Kollector’s Kloset contained the most pulp paper any of the group had ever seen. One wall was devoted to bagged examples of horror magazines. Ryan’s eye traveled over the lurid covers before one caught his complete and undivided attention.
As he sighted the predark magazine, everyone heard a sound that was familiar yet disturbing all the same.
Ryan was laughing, a deep-from-the-gut laugh followed by a few guffaws and chuckles.
“You okay?” Jak asked carefully. The albino hadn’t cared much for this shop from the beginning, and now Ryan’s mirth was starting to set him more on edge. Ryan rarely laughed, unless it was in irony or bitterness.
This laughter was genuine, the kind that came without conscious thought or warning, the kind of natural laughter few people were able to give of themselves.
Ryan nodded toward the wall of monster magazines. “Check out the one on the bottom left there,” he said, still amused. “Does the ghoul on the front in the fancy knee britches look familiar to anybody besides me?”
Dean’s young voice was the next to ring out in laughter, followed in turn by Krysty’s chuckling, then Jak’s bark of surprise and amusement. Unable to contain his curiosity, Doc bent over and peered intently at the indicated magazine cover. The colors were lurid green on mustard yellow. The center of the cover was dominated by a tall, spindly man dressed in a long greenish coat with a lean face, hawk nose and thinning white hair. The man was waving a hand in a gesture of entry into the magazine’s interior.
” Creepy ,” Doc read off the top of the cover. ” Creepy Magazine .”
“You forget the rest, Doc,” Ryan added, reading the blurb next to the figure. “Says here that Uncle Creepy Welcomes You Inside.”
“Yes, yes, I see that. What I am missing is the implied humor.”
“That Uncle Creepyhe looks just like you, Doc!” Dean piped up, in a gale of giggling.
Doc frowned. “Nonsense! This fellow looks nothing like the proud countenance of”
“Quiet!” Ryan whispered. “Somebody’s in the back. I guess the guy who owns the place finally decided to make an appearance.”
Ryan’s words were proven true when a fat, bearded man-child waddled out from a back room and took up a stance behind the long row of glass showcases.
He looked to be carrying about three-hundred-plus pounds on his five-foot-four-inch frame. His hair was long and greasy, and appeared to have been dyed a phony jet black that never existed in nature. His beard was also the same unnatural color of night. He wore a T-shirt two sizes too small. On the shirt was a picture of a tall man with pointed ears spouting the command Live Long And Prosper.
Some dark brown gravy stains also adorned the shop owner’s attire above the moon white expanse of flesh visible between his shirttail and waistband.
Ryan kept expecting him to knock over one of the many precariously stacked piles of books, toys and junk with either his wide ass or wider stomach, but he was nimble and seemed to possess an uncanny sense of grace when it came to navigating the store’s many possessions.
“Greetings and salutations. My name is Chet. I am the proprietor of this, my humble establishment,” the bearded man said. “Welcome to the finest array of predark comics and collectibles on the East Coast. If we don’t have what you’re looking for, we can find it for you with our search service for a small fee.”
“More fees,” Jak sniffed.
“Pardon me,” Doc said, moving to the counter. “I cannot help but notice you deal in paper goods.”
“Whoa, you are quite the elder,” Chet said, staggering back and holding a hand over his heart as he got his first clear look at Doc. “Hey! Anybody ever tell you that you look just like Uncle Cree”
“No! No, they have not.”
“Oh, okay. Man, a guy your age, I bet you’ve got a bitching collection.”
“Only of memories, my rotund friend, and those are getting harder and harder to find as time goes on,” Doc said wistfully. “Alas, I now have no place to call home to keep my possessions. All I have is what I carry.”