Characters in The Talisman

… Richard told him that Albert Humbert, whose nickname was Albert the Blob, was the fattest boy in school, and Jack could believe it; …

Toward a man named Anders.

“There were main rail routes leaving Springfield for everywhere. This school exists because Andrew Thayer saw the possibilities. He made a fortune in rail shippage. Mostly to the west coast. He was the first one to see the potential in shipping west as well as east.”

It was this character—Andy Ellis, by name—who came to his tired, tottering, overtaxed mind now as he watched the suits of armor marching down the dark hallway toward him. Andy Ellis had been the Cowardly Kid Brother Who Gets Mad in the Last Reel.

“You bet!” Sunlight Gardener nodded to Andy Warwick. “Confession,” Warwick said. Before confession was over at six o’clock, almost everyone except Jack and Wolf had his hand up, hoping to relate some sin to those gathered. Several confessed petty theft.

… Armin Van Pelt of New York University’s Geology Department, contacted today by telephone, described the fatal quake as a “seismic bubble.”

The two men still missing were Arnold Schulkamp, fifty-four, and Theodore Rasmussen, forty-three. Jack no longer had to look at the newspaper’s front page to remember their names.

… He knew it already: Asher Dondorf was going to kill himself. He’d do it in the living room in order to create as much mess as possible.

“He writes to me just about every week, I guess, but he quit coming back last year, when Aubrey beat him up. Aubrey’s—” “Your stepfather,” Updike said, and for just a moment Jack’s eyes narrowed and his original distrust came back. There was no sympathy in Updike’s voice.

… That was the week he kicked Benny Woodruff down the stairs from the third floor because he caught him with a Superman comic.

… And so when the young man—Bill “Buck” Thompson, for that was his name—returned to his pick-up carrying the containers for two more Whoppers, he found a sedate-looking Wolf kneeling in the open back, his arms resting on the side panel, mouth open, nose already lifting.

I’m not saying yore on the run or anything, but if yore from anywhere around Cambridge I’ll eat this beat-up old car, tires and all, and I got three boys myself and the youngest one, Billy, he’s only about three years older’n you, and we know how to feed boys …

… A door opened and Billy Adams looked out. “Shut that door or I’ll see you get a helping!” Heck screamed, …

In Vermont Light had called himself Tom Ferguson, and said he was a shoe-shop foreman; in Pennsylvania the alias had been Bob Darrent (“Almost like that fellow who sang ‘Splish-Splash,’ ah-ha-hah-hah”), and the job had changed to District High School Superintendent; this time Light said he was President of the …

Heck: “It sure sounded like he was waking up.” Sunlight: “Go on, Heck. And have Bobby Peabody check on Wolf.” Sonny (snickering): “He doesn’t like it in there much, does he?” Ah, Wolf, they put you back in the Box, Jack mourned.

“Call Boynton, he’s Security, that’s what I have to do,” Richard said. “Call Boynton, or the town police, or—” A howl rose from the trees on the far side of the quad, from the gathered shadows there—a rising, wavering howl that was really almost human.

Brandon Lewis. He had a speech impediment, and when he talked you could hardly understand him.

… The dead men were Robert Heidel, twenty-three; Thomas Thielke, thirty-four; Jerome Wild, forty-eight; Michael Hagen, twenty-nine; and Bruce Davey, thirty-nine.

The one in the green sweatpants is Buckley.

Part of Jack Sawyer wished that he could have gone home with big kindly Buddy Parkins, eaten dinner around the table in the kitchen with the Parkins family—boiled beef and deep-dish apple pie—and then snuggled into the Parkinses’ guest bed and pulled the homemade quilt up over his head.

… Buster Oates was right up front and he said that big retarded boy had him a whanger the size of a Akron fire-plug.

The fat fourth was Casey. “When we want you to talk, we’ll ask you!” Warwick shouted now. “You still whipping your weasel, Morton?” Morton trembled and said nothing. “ANSWER HIM!” Casey shrieked. He was a tubby boy who looked a little bit like a malevolent Tweedledum. “No,” Morton whispered. “WHAT?

Jack had seen him only a few times, but he thought Abelson looked like Dondi, that homeless waif with the big eyes in the comic strips. “Clark. Sixty-two dollars and seventeen cents.” Keys being punched. The machine rumbled as Sonny hit the TOTAL key. “That’s a real fall-off,” Sonny remarked.

… Remember I told you that Coach Frazer got some friend of his to handle it today? Well, he said we’d all get punishment laps if we tried to cut out, …

… That’s Digger Atwell. His real name’s Carlton, but he spent ten years taking care of the town cemeteries, so everyone got calling him Digger.

… Closer by was a gantry-thin boy with buck teeth—Donald Keegan, his name was. Donny grinned at him worshipfully, baring those amazing buck teeth.

This was a wonder, yes, but not a wholly new one. And to whom do wonders pall more rapidly than the very young? “Bawwwrk! How high is up?” East-Head enquired. “As low as low,” West-Head responded, and the children giggled. “Graaak! What’s the great truth of noblemen?” East-Head now asked.

… Elbert Palamountain, whose idea of a pretty fair work-day was to slog and squelch through gluey fields for twelve hours during a steady cold downpour of October rain, …

… “But you can trust old Elroy,” the cowboy-thing said, and now it grinned to reveal a mouthful of curving teeth, some of them jaggedly broken off, some black with rot.

… Emmie would probably have brained him if he’d come home with a strange dirty boy to feed, but once she’d seen him and talked to him, Emmie would have brought out the good glasses and the plates her mother had given her.

… The large bald man with the large bald voice had given his name as Emory W. Light. He had picked Jack up around eleven o’clock, north of Dayton, …

… Local Magistrate Ernest Fairchild and Police Officer Frank B. Williams of Cayuga, Indiana, had been charged with misuse of public monies and acceptance of bribes …

… Now Etheridge stared around at the windows, forgetting his erection, forgetting the waitress with her long legs and smooth nylons—suddenly, for no reason at all, Sloat was on his mind.

… a smiling Sunlight Gardener asked the boys to bow their heads and give thanks to God for the conversion of their brother Ferdinand Janklow. Ferd had made a soul-decision for Christ while recuperating in Parkland Hospital, …

… Local Magistrate Ernest Fairchild and Police Officer Frank B. Williams of Cayuga, Indiana, had been charged with misuse of public monies and acceptance of bribes …

I see Garson . . . Littlefield . . . the one with the scarf is Etheridge, …

• • • In the headmaster’s office, Mr. Dufrey had been discussing the expulsion of a boy named George Hatfield for cheating with his furious—and rich—father when the bells began to jingle out their unscheduled little tune.

George Irwinson asked. At the sink, where he was peeling potatoes, Donny Keegan uttered his loud yuck-yuck of a laugh.

… At that moment a woman shrieked, from the Tap, “No, Glen! No!” There was a tangle of bellowing male voices, most of them alarmed. Another woman screamed—a high, drilling sound. Then a gunshot.

… Smokey was halfway down the bar, filling up Gloria’s tray with gin-and-tonics, vodka sours, and what seemed to be beer’s only competition for the Oatley Town Drink: Black Russians.

… Gordon Sloat had been a dour Lutheran minister in Ohio—Morgan had spent his whole boyhood trying to flee that harsh and frightening man.

… Jack suddenly thought of Hank Scoffler’s mom and smiled. Hank was one of the kids Jack and Richard Sloat had hung around with in L.A.

… Hatfield the Elder was standing by the door—cringing against it, actually—his eyes wide and his jaw agape, his anger forgotten in wonder and fear.

… For the presence of Mr. Hector Bast—one of our stewards, by the way—means that we shall probably be able to outfit Mr. Wolf.

Helen Vaughan? That’s my mom’s sister. She’s a schoolteacher.

She smiled pleasantly enough at Jack and rolled her eyes at her husband. “He’s a simpleton, Henry.”

… Inger Stevens had been originally slated to play the part of the Dance Hall Girl with Willing Arms and a Heart of Gold, but Miss Stevens had come down with a bad case of bronchitis and Lily Cavanaugh had stepped into the part.

“Sit,” Jason said, swaying back and forth with the unconscious movement of a veteran sailor. He was still grinning at Jack. “Huh?” “Yap.” “I’m not getting you, Jason.” “Sit-yap.” “I’m not—” And then Jason, who was husky for a three-year-old, plopped into Jack’s lap, still grinning.

… Was the Jason-part of him real? Queen Laura’s son had been killed; he was a ghost whose name the people of the Territories swore by. Yet Jack decided he was. Jack’s quest for the Talisman, a quest that had been meant for Jason to fulfill, had made Jason live again …

… The dead men were Robert Heidel, twenty-three; Thomas Thielke, thirty-four; Jerome Wild, forty-eight; Michael Hagen, twenty-nine; and Bruce Davey, thirty-nine.

Jerry Bledsoe had been, at least part of the time, Sawyer & Sloat’s electrician and handyman. 5 When his father and Morgan Sloat used that name, Bledsoe, he thought he had never heard it before—though, having remembered it, he must have heard the handyman’s last name once or twice.

If he could have seen the first page of the month-old Angola Herald “Lewis Farren,” that enigmatic boy, had been holding so protectively yet fearfully beneath his arm, these are the words he would have read: FREAK EARTHQUAKE KILLS 5 by Herald staff reporter Joseph Gargan Work on the Rainbird …

… What did Judge Hallas tell you the last time he had you in chambers? Downtown between Center Street and Mural Street. No place else.

… Get it out of your head, Larry, you sound like a fucking boys’ adventure book. Larry shot into traffic, quickly getting the wagon up to seventy, …

Her . . . and a woman just like her.” “Who?” Jack said through numb lips. He knew who. He didn’t know her name, but he knew who. “The Queen,” Speedy said. “Her name is Laura DeLoessian, and she is the Queen of the Territories.” 2 “Help me,” Speedy grunted.

Hey, maybe we could have made it all on our own, and maybe we would have, but as for me, I’m grateful not to be representing a couple of broken-down strippers and Little Timmy Tiptoe anymore.” “Hold on,” Jack’s father said. “Airplanes,” Uncle Morgan said. “Think airplanes.”

I see Garson . . . Littlefield . . . the one with the scarf is Etheridge, …

… a twenty-three-year-old woman named Lorette Chang was just riding her bicycle into the building’s lot—she was distributing a leaflet advertising a restaurant which was due to open down the street in fifteen days.

Lori yelled over the wall of sound. Lori was Smokey’s woman. Jack still didn’t know what her last name was.

… Margaret had died by her own hand less than six weeks later. Seven months after that, Morgan Sloat’s own young son had nearly drowned …

… The dead men were Robert Heidel, twenty-three; Thomas Thielke, thirty-four; Jerome Wild, forty-eight; Michael Hagen, twenty-nine; and Bruce Davey, thirty-nine.

… Minette Banberry, the woman who owned and operated the Golden Spoon in Auburn, had been pleasant enough to Jack, had even given him a little hug and a peck of a kiss as well as three thick sandwiches when he left, …

Sloat had a taste for blood, but ultimately he was as allergic to it as Orris was to American food and American air. It was Morgan of Orris, once derided as Morgan Thudfoot, who had always done the deeds Sloat had planned. My son died; his still lives.

The fat fourth was Casey. “When we want you to talk, we’ll ask you!” Warwick shouted now. “You still whipping your weasel, Morton?” Morton trembled and said nothing. “ANSWER HIM!” Casey shrieked. He was a tubby boy who looked a little bit like a malevolent Tweedledum. “No,” Morton whispered. “WHAT?

Counting forward made it Thursday. On Thursdays he had computer class with Mr. Balgo and an early sports period. At least that was what he’d had when his life had been normal, a time that now seemed—though it had come to an end only months ago—irretrievably lost.

… Mr. Dufrey wouldn’t even let kids go back to their lockers. And then we all had to go to basketball practice, and that was even weirder.

“I think you’re in trouble. But I’m not going to call my father, and I’m not going to make you leave now. You’ll have to sleep in the bed here tonight. If we hear Mr. Haywood coming around to do bed checks, you’ll be able to hide under the bed.”

6 Etheridge had been sitting in advanced-math class and pressing his hand rhythmically up and down against a raging hard-on while he stared unseeingly at the logarithms old Mr. Hunkins was piling up on the blackboard.

The crewcut clerk goggled at Jack for a split-second, jerked as if to run, and then ran his hands over the crown of his head. Jack backed away down the hall. When he was halfway down the escalator he finally heard the clerk yelling, “Mr. Olafson! The phone, Mr. Olafson!”

… “Speedy’s old,” Parkus said. “He’s my age, but your world made him older than me. Just the same, he’s still got a few years left in him.

… Mrs. Feeny, she works over at Richard Sloat’s house, she heard Uncle Morgan talking on the phone and he said the electricity came out, …

… Springfield, Illinois, had fueled him as much as Mrs. Palamountain’s generous meals. Jack still wanted to see Richard, and as soon as he could: but Buddy Parkins’s inviting him home had somehow unstrung him. He could not just climb into another car and begin all over again on the Story.

Mrs. Scoffler had a thing for the most garish decorations Jack had ever seen. And God, wouldn’t she have loved these rugs, with the image of Laura DeLoessian, her hair done up in a high, regal coronet of braids, woven into them!

… “Now if you ever find yourself standing out on a cold and windy road again, you can thank Myles P. Kiger of Ogden, Illinois, for saving your skin.

… his mother had taken him with her to see her friend Myrna, who was a real ballet dancer, practicing in the loft of a dance studio on lower Wilshire Boulevard.

… little tidbit on to him), Sloat imagined that Nita Bledsoe had done nipups—but he had been nearly frantic about the loss of his key. It was Phil Sawyer who had found it, giving it back to him with no comment other than “Here, Morg. Your lucky charm, isn’t it? Must …

I recognize every last one of them. The guy wearing that stupid leather flying hat is Norrington. The one in the green sweatpants is Buckley. I see Garson . . . Littlefield . . . the one with the scarf is Etheridge,” he finished. “Are you sure it’s Etheridge?”

“. . . and pictures. Little pictures. Little stick-men and -women, like kids draw . . . Christ, do you think Williams knew about this?” “Must have,” Paulie said, still examining the torn and twisted steel hinges on the Box’s door. Paulie was bending in; his colleague was backing out.

… Pedersen was talking about girls with Warwick and a horse-faced boy named Peabody, an Outside Staffer who had been rotated back to the Home for a while.

… Peter Abelson was one of the boys on OS. Like all of the OS boys, he was bright, personable, and had no physical defects.

… The matter of Philip Sawtelle’s and Orris’s visits was a case in point. They had first appeared when Wolf was in the “little moon” and living with his mother and two “litter-sisters.”

Clint Walker, who played a character called Cheyenne Bodie on TV, starred as Rafe Ellis (the Retired Sheriff Who Must Strap on His Guns One Last Time).

… another college chum, Randy Glover, owned a luxurious hunting lodge in Blessington, Utah. Glover usually hunted with them, but that year he had been cruising in the Caribbean.

… He opened his fist and slammed his hand into Reuel’s forehead. Reuel and his father shrieked in harmony—Osmond a tenor-verging-on-soprano, Reuel a buzzing, insectile bass. The coin slid into Reuel’s forehead like the tip of a hot poker into a tub of butter.

… the kid next door was Reuel Gardener. The son of that preacher who ran that home you claim you escaped from.

… The dead men were Robert Heidel, twenty-three; Thomas Thielke, thirty-four; Jerome Wild, forty-eight; Michael Hagen, twenty-nine; and Bruce Davey, thirty-nine.

… Roy Owdersfelt, a tall boy with a pimple the size of a tumor on the end of his nose, stood up, twisting his rawboned hands in front of him. “I stole ten bucks from my momma’s purse last year!”

… “You know you’re not supposed to talk to the boys, Rudolph,” he said. “You can just cram it up your ass anytime you can’t roll it down the alley or kick it in the air, buddy-roo,” Rudolph said, …

… Rushton had drowned while swimming in a pond not far from the Great House. There had been a picnic. Orris and his wife had drunk a quantity of wine.

Five pair. Soldiers’ boots. One voice cut through the babble: “. . . didn’t know he had a son.” “Well,” a second answered, “bastards sire bastards—a fact you should well know, Simon.”

… “You’re gonna be sorry, I promise you that—in this place, nobody makes Sonny Singer into a jackass. I practically run this place, you two idiots.

“Don’t tell me what I should or shouldn’t do,” he said. “Only answer my questions. I’m vexed, Stephen, I’m most intolerably, indubitably vexed. Was it the Kingsland?” “Yes,” Stephen said. “I regret to say it, but—” “On the Outpost Road?” “Osmond—” “On the Outpost Road, you dripping penis?”

… “Temkin. A hundred and six dollars even.” The envelope went into the steel file-box with the others that had been recorded.

The two men still missing were Arnold Schulkamp, fifty-four, and Theodore Rasmussen, forty-three. Jack no longer had to look at the newspaper’s front page to remember their names.

… The dead men were Robert Heidel, twenty-three; Thomas Thielke, thirty-four; Jerome Wild, forty-eight; Michael Hagen, twenty-nine; and Bruce Davey, thirty-nine.

The three girls followed Timmy’s arrogant body through the glass doors into the mall. Jack waited until the figures of Timmy and his court, visible through the glass, had shrunk to the size of puppies far down the long mall before he stepped on the plate which opened the doors.

… It hit the wall, bounced, struck a boy named Tom Cassidy, drove him to the floor, and pinned him there.

In Vermont Light had called himself Tom Ferguson, and said he was a shoe-shop foreman; in Pennsylvania the alias had been Bob Darrent (“Almost like that fellow who sang ‘Splish-Splash,’ ah-ha-hah-hah”), and the job had changed to District High School Superintendent; this time Light said he was President of the …

… he saw Thomas Woodbine, solid comfortable Uncle Tommy Woodbine, who was supposed to have been one of his guardians—a strong wall against trouble and confusion—crumpled and dead on La Cienega Boulevard, …

… Jack went to the door, yanked it open, and saw Sonny, Warwick, and a big lunk named Van Zandt standing in the hall, grinning.

Preferably with a set of bolt-cutters. A boy named Vernon Skarda was currently droning away. “. . . so me and him, we seen the keys was in her, know what I mean. So he goes, ‘Let’s jump in the whore, and drive her around the block,’ he goes.

… “Yellin. Sixty-two dollars and nineteen cents.” Gardener sighed, put the last envelope into the long steel tray, and closed his ledger.