The Thief of Always

by Clive Barker

  “Hello,” he said.

  They both turned at the same moment, and Harvey let out a whoop of joy to see that all the griefs and horrors of the House had not been endured in vain. Here was his prize, staring down at him: his mother and father, looking just the way they had before Rictus had come for him. The stolen years were back where they belonged, in his possession.

  “I’m a good thief,” he said, half to himself.

  “Oh, my darling,” said his mom, coming to him with open arms.

  He hugged her first, then his dad.

  “What have you been up to, son?” his dad wanted to know.

  Harvey remembered how difficult it had been to explain everything last time; so instead of even trying he said: “I was just wandering around and I got lost. I didn’t mean to get you upset.”

  “You said something about a thief.”

  “Did I?”

  “You know you did,” his dad said sternly.

  “Well…are you a thief if you’re taking something that belongs to you in the first place?” Harvey asked him.

  His dad and mom exchanged puzzled looks.

  “No, honey,” his mom said. “Of course not.”

  “Then I’m not a thief,” Harvey replied.

  “I think you owe both of us the truth, Harvey,” his mom said. “We want to know everything.”

  “Everything?”

  “Everything,” said his dad.

  So he told them the whole tale, just as they’d asked, right from the beginning, and if their expressions had been doubtful the last time he’d related his adventures, they were incredulous now.

  “Do you really expect us to believe all of this?” his father broke in while Harvey was talking about meeting Hood in the attic.

  “I can take you to the House,” Harvey said. “Or what’s left of it. I couldn’t find it last time, because it hid itself from grown-ups. But Hood’s gone, so there’s no magic left to hide it with.”

  Once again his mom and dad exchanged baffled looks.

  “If you can find this Hood-House,” his father said, “we’d both like to see it.”

  They set out early the following day, and this time—just as Harvey had expected—the way back to the House was not concealed by magic. He found the streets that Rictus had first led him along easily enough, and very soon the gentle slope on which the House had once stood came into view.

  “That’s it,” he said to his mom and dad. “The House stood there.”

  “It’s just a hill, Harvey,” his dad said. “A hill covered in grass.”

  It was indeed a surprise to see that the ground on which so many terrible deeds had been done had greened so quickly.

  “It all looks rather pretty,” his mom said as they came to the place where the mist wall had stood.

  “The ruins are under there, I swear,” Harvey said, venturing onto the slope. “I’ll show you. Come on.”

  They weren’t the only visitors here today. There were several kite-flyers plying the wind at the top of the ridge; a dozen or more dogs romping around; children laughing as they rolled down the slope; even a pair of lovers, whispering in each other’s ears.

  Harvey resented the presence of all these people. How dare they romp and laugh and fly their kites here, he thought, as though it were just another hill? He wanted to tell them all that they were cavorting on the ruins of a vampire’s house, and see how quickly that wiped the smiles off their faces.

  But then, he thought, perhaps it was better this way; better that the hill not be haunted by rumors and stories. The name of Hood would probably never cross the lips of these lovers and kite-flyers, and why should it? His evil had no place in happy hearts.

  “Well?” said Harvey’s dad as the three of them climbed the slope. “This House of yours is well buried.”

  Harvey went down on his haunches and dug at the dirt with his bare hands. The ground was soft, and gave off the sweet smell of fertility.

  “Strange, isn’t it?” said a voice.

  He looked up from his labors, both his fists full of dirt. A man a little older than his father was standing a few yards from him, smiling.

  “What are you talking about?” Harvey asked.

  “The flowers. The ground,” he said. “Maybe the earth has its own magic—good magic, I mean—and it’s buried Hood’s memory forever.”

  “You know about Hood?” Harvey said.

  The man nodded. “Oh yes.”

  “What exactly do you know?” Harvey’s mom asked. “Our son here’s been telling us such strange stories…”

  “They’re all true,” the man said.

  “You haven’t even heard them,” Harvey’s dad replied.

  “You should trust your boy,” the man said. “I have it on the best authority that he’s a hero.”

  Harvey’s dad stared at his son with a twitch of a smile on his face. “Really?” he said. “Were you one of Hood’s prisoners?”

  “Not me,” the man said.

  “Then how do you know?”

  The man glanced over his shoulder, and there at the bottom of the slope stood a woman in a white dress.

  Harvey studied this stranger, trying to make out her face, but her wide-brimmed hat kept her features in shadow. He started to get to his feet, intending to take a closer look, but the man said: “Don’t…please. She sent me in her place, just to say hello. She remembers you the way you are young, that is—and she’d like you to remember her the same way.”

  “Lulu…” Harvey murmured.

  The man neither confirmed nor denied this. He simply said to Harvey: “I am much obliged to you, young man. I hope to be as fine a husband to her as you were a friend.”

  “Husband?” Harvey mouthed.

  “How time flies,” the man said, consulting his watch. “We’re late for lunch. May I shake your hand, young sir?”

  “It’s dirty,” Harvey warned, letting the earth run between the fingers of his right hand.

  “What could be better between us,” the man replied with a smile, “than this…healing earth?”

  He took Harvey’s hand, shook it, and with a nod to Harvey’s mom and dad hurried back down the slope.

  Harvey watched as he spoke to the woman in the white dress; saw her nod; saw her smile in his direction. Then they were both gone, out into the street and away.

  “Well…” said Harvey’s dad, “…it seems your Mr. Hood existed after all.”

  “So you believe me?” Harvey asked.

  “Something happened here,” came the reply, “and you were a hero. I believe that.”

  “Then that’s enough,” said Harvey’s mom. “You don’t have to keep digging, sweetie. Whatever’s under there should stay buried.”

  Harvey was about to empty his left hand of dirt when his dad said: “Let me have that,” and opened his hand.

  “Really?” said Harvey.

  “I’ve heard a little good magic’s always useful,” came his father’s reply. “Isn’t that right?”

  Harvey smiled, and poured a fistful of earth into his father’s palm.

  “Always,” he said.

  The days that followed were unlike any Harvey had ever known. Though there was no more talk of Hood, or of the House, or of the green hill upon which it had once stood, the subject was a part of every look and laugh that passed between him and his parents.

  He knew they had only the vaguest sense of what had happened to them, but they were all three agreed on one thing: that it was fine to be together again.

  Time would be precious from now on. It would tick by, of course, as it always had, but Harvey was determined he wouldn’t waste it with sighs and complaints. He’d fill every moment with the seasons he’d found in his heart: hopes like birds on a spring branch; happiness like a warm summer sun; magic like the rising mists of autumn. And best of all, love; love enough for a thousand Christmases.

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