The Grin of the Dark by Ramsey Campbell Page B

up Leave 'Em Laughing , and you can just see him in a car at
the end if you look.'
    'And after that?'
    'He tried to give Stan Laurel more ideas but the story goes they
were too much for Stan, so Tubby went off with a circus.' Behind
Tracy the surface of the moor shifts like an image left too long
onscreen, and the van emits another creak. 'He's meant to have said
he wanted to get back to the start,' he says.
    'I thought he started in the music-hall.' Since Tracy only lets his
bottom lip droop as some kind of response, I try asking 'Where did
you hear about it?'
    'From a lad by the name of Shaun Nolan that sold me Tubby's
film.'
    'Would it be worth my speaking to him, do you think?'
    'Want to go and see him?' Tracy jumps up as if he has been
hooked by the corners of his sudden grin. 'I've had my sit,' he says
and peers at my lack of alacrity. 'Nothing to keep us here that I know
of.'
    'Will you be showing me anything of Tubby's later?'
    His grin subsides, and then his eyes glimmer. 'You want to see
what his act was like.'
    'Anything you can put on for me would – '
    I don't just leave the word unspoken, I forget what it was going to
be. Tracy has stepped back on the concrete stage and is clutching his
stomach with both hands. I think he's in pain until I see that he's
quivering with silent laughter. At first he pinches his lips together to
arrest his grin and confine his mirth. Very gradually his lips part as if
he's losing control of them, baring his teeth. There's still no sound
from him or anywhere on the moor. His mouth gapes so wide it can
barely hold on to the shape of the grin, and his eyes bulge with an
unblinking gaze that sets my head throbbing in sympathy. I'm
wondering how loud and sharp and huge his laughter may seem
whenever it bursts forth at last. I feel compelled to head it off, but I
don't think simple merriment will do it, although I can sense helpless
mirth building up inside the dam of my clenched teeth. Perhaps I have
to perform some routine that will lend his voiceless jollity a point, and
I leap up from the bench. I'm not sure whether I'm yielding to the
compulsion to amuse him or retreating from it when my knee collides
with the table.
    I squeeze my eyes shut as a preamble to hopping about and then
rubbing my kneecap. If my antics divert Tracy, that makes me even
angrier. When I straighten up and blink my vision clear, however, he
looks merely bemused, as if his own performance that lasted however
many minutes never took place. 'Was that it?' I ask.
    His mouth considers grinning and his eyes widen a fraction. 'Want
some more?'
    'I think we can move on. Would you mind if I ride in the front this
time?'
    'I'm not letting the projector out of my sight. It's my oldest mate
and my best one.' He stumps to the back of the van and waits for me
to climb in. 'It's not far,' he says, and I'm hardly inside when he slams
the doors and leaves me in the dark.

ELEVEN - INTERMENTS
    I'm back in the corner when the van swings out of the lay-by. At
least it's heading downhill. I brace myself, because it feels as if it's
straying back and forth across the road. A car rushes past, and
another, or are they gusts of wind across the moor? Here's one so
violent and prolonged it seems almost to force the van into the
ditch, but it could be a lorry that's passing too close. I flatten my
hands against the metal walls until it relents. A series of vehicles
races by, unless they're sections of wall or other objects alongside
the road. The sounds are settling into a rhythm that reminds me of
waves or breaths; in the darkness it's nearly hypnotic. The sounds
are growing louder only because I'm more aware of them. They
aren't inside the van, either shut in with me or accompanying the
driver. But there is a noise in his cabin, and the van jerks as if
expressing my alarm.
    It's the two-note pulse of a mobile receiving a text. I hope Tracy
won't attempt to read it while he's driving, but the van swerves so
abruptly that I'm afraid he's