Master of horror Clive Barker's Thief of Always is a fable appealing to horror and fantasy fans young and old. Now IDW brings you its own lavishly illustrated adaptation of the thrilling tale. Mr. Hood's Holiday House has stood for a thousand years, welcoming countless children into its embrace. Jun 06, · [EBOOK PDF] The Thief of Always ReadOnline. Book Details Author: Clive Barker Publisher: HarperPerennial ISBN: Publication Date: Language: Pages: The Thief of Always - Kindle edition by Clive Barker. Download it once and read it on your Kindle device, PC, phones or tablets. Use features like bookmarks, note taking and highlighting while reading The Thief of Always/5(). Search the history of over billion web pages on the Internet. The Thief of Always by Clive Barker was such a fun, dark and magical book. At its heart this is children’s book, a fable, but honestly it’s one of those stories that /5.
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Search the history of over billion web pages on the Internet. Books by Language. Here he was, buried in the belly of that smothering month, wondering if he would ever find his way out through the cold coils that lay between here and Easter. He didn't think much of his chances. More than likely he'd become so bored as the hours crawled by that one day he'd simply forget to breathe.
Then maybe people would get to wondering why such a fine young lad had perished in his prime. It would become a celebrated mystery, which wouldn't be solved until some great detective decided to re-create a day in Harvey's life.
Then, and only then, would the grim truth be discovered. The detective would first follow Harvey's route to school every morning, trekking through the dismal streets. Then he'd sit at Harvey's desk, and listen to the pitiful drone of the history teacher and the science teacher, and wonder how the heroic boy had managed to keep his eyes open. And finally, as the wasted day dwindled to dusk, he'd trace the homeward trek, and as he set foot on the step from which he had departed that morning, and people asked him-as they would-why such a sweet soul as Harvey had died, he would shake his head and say: "It's very simple.
The pleasures of Christmas, both sharp and sweet, were already dimming in Harvey's memory, and the promise of summer was so remote as to be mythical.
There 'd be a spring break, of course, but how far off was that? Five weeks? Mathematics wasn't his strong point, so he didn't irritate himself further by attempting-and failing-to calculate the days.
He simply knew that long before the sun came to save him he would have withered away in the belly of the beast. Harvey shuddered. That was another word for hard labor. He sprang up, marshaling his excuses-he hadn't done this; he hadn't done that-but it was too late.
Life's too short.
Muttering to himself, he stared around the room. It wasn't even untidy. There were one or two games scattered around; a couple of drawers open; a few clothes hanging out: It looked just fine.
I don't have to tidy up just because she says so. It's boring. I want to. I will! I'll die! A gust of wind blew hard against it-then a second; then a third-and even though Harvey didn't remember the window being so much as an inch ajar, it was suddenly thrown open.
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Cold rain spattered his face. Half-closing his eyes, he crossed to the window and fumbled to slam it, making sure that the latch was in place this time. The wind had started his lamp moving, and when he turned back the whole room seemed to be swinging around. One moment the light was blazing in his eyes, the next it was flooding the opposite wall.
But in between the blaze and the flood it lit the middle of his room, and standing there-shaking the rain off his hat-was a stranger. He looked harmless enough. He was no more than six inches taller than Harvey, his frame scrawny, his skin distinctly yellowish in color.
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He was wearing a fancy suit, a pair of spectacles and a lavish smile. You are Harvey Swick, aren't you? It was wide enough to shame a shark, with two perfect rows of gleaming teeth.
Rictus took off his spectacles, pulled a handkerchief from the pocket of his waterlogged jacket, then started to mop off the raindrops. Either he or the handkerchief gave off an odor that was far from fragrant.
The smell, in truth, was flatulent.
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I've got nothing to hide. How else was I going to get around on a foul night like this? It was either that or a rowboat. We short folk gotta watch out when it's raining this hard. One wrong step and you're swimming.
But Rictus took the conversation in another direction entirely. You need an adventure, young Swick. I heard you.
That's all that matters. The wind was still gusting against the glass, as though eager to come back in and carry its passenger away.
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I won't ask any more questions. So you did.
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We agreed. I'm sorry. The light began to swing wildly. Harvey started to ask him if he'd be coming back soon, but stopped himself in the nick of time. It rose around him like a black balloon, and he was suddenly swept out over the windowsill. II The Hidden Way Harvey said nothing about his peculiar visitor to either his mom or his dad, in case they put locks on the windows to stop Rictus returning to the house. But the trouble with keeping the visit a secret was that after a few days Harvey began to wonder if he'd imagined the whole thing.
Perhaps he'd fallen asleep at the window, he thought, and Rictus had simply been a dream.
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He kept hoping nevertheless. He watched from the window of his room. He watched from his desk at school. He even watched with one eye when he was lying on his pillow at night. But Rictus didn't show. And then, about a week after that first visit, just as Harvey's hope was waning, his watchfulness was rewarded. On his way to school one foggy morning he heard a voice above his head, and looked up to see Rictus floating down from the clouds, his coat swelled up around him so that he looked fatter than a prize pig.
You're a dream come true, they say" He winked. You like my shoes? They were quite a sight, and he said so.
So, are you ready? But just one.
It's just across town. I got a friend called Jive does that. I'm just a smiler. I smile, and I say: Come with me to the Holiday House, and if folks don't want to come-" He shrugged. But just for a little while. All I want to do is take that glum expression off your face and put one of these up there. I'm glad you found me.
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I really am. Maybe an hour or two of the afternoon as well. As long as he was back home by three. Or four. Certainly before dark.
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But the streets he knew were soon behind them, and though Rictus was setting a fair speed Harvey made sure he kept a mental list of landmarks along the way, in case he had to find his way home on his own.
A butcher's shop with two pigs' heads hanging from hooks; a church with a yard full of old tombs beside it; the statue of some dead general, covered from hat to stirrups in pigeon dung: All these sights and more he noted and filed away. And while they walked, Rictus kept up a stream of idle chatter. Just hate it! We'll be out of it, of course. It's shameful! And the mud! It's making a fine old mess of my shoes!
How far was this Holiday House, he began to wonder. The fog was chilling him, and his legs were aching. If they didn't get there soon, he was going to turn back. You're thinking Rictus is leading you on a mystery tour and there's nothing at the end of it. Isn't that true?