SHUDDERVILLE Read Online Free Page A

said.
    He stood with a practiced, insolent slouch, as if he’d memorized all of Clint Eastwood’s earlier pictures. “Sure.” He sat next to her on the sofa. He took the joint and inhaled deeply. He squinted and nodded understandingly. “Go ahead. Shoot.”
    She shifted around uncomfortably, feeling dumpy in her gray T-shirt that used to be white and her outdated pre-washed jeans. Her hair needed trimming. She hadn’t put any makeup on, no earrings. “Look,” she told him, chickening out. “I just want to get wasted.”
    “Me too,” he said with a grin. “But that’s not entirely true. Is it?”
    She shook her head reluctantly.
    “You wanted to ask me about Mandelbaum, didn’t you?”
    She eyed him suspiciously. “How do you know?”
    He shrugged. “So what happened?”
    “He knew things. About me. Things he couldn’t possibly have known.” It dawned on her. “Holy fucking shit. How did he know every single thing about that day, down to the last detail? He knew about Jayla’s Nikes. And what Peter said. He claimed he could grant me one wish. A wish . What’s that about?”
    “Okay, look.” He tamped out the joint in the ashtray. “Sophie, understand something. He may seem like a harmless old man, but he’s not. Far from it.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Like I said before—you’re vulnerable. Don’t give into temptation.”
    “I thought you meant, like, sexual temptation.”
    “No. Mandelbaum’s a dangerous dude.”
    “Dangerous?”
    Ryan nodded solemnly. “Very dangerous. Stay away from him. Just forget about his bullshit sales pitch. Okay? That’s my advice.”
    “Sales pitch?”
    “One wish. Ignore it. The dude is evil. Okay? Do you believe in the Devil? Heaven and hell? Quantum physics? Parallel universes? This guy is a portal. Okay? Understand?”
    A brutal headache had lodged itself between her temples, while fright and excitement collided in her stomach. “What’s going on?” she practically shouted. “What the hell are you talking about?”
    “Just listen to me,” he told her solemnly. “Whatever you do, don’t ask him for anything. Okay? Trust me. You don’t want to make a wish.”
    “Wait a second. Are you saying it’s true? Are you telling me he could actually grant me one wish?”
    His face darkened. He took her beer away. “Sophie, you’re not listening to me. He did something to me. Mandelbaum.”
    “What?” she said with alarm. “What did he do to you?”
    “Never mind.” He shook his head. “You won’t believe me.”
    “Just tell me.”
    “Nobody ever believes me.”
    “Please!”
    “Okay. Fine. I can’t die. I’m immortal.”
    “What?” She looked at him with utter disbelief before she burst out laughing.
    “Go ahead and laugh,” he said angrily. “I was born in 1939.”
    She guffawed. “Yeah, right.” She laughed so hard she could feel huge waves of relief washing through her. It felt good to be laughing; but then, all of a sudden, it felt terrible to be laughing. She felt like a monster. She was coming unglued. The laughter turned to sobs. She was losing her grip. She was freaking out.
    “Sophie? Calm down. It’s true,” Ryan said softly. He waited until she had composed herself. “I knew you wouldn’t believe me. Nobody does.”
    “That would make you… seventy-plus years old?”
    “Let me show you something.” He got up and fetched an old-fashioned leather-bound photo album from a bookshelf, sat down and started pawing through its musty pages. There were pictures of Ryan with his family, all of them dressed in 1940s and 1950s garb. There was a newspaper article from 1959 with a picture of Ryan posing with a college rowing team. “That’s me at the Regatta on the Charles River. I graduated from Harvard in 1960.”
    Sophie scowled. Anybody could buy a fake newspaper nowadays.
    He flipped through the photo album until he came to a picture of Mandelbaum looking much younger than he did today. “My apartment in Back Bay. 1966.