The few children in attendance began to cry. Men roared out cries of mingled disgust and bewilderment.
"Don!" Rev. Rose cried in a prissy, surprised voice. His arms were still raised, but as Don Hemphill neared the pulpit, Rose lowered them and involuntarily clapped one hand over his nose and mouth. He thought he might vomit. It was the most incredible nose-buster of a stink he had ever encountered. "What... what has happened?"
"Happened?" Don Hemphill roared. "Happened? I'll tell you what happened! I'll tell you all what happened!"
He wheeled on the congregation, and in spite of the stink which both clung to him and spread out from him, they grew still as his furious, maddened eyes fell upon them.
"The sons of bitches stink-bombed my store, that's what happened!
There weren't more than half a dozen people there because I put up a sign saying I was closing early, and thank God for that, but the stock is ruined! All of it! Forty thousand dollars' worth!
Ruined! I don't know what the bastards used, but it's going to stink for days!"
"Who?" Rev. Rose asked in a timorous voice. "Who did it, Don?"
Don Hemphill reached into the pocket of his apron. He brought out a curved black band with a white notch in it and a stack of leaflets.
The band was a Roman collar. He held it up for them all to see.
"WHO THE HELL DO YOU THINK?" he screamed. "My store!
My stock! All shot to hell, and who do you think?"
He threw the leaflets at the stunned members of The Baptist Anti-Gambling Christian Soldiers. They separated in the air and fluttered down like confetti. Some of those present reached out and grabbed ' at them. Each one was the same; each showed a crowd of laughing men and women standing around a roulette table.
JUST FOR FUN!
it said over the picture. And, below it:
JOIN US FOR "CASINO NITE"
AT THE KNIGHTS OF COLUMBUS HALL
OCTOBER 31, 1991
TO BENEFIT THE CATHOLIC BUILDERS' FUND "Where did you find these pamphlets, Don?" Len Milliken asked in a rumbling, ominous voice.
"And this collar?"
"Somebody put them inside the main doors," Don said, "just before everything went to he-" The vestibule door boomed again, making them all jump, only this time it was not opening but closing.
"Hope you like the smell, you Baptist faggots!" someone shouted.
This was followed by a burst of shrill, nasty laughter.
The congregation stared at Rev. William Rose with frightened eyes. He stared back at them with eyes which were equally frightened.
And that was when the box hidden ill the choir suddenly began to hiss.
Like the box placed in the Daughters of Isabella Hall by the late Myrtle Keeton, this one (planted by Sonny jackett, now also late) contained a timer which had ticked all afternoon.
Clouds of incredibly potent stink began to pour out of the grilles set into the sides of the box.
At The United Baptist Church of Castle Rock, the fun had just begun.
3
Babs Miller skulked along the side of the Daughters of Isabella Hall, freezing in place each time a blue-white flash of lightning smoked across the sky. She had a crowbar in one hand and one of Mr.
Gaunt's automatic pistols in the other. The music box she had bought at Needful Things was tucked into one pocket of the man's overcoat she wore, and if anyone tried to steal it, that person was going to eat an ounce or so of lead.
Who would want to do such a low, nasty, mean thing? Who would want to steal the music box before Babs could even find out what tune it played?
Well, she thought, let's just put it this way-I hope Cyndi Rose Martin doesn't show her face in front of mine tonight. If she does, she isn't ever going to show her face again anywhere-not on this side of hell, anyway. What does she think I am... stupid?
Meanwhile, she had a little trick to perform. A prank. At Mr.
Gaunt's request, of course.
Do you know Betsy Vigue? Mr. Gaunt had asked. You do, don't you?
Of course she did. She had known Betsy ever since grade school, when they were often hall-monitors together and inseparable comrades.
Good. Watch through the window. She will sit down. She will pick up a piece of paper, and see something beneath it.
What? Babs had asked, curious.
Never mind what. If you ever expect to find the key that unlocks the music box, you had better just shut your mouth and open your ears-do you understand, dear?
She had understood. She understood something else, as well.
Mr. Gaunt was a scary man sometimes. A very scary man.
She'll pick up the thing she's found. She'll examine it. She'll begin to open i't. By then you should be by the door to the building.
Walt until e eryone looks around toward the left rear of the hall.
Babs had wanted to ask why they would all do that, but decided it would be safer not to ask.
When they turn to look, you will slip the crowbar's split end under the doorknob. Prop the other end against the ground. Wedge it firmly.
When do I shout? Babs had asked.