as well.
It will try to bargain, he said. Don’t let it. And then he told me what to do, probably thinking that the only thing I had to confront was some neurosis or complex or whatever psychological thing you want to call it.
“Not good enough,” I said, and went on hugging.
I could see more and more into Therriault, and realized he really was a ghost. Probably all dead people are and I just saw them as solid. The more insubstantial he became, the brighter that darklight—that deadlight—shone. I don’t have any idea what it was. I only knew I had caught it, and there’s an old saying that goes he who takes a tiger by the tail dare not let go.
The thing inside Therriault was worse than any tiger.
“What do you want?” Gasping it. There was no breath in him, I surely would have felt it on my cheek and neck if there had been, but he was gasping just the same. In worse shape than I was, maybe.
“It’s not enough for you to stop haunting me.” I took a deep breath and said what Professor Burkett had told me to say, if I was able to engage my nemesis in the Ritual of Chüd. And even though the world was shivering around me, even though this thing had me in a death grip, it gave me pleasure to say it. Great pleasure. Warrior’s pleasure.
“Now I’ll haunt you.”
“No!” Its grip tightened.
I was squeezed against Therriault even though Therriault was now nothing but a supernatural hologram.
“Yes.” Professor Burkett told me to say something else if I got the chance. I later found out it was the amended title of a famous ghost story, which made it very fitting. “Oh, I’ll whistle and you’ll come to me, my lad.”
“No!” It struggled. That vile pulsing light made me feel like puking, but I held on.
“Yes. I’ll haunt you as much as I want, whenever I want, and if you don’t agree I’ll hold onto you until you die.”
“I can’t die! But you can!”
That was undoubtedly true, but at that moment I had never felt stronger. Plus, all the time Therriault was fading and he was that deadlight’s toehold in our world.
I said nothing. Only clutched. And Therriault clutched me. It went on like that. I was getting cold, feet and hands losing sensation, but I held on. I meant to hold on forever if I had to. I was terrified of the thing that was inside Therriault, but it was trapped. Of course I was also trapped; that was the nature of the ritual. If I let go, it won.
At last it said, “I agree to your terms.”
I loosened my grip, but only a little. “Are you lying?” A stupid question, you might say, except it wasn’t.
“I can’t.” Sounding slightly petulant. “You know that.”
“Say it again. Say you agree.”
“I agree to your terms.”
“You know that I can haunt you?”
“I know, but I’m not afraid of you.”
Bold words, but as I’d already found out, Therriault could make as many untrue statements as he—it—wanted to. Statements weren’t answers to questions. And anybody who has to say they’re not afraid is lying. I didn’t have to wait until later to learn that, I knew it at thirteen.
“Are you afraid of me?”
I saw that cramped expression on Therriault’s face again, as if he was tasting something sour and unpleasant. Which was probably how telling the truth felt to the miserable son of a bitch.
“Yes. You’re not like the others. You see.”
“Yes what?”
“Yes I’m afraid of you!”
Sweet!
I let him go. “Get out of here, whatever you are, and go to wherever you go. Just remember if I call you, you come.”
He whirled around, giving me one final look at the gaping hole in the left side of his head. He grabbed at the door-knob. His hand went through it and didn’t go through it. Both at the same time. I know it’s crazy, a paradox, but it happened. I saw it. The knob turned and the door opened. At the same time the overhead light blew out and glass tinkled down from the fixture. There were a dozen or so mailboxes in the foyer, and half of them popped open. Therriault gave me one last hateful look over his bloody shoulder, and then he was gone, leaving the front door open. I saw him go down the steps, not so much running as plunging. A guy speeding past on a bike, probably a messenger, lost his balance, fell