by Clive Barker
And in that smoke, I would have risen up, liberated from the words where I’d been imprisoned. I had no illusions that I would have a body of flesh and bones awaiting me. They were gone forever. But I told myself I could have made sense of life.
Anybody was preferable to the prison of pages.
But no. You never fell for any of my tricks. I used every deceit and subterfuge in the book, so to speak. Every stratagem I knew.
You want to know how evil works? Just run off a list of the ways I attempted to get you to burn the book. The Seductions (the house and its ancient tree); the Threats (my closing in on you with every page you turned); the Appeals to your compassion, your tender-heartedness, your empathy. They were all lost causes, of course. If any of them had worked, we wouldn’t be here now.
Instead I’m here where you found me, with nothing to live for but the possibility that one day somebody else will pick this book up, and open it to read. Only maybe I will have conceived of a better trap by then. Something foolproof. Something that guarantees my escape.
Maybe you could help me, just a little? I’ve entertained you, haven’t I? So do me this little kindness. Don’t abandon me on a shelf somewhere, gathering dust, knowing I’m still inside, locked away in the darkness.
Pass me on, please. It’s not much to ask. Give me to somebody you hate, somebody you’d be happy to hear had been cut to pieces the way a page is read. Backwards and forwards.
Until then, may I offer a word of advice? What I’ve told you here concerning the Conspiracy between those above and those below you should perhaps keep to yourself. Their agents are everywhere, and I’m sure their means of tracking down the heretical and the impious is more powerful than ever. It’s wisest to keep what you know to yourself. Trust me in this. Or if you don’t trust me, then trust your instinct. Walk with care in dark places, and do not put your faith in anyone who promises you the forgiveness of the Lord or a certain place in Paradise.
I don’t suppose that advice isn’t worth enough to earn me a burnt book, is it?
No, I thought not.
Go on then. Close the prison door and go about your life. My day will come. Paper burns easily.
And words know how to wait.
About the Author
CLIVE BARKER is the internationally bestselling author of more than twenty books for adults and children. He is also a widely acclaimed artist, film producer, screenwriter, and director. He lives with his partner, the renowned photographer David Armstrong, in Beverly Hills.
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Credits
Designed by Leah Carlson-Stanisic
Jacket design by Mary Schuck
Copyright
MISTER B. GONE. Copyright © 2007 by Clive Barker. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins ebooks.
Adobe Acrobat eBook Reader October 2007 ISBN 978-0-06-154591-7
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