Chapter 6

           Ihadknownthelittledoorbetweentheofficeandthestepsdowntothestorageroomhadn’tbeenbuiltwiththelikesofCoffeyinmind,butIhadn’trealizedhowgreatthedisparitywasuntilhestoodbeforeit,lookingatitthoughtfully.

           Harrylaughed,butJohnhimselfseemedtoseenohumorinthebigmanstandinginfrontofthelittledoor.Hewouldn’thave,ofcourse;evenifhe’dbeenquiteafewdegreesbrighterthanhewas,hewouldn’thave.He’dbeenthatbigmanformostofhislife,andthisdoorwasjustascraplittlerthanmost.

           Hesatdown,scootedthroughitthatway,stoodupagain,andwentdownthestairstowhereBrutalwaswaitingforhim.Therehestopped,lookingacrosstheemptyroomattheplatformwhereOldSparkywaited,assilent—andaseerie—asthethronemthecastleofadeadking.Thecaphungwithhollowjauntinessfromoneoftheback-posts,lookinglesslikeaking’scrownthanajester’scap,however,somethingafoolwouldwear,orshaketomakehishigh-bornaudiencelaughharderathisjokes.Thechair’sshadow,elongatedandspidery,climbedonewalllikeathreat.Andyes,IthoughtIcouldstillsmellburnedfleshintheair.Itwasfaint,butIthoughtitwasmorethanjustmyimagination.

           Harryduckedthroughthedoor,thenme.Ididn’tlikethefrozen,wide-eyedwayJohnwaslookingatOldSparky.EvenlessdidIlikewhatIsawonhisarmswhenIgotclosetohim:goosebumps.

           "Comeon,bigboy,"Isaid.