Needful Things - Stephen King [123]
He felt as if he might have finally fulfilled his part of the deal he had made with Mr. Gaunt.
He had also decided that Mr. Gaunt did indeed know best.
9
Nettle Cobb, without the slightest premonition of the unpleasant surprise awaiting her at home, was in high good spirits as she walked down Main Street toward Needful Things. She had a strong intuition that, Sunday morning or not, the shop would be open, and she was not disappointed.
"Mrs. Cobb!" Leland Gaunt said as she came in. "How very nice to see you!"
"It's nice to see you, too, Mr. Gaunt," she said and it was.
Mr. Gaunt came over, his hand out, but Nettle shrank from his touch. It was dreadful behavior, so impolite, but she simply couldn't help herself. And Mr. Gaunt seemed to understand, God bless him.
He smiled and changed course, closing the door behind her instead.
He flipped the sign from OPEN to CLOSED with the speed of a professional gambler palming an ace.
"Sit down, Mrs. Cobb! Please! Sit down just came to t "Well, all right but I tell you that Polly
Polly is " She felt strange, somehow. Not bad, exactly, but strange. Swimmy in the head. She sat down rather gracelessly in one of the plush chairs. Then Mr. Gaunt was standing before her, his eyes fixed on hers, and the world seemed to center upon him and grow still again.
"Polly isn't feeling so well, is she?" Mr. Gaunt asked.
"That's it," Nettle agreed gratefully. "It's her hands, you know.
She has "
"Arthritis, yes, terrible, such a shame, shit happens, life's a bitch and then you die, tough titty said the kitty. I know, Nettle."
Mr.
Gaunt's eyes were growing again. "But there's no need for me to call her or call on her, for that matter. Her hands are feeling better now."
"Are they?" Nettle asked distantly.
"You betcha! They still hurt, of course, which is good, but they don't hurt badly enough to keep her away, and that's better stilldon't you agree, Nettle?"
"Yes," Nettle said faintly, but she had no idea of what she was agreeing to.
"You," Mr. Gaunt said in his softest, most cheerful voice, "have got a big day ahead of you, Nettle."
"I do?" It was news to her; she had been planning to spend the afternoon in her favorite living-room chair, knitting and watching TV with Raider at her feet.
" Yes. A very big day. So I want you to just sit there and rest for a moment while I go get something. Will you do that?"
"Yes "
"Good. And close your eyes, why don't you? Have a really good rest, Nettle!"
Nettle obediently closed her eyes. An unknown length of time later, Mr. Gaunt told her to open them again. She did, and felt a pang of disappointment. When people told you to close your eyes, sometimes they wanted to give you something nice. A present. She had hoped that, when she opened her eyes again, Mr. Gaunt might be holding another carnival glass lampshade, but all he had was a pad of paper.
The sheets were small and pink. Each one was headed with the words
TRAFFIC VIOLATION WARNING.
I I glass."
"Oh," she said. "I thought it might be cam'va "I don't think you'll be needing any more carnival glass, Nettle."
"No?" The pang of disappointment returned. It was stronger this time.
"No. Sad, but true. Still, I imagine you remember promising you'd do something for me." Mr. Gaunt sat down next to her. "You do remember that, don't you?"
"Yes," she said. "You want me to play a trick on Buster. You want me to put some papers in his house."
"That's right, Nettle-very good. Do you still have the key I gave you?"
Slowly, like a woman in an underwater ballet, Nettle brought the key from the right-hand pocket of her coat. She held it up so Mr.
Gaunt could see it.
"That's very good!" he told her warmly. "Now put it back, Nettle. Put it back where it's safe."
She did.
"Now. Here are the papers." He put the pink pad in one of her hands. into the other he placed a Scotch-tape dispenser. Alarm bells were going off somewhere inside her now, but they were far away, hardly audible.
"I hope this won't