The Thief of Always

by Clive Barker

“Don’t sit wishing the days away, honey. Life’s too short.”

He went to the mirror, and quizzed it. “What do I want?” The straw-haired, snub-nosed, brown-eyed boy he saw before him shook his head.

“I don’t know what I want,” he said. “I just know I’ll die if I don’t have some fun. I will! I’ll die!”

One moment the light was blazing in his eyes, the next it was flooding the opposite wall. But in between the blaze and the flood it lit the middle of his room, and standing there—shaking the rain off his hat—was a stranger.

“Questions rot the mind!” he hollered as he went. “Keep your mouth shut and we’ll see what comes your way!”

Harvey looked down at Rictus’s bright blue shoes. They were quite a sight, and he said so. “I got given ’em by my boss,” Rictus said. “He’s very happy you’re going to come visit.

Harvey made sure he kept a mental list of landmarks along the way, in case he had to find his way home on his own. A butcher’s shop with two pigs’ heads hanging from hooks; a church with a yard full of old tombs beside it; the statue of some dead general, covered from hat to stirrups in pigeon dung:

“I hate the fog! Just hate it!” he said. “And there’ll be rain by noon. We’ll be out of it, of course…” He went on from talk of rain to the state of the streets. “Look at this trash, all over the sidewalk! It’s shameful! And the mud! It’s making a fine old mess of my shoes!” He had plenty more to say, but none of it was very enlightening, so after a while Harvey gave up listening.

“It looks like a wall,” Harvey said, “but it’s not a wall.” “You’re very observant,” Rictus replied admiringly. “Most people just see a dead end, so they turn around and take another street.”

to say: Where there was nothing, I raised a house. That would be a very fine thing.

“It’s perfect!” Harvey murmured to himself. Mrs. Griffin caught his words. “Nothing’s perfect,” she replied. “Why not?” “Because time passes,” she went on, staring down at the flowers she’d cut. “And the beetle and the worm find their way into everything sooner or later.”

and a cat with a tail hooked like a question mark lapping it up.

“I mean, does nobody control him?” “Ah, well, we all have somebody watching over us, don’t we?” Mrs. Griffin replied. “Whether we like it or not.

Wendell’s answer was the same again: “Who cares?” he said. “I know I don’t.

Harvey liked Wendell’s bad jokes, and that who cares? which found its way into every other sentence.

“She was okay when I first arrived,” Wendell admitted. “I mean, she’s been here months, so she kinda showed me the place. But she’s gotten weird the last few days. I see her sometimes wanderin’ around like she’s sleepwalkin’, with a blank expression on her face.” “She’s probably going crazy,” Harvey said. “Her brain’s turning to mush.”

“Don’t be ashamed to weep,” Mrs. Griffin said. “It’s a wonderful thing. I wish I could still shed a tear or two.”

“You’re sad,” Harvey said. “I can see that.” “What I feel is not quite sadness,” Mrs. Griffin replied. “And it’s not much solace, either, I’m afraid.” “What’s solace?” Harvey asked. “It’s something soothing,” Mrs. Griffin said, getting to her feet. “Something that heals the pain in your heart.” “And you don’t have any of that?” “No, I don’t,” Mrs. Griffin said. She reached out and touched Harvey’s cheek. “Except maybe in these tears of yours. They comfort me.” She sighed as she traced their tracks with her fingers. “Your tears are sweet, child. And so are you.

Now you go out into the light and enjoy yourself. There’s sun on the step, and it won’t be ...

(which was lusher and more thick with flowers than he remembered)

During the hour he’d spent in the cool of the kitchen, the season had changed. Summer had come to Mr. Hood’s Holiday House; a summer as magical as the spring that had preceded it.

It would not be a long season, Harvey guessed. If the spring had been over in a morning, then most likely this perfect summer would not outlast the afternoon. I’d better make the most of it, he thought,

What a life, he thought. No sun to warm them; no flowers to sniff at or games to play. Just the deep, dark waters to circle in; and circle, and circle, and circle.

It made him dizzy just watching, and he feared that if he lingered much longer he’d lose his balance and join them.

“Nobody in their right mind ever goes there.” “I saw Lulu.” “What did I tell you?” Wendell crowed. “Nobody in their right mind.”

“Why would Mr. Hood have fish like that? I mean, everything else is so beautiful. The lawns, the House, the orchard…” “Who cares?” said Wendell.

thinking as he leafed and sipped that maybe Wendell was right, and it was too hot to think. However this miraculous place worked, it seemed real enough. The sun was hot, the soda was cold, the sky was blue, the grass was green. What more did he need to know?

He reached for his soda, but the bottle had fallen over, and the scent of sweet cherry had attracted hundreds of ants. They were crawling over it and into it, many drowning for their greed.

But now, as the drizzle of leaves became a deluge, and the patter of acorns and chestnuts a drumming, he

the House, which had wavered in the heat of the afternoon like a mirage,

reminding himself as he went that questions weren’t welcome here. What did it matter, anyway, he thought, whether this was a real place or a dream? It felt real, and that was all that mattered.

made Harvey gasp: a wall covered from floor to ceiling with masks. “Where did they all come from?” Harvey said as he gaped at this spectacle. “Mr. Hood collects them,” Wendell explained. “And the clothes are just stuff that kids who visited here left behind.”

As he worked through the piles of clothes he found himself wondering about the children who’d left them here. Though he’d always hated history lessons, he knew some of the jackets and shoes and shirts and belts had been out of fashion for many, many years. Where were their owners now? Dead, he presumed, or so old it made no difference. The thought of these garments belonging to dead folk brought a little shudder to his spine,

Harvey looked up at the House through the tiny eyeholes of his mask. It loomed as large as a thunderhead, its weathervane sharp enough to stab the stars.

The House was full of surprises. The trip which would have been a two-minute walk in the bright afternoon—soon became a trek that had Harvey wishing he’d brought a flashlight and a map.

the trees that had shaded them by day now looked frightful in their nakedness, gaunt and hungry.

Harvey could only guess at its shape from the stars it blotted out as it sailed. Its wings were wide, but ragged—too ragged to bear it up, he thought. Instead it seemed to claw at the darkness as it went, as though it were crawling on the very air itself.

“There’ll be other nights.” “Always,” said Wendell. The reply pleased him. “That’s what this place is, “he said, as the light went out. “It’s the House of Always.”

Harvey admitted that he’d fallen for all of them, but there was one that impressed him in particular. “What was that?” said Wendell with a smug grin. “The falling ladder? That was a clever little touch, wasn’t it?” “No, not the ladder,” said Harvey. “What then?” “The thing in the sky.” “Oh that…” “What was it? A kite?” “That wasn’t my doing,” Wendell replied. “What was it then?” “I don’t know,” Wendell said, his smile disappearing. “Better not to ask, eh?”

“But Wendell saw it too. Didn’t you, Wendell?” He looked around at the other boy, who was digging into a steaming plate of turkey and cranberry sauce. “Who cares?” Wendell said, chewing as he spoke. “Just tell her you saw it.” Wendell shrugged. “Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t.

As he spoke he realized he was breaking the rule he’d made on the porch: Whether the winged creature was real or not didn’t matter. This was a place of illusions. Wouldn’t he be happier here if he just stopped questioning what was real and what wasn’t?

You should wish for something.” “Is that what you’re doing?” She shook her head. “No,” she said. “I’ve been here so long I’ve got everything I ever wanted. Would you like to see?”

She obviously had a passion for boxes. Tiny, jeweled boxes; large, carved boxes. A box for her collection of glass balls; a box that played tinkling music; a box into which half a hundred smaller boxes fitted.

“This is where I keep my friends,” Lulu said, and opened the front door. Two bright green lizards came out to greet her, scurrying up her arms onto her shoulders. “The rest are inside,” she said. “Take a look.”

They enjoyed the company of both the lizards and each other for a long while, until Harvey caught a glimpse of his reflection in one of the windows, and remembered what a sight he was. “I’d better go and wash,”

Her honesty made him honest. “I like you too,” he told her. Then, his expression darkening, he said: “I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.” She looked puzzled. “I saw you at the lake,” he said. “Did you?” she replied. “I don’t remember.” “Well anyway, it’s deep. You should be careful. You could slip and fall in.” “I’ll be careful,” she said

With his face washed, and the scratches he’d got from the thorns in the thicket worn like war wounds,

“How did he know?” Harvey murmured. He hadn’t intended the question to be heard, much less answered, but Mrs. Griffin. said: “Mr. Hood knows every dream in your head.”

“But this is perfect,” Harvey said in amazement. “Look, my dad ran out of blue paint when he was finishing the elephants, so one of them has blue eyes and the other one has green eyes. It’s the same. It’s exactly the same.” “Does it please you then?” Mrs. Griffin asked. Harvey said it did, but that wasn’t entirely the truth. It was eerie to have the ark back in his hands when he knew the real one had been lost; as though time had been turned on its heels, and he was a little kid again.

and very soon Harvey began to forget that there was a dull world out beyond the wall, where the great beast February was still sleeping its tedious sleep.