Tonight that power was his... if he dared to use it. If he dared to stand and be true. "And I'm telling you for the last time that you're going without this."
"They'll die without me!" the Gaunt-thing moaned. Now its hands hung between its legs; long claws clicked and clittered in the scattered debris which lay ir, the street. "Every single one of them will die without me, like plants without water in the desert. Is that what you want? Is it?"
Polly was with Alan then, pressed against his side. "Yes," she said coldly. "Better that they die here and now, if that's what has to happen, than that they go with you and live. They-we-did some lousy things, but that price is much too high." The Gaunt-thing hissed and shook its claws at them. Alan picked up the bag and backed slowly into the street with
Polly by his side. He raised the fountain of light-flowers so that they cast an amazing, revolving glow upon Mr. Gaunt and his Tucker Talisman. He pulled air into his chest-more air than his body had ever contained before, it seemed. And when he spoke, the words roared from him in a vast voice which was not his own.
"GO HENCE, DEMON! YOU ARE CAST OUT FROM THIS PLACE!"
The Gaunt-thing screamed as if burned by scalding water.
The green awning of Needful Things burst into flame and the showwindow blew inward, its glass pulverized to diamonds. From above Alan's closed hand, bright rays of radiance blue, red, green, orange, deep-hued violet-struck out in every direction. For a moment a tiny, exploding star seemed balanced on his fist.
The hyena-hide valise burst open with a rotted pop, and the trapped, wailing voices escaped in a vapor which was not seen but felt by all of them-Alan, Polly, Norris, Seaton.
Polly felt the hot, sinking poison in her arms and chest disappear.
The heat slowly gathering around Norris's heart dissipated.
All over Castle Rock, guns and clubs were cast down; people looked at each other with the wondering eyes of those who have awakened from a dreadful dream.
And the rain stopped.
17
Still screaming, the thing which had been Leland Gaunt hopped and scrambled across the sidewalk to the Tucker. it pulled the door open and flopped behind the wheel. The motor screamed into life.
It was not the sound of any engine made by human hands. A long lick of orange fire belched from the exhaust pipe. The tail lights flared and they were not red glass but ugly little eyes-the eyes of cruel imps.
Polly Chalmers screamed and turned her face against Alan's shoulder, but Alan could not turn away. Alan was doomed to see and to remember all his life what he saw, as he would remember the night's brighter marvels: the paper snake that became momentarily real, the paper flowers that had turned into a bouquet of light and a reservoir of power.
The three headlights blazed on. The Tucker backed out into the street, smoking the macadam beneath its tires to boiling gooit screamed around in a reverse turn to the right, and although it did not touch Alan's car, the station wagon flew backward several feet just the same, as if repelled by some powerful magnet. The front end of the Talisman had begun to glow with a foggy white radiance, and beneath this glow it seemed to be changing and reforming itself The car shrieked, pointing downhill toward the boiling cauldron which had been the Municipal Building, the litter of smashed cars and vans, and the roaring stream that no bridge spanned. The engine cranked up to insane revs, souls howling in a discordant frenzy, and the bright, misty glow began to spread backward, engulfing the car.
For one single moment the Gaunt-thing looked out the drooping, melting driver's-side window at Alan, seeming to mark him forever with its red, lozenge-shaped eyes, and its mouth opened in a yawning snarl.
Then the Tucker began to roll.
It picked up speed as it went downhill, and the changes picked up speed, as well. The car melted, rearranged itself The roof peeled backward, the shiny hubcaps grew spokes, the tires grew simultaneously higher and thinner. A form began to extrude itself from the remains of the Tucker's grille. It was a black horse with eyes as red as Mr.
Gaunt's, a horse encased in a milky shroud of brightness, a horse whose hooves struck up fire from the pavement and left deep, smoking tracks impressed in the center of the street.
The Talisman had become an open buckboard with a hunchbacked dwarf sitting up high on the seat. The dwarf's boots were propped on the splashboard, and the caliph-curled toes of those boots appeared to be on fire.
And still the changes were not done. As the glowing buckboard raced toward the lower end of Main Street, the sides began to grow; a wooden roof with overhanging eaves knit itself out of that nourishing protean shroud. A window appeared. The spokes of the wheels took on ghostly flashes of color as the wheels themselvesand the hooves of the black horse-left the pavement.
The Talisman had become a buckboard; the buckboard now became a medicine-show wagon of the sort which might have crisscrossed the country a hundred years ago. There was a legend written on the side, and Alan could just make it out.
CAVEAT EMPTOR