1
Monday the 14th of October, Columbus Day, dawned fair and hot in Castle Rock. The residents grumbled about the heat, and when they met in groups-on the Town Common, at Nan's, on the benches in front of the Municipal Building-they told each other it was unnatural. Probably had something to do with the goddam oil-fires in Kuwait, they said, or maybe that hole in the ozone layer they were always blabbing about on TV. Several of the oldtimers declared it was never seventy degrees at seven o'clock in the morning during the second week of October when they were young.
This wasn't true, of course, and most (if not all) of them knew it; every two or three years you could count on Indian summer to get a little out of hand and there would be four or five days that felt like the middle of July. Then one morning you'd wake up with what felt like a summer cold only to see the front lawn stiff with frost and a snow-flurry or two breezing around in the chilly air.
They knew all this, but as a topic of conversation, the weather was simply too good to ruin by acknowledging it. No one wanted to argue; arguments when the weather turned unseasonably hot were not a good idea. People were apt to get ugly, and if Castle Rock residents wanted a sobering example of what could happen when people got ugly, they only had to look as far as the intersection of Willow and Ford streets.
"Those two wimmin had it comin," Lenny Partridge, the town's oldest resident and premier gossip, opined as he stood on the steps of the bandbox county courthouse which took up the west wing of the Municipal Building. "Both of em crazier'n a pair of rats in a backed-up shithouse. That Cobb woman stuck a meat-fork in her husband, you know." Lenny hitched at the truss beneath his baggy trousers.
"Stuck him just like a pig, she did. Hot damn! Ain't some wimmin crazy?" He looked up at the sky and added: "Hot like this there's apt to be more contention. I seen it before. First thing Sheriff Pangborn ort to do is order Henry Beaufort to keep the Tiger closed until the weather gets normal again."
"That's jake with me, oldtimer," Charlie Fortin said. "I can get my beer at Hemphill's for a day or two and do my drinkin at home."
This earned him laughter from the loose knot of men around Lenny and a fierce scowl from Mr. Partridge himself. The group broke up.
Most of these men had to work, holiday or no holiday.
Already some of the rickety pulp-trucks parked in front of Nan's were pulling out, headed for logging operations in Sweden and Nodd's Ridge and out by Castle Lake.
2
Danforth "Buster" Keeton sat in his study, wearing only his underpants. The underpants were soggy. He hadn't left the room since Sunday evening, when he had made a brief trip down to the Municipal Building. He'd gotten the Bureau of Taxation file and brought it home.
Castle Rock's Head Selectman was oiling his Colt revolver for the third time. At some point this morning he meant to load it. Then he meant to kill his wife. Then he meant to go down to the Municipal Building, find that son of a bitch Ridgewick (he had no idea that it was Norris's day off) and kill him. Last of all, he intended to lock himself in his office and kill himself. He had decided that the only way he could escape the Persecutors forever was by taking these steps.
He had been a fool to think otherwise. Not even a board game which magically picked winners at the race-track could stop Them. Oh no. He had learned that lesson yesterday when he had come home to find those terrible pink slips taped up all over the house.
The telephone on the desk rang. Startled, Keeton squeezed the Colt's trigger. There was a dry snap. If the gun had been loaded, he would have put a bullet spang through the study door.
He scooped the phone up. "Can't you people leave me alone for even a little while?" he shouted angrily.
The quiet voice which replied silenced him at once. It was the voice of Mr. Gaunt, and it poured over Keeton's blistered soul like soothing balm.
?"
"What luck did you have with the toy I sold you, Mr. Keeton "It worked!" Keeton said. His voice was jubilant. He forgot, at least for the moment, that he was planning a strenuous morning of murder and suicide. "I collected on every race, by God!"
"Well, that's fine," Mr. Gaunt said warmly.
Keeton's face clouded again. His voice dropped to what was almost a whisper. "Then... yesterday... when I got home..." He found he could not go on. A moment later he discovered-to his great amazement and even greater delight-that he didn't have to.
"You discovered They had been in your house?" Mr. Gaunt asked.
"Yes! Yes! How did you know?"
"They are everywhere in this town," Mr. Gaunt said.
"I told you that when last we met, did I not?"