Needful Things

No one’s been here for a long, long time.

But how could that possibly be, when he had seen people going in and out all week long?

Because he’s not a man at all. Because the devil’s voice is sweet to hear.

He took two more steps, using the flashlight to cover the empty room in zones, breathing the dry museum dust which hung in the air. He looked behind him and saw, in a flash of lightning, the tracks of his own feet in the dust. He shone the light back into the store, ran it from right to left along the case which had also served Mr.

Gaunt as a counter… and stopped.

A video-cassette recorder/player sat there, next to a Sony portable TV-one of the sporty models, round instead of square, with a case as red as a fire-engine. A cord was looped around the television.

And there was something on top of the VCR. In this light it looked like a book, but Alan didn’t think that was what it was.

He walked over and trained his light first on the TV. It was as thickly coated with dust as the floor and the glass cases. The cord looped around it was a short length of coaxial cable with a co

A dusty white business envelope lay beside it. Written on the front of the envelope was the message

He set his gun and his flashlight down on the glass counter, took the envelope, opened it, and pulled out the single sheet of paper inside. Then he picked up the flashlight again and trained its powerful circle of light on the short typed message.

Dear Sheriff Pangborn, By now you will have discovered that I am a rather special sort of businessman-the rare sort who actually does try to stock “something for everyone.” I regret that we never were able to meet face-to-face, but I hope you’ll understand that such a meeting would have been very unwise-from my standpoint, at least. Ha-ha! In any event, I have left you a little something which I believe will interest you very muchThis is not a gift-I am not the Santa Claus type at all, as I think you will agree-but everyone in town has assured me that you are an honorable man, and I believe you will pay the price I require. That price includes a little service… a service which is, in your case, more good deed than prank.

I believe you will agree with me, sir.

I know you have wondered long and deeply about what happened during the last few moments of your wife and younger son’s lives. I believe that all these questions will be answered shortly.

Please believe that I wish you only the best, and that I remain Your faithful and obedient servant Leland Gaunt Alan put the paper down slowly. “Bastard!” he muttered.

He shone the light around again, and saw the VCR’s cord trailing down the far side of the case and ending in a plug which lay on the floor several feet from the nearest electric socket. Which was no problem, since the power was out, anyway.

But you know what? Alan thought. I don’t think that matters.

I don’t think it matters one little bit. I think that once I hook the appliances up and plug them in and feed that cassette to the tapeplayer, everything is going to work just fine. Because there’s no way he could have caused the things he’s caused, or know the things he knows… not if he’s human. The devil’s voice is sweet to hear, Alan, and whatever you do, you must not look at what he’s left for you.

Nevertheless, he put the flashlight down again and picked up the coaxial cable. He examined it for a moment, then bent to plug it into the proper receptacle on the back of the TV. The TasteeMunch can tried to slip out of his shirt as he did so. He caught it with one of his nimble hands before it could fall to the floor, and set it on the glass case next to the VCR.

9

Norris Ridgewick was halfway to Needful Things when he suddenly decided he would be crazy-much crazier than he had been already, and that was really going some to tackle Leland Gaunt alone.

He pulled the microphone off its prongs. “Unit Two to Base,” he said. “This is Norris, come back?”

He released the button. There was nothing but a horrid squeal of static. The heart of the storm was directly over The Rock now.

“Fuck it,” he said, and turned toward the Municipal Building.

Alan might be there; if not, someone would tell him where Alan was. Alan would know what to do… and even if he didn’t, Alan would have to hear his confession: he had slashed Hugh Priest’s tires and sent the man to his death simply because he, Norris Ridgewick, had wanted to own a Bazun fishing rod like his good old dad’s.

He arrived at the Municipal Building while the timer under the bridge stood at 5, and parked directly behind a bright yellow van.

A TV newsvan, from the look.

Norris got out in the pouring rain and ran into the Sheriff’s Office to try to find Alan.

Polly swung the cup end of the bathroom plunger at the obscenely rearing spider, and this time it did not flinch away. Its bristly front legs clasped the shaft, and Polly’s hands cried out in agony as it hauled its quivering weight onto the rubber cup. Her grip wavered, the plunger dropped, and suddenly the spider was scrabbling up the handle like a fat man on a tightrope.

She drew in breath to scream and then its front legs dropped onto her shoulders like the arms of some scabrous dime-a-dance Lothario.

Its listless ruby eyes stared into her own. Its fanged mouth dropped open and she could smell its breath-a stink of bitter spices and rotting meat.

She opened her mouth to scream. One of its legs pawed into her mouth. Rough, gruesome bristles caressed her teeth and tongue.

The spider mewled eagerly.

Polly resisted her first instinct to spit the horrid, pulsing thing out. She released the plunger and grabbed the spider’s leg. At the same time she bit down, using all the strength in her jaws.

Something crunched like a mouthful of Life Savers, and a cold bitter taste like ancient tea filled her mouth. The spider uttered a cry of pain and tried to draw back. Bristles slid harshly through Polly’s fists, but she clamped her howling hands tight around the thing’s leg again before it could completely escape… and twisted it, like a woman trying to twist a drumstick off a turkey. There was a tough, gristly ripping noise. The spider uttered another slobbering cry of pain.

It tried to lunge away. Spitting out the bitter dark fluid which had filled her mouth, knowing it would be a long, long time before she was entirely rid of that taste, Polly yanked it back again. Some distant part of her was astounded at this exhibition of strength, but there was another part of her which understood it perfectly. She was afraid, she was revolted but more than anything else, she was angry.

I was used, she thought incoherently. I sold Alan’s life for this!

For this monster!

The spider tried to gnash at her with its fangs, but its rear legs lost their tenuous grip on the shaft of the plunger and it would have fallen… if Polly had allowed it to fall.

She did not. She gripped its hot, bulging body between her forearms and squeezed. She lifted it up so it squirmed above her, its legs twitching and pawing at her upturned face. Juice and black blood began to run from its body and trickle up her arms in burning streamlets.

“NO MORE!” shrieked Polly. “NO MORE, NO MORE, NO MORE!”

She threw it. It struck the tiled wall behind the tub and splattered open in a clot of ichor. It hung up for a moment, pasted in place by its own i