that often
spoke to him; it was more that he didn’t always like or even understand the
things Whisperer whispered to him in that rasping, hissing voice that reminded
him of insect wings buzzing inside his head. If asked, Corny couldn’t have said
if the voice was male or female, but of course nobody ever asked because Corny
never told anyone about Whisperer. He figured that people would say he was
crazy if they found out about the voice inside his skull and that Doctor
Jackson might even want to put him back in that mental hospital if he knew
about Whisperer. And Whisperer wouldn’t like that at all. The last thing Corny
wanted was to make Whisperer mad. Bad things happened when Whisperer got mad.
Really bad things. Like the time the voice had told him to shoplift that
bone-handle hunting knife from the Economy Hardware Store. Corny knew stealing
was wrong, though he did like that knife a lot and wouldn’t have minded
owning it and wearing it on his belt. That was the time he had refused to obey
Whisperer and had talked back, saying, “Stealing’s wrong. It’s against the law
and I ain’t gone do it.” Old Man Jones had given him a queer look and come out
from behind the counter to stand right behind Corny. “Who you talking to, Corny?”
Jones asked. Corny said, “Nobody. Just myself.” And Jones said, “You ain’t
thinking of stealing something, are you?” “No, sir,” Corny said. And Old Man
Jones said, “Better go on now if you ain’t fixing to buy something.” Then the
bad thing happened. In a slithery voice Whisperer told— commanded —Corny
to pick up that bone-handle knife, slip it out of its leather sheath and point
it right at Old Man Jones’ big potbelly, which was exactly what Corny did. That
incident had landed Corny in jail, but Chief Chaney let him out after Corny
promised that he would stay out of the hardware store. Luke Chaney was a good
man who understood Corny’s special problems. The chief knew Corny was not a bad
man. But even Chief Chaney wouldn’t have understood about Whisperer. And Chaney
wasn’t Chief anymore. Besides, Corny knew in his gut that Whisperer didn’t want
him to ever tell anybody about Whisperer. And if he ever did spill the beans,
Whisperer would make him suffer for it.
Now, as he stood at the edge of the
killing hole, swaying a little in a rising wind, Corny cocked his head and
tried to hear what Whisperer was saying. The hissing words were garbled but he
could make out the urgent tone in the voice. Whisperer was telling him
something of great importance, but he couldn’t quite make out the words.
“Damnation,” Corny whispered back. “Tell me plain.”
But the whispering stopped
suddenly, the way insects sometimes stop their chittering when something hungry
threatens them. Something hungry , Whisperer hissed. And the darkness
down in the hole thickened like cold gravy and he backed away, his heart
thumping hard in his thin chest and making his ribs tingle. The street lights
of Main Street flickered and dimmed, painting the storefronts and the street
with a sickly light, reminding him of old, old photographs, black & white
but yellowed to brown with age. It was then that Corny knew the darkness itself
was hungry. He had no idea what the dark could be hungry for , but he
sensed that whatever it was, it couldn’t be good, and that it—the dark—was
very, very dangerous.
He turned away and loped down the
street, putting as much distance as he could between himself and the hole of
congealing darkness.
CHAPTER 10—RIDE
OUT THE NIGHT
Luke slipped into his jeans, threw
on a T-shirt and jammed his feet into his boots, then stepped outside, his boot
heels tapping a hollow tattoo on the front porch and rousing Hondo from his
watchdog’s slumber.
“You stay, boy,” he said. Hondo
yawned and watched him with sleepy eyes as he walked to his truck, climbed in
and started the motor. Since he couldn’t sleep, he had decided to ride
spoke to him; it was more that he didn’t always like or even understand the
things Whisperer whispered to him in that rasping, hissing voice that reminded
him of insect wings buzzing inside his head. If asked, Corny couldn’t have said
if the voice was male or female, but of course nobody ever asked because Corny
never told anyone about Whisperer. He figured that people would say he was
crazy if they found out about the voice inside his skull and that Doctor
Jackson might even want to put him back in that mental hospital if he knew
about Whisperer. And Whisperer wouldn’t like that at all. The last thing Corny
wanted was to make Whisperer mad. Bad things happened when Whisperer got mad.
Really bad things. Like the time the voice had told him to shoplift that
bone-handle hunting knife from the Economy Hardware Store. Corny knew stealing
was wrong, though he did like that knife a lot and wouldn’t have minded
owning it and wearing it on his belt. That was the time he had refused to obey
Whisperer and had talked back, saying, “Stealing’s wrong. It’s against the law
and I ain’t gone do it.” Old Man Jones had given him a queer look and come out
from behind the counter to stand right behind Corny. “Who you talking to, Corny?”
Jones asked. Corny said, “Nobody. Just myself.” And Jones said, “You ain’t
thinking of stealing something, are you?” “No, sir,” Corny said. And Old Man
Jones said, “Better go on now if you ain’t fixing to buy something.” Then the
bad thing happened. In a slithery voice Whisperer told— commanded —Corny
to pick up that bone-handle knife, slip it out of its leather sheath and point
it right at Old Man Jones’ big potbelly, which was exactly what Corny did. That
incident had landed Corny in jail, but Chief Chaney let him out after Corny
promised that he would stay out of the hardware store. Luke Chaney was a good
man who understood Corny’s special problems. The chief knew Corny was not a bad
man. But even Chief Chaney wouldn’t have understood about Whisperer. And Chaney
wasn’t Chief anymore. Besides, Corny knew in his gut that Whisperer didn’t want
him to ever tell anybody about Whisperer. And if he ever did spill the beans,
Whisperer would make him suffer for it.
Now, as he stood at the edge of the
killing hole, swaying a little in a rising wind, Corny cocked his head and
tried to hear what Whisperer was saying. The hissing words were garbled but he
could make out the urgent tone in the voice. Whisperer was telling him
something of great importance, but he couldn’t quite make out the words.
“Damnation,” Corny whispered back. “Tell me plain.”
But the whispering stopped
suddenly, the way insects sometimes stop their chittering when something hungry
threatens them. Something hungry , Whisperer hissed. And the darkness
down in the hole thickened like cold gravy and he backed away, his heart
thumping hard in his thin chest and making his ribs tingle. The street lights
of Main Street flickered and dimmed, painting the storefronts and the street
with a sickly light, reminding him of old, old photographs, black & white
but yellowed to brown with age. It was then that Corny knew the darkness itself
was hungry. He had no idea what the dark could be hungry for , but he
sensed that whatever it was, it couldn’t be good, and that it—the dark—was
very, very dangerous.
He turned away and loped down the
street, putting as much distance as he could between himself and the hole of
congealing darkness.
CHAPTER 10—RIDE
OUT THE NIGHT
Luke slipped into his jeans, threw
on a T-shirt and jammed his feet into his boots, then stepped outside, his boot
heels tapping a hollow tattoo on the front porch and rousing Hondo from his
watchdog’s slumber.
“You stay, boy,” he said. Hondo
yawned and watched him with sleepy eyes as he walked to his truck, climbed in
and started the motor. Since he couldn’t sleep, he had decided to ride
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