NOS4A2: A Novel
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NOS4A2 is a spine-tingling novel of supernatural suspense from master of horror Joe Hill, the New York Times bestselling author of Heart-Shaped Box and Horns.
Victoria McQueen has a secret gift for finding things: a misplaced bracelet, a missing photograph, answers to unanswerable questions. On her Raleigh Tuff Burner bike, she makes her way to a rickety covered bridge that, within moments, takes her wherever she needs to go, whether it’s across Massachusetts or across the country.
Charles Talent Manx has a way with children. He likes to take them for rides in his 1938 Rolls-Royce Wraith with the NOS4A2 vanity plate. With his old car, he can slip right out of the everyday world, and onto the hidden roads that transport them to an astonishing – and terrifying – playground of amusements he calls “Christmasland.”
Then, one day, Vic goes looking for trouble—and finds Manx. That was a lifetime ago. Now Vic, the only kid to ever escape Manx’s unmitigated evil, is all grown up and desperate to forget. But Charlie Manx never stopped thinking about Victoria McQueen. He’s on the road again and he’s picked up a new passenger: Vic’s own son.
Exclusive to the print editions of NOS4A2 are more than 15 illustrations by award-winning Locke & Key artist Gabriel Rodríguez.
words. She was halfway down the hill. She yanked the helmet off at last, threw it aside. The gun boomed. Something skipped off the water to her right, as if a child had flung a flat stone across the lake. Vic’s feet were on the boards of the dock. The dock heaved and slammed beneath her. She took three bounding steps and dived at the water. She struck the surface—thought of the bullet slicing through the fog again—and then she was in the lake, she was underwater. She plunged almost all the
life!” He clapped Wayne on the back and nodded toward the front of the car. Wayne followed his gaze . . . and saw that he was looking at the open glove compartment. At the phone. “Did you really think you were going to hide something from me?” Manx asked. “Here in this car?” It didn’t seem like the kind of question that required an answer. Manx crossed his arms tightly over his chest, almost as if giving himself a hug. He was smiling to himself. He didn’t look angry at all. “Hiding something
phone—then sank back into his seat. “Oh! There is one more thing. Did this Maggie Leigh say anything about a bridge?” Wayne’s whole body seemed to pulse in reaction to this question; a kind of tingling throb surged through him, and he thought, Don’t tell him that. “No,” he said, before he had time to think. His voice went thick and choked, as if his lie were a piece of toast that had momentarily jammed in his throat. Manx turned a sly, sleepy smile upon him. His eyelids sank to half-mast. He
IT WAS MIDAFTERNOON AND THE HOUSE WAS empty. She knew the moment she opened her eyes, knew by the quality of the stillness. Her mother could not bear a perfectly silent house. When Linda slept, she ran a fan. When Linda was awake, she ran the TV or her mouth. Vic peeled herself from the chair, crossed the room, and stood on a box to look out the window that faced the front of the house. Her mother’s rusty shitbox Datsun wasn’t there. Vic felt a nasty pulse of excitement, hoped Linda was driving
“How’d I get in your bed?” he asked. “Bad dream,” she said. “I don’t remember having a bad dream.” “You weren’t the one having it,” she said. Dark birds dashed through the mist that crawled across the surface of the lake. “You find the busted sprocket?” Wayne asked. “How do you know it’s got a busted sprocket?” “I don’t know. Just from how it sounded when you tried to turn it over.” “You been spending time out in the garage? Working with your dad?” “Sometimes. He says I’m useful because