The Thief of Always: A Fable

by Clive Barker

He sat up with a shout and a smile, and either one or the other (and sometimes both) remained on his lips for the rest of the day.

Once he laid eyes on the gloomy waters he almost gave up on the idea of a launching, but that meant admitting something to himself that he didn’t wish to admit, so he headed on down to the shore, found a rock to perch on that looked less precarious than the others, and set his ark on the water.

‘What do I do?’ Harvey said. ‘Do I flap or what?’ ‘Jump!’ Jive said. ‘The wind’ll take care of the rest. Either the wind or gravity.’

‘There are those who’d disagree,’ Jive said darkly. ‘Those who’d say that all the great powers in the world are blood-suckers and soul-stealers at heart. And we must serve them. All of us. Serve them to our dying day.’

Sometimes I’ve wanted to ask one of the children: What year is it in the world outside?’ ‘I can tell you.’ ‘Don’t,’ she said, putting her finger to her lips. ‘I don’t want to know how the years have flown. It would hurt too much.’