Secret Story by Ramsey Campbell Read Free Book Online Page A

a teenager. It was awful.”
    “I was never sure if it was meant to be you,” Kathy said. “Were you really so lonely? Did you honestly think girls couldn’t see how much there was to you? There wasn’t actually a girl who laughed at you when you went to kiss her, was there?”
    “It was a story like all my stories.” That didn’t quite rid him of it, and so he demanded “When are we doing the photograph?”
    “We can now if you’d like a break from being questioned.”
    The photographer unzipped his bag and cocked his head at Kathy. “Can I borrow a knife? The biggest you’ve got,” he said and passed Dudley the carving knife she gave him. “Come at me with this. Try and look dangerous.”
    Dudley was resisting temptation when Kathy said “Is that necessary? He’s a writer, not a murderer.”
    As Dudley dropped the knife on the table Patricia said “How about where you write?”
    “Let me just run and tidy up a bit,” Kathy intervened. “I shouldn’t be long.”
    “You’ve messed about in my room enough. You can’t go in there any more.”
    As the photographer narrowed his eyes Patricia said “Maybe I’ve got a solution.”
    “I do hope so,” Dudley’s mother said in more words than he would have used.
    Patricia took a phone from her handbag and thumbed a stored number. “Walt? Patricia . . . Fine so far, but I was wondering about the photo . . . I thought we could wait till he meets Vincent, if Tom doesn’t mind.”
    “Tom won’t have to,” the photographer said, zipping his bag shut.
    “He is. I’ll put him on.”
    Dudley was eager to see Tom being reprimanded for his comment, and was thrown when Patricia handed him the mobile. It carried the warmth of her cheek and the faintest scent of soap. He held it away from his face to say “Hello?” and more forcefully “This is Dudley Smith.”
    “How’s the star?” an unexpectedly American voice enquired. “We’re all anxious to meet you, one of us in particular.”
    “You, you mean.”
    “Nobody more so but no, not me right now. A young moviemaker called Vincent Davis. He’s made a bunch of short movies around Liverpool that we’re giving away with our first issue. He’s fired up to make a feature, which is why you need to get together pronto.”
    “Why do I, do we?”
    “For the movie of your story. He wants more ideas from you.”
    In an instant Dudley’s brain was empty of ideas and even of words he could risk uttering. He was gazing at the display that appeared to be built of fragments of charred matchsticks, as if it could somehow help him think, when the mobile said “Let’s plan for the world to know your name and Vincent’s by the timewe’re through. He’s away this weekend, but I’ll track him down. See you very soon. Let me have Patricia.”
    “It’s fixed, then?” she asked the phone. “Good enough,” she said and dropped the mobile in her handbag. “Shall we continue?”
    “I don’t want to answer any more questions,” Dudley blurted. “I’ve got one. Suppose I don’t want my story filmed?”
    “I think you’ve given us the right, if you remember what you signed.”
    Dudley would have shouted that he didn’t, but Patricia was swifter. “Thanks for looking after us, Kathy. It was good to meet you both.”
    Dudley watched his mother let her and Tom out of the house, and then he used the carving-knife to flick typescripts aside. “Do be careful,” Kathy said as she rejoined him. “You don’t want to hurt anyone with that.”
    He felt the blade nick the margin of a story and imagined it cutting into flesh. The contract with the magazine was almost at the bottom of the pile.
All subsidiary rights, including reprint, translation, cartoon, merchandising, electronic, motion picture, television, dramatic
—his gaze fled across the text until several phrases arrested it—
will be negotiated by the Publisher and/or their Agents on behalf of the Author, all proceeds to be shared equally between the