Shadow Street Chapter 3
Reading
I recently reread It, by Stephen King. I think it was worth the trip. I’m pasting in my review here, and linking to where I posted it on Goodreads.
https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/626076ng7786
It, a third-person singular pronoun, takes a lot of responsibility as the entire title of Stephen King’s 1985 doorstop novel. These days, it’s a story that is widely known. Kids in the 1950s in the book it’s 1958, fight a shape-shifting monster that reverts to the shape of a clown when it can’t scare the kids. And then in 1985, all the kids return to their hometown to fight the monster again this time as adults. When the way you beat the monster in the first place, is essentially an extension of a child’s imagination and play,, the very idea that they can come back at all to find it again is almost out of the question. Mike Hanlon knows this, and even though he knows and will probably get some of his friends killed off, he calls them all back.
It is a story of intense friendship and the kind of bonds that kids can make, and honor as adults. I was going to say I don’t know about friends from when I was 12 or 13 as the kids are in the book, but that is not true. Online, I still have friends from that age who if I had a strange contract with to come back and try to kil a monster that was haunting Doraville, GA, I probably would return to help them.
I read the book for the first time when I was the age of the kids. And I’ve read it several times since then, including when I was the age of the adults in the book. Now that I’m 50 I have another perspective on it. Each time I read this book something new pops out. Details emerge, parts of the story get clearer and clearer, and overall I think I enjoy it more each time I go back to dip into it again.
There are a certain number of aspects of the book that would not fly today. And that’s true but overall, if you’re interested in seeing a story where good friends connect in a very meaningful way, It is your book.
Fiction Excerpt
Shadow Street Chapter 3
Mr. Curtis munched on the bun. It was a roll flavored with sugar and cinnamon, and a very scant amount of icing kissed the top. It melted in his mouth, which was useful, as he usually liked his sticky buns filled with flies. That poor frog. He choked on me.
I turned around from where I was examining the drain and Mr. Curtis fell to his knees. “Mrs. Smith, get me a rag or something,” I said.
She ran off, her hands on her head, and I scrambled to my friend’s side. The man was on a roll. He hacked and coughed, but he couldn't get up.
His monocle fell to the ground, but he held his top hat on.
I lifted him, and grasping him tightly around his bulbous body, I wrenched with my fist. He belched and from his throat popped something. I can't say it was a roll. I can't say it was an octopus either, but I could tell it was roughly golden brown, covered in what was icing or slime, take your pick, and it was spinning through the air away from us. I could tell tendrils were coming off of it, but it was moving so fast I couldn't tell if there were three, six, or forty-seven. They were a blur until they hit the wall, and then they slowly flipped and slipped their way down to the floor.
“All right old chap?” I said, patting my friend on the back.
“Yes, yes,” said the frog, and he straightened up his jacket, shined his monocle, which was attached to his lapel with a thin chain, and placed it back in his eye.
We approached it, and looked at the flesh-colored thing, now slightly tinged with green. It squelched on the stone floor and wriggled at us.
“Oh my,” said Mr. Curtis. “What have we here?”
He leaned in and looked it over.
“What strange magic is this?” I said, taking a step back.
“I don't know, Mr. James, but whatever it is, we have got to sort this out.”
“Indubitably.”
“Hand me that poker.”
I looked around and against the wall was a disused fireplace, with a poker beside it. It was so dark I hadn't even seen it. I took it. The handle was covered in a fine layer of soot. I wiped it off absently, then gave it to Mr. Curtis, who reached out with it, hooking the little creature on the end of the rod.
Its tentacles closed quickly around the end and explored the poker. Mr. Curtis lifted it.
“Can you get a light?”
“Oh, yes.”
Mrs. Smith returned at that moment and gave me the wet cloth.
“Is he…”
“Yes, yes, I'm fine madam, thank you,” said Mr. Curtis. “Can I… do you have a light?” he was carefully watching the tentacles get closer and closer to his gray-green hand.
“Oh yes,” she said, quickly returning with a lantern.
We boggled at it. It recoiled from the light and crawled as far away from us as it could. Mr. Curtis kept it held in the air.
“Here, you take it for a moment,” he said.
I reached out and grasped the handle.
“Thank you,” he said, first wiping his face while the thing slithered down to grab at me.
I held the lantern up with my other hand and it recoiled again. “Come now, Mr. Curtis. Any ideas?”
“I'm working on it. Let me check something. Just a moment.”
He removed his top hat and looked inside. “Very Interesting.”
“What is that?” said Mrs. Smith.
“That's an excellent question.”
He fished around in his hat and brought out a few other rolls he'd been saving for later.
“Just rolls. Okay.”
“Looking for a snack there?”
“No, I was wondering if it was the dark.”
He suddenly leaped on my arm, slid down it, yanked the lantern from me, and shuttered it.
“I say. You could have asked…” then I forgot everything as the tendril worked its way toward me. Mrs. Smith screamed as the light went out, then kicked Mr. Curtis for doing it.
There was light from outside, so we were not in complete darkness, but that hardly mattered. I switched hands and then flipped the poker over, holding the pointed end now as the creature explored the handle.
“Watch this,” said the frog.