Holes for Faces (33 page)

“Tom, are you sure you want him—”

“Your uncle’s been run over.”

“He can’t have been. I left him in his flat.” When this earned no response I demanded “How do you know?”

“They found us in his pocket.” Yet more starkly my father added “Next of kin.”

I didn’t want to enquire any further. When the isolated streetlamp on Copse View came in sight I couldn’t tell whether I was more afraid of what else I might see or that my parents should see it as well. I saw nothing to dismay me in the woods or the demolished street, however—nothing all the way to Pasture Boulevard. My mother had to park several hundred yards short of my uncle’s flat. The police had put up barriers, beyond which a giant Frugo lorry was skewed across the central strip, uprooting half a dozen trees. In front of and under the cab of the lorry were misshapen pieces of a wheelchair. I tried not to look at the stains on some of them and on the road, but I couldn’t avoid noticing the cereal bars strewn across the pavement. “He forgot to buy me one of those and I didn’t like to ask,” I said. “He must have gone back.”

My parents seemed to think I was complaining rather than trying to understand. When I attempted to establish that it hadn’t been my fault they acted as if I was making too much of a fuss. Before the funeral the police told them more than one version of the accident. Some witnesses said my uncle had been wheeling his chair so fast that he’d lost control and spun into the road. Some said he’d appeared to be in some kind of panic, others that a gang of cyclists on the pavement had, and he’d swerved out of their way. The cyclists were never identified. As if my parents had achieved one of their aims at last, the streets were free of rogue cyclists for weeks.

I never knew how much my parents blamed me for my uncle’s death. When I left school I went into caring for people like him. In due course these included my parents. They’re gone now, and while sorting out the contents of our house I found the book with my early teenage stories in it—childish second-hand stuff. I never asked to have it back, and I never wrote stories again. I couldn’t shake off the idea that my imagination had somehow caused my uncle’s death.

I could easily feel that my imagination has been revived by the exercise book—by the cover embroidered with a cobweb, the paper pinstriped with faded lines, a fern pressed between the yellowed pages and blackened by age. I’m alone with my imagination up here at the top of the stairs leading to the unlit hall. If there’s a face at the edge of my vision, it must belong to a picture on the wall, even if I don’t remember any there. Night fell while I was leafing through the book, and I have to go over there to switch the light on. Of course I will, although the mere thought of moving seems to make the floorboards creak like sticks. I can certainly move, and there’s no reason not to. In a moment—just a moment while I take another breath—I will.

From an anecdote by Kim Greyson. Thanks, Kim!

Ramsey Campbell
(born 4 January 1946 in Liverpool) is an English horror fiction author, editor and critic. Since he first came to prominence in the mid-1960s, critics have cited Campbell as one of the leading writers in his field: T. E. D. Klein has written that “Campbell reigns supreme in the field today”, while S. T. Joshi stated, “future generations will regard him as the leading horror writer of our generation, every bit the equal of Lovecraft or Blackwood.”

“The Long Way”, copyright © 2008 by Ramsey Campbell. As
The Long Way
, PS Publishing, Hornsea, December 2008.

“Passing through Peacehaven”, copyright © 2011 by Ramsey Campbell. From
Portents
, edited by Al Sarrantonio.

“Peep”, copyright © 2007 by Ramsey Campbell. From
Postscripts
number 10, edited by Peter Crowther.

“Getting It Wrong”, copyright © 2011 by Ramsey Campbell. From
A Book of Horrors
, edited by Stephen Jones.

“The Room Beyond”, copyright © 2011 by Ramsey Campbell. From
The New and Perfect Man
[
Postscripts
24/25], edited by Peter Crowther and Nick Gevers.

“Holes for Faces”, original to this collection.

“The Rounds”, copyright © 2010 by Ramsey Campbell. From
The End of the Line
, edited by Jonathan Oliver.

“The Decorations”, copyright © 2005 by Ramsey Campbell. As
The Decorations
,                             Alpenhouse Apparitions, Stockton, 2005.

“The Address”, copyright © 2011 by Ramsey Campbell. From
Cut Corners
, edited by Shane McKenzie.

“Recently Used”, copyright © 2011 by Ramsey Campbell. From
Black Static
24, edited by Andy Cox.

“Chucky Comes to Liverpool”, copyright © 2010 by Ramsey Campbell. From
Haunted Legends
, edited by Ellen Datlow and Nick Mamatas.

“With the Angels”, copyright © 2010 by Ramsey Campbell. From
Visitants
, edited by Stephen Jones.

“Behind the Doors”, copyright 2011 by Ramsey Campbell. From
Memoryville Blues
[
Postscripts
30/31], edited by Peter Crowther and Nick Gevers.

“Holding the Light”, copyright © 2011 by Ramsey Campbell. As
Holding the Light
, PS Publishing, Hornsea, November 2011.