Quotes by Paul Tremblay

But ghosts arent white and bright. Ghosts are shadows of someone or something gone wrong.

It was so dark it was like noting was there in the room but us. Only the nothing was actually something because it filled my eyes and lungs and it sat on my shoulders.

I swoon into a standing eight count. Goddamn, I actually feel my consciousness want to detach and hide like a turtle retreating into a hopelessly soft shell that wont save anyone.

On the morning of the exorcism, I stayed home from school.

I said, I want to wear something funny and cool. Marjorie, could I wear your sparkly baseball hat?The three of us looked at Marjorie.Now I remember thinking that her answer could change everything back to the way it was; Dad could find a job and stop praying all the time and Mom could be happy and call Marjorie shellfish again and show us funny videos she found on YouTube, and we all could eat more than just spaghetti at dinner and, most important, Marjorie could be normal again. Everything would be okay if Marjorie would only say yes to me wearing the sparkly sequined baseball hat, the one shed made in art class a few years ago.The longer we watched Marjorie and waited for her response, the more the temperature in the room dropped and I knew that nothing would ever be the same again.She stopped twisting her spaghetti around her fingers. She opened her mouth, and vomit slowly oozed out onto her spaghetti plate.Dad: Jesus!Mom: Honey, are you okay? She jumped out of her seat and went over to Marjorie, stood behind her, and held her hair up.Marjorie didnt react to either parent, and she didnt make any sounds. She wasnt retching or convulsing involuntarily like one normally does when throwing up. It just poured out of her as though her mouth was an opened faucet. The vomit was as green as spring grass, and the masticated pasta looked weirdly dry, with a consistency of mashed-up dog food.She watched Dad the whole time as the vomit filled her plate, some of it slopping over the edges and onto the table. When she finished she wiped her mouth on her sleeve. No, Merry. You cant wear my hat. She didnt sound like herself. Her voice was lower, adult, and growly. You might get something on it. I dont want you to mess it up. She laughed.Dad: Marjorie...Marjorie coughed and vomited more onto her too-full plate. You cant wear the hat because youre going to die someday. She found a new voice, this one treacly baby-talk. I dont want dead things wearing my very special hat.

She kept talking and she kept talking. I thought she would never stop. Standing there, I felt the sun pour through the windows, setting and rising on my back. The sunroom had become a sundial measuring the geological age of my psychological toture.

Im a name and a question.