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 connector at either end. Alan moved his light to the thing on top of the VCR, the thing which wasn't a book but a video cassette in an unmarked black plastic case.
A dusty white business envelope lay beside it. Written on the front of the envelope was the message
ATTENTION SHERIFF ALAN PANGBORN.
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.