. Clever. One point to Oswald. He had made it impossible for Albert to post the photos online; Albert couldn’t stand here denying that he had any pictures, then share them later on.
For a moment Albert didn’t know what to do. He hadn’t considered this possibility. Or rather impossibility. Oswald’s behavior was so out of character that there was no way Albert could have predicted it, and in the heat of the moment the best he could come up with was: “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about, Oswald. Chill out.”
Oswald did not chill out. The stage belonged to him. In a voice full of a hitherto unsuspected power, he yelled: “My name is Oswald, but most of you probably know me as the Whoopee Cushion. By the way, it was Albert here who came up with that name, along with a whole load of other stuff that you might not remember. But I do.”
The Whoopee Cushion? When was that? Back in seventh grade? It was ages since anyone had called Oswald that, or at least since the beginning of ninth grade. As far as Albert could recall. He stared balefully at Oswald, who had worked himself up so much that a little bit of white foam was visible at the corners of his mouth. Albert rolled his eyes to show that this was nothing to do with him; he was about to walk away when Oswald went on: “Yes, Albie’s very inventive, but not so inventive that he can come up with a way of getting it up, in spite of the fact that he’s with one of the prettiest girls in school.”
Albert glanced at Olivia, who had gone bright red, and the fury of embarrassment surged through his body like poison.
“Be careful!” he hissed at Oswald. “Be very, very careful!”
Apparently ignoring the danger which he must know was threatening him, Oswald continued: “Albie thinks he’s better than everyone else, but if he sees a naked girl his tiny little prick shrivels up like a frightened slug.” A few people laughed, which encouraged Oswald to expand still further. “I mean what do I know, it could be something to do with his mother. She always used to…”
With those words, he crossed the line. Albert didn’t care whether Oswald was crazy or suicidal or whether he really believed he had nothing to lose. He had crossed the line.
Kill him.
Albert formulated the words like a scream inside his head, like letters of fire. The creature loomed up in front of the children’s climbing frame, and in the harsh light Albert could see it shimmering with a clarity he had never experienced before.
Kill him. Suck him dry!
Nothing happened, and Albert was so overwhelmed with boiling rage that he shouted the words out loud, in the direction of the climbing frame: “Kill him! Kill Oswald! Now!”
Silence descended on the assembled students and Albert understood why, realized what he sounded like, but he didn’t care. As long as it happened. But it didn’t happen. Albert’s social radar picked up on the fact that people were edging away, because many of them thought that his murderous exhortation was directed at them. Through the silence came Oswald’s voice, and this time he was addressing Albert directly.
“It wasn’t you, Albert. How stupid can a person be?”
Albert looked at Oswald, whose smile was now so broad that the yellow teeth formed the rictus grin of a predator. A horrible suspicion suddenly struck him. “What are you talking about?”
Deliberately assuming a deep voice, Oswald intoned: “Ph’nglui mglw’nafh Cthulhu R’lyeh… did you really believe all that? A load of made-up crap from the rule book? There are genuine texts, Albert, texts you’ve never seen. But I have.”
The suspicion became a certainty. “It was you who…”
“Yes. It was me.”
The evening when they had played the game. Albert, repeating his made-up incantation with such feeling that he had begun to believe in it himself. Oswald’s lips, moving in what Albert had thought was terror evoked by the power of suggestion, but in fact Oswald had been reciting the real spell. The tears in Oswald’s eyes had been tears of joy at having succeeded, perhaps for the first time.
He is the flame. I am the candle. Which will be consumed.
Albert had to lean on the basketball post for support as everything he had thought he knew was turned upside down. The bell rang, and the crowd began to disperse.
“I don’t understand,” he whispered. “You haven’t… you
haven’t given it a command.”
“Oh yes I have,” Oswald replied. “I told it to watch you. And to kill you when I say so. Or if I should die.”
Albert’s knees gave way and he sank to the ground as he protested feebly: “But. That’s. Two. Things.”
Above his head he heard Oswald laughing. “You mean it should be following the rule book? Pull yourself together, Albert. Grow up.” Oswald patted him on the head. “If I allow you to do so.”
Oswald’s feet disappeared from Albert’s peripheral vision as he headed for the school building. Behind him Albert could feel the creature’s gaze licking his back. Weighing him up. Waiting.
He had thought he was in possession of an ever-present weapon that was his to fire. The weapon was there, it would always be there, but it was Oswald’s finger that was resting on the trigger. From now on Albert would have to live with the knowledge that he could die at any moment. Just like that. Like pressing a button.
When Albert finally managed to raise his head, he felt as if a sandbag weighing several tons had been placed on the back of his neck. All the students had gone to class, except for one person. Felix. His arms were folded across his broad chest. He nodded pensively, unfolded his arms and began to walk towards Albert.
CELEBRATING TWENTY YEARS OF LILJA’S LIBRARY: AN AFTERWORD
I HOPE YOU enjoyed the stories in this book as much as I do. Each and every one of them are special in their own way. And now, before I leave you I want to thank a few people who were essential to this book that you hold in your hands. If not for them, this book and the site might not have happened at all. So please join me as I give them the recognition they so well deserve:
* * *
Stephen King: Thanks for letting me include your story “The Blue Air Compressor” and for giving me something to write about for the last 20 years. And for all the stories!
Jack Ketchum: Thanks for suggesting the “The Net” for this anthology. I’m so happy to have it included.
P.D. Cacek: Thanks for agreeing when Jack suggested “The Net” for the anthology.
Stewart O’Nan: Thanks for joining me in this anthology with your story. It’s an important one!
Bev Vincent: Thanks for letting me be the first to publish your story about the wonderful Aeliana and also for being there with all the answers to whatever questions I have thrown at you for the last 20 years.
Clive Barker: Thanks for letting me publish “Pidgin and Theresa.” It’s one of the strangest and best stories I have ever read.
Brian Keene: Thanks for the story “An End to All Things.” It’s depressing and I totally love it!
Richard Chizmar: Thanks for letting me include your story and for publishing my books.
Kevin Quigley: Thanks for your story, friendship, and support during all these years!
Ramsey Campbell: Thanks for “The Companion.” A great story about one of my favorite subjects.
Edgar Allan Poe: I hope you look down at us from where you are. Thanks for every author you have influenced!
Brian James Freeman: Thanks for offering “A Mother’s Love” and for helping me through all the hurdles with doing a book like this. I couldn’t have done it without you!
John Ajvide Lindqvist: Thanks for writing “The Keeper’s Companion” for my anthology and thanks for involving me with the translation.
Marsha DeFilippo: Thanks for all your h
elp during the last 20 years.
Anders Jakobson: Thanks for all your help with the website. Whatever I have wanted you have delivered. The site wouldn’t be what it is today without you! It might not be at all.
Glenn Chadbourne: Thanks for creating Marv.
Marlaine Delargy: Thanks for a great translation of John’s “The Keeper’s Companion.”
Mark Miller: Thanks for helping me get the rights to use “Pidgin and Theresa.”
ABOUT THE EDITOR
For more than two decades, HANS-ÅKE LILJA has been one of the leading voices on the internet when it comes to covering and reporting on Stephen King’s books and movies. His website, Lilja’s Library, is the die-hard fan’s source for information about new King projects and breaking news, but Lilja has also featured his own in-depth reviews and interviews with the most important people in the master storyteller’s world, including Stephen King himself.
SimonandSchuster.com/authors/Hans-Ake-Lilja/
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