It

‘Tell me the rest,’ she said. ‘Who killed your brother George? What did you and these other children do? What did you promise?’
He went to her, knelt before her like an oldfashioned suitor about to propose marriage, and took her hands.
‘I think I could tell you,’ he said softly. ‘I think that if I really wanted to, I could. Most of it I don’t remember even now, but once I started talking it would come. I can sense those memories . . . waiting to be born. They’re like clouds filled with rain. Only this rain would be very dirty. The plants that grew after a rain like that would be monsters. Maybe I can face that with the others — ‘
‘Do they know?’
‘Mike said he called them all. He thinks they’ll all come . . . except maybe for Stan. He said Stan sounded strange.’
‘It all sounds strange to me. You’re frightening me very badly, Bill.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, and kissed her. It was like getting a kiss from an utter stranger. She found herself hating this man Mike Hanlon. ‘I thought I ought to explain as much as I could; I thought that would be better than just creeping off into the night. I suppose some of them may do just that. But I have to go. And I think Stan will be there, no matter how strange he sounded. Or maybe that’s just because I can’t imagine not going myself.’
‘Because of your brother?’
Bill shook his head slowly. ‘I could tell you that, but it would be a lie. I loved him. I know how strange that must sound after telling you I haven’t thought of him in twenty years or so, but I loved the hell out of that kid.’ He smiled a little. ‘He was a spasmoid, but I loved him. You know?’
Audra, who had a younger sister, nodded. ‘I know.’
‘But it isn’t George. I can’t explain what it is. I . . . ‘
He looked out the window at the morning fog.
‘I feel like a bird must feel when fall comes and it knows . . . somehow it just knows it has to fly home. It’s instinct, babe . . . and I guess I believe instinct’s the iron skeleton under all our ideas of free will. Unless you’re willing to take the pipe or eat the gun or take a long walk off a short dock, you can’t say no to some things. You can’t refuse to pick up your option because there is no option. You can’t stop it from happening any more than you could stand at home plate with a bat in your hand and let a fastball hit you. I have to go. That promise . . . it’s in my mind like a fuh-fishhook.’
She stood up and walked herself carefully to him; she felt very fragile, as if she might break. She put a hand on his shoulder and turned him to her.
‘Take me with you, then.’
The expression of horror that dawned on his face then — not horror of her but for her — was so naked that she stepped back, really afraid for the first time.
‘No,’ he said. ‘Don’t think of that, Audra. Don’t you ever think of that. You’re not going within three thousand miles of Derry. I think Derry’s going to be a very bad place to be during the next couple of weeks. You’re going to stay here and carry on and make all the excuses for me you have to. Now promise me that!’
‘Should I promise?’ she asked, her eyes never leaving his. ‘Should I, Bill?’
‘Audra — ‘
‘Should I? You made a promise, and look what it’s got you into. And me as well, since I’m your wife and I love you.’
His big hands tightened painfully on her shoulders. ‘Promise me! Promise! P-Puh-Puh-Pruh-huh — ‘
And she could not stand that, that broken word caught in his mouth like a gaffed and wriggling fish.
‘I promise, okay? I promise!’ She burst into tears. ‘Are you happy now? Jesus! You’re crazy, the whole thing is crazy, but I promise!’
He put an arm around her and led her to the couch. Brought her a brandy. She sipped at it, getting herself under control a little at a time.
‘When do you go, then?’
‘Today,’ he said. ‘Concorde. I can just make it if I drive to Heathrow instead of taking the train. Freddie wanted me on-set after ranch. You go on ahead at nine, and you don’t know anything, you see?’
She nodded reluctantly.
‘I’ll be in New York before anything shows up funny. And in Derry before sundown, with the right c-c-connections.’
‘And when do I see you again?’ she asked softly.
He put an arm around her and held her tightly, but he never answered her question.
‘How many human eyes passage of years?’
had snatched glimpses of their secret anatomies, down the
— Clive Barker, Books of Blood
The segment below and all other Interlude segments are drawn from ‘Derry: An Unauthorized Town History,’ by Michael Hanlon. This is an unpublished set of notes and accompanying fragments of manuscript (which read almost like diary entries) found in the Derry Public Library vault. The title given is the one written on the cover of the looseleaf binder in which these notes were kept prior to their appearance here. The author, however, refers to the work several times within his own notes as ‘Derry: A Look Through Hell’s Back Door.’