Needful Things Read Online Free PDF Page A

was out of his mouth, he was sorry. He didn’t want to bring his mother down. Tomorrow, Mr. Leland Gaunt would belong to the whole town. Tomorrow, his Ma and Myra Evans would start pawing him over, along with all the other ladies in Castle Rock. Brian supposed that Mr. Gaunt would have ceased to seem so strange and different by the end of the month, heck, maybe even by the end of the week, but right now he still was, right now he belonged to Brian Rusk and Brian Rusk alone, and Brian wanted to keep it that way.
    So he was pleased when Mr. Gaunt raised one hand (the fingers were extremely narrow and extremely long, and Brian noticed that the first and second were of exactly the same length) and shook his head. “Not at all,” he said.“That’s exactly what I don’t want. She would undoubtedly want to bring a friend, wouldn’t she?”
    â€œYeah,” Brian said, thinking of Myra.
    â€œPerhaps even two friends, or three. No, this is better, Brian—may I call you Brian?”
    â€œSure,” Brian said, amused.
    â€œThank you. And you will call me Mr. Gaunt, since I am your elder, if not necessarily your better—agreed?”
    â€œSure.” Brian wasn’t sure what Mr. Gaunt meant by elders and betters, but he loved to listen to this guy talk. And his eyes were really something—Brian could hardly take his own eyes off them.
    â€œYes, this is much better.” Mr. Gaunt rubbed his long hands together and they made a hissing sound. This was one thing Brian was less than crazy about. Mr. Gaunt’s hands rubbing together that way sounded like a snake which is upset and thinking of biting. “You will tell your mother, perhaps even show her what you bought, should you buy something—”
    Brian considered telling Mr. Gaunt that he had a grand total of ninety-one cents in his pocket and decided not to.
    â€œâ€”and she will tell her friends, and they will tell their friends . . . you see, Brian? You will be a better advertisement than the local paper could ever think of being! I could not do better if I hired you to walk the streets of the town wearing a sandwich board!”
    â€œWell, if you say so,” Brian agreed. He had no idea what a sandwich board was, but he was quite sure he would never allow himself to be caught dead wearing one. “It would be sort of fun to look around.” At what little there is to look at, he was too polite to add.
    â€œThen start looking!” Mr. Gaunt said, gesturing toward the cases. Brian noticed that he was wearing a long red-velvet jacket. He thought it might actually be a smoking jacket, like in the Sherlock Holmes stories he had read. It was neat. “Be my guest, Brian!”
    Brian walked slowly over to the case nearest the door. He glanced over his shoulder, sure that Mr. Gaunt would be trailing along right behind him, but Mr. Gaunt was still standing by the door, looking at him with wry amusement. It was as if he had read Brian’s mind and had discovered howmuch Brian disliked having the owner of a store trailing around after him while he was looking at stuff. He supposed most storekeepers were afraid that you’d break something, or hawk something, or both.
    â€œTake your time,” Mr. Gaunt said. “Shopping is a joy when one takes one’s time, Brian, and a pain in the nether quarters when one doesn’t.”
    â€œSay, are you from overseas somewhere?” Brian asked. Mr. Gaunt’s use of “one” instead of “you” interested him. It reminded him of the old stud-muffin who hosted Masterpiece Theatre, which his mother sometimes watched if the TV Guide said it was a love-story.
    â€œI,” Gaunt said, “am from Akron.”
    â€œIs that in England?”
    â€œThat is in Ohio,” Leland Gaunt said gravely, and then revealed his strong, irregular teeth in a sunny grin.
    It struck Brian as funny, the way lines in TV shows like Cheers