The Thief of Always

by Clive Barker

The great gray beast February had eaten Harvey Swick alive.

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

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“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.”

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“Those who’d say that all the great powers in the world are bloodsuckers and soul-stealers at heart. And we must serve them. All of us. Serve them to our dying day.”

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Evil, however powerful it seemed, could be undone by its own appetite.

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“I only took the days you didn’t want,” Hood protested. “The rainy days. The gray days. The days you wished away. Where’s the crime in that?” “I didn’t know what I was losing,” Harvey protested. “Ah,” said Hood softly, “but isn’t that always the way of it? Things slip from your fingers and when they’re gone you regret it. But gone is gone, Harvey Swick!”

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“You came because you knew you’d find a home here,” Hood said. “We’re both thieves, Harvey Swick. I take time. You take lives. But in the end we’re the same: both Thieves of Always.”

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Time would be precious from now on. It would tick by, of course, as it always had, but Harvey was determined he wouldn’t waste it with sighs and complaints. He’d fill every moment with the seasons he’d found in his heart: hopes like birds on a spring branch; happiness like a warm summer sun; magic like the rising mists of autumn. And best of all, love; love enough for a thousand Christmases.

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