Alan stared at him, trying to look unbelieving and contemptuous while his heart hammered away wildly in his chest. “Don’t you understand yet? Don’t you get it? You lose, Have you forgotten how to deal with that?”
Gaunt stood looking at Alan for a long second, and then he nodded'I knew I was wise to avoid you,” he said. He almost seemed to be speaking to himself. “I knew it very well. All right. You win.” He began to turn away; Alan relaxed slightly. “I’ll go-” He turned back, quick as a snake himself, so quick he made Alan look slow. His face had changed again; its human aspect was entirely gone. it was the face of a demon now, with long, deeply scored cheeks and drooping eyes that blazed with orange fire! But NOT WITHOUT MY PROPERTY!” he screamed, and leaped for the bag.
Somewhere-close by or a thousand miles away-Polly shrieked, “Look out, Alan!” but there was no time to look out; the demon, smelling like a mixture of sulphur and fried shoeleather, was upon him. There was only time to act or time to die.
Alan passed his right hand down the inside of his left wrist, groping for the tiny elastic loop protruding from his watchband.
Part of him was announcing that this would never work, even another miracle of transmutation couldn’t save him this time, because the Folding Flower Trick was used up, it wasHis thumb slipped into the loop.
The tiny paper packet snapped out. Alan thrust his hand forward, sliding the loop free for the last time as he did so.
“ABRACADABRA, YOU LYING FUCK!” he cried, and what suddenly bloomed in his hand was not a bouquet of ’ flowers but a blazing bouquet of light that lit Upper Main Street with a fabulous, shifting radiance. Yet he realized the colors rising from his fist in an incredible fountain were one color, as all the colors translated by a glass prism or a rainbow in the air are one color. He felt a jolt of power run up his arm, and for a moment he was filled with a great and incoherent ecstasy: The white! The coming of the white!
Gaunt howled with pain and rage and fear… but did not back away. Perhaps it was as Alan had suggested: it had been so long since he had lost the game that he had forgotten how. He tried to dive in below the bouquet of light shiminering over Alan’s closed hand, and for just a moment his fingers actually touched the handles of the valise between Alan’s feet.
Suddenly a foot clad in a bedroom slipper appeared-Polly’s foot.
She stamped down on Gaunt’s hand. “Leave it alone!” she screamed.
He looked up, snarling… and Alan)jammed the fistful of radiance into his face. Mr. Gaunt gave voice to a long, gibbering wail of pain and fear and scrabbled backward with blue fire dancing in his hair. The long white fingers made one final effort to seize the handles of the valise, and this time it was Alan who stamped on them.
“I’m telling you for the last time to get out,” he said in a voice he did not recognize as his own. It was too strong, too sure, too full of power. He understood he probably could not put an end to the thing which crouched before him with one cringing hand raised to shield its face from the shifting spectrum of light, but he could make it be gone.
Tonight that power was his… if he dared to use it. If he dared to stand and be true. “And I’m telling you for the last time that you’re going without this.”
“They’ll die without me!” the Gaunt-thing moaned. Now its hands hung between its legs; long claws clicked and clittered in the scattered debris which lay ir, the street. “Every single one of them will die without me, like plants without water in the desert. Is that what you want? Is it?”
Polly was with Alan then, pressed against his side. “Yes,” she said coldly. “Better that they die here and now, if that’s what has to happen, than that they go with you and live. They-we-did some lousy things, but that price is much too high.” The Gaunt-thing hissed and shook its claws at them. Alan picked up the bag and backed slowly into the street with
Polly by his side. He raised the fountain of light-flowers so that they cast an amazing, revolving glow upon Mr. Gaunt and his Tucker Talisman. He pulled air into his chest-more air than his body had ever contained before, it seemed. And when he spoke, the words roared from him in a vast voice which was not his own.
'GO HENCE, DEMON! YOU ARE CAST OUT FROM THIS PLACE!”
The Gaunt-thing screamed as if burned by scalding water.
The green awning of Needful Things burst into flame and the showwindow blew inward, its glass pulverized to diamonds. From above Alan’s closed hand, bright rays of radiance blue, red, green, orange, deep-hued violet-struck out in every direction. For a moment a tiny, exploding star seemed balanced on his fist.
The hyena-hide valise burst open with a rotted pop, and the trapped, wailing voices escaped in a vapor which was not seen but felt by all of them-Alan, Polly, Norris, Seaton.
Polly felt the hot, sinking poison in her arms and chest disappear.
The heat slowly gathering around Norris’s heart dissipated.
All over Castle Rock, guns and clubs were cast down; people looked at each other with the wondering eyes of those who have awakened from a dreadful dream.
And the rain stopped.
17
Still screaming, the thing which had been Leland Gaunt hopped and scrambled across the sidewalk to the Tucker. it pulled the door open and flopped behind the wheel. The motor screamed into life.
It was not the sound of any engine made by human hands. A long lick of orange fire belched from the exhaust pipe. The tail lights flared and they were not red glass but ugly little eyes-the eyes of cruel imps.
Polly Chalmers screamed and turned her face against Alan’s shoulder, but Alan could not turn away. Alan was doomed to see and to remember all his life what he saw, as he would remember the night’s brighter marvels: the paper snake that became momentarily real, the paper flowers that had turned into a bouquet of light and a reservoir of power.
The three headlights blazed on. The Tucker backed out into the street, smoking the macadam beneath its tires to boiling gooit screamed around in a reverse turn to the right, and although it did not touch Alan’s car, the station wagon flew backward several feet just the same, as if repelled by some powerful magnet. The front end of the Talisman had begun to glow with a foggy white radiance, and beneath this glow it seemed to be changing and reforming itself The car shrieked, pointing downhill toward the boiling cauldron which had been the Municipal Building, the litter of smashed cars and vans, and the roaring stream that no bridge spanned. The engine cranked up to insane revs, souls howling in a discordant frenzy, and the bright, misty glow began to spread backward, engulfing the car.
For one single moment the Gaunt-thing looked out the drooping, melting driver’s-side window at Alan, seeming to mark him forever with its red, lozenge- shaped eyes, and its mouth opened in a yawning snarl.
Then the Tucker began to roll.
It picked up speed as it went downhill, and the changes picked up speed, as well. The car melted, rearranged itself The roof peeled backward, the shiny hubcaps grew spokes, the tires grew simultaneously higher and thinner. A form began to extrude itself from the remains of the Tucker’s grille. It was a black horse with eyes as red as Mr.
Gaunt’s, a horse encased in a milky shroud of brightness, a horse whose hooves struck up fire from the pavement and left deep, smoking tracks impressed in the center of the street.
The Talisman had become an open buckboard with a hunchbacked dwarf sitting up high on the seat. The dwarf’s boots were propped on the splashboard, and the caliph-curled toes of those boots appeared to be on fire.
And still the changes were not done. As the glowing buckboard raced toward the lower end of Main Street, the sides began to grow; a wooden roof with overhanging eaves knit itself out of that nourishing protean shroud. A window appeared. The spokes of the wheels took on ghostly flashes of color as the wheels themselvesand the hooves of the black horse-left the pavement.
The Talisman had become a buckboard; the buckboard now became a medicine-show wagon of the sort which might have crisscrossed the country a hundred years ago. There was a legend written on the side, and Alan could just make it out.
it said.
Fifteen feet in the air and still rising, the wagon passed through the flames sprawling out from the ruins of the Municipal Building.
The hooves of the black horse galloped on some invisible road in the sky, still striking off sparks of brilliant blue and orange.
It rose over Castle Stream, a glowing box in the sky; it passed over the downed bridge which lay in the torrent like the skeleton of a dinosaur.
Then a raft of smoke from the burning hulk of the Municipal Building blew across Main Street, and when the smoke cleared, Leland Gaunt and his hellwagon were gone.
18
Alan walked Polly down to the cruiser which had brought Norris and Seaton upstreet from the Municipal Building. Norris was still sitting in the window, clinging to the flasher-bars. He was too weak to lower himself back inside without falling.
Alan slipped his hands around Norris’s belly (not that Norris, who was built like a tent-peg, had much) and helped him to the ground. “Norris?”
“What, Alan?” Norris was weeping. “From now on you can change your clothes in the crapper any time you want,” Alan said. “Okay?” Norris did not seem to hear. Alan had felt the blood soaking into his First Deputy’s shirt. “How bad are you hit?”
“Not too bad. At least I don’t think so. But this'-he swept his hand at the town, encompassing all the burning and all the rubble'all this is my fault. Mine!”
“You’re wrong,” Polly said. “You don’t understand!” Norris’s face was a twisted rag of grief and shame. “I’m the one who slashed Hugh Priest’s tires! I set
