Stephen King – The Dark Tower

was willing to reach out. Most morks are selfish introverts masquerading as rugged

individualists—they want the world to see them as Dan’l Boone types—and the Algul staff

loves it, believe me. No community is easier to govern than one that rejects the very

concept of community. Do you see why I was attracted to Sheemie and Dinky, and how

lucky I was to find them?”

Susannah’s hand crept into Eddie’s. He took it and squeezed it gently.

“Sheemie was afraid of the dark,” Ted continued. “The low men—I call em all low men,

although there are humes and taheen at work here as well as can-toi—have a dozen

sophisticated tests for psychic potential, but they couldn’t seem to realize that they had

caught a halfwit who was simply afraid of the dark. Their bad luck.

“Dinky understood the problem right away, and solved it by telling Sheemie stories. The

first ones were fairy-tales, and one of them was ‘Hansel and Gretel.’ Sheemie was

fascinated by the idea of a candy house, and kept asking Dinky for more details. So, you

see, it was Dinky who actually thought of the chocolate chairs with the marshmallow seats,

the gumdrop arch, and the candy-cane banister. For a little while therewas a second floor; it had the beds of the Three Bears in it. But Sheemie never cared much for that story, and

when it slipped his mind, the upstairs of Casa Gingerbread…” Ted Brautigan chuckled.

“Well, I suppose you could say it biodegraded.

“In any case, I believe that this place I’m in is actually a fistula in time, or…” Another

pause. A sigh. Then: “Look, there are a billion universes comprising a billion realities.

That’s something I’ve come to realize since being hauled back from what the ki’-dam

insists on calling ‘my little vacation in Connecticut.’ Smarmy son of a bitch!”

Real hate in Brautigan’s voice, Roland thought, and that was good. Hate was good. It was

useful.

“Those realities are like a hall of mirrors, only no two reflections are exactly the same. I

may come back to that image eventually, but not yet. What I want you to understand for

now—or simply accept—is that reality isorganic, reality isalive . It’s something like a

muscle. What Sheemie does is poke a hole in that muscle with a mental hypo. He only has

a needle like this because he’s special—”

“Because he’s a mork,” Eddie murmured.

“Hush!” Susannah said.

“—using it,” Brautigan went on.

(Roland considered rewinding in order to pick up the missing words and decided they

didn’t matter.)

“It’s a place outside of time, outside of reality. I know you understand a little bit about the function of the Dark Tower; you understand its unifying purpose. Well, think of

Gingerbread House as a balcony on the Tower: when we come here, we’re outside the

Tower but still attachedto the Tower. It’s a real place—real enough so I’ve come back from

it with candy-stains on my hands and clothes—but it’s a place only Sheemie Ruiz can

access. And once we’re there, it’s whatever he wants it to be. One wonders, Roland, if you

or your friends had any inkling of what Sheemie truly was and what he could do when you

met him in Mejis.”

At this, Roland reached out and pushed theSTOP button on the tape recorder. “We knew

he was…odd,” he told the others. “We knew he was special. Sometimes Cuthbert would

say, ‘Whatis it about that boy? He makes my skin itch!’ And then he showed up in Gilead,

he and his mule, Cappi. Claimed to have followed us. And weknew that was impossible,

but so much was happening by then that a saloon-boy from Mejis—not bright but cheerful

and helpful—was the least of our worries.”

“He teleported, didn’t he?” Jake asked.

Roland, who had never even heard the word before today, nodded immediately. “At least

part of the distance; he had to have. For one thing, how else could he have crossed the Xay

River? There was only the one bridge, a thing made out of ropes, and once we were across,

Alain cut it. We watched it fall into the water a thousand feet below.”

“Maybe he went around,” Jake said.

Roland nodded. “Maybe he did…but it would have taken him at least six hundred wheels

out of his way.”

Susannah whistled.

Eddie waited to see if Roland had more to say. When it was clear he didn’t, Eddie leaned

forward and pushed thePLAY button again. Ted’s voice filled the cave once more.

“Sheemie’s a teleport. Dinky himself is a precog…among other things. Unfortunately, a

good many avenues into the future are blocked to him. If you’re wondering if young sai

Earnshaw knows how all this is going to turn out, the answer is no.

“In any case, there’s this hypodermic hole in the living flesh of reality…this balcony on

the flank of the Dark Tower…this Gingerbread House. A real place, as hard as that might

be to believe. It’s here that we’ll store the weapons and camping gear we eventually mean

to leave for you in one of the caves on the far side of Steek-Tete, and it’s here that I’m

making this tape. When I left my room with this old-fashioned but fearsomely efficient

machine under my arm, it was 10:14 AM, BHST—Blue Heaven Standard Time. When I

return, it will still be 10:14 AM. No matter how long I stay. That is only one of the terribly convenient things about Gingerbread House.

“You need to understand—perhaps Sheemie’s old friend Roland already does—that we

are three rebels in a society dedicated to the idea of going along to get along, even if it

means the end of existence…and sooner rather than later. We have a number of extremely

useful talents, and by pooling them we’ve managed to stay one step ahead. But if Prentiss

or Finli o’ Tego—he’s Prentiss’s Security Chief—finds out what we’re trying to do, Dinky

would be worm-food by nightfall. Sheemie as well, quite likely. I’d probably be safe

awhile longer, for reasons I’ll get to, but if Pimli Prentiss found out we were trying to bring

a true gunslinger into his affairs—one who may already have orchestrated the deaths of over five dozen Greencloaks not far from here—even my life might not be safe.” A pause.

“Worthless thing that it is.”

There was a longer pause. The reel that had been empty was now half-full. “Listen, then,”

Brautigan said, “and I’ll tell you the story of an unfortunate and unlucky man. It may be a

longer story than you have time to listen to; if that be the case, I’m sure at least three of you will understand the use of the button labeledFF . As for me, I’m in a place where clocks are

obsolete and broccoli is no doubt prohibited by law. I have all the time in the world.”

Eddie was again struck by how weary the man sounded.

“I’d just suggest that you not fast-forward unless you really have to. As I’ve said, there

may be something here that can help you, although I don’t know what. I’m simply too close

to it. And I’m tired of keeping my guard up, not just when I’m awake but when I’m

sleeping, too. If I wasn’t able to slip away to Gingerbread House every now and again and

sleep with no defenses, Finli’s can-toi boys would surely have bagged the three of us a long

time ago. There’s a sofa in the corner, also made out of those wonderful non-stick

marshmallows. I can go there and lie down and have the nightmares I need to have in order

to keep my sanity. Then I can go back to the Devar-Toi, where my job isn’t just protecting

myself but protecting Sheemie and Dink, too. Making sure that when we go about our

covert business, it appears to the guards and their fucking telemetry that we were right

where we belonged the whole time: in our suites, in The Study, maybe taking in a movie at

the Gem or grabbing ice cream sodas at Henry Graham’s Drug Store and Fountain

afterward. It also means continuing to Break, and every day I can feel the Beam we’re

currently working on—Bear and Turtle—bending more and more.

“Get here quick, boys. That’s my wish for you. Get here just as quick as ever you can.

Because it isn’t just a question of me slipping up, you know. Dinky’s got a terrible temper

and a habit of going off on foul-mouthed tirades if someone pushes his hot-buttons. He

could say the wrong thing in a state like that. And Sheemie does his best, but if someone

were to ask him the wrong question or catch him doing the wrong thing when I’m not

around to fix it…”

Brautigan didn’t finish that particular thought. As far as his listeners were concerned, he

didn’t need to.

Three

When he begins again, it’s to tell them he was born in Milford, Connecticut, in the year