Free Crackpot Palace by Jeffrey Ford Page A

rubber band. “Three thousand,” he said and dropped the money onto the top of the nearby dresser.
    â€œYou’re giving me three thousand dollars?” said Luke.
    â€œYour cut of the diamond.”
    â€œThat was real?”
    â€œWhat I say?” He smiled.
    â€œAnd Darene?”
    â€œThey were called back to the old country for their shame.”
    â€œShame for what?”
    â€œThey didn’t do it. I told them they should, but my nephew loves his uncle.”
    â€œYou’ve got the gritchino in you now, don’t you? After Gracie bit you, you got it in you,” said Luke.
    Sfortunado shambled over and sat on the edge of the bed.
    â€œAre you going to eat my kidney?” asked Luke, pulling his legs away from the old man.
    â€œNot tonight,” said Sfortunado. “I came to ask you to please, now, put a brass nail into my head.” He put his thumb to the spot above the bridge of his nose. “Darene and her father could not, and now they have been banished from here. I couldn’t go back with them because I have the gritchino in me. Until I die I’m almost the same old Sfortunado, but after that I will be as Gracie was.”
    Luke listened and shook his head. “Forget it,” he said.
    Sfortunado reached into the pockets of the coat and brought out a mallet and a long brass nail. “You see,” said the old man, “there are no Cabadula here anymore. When I come from the coffin, there will be no one to stop me. I will feast on many. This will happen.”
    â€œNo way,” said Luke.
    â€œWhen vanquished by the nail, like gritchino, I will evaporate. And then I am gone and Darene and her family can return. You miss the girl, gaduche, I know,” he said and reached the mallet and nail toward Luke.
    â€œNo,” yelled Luke.
    Sfortunado stood up. “Do it,” he growled. When his lip trembled, the sharp tips of his incisors were visible. He took a step toward Luke, but from down the hallway outside the bedroom door there came the sound of footsteps on the stairs. The old man’s head turned, like a bird’s, listening.
    â€œMy parents are coming,” said Luke.
    â€œTurn off the light,” said Sfortunado.
    The instant the dark came on, Luke knew he shouldn’t have followed the order.
    â€œThink about it, gaduche. When you are ready, turn on your phone and whisper my name three times. I will come with the mallet and nail.”
    The doorknob turned.
    Sfortunado stepped back and his silhouette melted into the dark. Then the door opened, the lights came on, and Luke’s parents were there, but the old man had vanished.
    â€œWe heard voices and then you yelling, ‘No,’ ” said his father.
    â€œWhere’d this money come from?” asked his mother.
    Luke couldn’t answer. He turned on his side, curled up in a ball, and pulled the blanket over his head.
    A Note About “Sit the Dead”
    In recent years I’ve written quite a few stories for themed anthologies, especially for editors Ellen Datlow and Terri Windling. I enjoy doing them for two reasons. The first is that in working with Ellen or Ellen and Terri, it’s understood that they want you to do something different, idiosyncratic. They want to be surprised and delighted by the story you send them. I’ve always thrived as a writer with editors like that. On the other hand, many of the themes of these themed anthologies could very easily be described at first glance as played out or used up. What I like about doing them, though, is the challenge of being given a very traditional theme and set to the task of doing something unusual with it. When Ellen and Terri sent me the write-up for the anthology Teeth, and I saw it was to be a YA vampire anthology, I very nearly passed on it. I mean, it’s one thing to try to breathe new life into a flayed theme, but vampires? That’s almost a trope too far. With the exception of