Part 15 (2/2)
”It's not in any of the books or movies or televisions shows. Dispersal scenes are some of the most compelling in our literature.”
”Yeah, I can see why.”
Ping glanced at Sam. ”So tell me about being a prompter.”
”How do you know about prompters?”
”My field was metaphysics and applied philosophy. While the concepts I studied were theoretical, I am aware of prompters and the levels of sentience.”
”I don't know what you mean by sentience, but it's not that big of a deal. I can create thoughts and give them to people. They only last for a few minutes.”
”They lasted long enough to get us out of there. I'd say that's a pretty big deal.”
”It's nothing compared to what my sister can do.”
CHAPTER 25.
MARA PLACED A damaged mantel clock on her work counter and was about to size it up when the bell above the door jangled, and a bald elderly man stepped into the shop. He looked to be eighty years old, six feet tall, but slightly hunched with age. He stepped gingerly, as if he doubted his legs would hold up.
”h.e.l.lo, young lady.” He smiled as he walked to the counter. His eyes were bright and alert.
”How can I help you, sir?” She smiled back, noticing he was not carrying anything for her to repair.
”I have a friend who informs me that you might have some unique items that would make an excellent gift, especially for the nostalgic type.” He surveyed the shelves and the wall behind Mara.
”We occasionally do sell some of the items on the shelves, but our primary business is repairing things.”
”Do you mind if I look around?”
”Not at all. If you see something that interests you, let me know, and we'll see if we can work something out.” She went back to her clock. The man nodded and turned to lean over the display counter.
After a few minutes, he said, ”You know, I used to have a pocket watch just like that one.” He pointed into the case. ”Where did you get it?”
”That's actually one I found down in Crater Lake when I was ten years old. I was on a trip with my grandfather at the time.”
”Did you repair all the items in this store?”
”Oh, no. Mr. Mason, the owner, has been fixing things for decades. Most of these things he repaired, but I've done some in the last couple years.”
”That's fascinating. You don't see many young people interested in fixing old things these days, especially a young lady,” he said, picking up an old telescope from a shelf. ”Is Mr. Mason here today?”
”No, he is out recovering from surgery.”
”I see. How nice that he has you to keep things running in his absence.”
The man shuffled along the shelves and perused for fifteen minutes without saying anything. Mara worked on removing the clock crystal but could not wedge it out of its mount. Concerned she would break the gla.s.s and scratch the clock face, she concentrated on her work. She did not notice when the bald man walked up to the counter, silently leaned against it with one hand. Glancing up to find a screwdriver, she noticed him.
”I'm sorry. I didn't mean to ignore you. Find something?”
”Not yet.” He smiled, leaned over the counter. ”Do you have any jeweled pieces?”
”No, sir, nothing like that.”
The man's smile remained fixed, painted on his face, devoid of all warmth. Mara, sensing displeasure, instinctively looked away, down toward his hand on the counter.
His s.h.i.+rt cuff wriggled. Something black and s.h.i.+ny peeked out and then pulled back. Mara caught her breath, glanced back up at the man's face, not sure of what she saw or if she should say something. His smile opened to a full yellow-toothed grin but it remained cold.
She looked down again.
Writhing out of the man's s.h.i.+rtsleeve, dozens of black gelatinous worms fell onto the counter, squirming and skittering, trying to get their bearings. Mara grimaced, pulled back from the counter and grabbed a hammer. The slugs-the only term that came to mind-had tiny hairlike legs like a caterpillar, no discernible head, but little pincers where it should have been.
A staccato filled the air-tick, tick, tick-so rapidly they blended into a soft drone. The creatures that landed on their backs kicked at the air, curled into a ball, rolled to get to their feet, leaving smears of slime glistening on the counter. Soon they covered the front side of the work area and writhed toward Mara.
She pressed against the back wall, knocking the Pabst Blue Ribbon sign off balance. The old man now had both hands on the counter as if he were bracing it. Creatures poured from each cuff and leaped out of his open s.h.i.+rt collar onto the counter.
”Oh, G.o.d, they can jump,” Mara said.
The slugs overran the old rotary phone, the register and everything else. They crept toward the edge of the counter. The first to arrive flung itself into the air, at her. She screamed, swinging the hammer at empty s.p.a.ce.
A slug landed on her shoulder.
She yelled, ”Get off, get off!”
Dozens leaped at her. Soon she felt them crawling on her, biting her skin. Little p.r.i.c.kles of numbness spread across her arms.
”Bruce! Anybody! Help!”
She swung wildly with the hammer, smas.h.i.+ng dozens of the creatures, creating a pool of spatter and slime that dripped off the counter's edge to the floor.
The hammer slipped out of her hand.
The slugs continued jumping, landing in her hair, crawling under her clothes. She quickly went numb and slouched against the back wall. As she slid downward, she locked eyes with the old man.
”Why are you here?” she said, squinting into the swarm of slugs flying at her. She was nearly covered.
”Give it to me,” he said, still grinning.
”What? Give you what?”
”The Chronicle,” he said. ”I want to go home.”
Mara reached down to the floor and picked up the hammer. She dived into the swarm of slugs and swung at the old man.
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