The Most Frightening Story Ever Told (17 page)

Redford had never seen so many people in the Haunted House of Books. Billy was handing out sales receipts for books like bus tickets. The box was full of them, and with all of the people who were in the store, he almost didn't see the boss's daughter. Seeing Redford walk in through the door of the Haunted House of Books ought to have made Billy feel happier, but on this particular occasion it didn't.

“Your dad just went out to get a cup of coffee from the shop across the street,” he told her glumly.

“I know. I watched him leave.” Redford realized that she was just a little bit disappointed that Billy didn't look pleased to see her. “I figure he'll be in Fool of Beanz for at least twenty minutes. He always likes to shoot the breeze with the guy who owns that place. So I figure we've got fifteen minutes to talk before I have to make myself scarce.”

“Sure. Whatever.”

“You really think this'll work?” she asked. “The contest?”

“It is working. Just look around. Sales are through the roof.”

“Given where they were before, that can't have been too difficult.”

Ignoring her, Billy rang up another sale on the till.

“What's the matter with you, Billy?” asked Redford.

“Me? I'm fine.”

“You don't look fine. As a matter of fact, you never look fine. You always look a bit pale, and like you could use a good meal, and maybe a bit more of the sun. And sometimes I wonder about those clothes you're always wearing. Do you really only have the one shirt? But today, today, you look like the man who lost a dollar and found a cent. Are you okay?”

Billy shrugged silently.

“If you don't want to talk about it, that's fine,” said Redford. “I hate it when people make me talk about things I don't want to talk about. Which is pretty much all the time. My mom is always telling me that I need to open up a bit. But, you know, if you did want to talk, then maybe I could help.”

Billy sighed and nodded.

“Well, it's this,” he said. “According to the terms and conditions of the contest, employees of the Haunted House of Books are not allowed to take part. Does that mean me, do you think?”

“I don't know,” said Mercedes. “
Are
you employed by my dad?”

“To be honest, I really don't know,” admitted Billy.

“Well, does he pay you any money?”

“No. I'm an intern.”

“Nothing at all?”

“Nope.”

“Not even a few bucks for bus fares?”

“I prefer to walk. It's good exercise.”

Redford smiled wryly. “That sounds like my dad, all right.” She shook her head. “Do you pay any tax?”

“No.”

“Do you have a Social Security number?”

“No.”

“Then you can't possibly be an employee of this shop, or any other,” said Redford. “You know, it beats me why you bother coming here at all.”

“I come because I like coming here,” admitted Billy. “I like being around books. I like your dad. And I like you, too. If I hadn't ever started hanging out in this bookshop, I wouldn't ever have met you. Would I?”

Redford colored with embarrassment, just a little. “That's nice to know,” she said coolly; but she was secretly pleased to discover he still liked her.

“But not working here leaves me with another problem,” said Billy. “I don't know if I ever told you how poor my family is. We really don't have any money at all. My father isn't working right now. Nor is my mother. If I went through my father's coat pockets, I would find nothing at all. Thin air, I guess. So we certainly don't have money for books. Books are expensive. Very expensive.”

“That's because people don't buy as many of them as they used to,” said Redford. “And they buy even fewer now because they're expensive. It's what Dad calls a vicious circle. Pretty soon they won't buy any books at all and then the country will be as dumb as it deserves to be. That's what Dad says, anyway.”

“That is kind of scary,” said Billy. “Which is saying something in a place like this, don't you think?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Tell me, Redford. How come you picked that name?”

“I like the color red. But, I don't know, somehow it didn't seem enough of a name on its own. I thought about Red Cloud, for a while—like the Native American chief—but I was worried people might think I was trying to make a political statement, so I chose Redford. Besides,
Out of Africa
is one of my favorite movies.”

Billy looked blank.

“Redford is the star of
Out of Africa,
” explained Redford.

Billy nodded. “You know, Redford, I'd very much like to be one of the five kids who gets to hear the scariest story in the world. But the plain fact of the matter is that I simply don't have the money to buy a book so that I could even enter the draw, according to the terms and conditions and all the small print, et cetera, et cetera. Even the cheapest book in the shop is, like, ten bucks. So here's my question: Where am I going to get ten bucks?”

Billy smiled nervously and wiped a tear from his eye. Just talking about all that had made him feel quite upset.

“You should have said something before, Billy,” said Redford. “I'll buy you a book.”

“You will?”

“Of course. That's what friends do. Friends buy each other stuff. Even books. So. Go and choose one. And let me pay for it. It'd be my pleasure.”

“Redford? Are you sure?”

“Sure, I'm sure. Just don't tell my dad. He'd be bound to disapprove on the grounds that all my money comes from him, so strictly speaking it'd be him who's buying a book from his own shop. I mean, you can see how that would bug him, can't you?”

Billy grinned. “Yes. I can.”

Billy went to the shelves and came straight back with a reputedly terrific ghost story called
A Thin Wisp of Ectoplasm.

Redford handed over ten dollars and, carefully, Billy rang up the sale on the Brown Bomber. The bell rang and the cash drawer came out of the corner like Mike Tyson, only by now Billy had become ring-savvy in dealing with it.

With the precious sales receipt in his hand, the boy wrote out his name and address on the back and was about to put it in the shoebox with all the other hundreds of sales receipts for the day's draw when Redford said, “Of course, there's no guarantee that you'll get drawn.” She was anxious not to get Billy's hopes up too high in case they were disappointed. Now that she'd seen real tears in his eyes, she realized just how sensitive he was, and how much it pained her to see him upset.

“You have to be in it to win it, right?” said Billy. “Are you coming? To the reading?”

Redford was silent.

“You are going to come, aren't you?” said Billy.

“Are you kidding?”

“You mean you're not?”

Redford shook her head. “Look, Billy, you read ‘The Pocket Handkerchief,' didn't you?”

He nodded. “It was kind of creepy, yes,” he admitted. “But—”

“Creepy?” Redford gasped. “I told you, Billy. That story totally freaked me out. After I read it I was a gibbering wreck for days. If Rexford wasn't my dad, I'd probably sue him for post-traumatic stress. I mean, that stupid story has left me emotionally and psychologically scarred. Quite possibly I'll never read another book as long as I live. Which is a considerable disadvantage for someone who wants to go to college and study journalism, I can tell you. I have to sleep with the light on. Even in summer. Just being near that horrible book is enough to give me a nightmare about dead mothers and premature burial. I have to steel myself just to walk through that door. And only in daylight. The day you read ‘The Pocket Handkerchief'? I was worried sick about you.”

“You were?” Billy smiled.

“Of course I was.” Redford glanced around fearfully. “It's true. Just coming in here scares me. This whole place gives me the heebie-jeebies. Really. So do you really think I'm going to sit through a reading of the scariest story ever written?” She shook her head and grinned ruefully. “I don't think so. I'd rather poke needles in my ears.”

“Ouch,” said Billy. “You know, maybe you should talk about this with your father.”

“No way. I couldn't, ever.”

“Why not? I mean, he thinks you don't come in here because you hate him. It's kind of unfair that you don't tell him the truth about the way you feel about this place.”

Redford shook her head. “I love my dad. I really do. And it would break his heart to sell this shop, which is what he'd probably do if he ever found out that this shop is the only reason I don't see more of him. That's why I don't ever want him to know the way I feel about it. Understand?”

Billy nodded. “I understand. But you know, there are many more unpleasant things in this world than what's in a few scary books.”

“Maybe,” allowed Redford. “But I don't want to find out what those are either.”

“And you want to be a journalist?”

“Meaning?”

Billy shrugged. “Isn't that what journalism is all about? Reporting on the unpleasant things in the world?”

“You sound like my dad.”

“I don't mean to. But even if I did, what's wrong with that? Your dad is a great guy. And by the way, Altaira is a much better name than Redford. You're lucky you've got a dad who gave you a name like that.”

“You really think so?”

“Sure. I looked it up. Altaira means a star of the first magnitude, the brightest star in the constellation Aquila. Redford is probably a nice guy. But let's face it, he's no longer the big star he used to be.”

Redford nodded. “Maybe you're right. I dunno. Thanks, Billy.”

She turned and started to walk toward the door.

“And you should come to the contest,” he called after her. “Your dad would like it. And more importantly, so would I.”

Later on that day, the world's television cameras and news reporters turned up at the shop to film Mr. Rapscallion drawing the fourth name from the box. They were hoping to witness something unpleasant. And they did.

The name on the sales receipt wasn't Billy's. The receipt belonged to a girl called Lenore Gas and she and her family were there, like many other Hitchcock children and their families.

Billy tried to hide his disappointment. Surely he had no chance of taking part in the contest now.

Lenore Gas whooped loudly like a train and jumped up and down like a pogo stick. When she'd finished doing that, she punched the air several times until she accidentally managed to punch one of the reporters, and knocked him out cold. This was hardly surprising, as Lenore was a tall, athletic girl with bright red hair and legs as long as telephone poles. The girl was only fifteen years old but her parents had fed her too much meat and she had kept on growing when it might have been more sensible to have stopped. She wore retainers on her teeth, glasses and a sort of collar around her neck that was meant to stop her from scratching her eczema.

When the reporter had been safely carried outside, the cameras pressed around Lenore Gas for her instant reaction to being in the contest. You would think she had already won the thousand dollars, because every so often one of her even taller family would lean over and hold out a hand that Lenore would slap loudly and triumphantly.

“All right,” one of them said loudly.

“All right,” Lenore replied.

“How do you feel about being one of the lucky five kids who are going to hear the scariest story in the world?” asked the woman from CNN.

“Pretty psyched,” admitted Lenore.

Her brother Tod leaned over and held up a hand for another high five and Lenore took a swing at it, missed and caught another reporter on the cheek, and knocked him out as well.

“No fears of fainting with fright when the scary story gets read out?” asked the man from XYZ TV.