The thief of always

Clive Barker, 1952-

Book - 2008

After a mysterious stranger promises to end his boredom with a trip to the magical Holiday House, ten-year-old Harvey learns that his fun has a high price.

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FICTION/Barker, Clive
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1st Floor FICTION/Barker, Clive Due Dec 18, 2024
Subjects
Genres
Horror fiction
Fantasy fiction
Published
New York : Harper 2008.
Language
English
Main Author
Clive Barker, 1952- (-)
Physical Description
267 pages : illustrations ; 21 cm
ISBN
9780061684265
  • Harvey, half-devoured
  • Hidden way
  • Pleasure and the worm
  • Death between seasons
  • Prisoners
  • Seen and unseen
  • Present from the past
  • Hungry waters
  • What do you dream?
  • Falling from grace
  • Turnabout
  • What the flood gave up (and what it took)
  • Fourth part of darkness
  • Time was
  • New nightmares
  • Back to the happy land
  • Cook, cat and coffin
  • Bitter truth
  • Dust to dust
  • Thieves meet
  • Tricks and temptations
  • Appetite
  • War of seasons
  • Fledgling thief
  • Vortex
  • Living proof.
Review by Booklist Review

Gr. 9^-12. An eerie tale about 10-year-old Harvey Swick, who is enticed by a curious, grinning con man--appropriately named Rictus--to come to a place that is every child's dream. Or is it?

From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.
Review by Publisher's Weekly Review

When a 10-year-old boy wishes to be delivered from a boring afternoon, a creature takes him to the Holiday House. "Barker masterfully embroiders this fantasy world with a mounting number of grim, even gruesome details," wrote PW, "in a tale that manages to be both cute and horrifying." Ages 10-up. (Feb.) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved

(c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved
Review by Library Journal Review

Young Harry Swick, already jaded by life, desperately wishes for some fun and excitement-which the eccentric Mr. Hood is only too happy to offer. Mr. Hood is the designer of the Holiday House, which has stood for hundreds of years as a refuge for wayward children. Seasons come and go in a day, revelries are always around the corner, but all is not as it seems in this haven. When things start to sour at Holiday House, Harry begins to suspect something malevolent in Mr. Hood's attentions, but it might already be too late. VERDICT Barker (Books of Blood) finds the perfect balance between wide-eyed wonder and the evils of lost innocence in a fantasy that reads like something Ray Bradbury would have written if he were fed a steady diet of Stephen King in his formative years. (SLJ 2/1/93) (c) Copyright 2013. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

(c) Copyright Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

The Thief of Always Chapter One Harvey Half-Devoured The great gray beast February had eaten Harvey Swick alive. 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." "Oh?" the curious crowd would say. "Do tell." And, brushing away a tear, the detective would reply: "Harvey Swick was eaten by the great gray beast February." It was a monstrous month, that was for sure; a dire and dreary month. 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? Six? 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. "You shouldn't waste your time sitting up here," his mom said when she came in and found him watching the raindrops chase each other down the glass of his bedroom window. "I've got nothing better to do," Harvey said, without looking around. "Well then, you can make yourself useful," his mom said. Harvey shuddered. Useful? 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. "You can start by tidying up this room," his mom said. "But --" "Don't sit wishing the days away, honey. Life's too short." "But --" "That's a good boy." And with that she left him to it. 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 am ten, " he said to himself (having no brothers and sisters, he talked to himself a good deal). "I mean, it's not like I'm a kid. I don't have to tidy up just because she says so. It's boring." He wasn't just muttering now, he was talking out loud. "I want to...I want to..."He went to the mirror, and quizzed it. "What do I want?" The strawhaired, snub-nosed, brown-eyed boy he saw before him shook his head. "I don't know what I want," he said. "I just know I'll die if I don't have some fun. I will! I'll die!" As he spoke, the window rattled. 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. 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 fight 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. He was wearing a fancy suit, a pair of spectacles and a lavish smile. "Who are you?" Harvey demanded, wondering how he could get past this interloper to the door. "Don't be nervous," the man replied, teasing off one of his suede gloves, taking Harvey's hand and shaking it. "My name's Rictus. You are Harvey Swick, aren't you?" "Yes..." "I thought for a moment I'd got the wrong house." Harvey couldn't take his eyes off Rictus's grin. 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. "You've got questions, I can see that," Rictus said to Harvey. "Yeah." "Ask away. I've got nothing to hide." "Well, how did you get in, for one thing?" "Through the window, of course." "It's a long way up from the street." "Not if you're flying." "Flying?" "Of course. How else was I going to get around on a foul night like this? The Thief of Always . Copyright © by Clive Barker. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold. Excerpted from The Thief of Always by Clive Barker All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.