“It also looks like the East Stoneham Methodist Meeting Hall, built in 1819,” Callahan said, “so I guess this time we’ve got a case of triplets.” But his voice sounded faraway to his own ears, as hollow as the false voices which floated up from the bottom of the cave. All at once he felt false to himself, not real. He felt nineteen.

Six

It’s a joke,part of his mind assured him. It must be a joke, the cover of this book says it’s a novel, so —

Then an idea struck him, and he felt a surge of relief. It was conditional relief, but surely better than none at all. The idea was that sometimes people wrote make-believe stories about real places. That was it, surely. Had to be.

“Look at page one hundred and nineteen,” Roland said. “I could make out a little of it, but not all. Not nearly enough.”

Callahan found the page, and read this:

“ ‘In the early days at the seminary, a friend of Father…’ ” He trailed off, eyes racing ahead over the words on the page.

“Go on,” Eddie said. “You read it, Father, or I will.”

Slowly, Callahan resumed.

“ ‘…a friend of Father Callahan’s had given him a blasphemous crewelwork sampler which had sent him into gales of horrified laughter at the time, but which seemed more true and less blasphemous as the years passed: God grant me the SERENITY to accept what I cannot change, the TENACITY to change what I may, and the GOOD LUCK not to fuck up too often . This in Old English script with a rising sun in the background.

“ ‘Now, standing before Danny Glick’s…Danny Glick’s mourners, that old credo…that old credo returned.’ ”

The hand holding the book sagged. If Jake hadn’t caught it, it probably would have tumbled to the floor of the cave.

“You had it, didn’t you?” Eddie said. “You actually had a sampler saying that.”

“Frankie Foyle gave it to me,” Callahan said. His voice was hardly more than a whisper. “Back in seminary. And Danny Glick…I officiated at his funeral, I think I told you that. That was when everything seemed to change, somehow. But this is a novel ! A novel is fiction ! How…how can it…” His voice suddenly rose to a damned howl. To Roland it sounded eerily like the false voices that rose up from below. “Damn it, I’m a REAL PERSON!”

“Here’s the part where the vampire broke your cross,” Jake reported. “ ‘ “Together at last!” Barlow said, smiling. His face was strong and intelligent and handsome in a sharp, forbidding sort of way—yet, as the light shifted, it seemed—’ ”

“Stop,” Callahan said dully. “It makes my head hurt.”

“It says his face reminded you of the bogeyman who lived in your closet when you were a kid. Mr. Flip.”