Ghost Story by Peter Straub Read Free Book Online Page B

ruffled."

    "Nothing ruffles Lewis. When the Creator made Lewis, he said, 'I am going to give you a handsome face, a good constitution and an equable temperament, but because this is an imperfect world, I'll hold back a little on brains.' He got rich because he liked Spanish fishing villages, not because he knew what was going to happen to them."

    Ricky ignored this—it was all part of the way Sears liked to characterize Lewis. "They started after Edward's death?"

    Sears nodded his massive head.

    "What do you think happened to Edward?"

    Sears shrugged. They had all asked the question too many times. "As you are surely aware, I know no more than you."

    "Do you think we'll be any happier if we find out?"

    "Goodness, what a question! I can't answer that one either, Ricky."

    "Well, I don't. I think something terrible will happen to us. I think you'll bring down disaster on us if you invite that young Wanderley."

    "Superstition," Sears grumbled. "Nonsense. I think something terrible has already happened to us, and this young Wanderley might be the man who can clear it up."

    "Did you read his book?"

    "The second one? I looked at it."

    This was an admission that he had read it.

    "What did you think?"

    "A nice exercise in genre writing. More literary than most. A few nice phrases, a reasonably well-constructed plot."

    "But about his insights ..."

    "I think he won't immediately dismiss us as a bunch of old fools. That's the main thing."

    "Oh, I wish he would," Ricky wailed. "I don't want anybody poking around in our lives. I want things just to keep on going."

    "But it's possible that he will 'poke around,' as you say, and end by convincing us that we are just spooking ourselves. Then maybe Jaffrey will stop scourging himself for that blasted party. He only insisted on it because he wanted to meet that worthless little actress. That Moore girl."

    "I think about that party a lot," Ricky said. "I've been trying to remember when I saw her that night."

    "I saw her," said Sears. "She was talking to Stella."

    "That's what everybody says. Everybody saw her talking to my wife. But where did she go afterward?"

    "You're getting as bad as John. Let's wait for young Wanderley. We need a fresh eye."

    "I think we'll be sorry," said Ricky, trying for one last time. "I think we'll be ruined. We'll be like some animal eating its own tail. We have to put it behind us."

    "It's decided. Don't be melodramatic."

    So that was that. Sears could not be swayed. Ricky asked him about another of the things on his mind. "On our evenings, do you always know what you're going to say in advance, when it's your turn?"

    Sears's eyes met his, marvelously, cloudlessly blue. "Why?"

    "Because I don't. Not most of the time. I just sit and wait, and then it comes to me, like tonight. Is it that way with you?"

    "Often. Not that it proves anything."

    "Is it like that for the others too?"

    "I see no reason why it shouldn't be. Now, Ricky, I want to get some rest and you should go home. Stella must be waiting for you."

    He couldn't tell if Sears were being ironic or not. He touched his bow tie. Bow ties were a part of his life, like the Chowder Society, that Stella barely tolerated. "Where do these stories come from?"

    "From our memories," Sears said. "Or, if you prefer, from our doubtless Freudian unconsciouses. Come on. I want to be left alone. I have to wash all the glasses before I get to bed."

    "May I ask you one more time—"

    "What now?"

    "—not to write to Edward's nephew." Ricky stood up, audacity making his heart speed.

    "You can be persistent, can't you? Certainly you may ask, but by the time we get together again, he will already have my letter. I think it's for the best."

    Ricky made a wry face, and Sears said, "Persistent without being aggressive." It was very much like something Stella would have said. Then Sears startled him by adding, "It's a nice quality, Ricky."

    At the door Sears held his coat while he slipped his arms