I dont know what dese guys were like out in Chicago, but around here theyll stoop to just about anything, from allexpensespaid hunting junkets into the Allagash in November to free bowling at Family Fun Lanes in Bangor. I had one guy try to give me one of those inflatable Judy dolls. Me! And Im only a P.A.! If they cant sell you drugs, theyll drive you to them. Should have taken the Judy doll. Nah, she was a redhead. Not my type. Well, I agree with Surrendra, Louis said. Just as long as its not like yesterday. 18 When the rep from Upjohn didnt turn up promptly at ten, Louis gave in and called the registrars office. He spoke with a Mrs. Stapleton, who said she would send over a copy of Victor Pascows records immediately. When Louis hung up, the Upjohn guy was there. He didnt try to give Louis anything, only asked him if he had any interest in buying a season ticket to the New England Patriots games at a discount. Nope, Louis said. I didnt think you would, the Upjohn guy said glumly and left. At noon Louis walked up to the Bears Den and got a tuna fish sandwich and a Coke. He brought them back to his office and ate lunch while going over Pascows records. He was looking for some connection with himself or with North Ludlow, where the Pet Sematary was . . . a vague belief, he supposed, that there must be some sort of rational explanation even for such a weird occurrence as this. Maybe the guy had grown up in Ludlow had, maybe, even buried a dog or a cat up there. He didnt find the connection he was looking for. Pascow was from Bergenfield, New Jersey, and had come to UMO to study electrical engineering. In those few typed sheets, Louis could see no possible connection between himself and the young man who had died in the reception roomother than the mortal one, of course. He sucked the last Coke out of his cup, listening to the straw crackle in the bottom, and then tossed all his trash into the wastebasket. Lunch had been light, but he had eaten it with good appetite. Nothing much wrong with the way he felt, really. Not now. There had been no recurrence of the shakes, and now even that mornings horror began to seem more like a nasty, pointless surprise, dreamlike itself, of no consequence. He drummed his fingers on his blotter, shrugged, and picked up the phone again. He dialed the EMMC and asked for the morgue. After he was connected with the pathology clerk, he identified himself and said, You have one of our students there, a Victor Pascow Not anymore, the voice at the other end said. Hes gone. Louiss throat closed. At last he managed, What? His body was flown back to his parents late last night. Guy from BrookingsSmith Mortuary came and took custody. They put him on Delta, uhpapers rifflingDelta Flight 109. Where did you think he went? Out dancing at the Show Ring? No, Louis said. No, of course not. Its just . . . It was just what? What the Christ was he doing pursuing this, anyway? There was no sane way to deal with it. It had to be let go, marked off, forgotten. Anything else was asking for a lot of pointless trouble. Its just that it seemed very quick, he finished lamely. Well, he was autopsied yesterday afternoonthat faint riffle of papers againat around threetwenty by Dr. Rynzwyck. By then his father had made all the arrangements. I imagine the body got to Newark by two in the morning. Oh. Well, in that case Unless one of the carriers screwed up and sent it somewhere else, the pathology clerk said brightly. Weve had that happen, you know, although never with Delta. Deltas actually pretty good. We had a guy who died on a fishing trip way up in Aroostook County, in one of those little towns that just have a couple of map coordinates for a name. Asshole strangled on a poptop while he was chugging a can of beer. Took his buddies two days to buck him out of the wilderness, and you know that by then its a tossup whether or not the Forever Goop will take. But they shoved it in and hoped for the best. Sent him home to Grand Falls, Minnesota, in the cargo compartment of some airliner. But there was a screwup. They shipped him first to Miami, then to Des Moines, then to Fargo, North Dakota. Finally somebody wised up, but by then another three days had gone by. Nothing took. They might as well have injected him with KoolAid instead of Jaundaflo. The guy was totally black and smelled like a spoiled pork roast. Thats what I heard, anyway. Six baggage handlers got sick. The voice on the other end of the line laughed heartily. Louis closed his eyes and said, Well, thank you I can give you Dr. Rynzwycks home phone if you want it, Doctor, but he usually plays golf up in Orono in the morning. Thats okay, Louis said. He hung up the telephone. Let that put paid to it, he thought. When you were having that crazy dream, or whatever it was, Pascows body was almost certainly in a Bergenfield funeral home. That closes it off; let that be the end of it. Driving home that afternoon, a simple explanation of the filth at the foot of the bed finally occurred to him, flooding him with relief. He had experienced an isolated incident of sleepwalking, brought on by the unexpected and extremely upsetting happenstance of having a student mortally injured and then dying in his infirmary during his first real day on the job. It explained everything. The dream had seemed extremely real because large parts of it were realthe feel of the carpet, the cold dew, and, of course, the dead branch that had scratched his arm. It explained why Pascow had been able to walk through the door and he had not. A picture rose in his mind, a picture of Rachel coming downstairs last night and catching him bumping against the back door, trying in his sleep to walk through it. The thought made him grin. It would have given her a hell of a turn, all right. With the sleepwalking hypothesis in mind, he was able to analyze the causes of the dreamand he did so with a certain eagerness. He had walked to the Pet Sematary because it had become associated with another moment of recent stress. It had in fact been the cause of a serious argument between him and his wife . . . and also, he thought with growing excitement, it was associated in his mind with his daughters first encounter with the idea of deathsomething his own subconscious must have been grappling with last night when he went to bed. Damn lucky I got back to the house okayI dont even remember that part. Must have come back on autopilot. It was a good thing he had. He couldnt imagine what it would have been like to have awakened this morning by the grave of Smucky the Cat, disoriented, covered with dew, and probably scared shitlessas Rachel also would have been, undoubtedly. But it was over now. Put paid to it, Louis thought with immeasurable relief. Yes, but what about the things he said when he was dying?, his mind tried to ask, and Louis shut it up fast. That evening, with Rachel ironing and Ellie and Gage sitting in the same chair, both of them engrossed with The Muppet Show, Louis told Rachel casually that he believed he might go for a short walkto get a little air. Will you be back in time to help me put Gage to bed? she asked without looking up from her ironing. You know he goes better when youre there. Sure, he said. Where you going, Daddy? Ellie asked, not looking away from the TV. Kermit was about to be punched in the eye by Miss Piggy. Just out back, hon. Louis went out. Fifteen minutes later he was in the Pet Sematary, looking around curiously and coping with a strong feeling of dj vu. That he had been here was beyond doubt the little grave marker put up to honor the memory of Smucky the Cat was knocked over. He had done that when the vision of Pascow approached, near the end of what he could remember of the dream. Louis righted it absently and walked over to the deadfall. He didnt like it. The memory of all these weatherwhitened branches and dead trees turning into a pile of bones still had the power to chill. He forced himself to reach out and touch one. Balanced precariously on the jackstraw pile, it rolled and fell, bouncing down the side of the heap. Louis jumped back a step before it could touch his shoe. He walked along the deadfall, first to the left, then to the right. On both sides the underbrush closed in so thickly as to be impenetrable. Nor was it the kind of brush youd try to push your way throughnot if you were smart, Louis thought. There were lush masses of poison ivy growing close to the ground (all his life Louis had heard people boast that they were immune to the stuff, but he knew that almost no one really was), and farther in were some of the biggest, most wickedlooking thorns he had ever seen. Louis strolled back to the rough center of the deadfall. He looked at it, hands stuck in the back pockets of his jeans. Youre not going to try to climb that, are you? Not me, boss. Why would I want to do a stupid thing like that? Great. Had me worried for just a minute there, Lou. Looks like a good way to land in your own infirmary with a broken ankle, doesnt it? Sure does! Also, its getting dark. Sure that he was all together and in total agreement with himself, Louis began to climb the deadfall. He was halfway up when he felt it shift under his feet with a peculiar creaking sound. Roll dem bones, Doc. When the pile shifted again, Louis began to clamber back down. The tail of his shirt had pulled out of his pants. He reached solid ground without incident and dusted crumbled bits of bark off his hands. He walked back to the head of the path which would return him to his houseto his children who would want a story before bed, to Church, who was enjoying his last day as a cardcarrying tomcat and ladykiller, to tea in the kitchen with his wife after the kids were down. He surveyed the clearing again before leaving, struck by its green silence. Tendrils of ground fog had appeared from nowhere and were beginning, to wind around the markers. Those concentric circles . . . as if, all unknowing, the childish hands of North Ludlows generations had built a kind of scalemodel Stonehenge. But, Louis, is this all? Although he had gotten only the barest glimpse over the top of the deadfall before the shifting sensation had made him nervous, he could have sworn there was a path beyond, leading deeper into the woods. No business of yours, Louis. Youve got to let this go. Okay, boss. Louis turned and headed home. He stayed up that night an hour after Rachel went to bed, reading a stack of medical journals he had already been through, refusing to admit that the thought of going to bedgoing to sleepmade him nervous. He had never had an episode of somnambulism before, and there was no way to be sure it was an isolated incident . . . until it did or didnt happen again. He heard Rachel get out of bed, and then she called down softly, Lou? Hon? You coming up? Just was, he said, turning out the lamp over his study desk and getting up. It took a good deal longer than seven minutes to shut the machine down that night. Listening to Rachel draw the long, calm breaths of deep sleep beside him, the apparition of Victor Pascow seemed less dreamlike. He would close his eyes and see the door crashing open and there he was, Our Special Guest Star, Victor Pascow, standing there in his jogging shorts, pallid under his summer tan, his collarbone poking up. He would slide down toward sleep, think about how it would be to come fully, coldly awake in the Pet Sematary, to see those roughly concentric circles litten by moonlight, to have to walk back, awake, along the path through the woods. He would think these things and then snap fully awake again. It was sometime after midnight when sleep finally crept up on his blind side and bagged him. There were no dreams. He woke up promptly at seventhirty, to the sound of cold autumn rain beating against the window. He threw the sheets back with some apprehension. The ground sheet on his bed was flawless. No purist would describe his feet, with their rings of heel calluses, that way, but they were at least clean. Louis caught himself whistling in the shower. 19 Missy Dandridge kept Gage while Rachel ran Winston Churchill to the vets office. That night Ellie stayed awake until after eleven, complaining querulously that she couldnt sleep without Church and calling for glass after glass of water. Finally Louis refused to let her have any more on the grounds that she would wet the bed. This caused a crying tantrum of such ferocity that Rachel and Louis stared at each other blankly, eyebrows raised. Shes scared for Church, Rachel said. Let her work it out, Lou. She cant keep it up at that pitch for long, Louis said. I hope. He was right. Ellies hoarse, angry cries became hitches and hiccups and moans. Finally there was silence. When Louis went up to check on her, he found she was sleeping on the floor with her arms wrapped tightly around the cat bed that Church hardly even deigned to sleep in. He removed it from her arms, put her back in bed, brushed her hair back from her sweaty brow gently, and kissed her, On impulse he went into the small room that served as Rachels office, wrote a quick note in large block letters on a sheet of paper I WILL BE BACK TOMORROW, LOVE, CHURCHand pinned it to the cushion on the bottom of the cat bed. Then he went into his bedroom, looking for Rachel. Rachel was there. They made love and fell asleep in each others arms. Church returned home on the Friday of Louiss first full week of work; Ellie made much of him, used part of her allowance to buy him a box of cat treats, and nearly slapped Gage once for trying to touch him. This made Cage cry in a way mere parental discipline could never have done. Receiving a rebuke from Ellie was like receiving a rebuke from Cod. Looking at Church made Louis feel sad. It was ridiculous, but that didnt change the emotion. There was no sign of Churchs former feistiness. No more did he walk like a gunslinger; now his walk was the slow, careful walk of the convalescent. He allowed Ellie to handfeed him. He showed no sign of wanting to go outside, not even to the garage. He had changed. Perhaps it was ultimately for the better that he had changed. Neither Rachel nor Ellie seemed to notice. 20 Indian summer came and went. Brazen color came into the trees, rioted briefly, and then faded. After one cold, driving rain in midOctober, the leaves started to fall. Ellie began to arrive home laden with Halloween decorations she had made at school and entertained Gage with the story of the Headless Horseman. Gage spent that evening babbling happily about somebody named Itchybod Brain. Rachel got giggling and couldnt stop. It was a good time for them, that early autumn. Louiss work at the university had settled into a demanding but pleasant routine. He saw patients, he attended meetings of the Council of Colleges, he wrote the obligatory letters to the student newspaper, advising the universitys coed population of the confidentiality of the infirmarys treatment for VD and exhorting the student population to get flu boosters, as the Atype was apt to be prevalent again that winter. He sat on panels. He chaired panels. During the second week in October, he went to the New England Conference on College and University Medicine in Providence and presented a paper on the legal ramifications of student treatment. Victor Pascow was mentioned in his paper under the fictitious name of Henry Montez. The paper was well received. He began working up the infirmary budget for the next academic year. His evenings fell into a routine kids after supper, a beer or two with Jud Crandall later. Sometimes Rachel came over with him if Missy was available to sit for an hour, and sometimes Norma joined them, but mostly it was just Louis and Jud. Louis found the old man as comfortable as an old slipper, and he would talk about Ludlow history going back three hundred years almost as though he had lived all of it. He talked but never rambled. He never bored Louis, although he had seen Rachel yawning under her hand on more than one occasion. He would cross the road to his house again before ten on most evenings, and, like as not, he and Rachel would make love. Never since the first year of their marriage had they made love so often, and never so successfully and pleasurably. Rachel said she believed it was something in the artesian well water; Louis opted for the Maine air. The nasty death of Victor Pascow on the first day of the fall semester began to fade in the memory of the student body and in Louiss own; Pascows family no doubt still grieved. Louis had spoken to the tearful, mercifully faceless voice of Pascows father on the telephone; the father had only wanted assurance that Louis had done everything he could, and Louis had assured him that everyone involved had. He did not tell him of the confusion, the spreading stain on the carpet, and how his son had been dead almost from the instant he was brought in, although these were things that Louis thought he himself would never forget. But for those to whom Pascow was only a casualty, he had already dimmed. Louis still remembered the dream and the sleepwalking incident that had accompanied it, but it now seemed almost as if it had happened to someone else, or on a television show he had once watched. His one visit to a whore in Chicago six years ago seemed like that flow; they were equally unimportant, side trips which held a false resonance, like sounds produced in an echo chamber. He did not think at all about what the dying Pascow had or had not said. There was a hard frost on Halloween night. Louis and Ellie began at the Crandalls. Ellie cackled satisfyingly, pretended to ride her broom around Normas kitchen, and was duly pronounced Just the cutest thing I ever saw . . . isnt she, Jud? Jud agreed that she was and lit a cigarette. Wheres Gage, Louis? Thought youd have him dressed up too. They had indeed planned on taking Gage aroundRachel in particular had been looking forward to it because she and Missy Dandridge had whomped together a sort of bug costume with twisted coat hangers wrapped in crepe paper for feelersbut Gage had come down with a troublesome, bronchial cold, and after listening to his lungs, which sounded a bit rattly, and consulting the thermometer outside the window, which read only forty degrees at six oclock, Louis had nixed it. Rachel, although disappointed, had agreed. Ellie had promised to give Gage some of her candy, but the exaggerated quality of her sorrow made Louis wonder if she wasnt just a bit glad that Gage wouldnt be along to slow her down . . . or steal part of the limelight. Poor Gage, she had said in tones usually reserved for those suffering terminal illness. Gage, unaware of what he was missing, sat on the sofa watching Zoom with Church snoozing beside him. Elliewitch, Gage had replied without a great deal of interest and went back to the TV. Poor Gage, Ellie had said again, fetching another sigh. Louis thought of crocodile tears and grinned. Ellie grabbed his hand and started pulling him. Lets go, Daddy. Lets golets golets go. Gage has got a touch of the croup, Louis said to Jud now. Well, thats a real shame, Norma said, but it will mean more to him next year. Hold out your bag, Ellie . . . whoops! She had taken an apple and a bitesized Snickers bar out of the treat bowl on the table, but both of them had fallen out of her hand. Louis was a little shocked at how clawlike that hand looked. He bent over and picked up the apple as it rolled across the floor. Jud got the Snickers and dropped it into Ellies bag. Oh, let me get you another apple, honey, Norma said. That one will bruise. Its fine, Louis said, trying to drop it into Ellies bag, but Ellie stepped away, holding her bag protectively shut. I dont want a bruised apple, Daddy, she said, looking at her father as if he might have gone mad. Brown spots . . . yuck! Ellie, thats damned impolite! Dont scold her for telling the truth, Louis, Norma said. Only children tell the whole truth, you know. Thats what makes them children. The brown spots are yucky. Thank you, Mrs. Crandall, Ellie said, casting a vindicated eye on her father. Youre very welcome, honey, Norma said. Jud escorted them out to the porch. Two little ghosts were coming up the walk, and Ellie recognized them both as friends from school. She took them back to the kitchen, and for a moment Jud and Louis were alone on the porch. Her arthritis has gotten worse, Louis said. Jud nodded and pinched out his cigarette over an ashtray. Yeah. Its come down harder on her every fall and winter, but this is the worst its ever been. What does her doctor say? Nothing. He cant say nothing because Norma hasnt been back to see him. What? Why not? Jud looked at Louis, and in the light cast by the headlamps of the station wagon waiting for the ghosts, he looked oddly defenseless. Id meant to ask you this at a better time, Louis, but I guess there isnt no good time to impose on a friendship. Would you examine her? From the kitchen, Louis could hear the two ghosts boooing and Ellie going into her cackleswhich she had been practicing all weekagain. It all sounded very fine and Halloweenish. What else is wrong with Norma? he asked. Is she afraid of something else, Jud? Shes been having pains in her chest, Jud said in a low voice. She wont go see Dr. Weybridge anymore. Im a little worried. Is Norma worried? Jud hesitated and then said, I think shes scared. I think thats why she doesnt want to go to the doctor. One of her oldest friends, Betty Coslaw, died in the EMMC just last month. Cancer. She and Norma were of an age. Shes scared. Id be happy to examine her, Louis said. No problem at all. Thanks, Louis, Jud said gratefully. If we catch her one night, gang up on her, I think Jud broke off, head cocking quizzically to one side. His eyes met Louiss. Louis couldnt remember later exactly how one emotion slipped into the next. Trying to analyze it only made him feel dizzy. All he could remember for sure was that curiosity changed swiftly into a feeling that somewhere something had gone badly wrong. His eyes met Juds, both unguarded. It was a moment before he could find a way to act. Hoooohoooo, the Halloween ghosts in the kitchen chanted. Hooohooo. And then suddenly the hsound was gone arid the cry rose louder, genuinely frightening ooooOOOOOO And then one of the ghosts began to scream. Daddy! Ellies voice was wild and tight with alarm. Daddy! Missus Crandall fell down! Ah, Jesus, Jud almost moaned. Ellie came running out onto the porch, her black dress flapping. She clutched her broom in one hand. Her green face, now pulled long in dismay, looked like the face of a pygmy wino in the last stages of alcohol poisoning. The two little ghosts followed her, crying. Jud lunged through the door, amazingly spry for a man of over eighty. No, more than spry. Again, almost lithe. He was calling his wifes name. Louis bent and put his hands on Ellies shoulders. Stay right here on the porch, Ellie. Understand? Daddy, Im scared, she whispered. The two ghosts barrelled past them and ran down the walk, candy bags rattling, screaming their mothers name. Louis ran down the front hall and into the kitchen, ignoring Ellie, who was calling for him to come back. Norma lay on the hilly linoleum by the table in a litter of apples and small Snickers bars. Apparently she had caught the bowl with her hand going down and had overturned it. It lay nearby like a small Pyrex flying saucer. Jud was chafing one of her wrists, and he looked up at Louis with a strained face. Help me, Louis, he said. Help Norma. Shes dying, I think. Move to one side, Louis said. He kneeled and came down on a Spy, crushing it. He felt juice bleed through the knee of his old cords, and the cidery smell of apple suddenly filled the kitchen. Here it is, Pascow all over again, Louis thought and then shoved the thought out of his mind so fast that it might have been on wheels. He felt for her pulse and got something that was weak, thready, and rapidnot really a beat but only simple spasms. Extreme arrhythmia, well on the way to full cardiac arrest. You and Elvis Presley, Norma, he thought. He opened her dress, exposing a creamy yellow silk slip. Moving with his own rhythm now, he turned her head to one side and began administering CPR. Jud, listen to me, he said. Heel of the left hand one third of the way up the breastbonefour centimeters above the xyphoid process. Right hand gripping the left wrist, bracing, lending pressure. Keep it firm, but lets take it easy on the old ribsno need to panic yet. And for Christs sake, dont collapse the old lungs. Im here, Jud said. Take Ellie, he said. Go across the street. Carefullydont get hit by a car. Tell Rachel whats happened. Tell her I want my bag. Not the one in the study, but the one on the high shelf in the upstairs bathroom. Shell know the one. Tell her to call Bangor MedCu and to send an ambulance. Bucksports closer, Jud said. Bangors faster. Go. Dont you call; let Rachel do that. I need that bag. And once she knows the situation here, Louis thought, I dont think shell bring it over. Jud went. Louis heard the screen door bang. He was alone with Norma Crandall and the smell of apples. From the living room came the steady tick of the sevenday clock. Norma suddenly uttered a long, snoring breath. Her eyelids fluttered. And Louis was suddenly doused with a cold, horrid certainty. Shes going to open her eyes . . . oh Christ shes going to open her eyes and start talking about the Pet Sematary. But she only looked at Louis with a muddled sort of recognition, and then her eyes closed again. Louis was ashamed of himself and this stupid fear that was so unlike him. At the same time he felt hope and relief. There had been some pain in her eyes but not agony. His first guess was that this had not been a grave seizure. Louis was breathing hard now and sweating. No one but TV paramedics could make CPR look easy. A good steady closedchest massage popped a lot of calories, and the webbing between his arms and shoulders would ache tomorrow. Can I do anything? He looked around. A woman dressed in slacks and a brown sweater stood hesitantly in the doorway, one hand clutched into a fist between her breasts. The mother of the ghosts, Louis thought. No, he said, and then Yes. Wet a cloth, please. Wring it out. Put it on her forehead. She moved to do it. Louis looked down, Normas eyes were open again. Louis, I fell down, she whispered. Think I fainted. Youve had some sort of coronary event, Louis said. Doesnt look too serious. Now relax and dont talk, Norma. He rested for a moment and then took her pulse again. The beat was too fast. She was Morsecoding her heart would beat regularly, then run briefly in a series of beats that was almost but not quite fibrillation, and then begin to beat regularly again. Beatbeatbeat, WHACKWHACKWHACK, beatbeatbeatbeatbeat. It was not good, but it was marginally better than cardiac arrhythmia. The woman came over with the cloth and put it on Normas forehead. She stepped away uncertainly. Jud came back in with Louiss bag. Louis? Shes going to be fine, Louis said, looking at Jud but actually speaking to Norma. MedCu coming? Your wife is calling them, Jud said. I didnt stay around. No . . . hospital, Norma whispered. Yes, hospital, Louis said. Five days observation, medication, then home with your feet up, Norma my girl. And if you say anything else, Ill make you eat all these apples. Cores and all. She smiled wanly, then closed her eyes again. Louis opened his bag, rummaged, found the Isodil, and shook one of the pills, so tiny it easily would have fit on the moon of one fingernail, into the palm of his hand. He recapped the bottle and pinched the pill between his fingers. Norma, can you hear me? Yes. Want you to open your mouth. You did your trick, now you get your treat. Im going to put a pill under your tongue. Just a small one. I want you to hold it there until it dissolves. Its going to taste a little bitter but never mind that. All right? She opened her mouth. Stale denture breath wafted out, and Louis felt a moment of aching sorrow for her, lying here on her kitchen floor in a litter of apples and Halloween candy. It occurred to him that once she had been seventeen, her breasts eyed with great interest by the young men of the neighborhood, all her teeth her own, and the heart under her shirtwaist a tough little ponyengine. She settled her tongue over the pill and grimaced a little. The pill tasted a little bitter, all right. It always did. But she was no Victor Pascow, beyond help and beyond reach. He thought Norma was going to live to fight another day. Her hand groped in the air, and Jud took it gently. Louis got up then, found the overturned bowl, and began to pick up the treats. The woman, who introduced herself as Mrs. Buddinger from down the road, helped him and then said she thought she had better go back to the car. Her two boys were frightened. Thank you for your help, Mrs. Buddinger, Louis said. I didnt do anything, she said flatly. But Ill go down on my knees tonight and thank God you were here, Dr. Creed. Louis waved a hand, embarrassed. That goes for me, too, Jud said. His eyes found Louiss and held them. They were steady. He was in control again. His brief moment of confusion and fear had passed. I owe you one, Louis. Get off it, Louis said and tipped a finger toward Mrs. Buddinger as she left. She smiled and waved back. Louis found an apple and began to eat it. The Spy was so sweet that Louiss taste buds cramped momentarily . . . but that was not a totally unpleasurable sensation. Won one tonight, Lou, he thought and worked on the apple with relish. He was ravenous. I do though, Jud said. When you need a favor, Louis, you see me first. All right, Louis said, Ill do that. The ambulance from Bangor MedCu arrived twenty minutes later. As Louis stood outside watching the orderlies load Norma into the back, he saw Rachel looking out the living room window. He waved to her. She lifted a hand in return. He and Jud stood together and watched the ambulance pull away, lights flashing, siren silent. Guess Ill go on up to the hospital now, Jud said. They wont let you see her tonight, Jud. Theyll want to run an EKG on her and then put her in intensive care. No visitors for the first twelve hours. Is she going to be okay, Louis? Really okay? Louis shrugged. No one can guarantee that. It was a heart attack. For whatever its worth, I think shes going to be fine. Maybe better than ever, once she gets on some medication. Ayuh, Jud said, lighting a Chesterfield. Louis smiled and glanced at his watch. He was amazed to see it was only ten minutes to eight. It seemed that a great deal more time had gone by. Jud, I want to go get Ellie so she can finish her trickortreating. Yeah, course you do. This came out as Cossydo. Tell her to get all the treats she can, Louis. I will, Louis promised.    Ellie was still in her witch costume when Louis got home. Rachel had tried to persuade her into her nightie, but Ellie had resisted, holding out for the possibility that the game, suspended because of heart attack, might yet be played out. When Louis told her to put her coat back on, Ellie whooped and clapped. Its going to be awfully late for her, Louis. Well take the car, he said. Come on, Rachel. Shes been looking forward to this for a month. Well . . . She smiled. Ellie saw it and shouted again. She ran for the coat closet. Is Norma all right? I think so. He felt good. Tired but good. It was a small one. Shes going to have to be careful, but when youre seventyfive you have to recognize that your polevaulting days are done anyway. Its lucky you were there. Almost Gods providence. Ill settle for luck. He grinned as Ellie came back. You ready, Witch Hazel? Im ready, she said.


Come oncome oncome on! On the way home with half a bag of candy an hour later (Ellie protested when Louis finally called a halt, but not too much; she was tired), his daughter startled him by saying Did I make Missus Crandall have the heart attack, Daddy? When I wouldnt take the apple with the bruise on it? Louis looked at her, startled, wondering where children got such funny, halfsuperstitious ideas. Step on a crack, break your mothers back. Loves me, loves me not. Daddys stomach, Daddys head, smile at midnight, Daddys dead. That made him think of the Pet Sematary again and those crude circles. He wanted to smile at himself and was not quite able. No, honey, he said. When you were in with those two ghosts Those werent ghosts, just the Buddinger twins. Well, when you were in with them, Mr. Crandall was telling me that his wife had been having little chest pains. In fact, you might have been responsible for saving her life or at least for keeping it from being much worse. Now it was Ellies turn to look startled. Louis nodded. She needed a doctor, honey. Im a doctor. But I was only there because it was your night to go trickortreating. Ellie considered this for a long time and then nodded. But shell probably die anyway, she said matteroffactly. People who have heart attacks usually die. Even if they live, pretty soon they have another one and another one and another one until ...boom! And where did you learn these words of wisdom, may I ask? Ellie only shruggeda very Louislike shrug, he was amused to see. She allowed him to carry in her bag of candyan almost ultimate sign of trustand Louis pondered her attitude. The thought of Churchs death had brought on nearhysteria. But the thought of grandmotherly Norma Crandall dying . . . that Ellie seemed to take calmly, a matter of course, a given. What had she said? Another one and another one, until . . . boom! The kitchen was empty, but Louis could hear Rachel moving around upstairs. He set Ellies candy down on the counter and said, It doesnt necessarily work that way, Ellie. Normas heart attack was a very small one, and I was able to administer the treatment right away. I doubt if her heart was damaged much at all. She Oh, I know, Ellie agreed, almost cheerfully. But shes old, and shell die pretty soon anyway. Mr. Crandall too. Can I have an apple before I go to bed, Daddy? No, he said, looking at her thoughtfully. Go up and brush your teeth, babe. Does anyone really think they understand kids? he wondered. When the house was settled and they were in their sidebyside twin beds, Rachel asked softly, Was it very bad for Ellie, Lou? Was she upset? No, he thought. She knows old people croak at regular intervals, just like she knows to let the grasshopper go when it spits like she knows that if you stumble on the number thirteen when youre skipping rope, your best friend will die . . . like she knows that you put the graves in diminishing circles up in the Pet Sematary. Nope, he said. She handled herself very well. Lets go to sleep, Rachel, okay? That night, as they slept in their house and as Jud lay wakeful in his, there was another hard frost. The wind rose in the early morning, ripping most of the remaining leaves, which were now an uninteresting brown, from the trees. The wind awoke Louis, and he started up on his elbows, mostly asleep and confused. There were steps on the stairs . . . slow, dragging steps. Pascow had come back. Only now, he thought, two months had passed. When the door opened he would see a rotting horror, the jogging shorts caked with mould, the flesh fallen away in great holes, the brain decayed to paste. Only the eyes would be alive . . . hellishly bright and alive. Pascow would not speak this time; his vocal cords would be too decayed to produce sounds. But his eyes . . . they would beckon him to come. No, he breathed, and the steps died out. He got up, went to the door, and pulled it open, his lips drawn back in a grimace of fear and resolution, his flesh cringing. Pascow would be there, and with his raised arms he would look like a longdead conductor about to call for the first thundering phrase of Walpurgisnacht. No such thing, as Jud might have said. The landing was empty . . . silent. There was no sound but the wind. Louis went back to bed and slept. 21 The next day Louis called the intensive care unit at the EMMC. Normas condition was still listed as critical; that was standard operating procedure for the first twentyfour hours following a heart attack. Louis got a cheerier assessment from Weybridge, her doctor, however. I wouldnt even call it a minor myocardial infarction, he said. No scarring. She owes you a hell of a lot, Dr. Creed. On impulse, Louis stopped by the hospital later that week with a bouquet of flowers, and found that Norma had been moved to a semiprivate room downstairsa very good sign. Jud was with her. Norma exclaimed over the flowers and buzzed a nurse for a vase. Then she directed Jud until they were in water, arranged to her specifications, and placed on the dresser in the corner. Mothers feeling ever smuch better, Jud said dryly after he had fiddled with the flowers for the third time. Dont be smart, Judson, Norma said. No, maam. At last Norma looked at Louis. I want to thank you for what you did, she said with a shyness that was utterly unaffected and thus doubly touching. Jud says I owe you my life. Embarrassed, Louis said, Jud exaggerates. Not very damn much, he dont, Jud said. He squinted at Louis, almost smiling but not quite. Didnt your mother tell you never to slip a thankyou, Louis? She hadnt said anything about that, at least not that Louis could remember, but he believed she had said something once about false modesty being half the sin of pride. Norma, he said, anything I could do, I was pleased to do. Youre a dear man, Norma said. You take this man of mine out somewhere and let him buy you a glass of beer. Im feeling sleepy again, and I cant seem to get rid of him. Jud stood up with alacrity. Hot damn! Ill go for that, Louis. Quick, before she changes her mind. The first snow came a week before Thanksgiving. They got another four inches on the twentysecond of November, but the day before the holiday itself was clear and blue and cold. Louis took his family to Bangor International Airport and saw them off on the first leg of their trip back to Chicago for a visit with Rachels parents. Its not right, Rachel said for perhaps the twentieth time since discussions on this matter had commenced in earnest a month ago. I dont like thinking of you rattling around the house alone on Thanksgiving Day. Thats supposed to be a family holiday, Louis. Louis shifted Gage, who looked gigantic and wideeyed in his first bigboy parka, to his other arm. Ellie was at one of the big windows, watching an Air Force helicopter take off. Im not exactly going to be crying in my beer, Louis said. Jud and Norma are going to have me over for turkey and all the trimmings. Hell, Im the one who feels guilty. Ive never liked these big holiday group gropes anyway. I start drinking in front of some football game at three in the afternoon and fall asleep at seven, and the next day it feels like the Dallas Cowgirls are dancing around and yelling boolaboola inside my head. I just dont like sending you off with the two kids. Ill be fine, she said. Flying first class, I feel like a princess. And Gage will sleep on the flight from Logan to OHare. You hope, he said, and they both laughed. The flight was called, and Ellie scampered over. Thats us, Mommy. Come oncome oncome on. Theyll leave without us. No they wont, Rachel said. She was clutching her three pink boarding cards in one hand. She was wearing her fur coat, some fake stuff that was a luxuriant brown . . . probably it was supposed to look like muskrat, Louis thought. Whatever it was supposed to look like, it made her look absolutely lovely. Perhaps something of what he felt showed in his eyes because she hugged him impulsively, semicrushing Gage between them. Gage looked surprised but not terribly upset. Louis Creed, I love you, she said. Momeee, Ellie said, now in a fever of impatience. some oncome onc Oh, all right, she said. Be good, Louis. Tell you what, he said, grinning, Ill be careful. Say hello to your folks, Rachel. Oh, you, she said and wrinkled her nose at him. Rachel was not fooled; she knew perfectly well why Louis was skipping this trip. Funnee. He watched them enter the boarding ramp . . . and disappear from sight for the next week. He already felt homesick and lonely for them. He moved over to the window where Ellie had been, hands stuffed in his coat pockets, watching the baggage handlers loading the hold. The truth was simple. Not only Mr. but also Mrs. Irwin Goldman of Lake Forest had disliked Louis from the beginning. He came from the wrong side of the tracks, but that was just for starters. Worse, he fully expected their daughter to support him while he went to medical school, where he would almost surely flunk out. Louis could have handled all this, in fact had been doing so. Then something had happened which Rachel did not know about and never would . . . not from Louis, anyway. Irwin Goldman had offered to pay Louiss entire tuition through med school. The price of this scholarship (Goldmans word) was that Louis should break off his engagement with Rachel at once. Louis Creed had not been at the optimum time of life to deal with such an outrage, but such melodramatic proposals (or bribes, to call a spade a spade) are rarely made to those who are at an optimum timewhich might be around the age of eightyfive. He was tired, for one thing. He was spending eighteen hours a week in classes, another twenty hitting the books, another fifteen waiting tables in a deepdish pizza joint down the block from the Whitehall Hotel. He was also nervous. Mr. Goldmans oddly jovial manner that evening had contrasted completely with his previous cold behavior, and Louis thought that when Goldman invited him into the study for a cigar, a look had passed from him to his wife. Latermuch later, when time had lent a little perspectiveLouis would reflect that horses must feel much the same freefloating anxiety when they smell the first smoke of a prairie fire. He began expecting Goldman to reveal at any moment that he knew Louis had been sleeping with his daughter. When Goldman instead made his incredible offereven going so far as to take his checkbook from the pocket of his smoking jacket like a rake in a Nol Coward farceLouis had blown up. He accused Goldman of trying to keep his daughter like an exhibit in a museum, of having no regard for anyone but himself, and of being an overbearing, thoughtless bastard. It would be a long time before he would admit to himself that part of his rage had been relief. All of these little insights into Irwin Goldmans character, though perhaps true, had no redeeming touch of diplomacy in them. Any semblance of Nol Coward departed; if there was humor in the rest of the conversation, it was of a much more vulgar sort. Goldman told him to get out and that if he ever saw Louis on his doorstep again, he would shoot him like a yellow dog. Louis told Goldman to take his checkbook and plug up his ass with it. Goldman said he had seen bums in the gutter who had more potential than Louis Creed. Louis told Goldman he could also shove his goddam BankAmericard and his American Express Gold Card right up there beside his checkbook. None of this had been a promising first step toward good relations with the future inlaws. In the end Rachel had brought them around (after each man had had a chance to repent of the things he had said, although neither of them had ever changed his mind in the slightest about the other). There was no more melodrama, certainly no dismally theatrical fromthisdayforwardIhavenodaughter scene. Goldman would have probably suffered through Rachels marriage to the Creature from the Black Lagoon before denying her. Nevertheless the face rising above the collar of Irwin Goldmans morning coat on the day Louis married Rachel had greatly resembled the faces sometimes seen carved on Egyptian sarcophagi. Their wedding present had been a sixplace setting of Spode china and a microwave oven. No money. For most of Louiss harumscarum med school days, Rachel had worked as a clerk in a womens apparel store. And from that day to this day, Rachel only knew that things had been and continued to be tense between her husband and her parents . . . particularly between Louis and her father. Louis could have gone to Chicago with his family, although the university schedule would have meant flying back three days earlier than Rachel and the kids. That was no great hardship. On the other hand, four days with ImHoTep and his wife the Sphinx would have been. The children had melted his inlaws a good deal, as children often do. Louis suspected that he himself could have completed the rapprochement simply by pretending he had forgotten that evening in Goldmans study. It wouldnt even matter that Goldman knew he was pretending. But the fact was (and he at least had the guts to be up front about it with himself) that he did not quite want to make the rapprochement. Ten years was a long time, but it was not quite long enough to take away the slimy taste that had come into his mouth when, in Goldmans study over glasses of brandy, the old man had opened one side of that idiotic smoking jacket and removed the checkbook residing within. Yes, he had felt relief that the nightsfive of them in all that he and Rachel had spent in his narrow, sagging apartment bed had not been discovered, but that surprised disgust had been quite its own thing, and the years between then and now had not changed it. He could have come, but he preferred to send his fatherinlaw his grandchildren, his daughter, and a message. The Delta 727 pulled away from the rampway, turned . . . and he saw Ellie at one of the front windows, waving frantically. Louis waved back, smiling, and then someoneEllie or Rachel hiked Gage into the window. Louis waved, and Gage waved backperhaps seeing him, perhaps only imitating Ellie. Fly my people safe, he muttered, then zipped his coat and went out to the parking lot. Here the wind whined and zoomed with force enough to almost tear his hunters cap off his head, and he clapped a hand to it. He fumbled with his keys to unlock the drivers side door of his car and then turned as the jet rose beyond the terminal building, its nose tilted upward into the hard blue, its turbos thundering. Feeling very lonely indeed nowridiculously close to tears Louis waved again. He was still feeling blue that evening when he recrossed Route 15 after a couple of beers with Jud and NormaNorma had drunk a glass of wine, something she was allowed, even encouraged to have, by Dr. Weybridge. They had moved into the kitchen tonight in deference to the season. Jud had stoked up the small Marek stove, and they had sat around it, the beer cold, the heat good, and Jud had talked about how the Micmac Indians had staved off a British landing at Machiss two hundred years ago. In those days the Micmacs had been pretty fearsome, he said, and then added that he guessed there were a few state and federal land lawyers who thought they still were. It should have been a fine evening, but Louis was aware of the empty house waiting for him. Crossing the lawn and feeling the frost crunching under his shoes, he heard the telephone begin to ring in the house. He broke into a run, got through the front door, sprinted through the living room (knocking over a magazine stand), and then slid most of the way across the kitchen, his frosty shoes skidding over the linoleum. He snared the phone. Hello? Louis? Rachels voice, a little distant but absolutely fine. Were here. We made it. No problems. Great! he said and sat down to talk to her, thinking I wish to God you were here. 22 The Thanksgiving dinner Jud and Norma put on was a fine one. When it was over, Louis went home feeling full and sleepy. He went upstairs to the bedroom, relishing the quiet a little, flipped off his loafers, and lay down. It was just after three oclock; the day outside was lit with thin, wintry sunshine. I'll just doze a little, he thought and fell fast asleep. It was the bedroom extension that woke him up. He groped for it, trying to pull himself together, disoriented by the fact that it was almost dark outside. He could hear the wind whining around the corners of the house and the faint, husky mutter of the furnace. Hello, he said. It would be Rachel, calling from Chicago again to wish him a happy Thanksgiving. She would put Ellie on and Ellie would talk and then Gage would get on and Gage would babbleand how the hell had he managed to sleep all afternoon when he had meant to watch the football game . . . But it wasnt Rachel. It was Jud. Louis? Fraid maybe youve got a little spot of trouble. He swung out of bed, still trying to scrub the sleep out of his mind. Jud? What trouble? Well, theres a dead cat over here on our lawn, Jud said. I think it might be your daughters. Church? Louis asked. There was a sudden sinking in his belly. Are you sure, Jud?" No, I aint one hundred percent sure, Jud said, but it sure looks like him. Oh. Oh shit. Ill be right over, Jud. All right, Louis. He hung up and just sat there for a minute longer. Then he went in and used the bathroom, put his shoes on, and went downstairs. Well, maybe it isnt Church. Jud himself said he wasnt one hundred percent sure. Christ, the cat doesnt even want to go upstairs anymore unless someone carries him . . . why would he cross the road? But in his heart he felt sure that it was Church . . . and if Rachel called this evening as she almost certainly would, what was he going to say to Ellie? Crazily, he heard himself saying to Rachel I know that anything, literally anything, can happen to physical beings. As a doctor I know that . . . do you want to be the one to explain to her what happened if he gets run over in the road? But he hadnt really believed anything was going to happen to Church, had he? He remembered one of the guys he played poker with, Wickes Sullivan, asking him once how he could get horny for his wife and not get horny for the naked women he saw day in and day out. Louis had tried to explain to him that it wasnt the way people imagined in their fantasiesa woman coming in to get a Pap smear or to learn how to give herself a breast selfexamination didnt suddenly drop a sheet and stand there like Venus on the halfshell. You saw a breast, a vulva, a thigh. The rest was draped in a sheet, and there was a nurse in attendance, more to protect the doctors reputation than anything else. Wicky wasnt buying it. A tit is a tit, was Wickys thesis, and a twat is a twat. You should either be horny all the time or none of the time. All Louis could respond was that your wifes tit was different. Just like your familys supposed to be different, he thought now. Church wasnt supposed to get killed because he was inside the magic circle of the family. What he hadnt been able to make Wicky understand was that doctors compartmentalized just as cheerfully and blindly as anyone else. A tit wasnt a tit unless it was your wifes tit. In the office, a tit was a case. You could stand up in front of a medical colloquium and cite leukemia figures in children until you were blue in the face and still not believe it if one of your own kids got a call on the BonePhone. My kid? My kids cat, even? Doctor, you must be joking. Never mind. Take this one step at a time. But that was hard when he remembered how hysterical Ellie had gotten at the prospect of Church someday dying. Stupid fucking cat, why did we ever have to get a fucking cat, anyway? But he wasnt fucking anymore. That was supposed to keep him alive. Church? he called, but there was only the furnace, muttering and muttering, burning up dollars. The couch in the living room, where Church had recently spent most of his time, was empty. He was not lying on any of the radiators. Louis rattled the cats dish, the one thing absolutely guaranteed to bring Church running if he was in earshot, but no cat came running this time . . . and never would again, he was afraid. He put on his coat and hat and started for the door. Then he came back. Giving in to what his heart told him, he opened the cupboard under the sink and squatted down. There were two kinds of plastic bags in theresmall white ones for the household trash baskets and big green garbagecan liners. Louis took one of the latter. Church had put on weight since he had been fixed. He poked the bag into one of the side pockets of his jacket, not liking the slick, cool way the plastic felt under his fingers. Then he let himself out the front door and crossed the street to Juds house. It was about fivethirty. Twilight was ending. The landscape had a dead look. The remainder of sunset was a strange orange line on the horizon across the river. The wind bowled straight down Route 15, numbing Louiss cheeks and whipping away the white plume of his breath. He shuddered, but not from the cold. It was a feeling of aloneness that made him shudder. It was strong and persuasive. There seemed no way to concretize it with a metaphor. It was faceless. He just felt by himself, untouched and untouching. He saw Jud across the road, bundled up in his big green duffle coat, his face lost in the shadow cast by the furfringed hood. Standing on his frozen lawn, he looked like a piece of statuary, just another dead thing in this twilight landscape where no bird sang. Louis started across, and then Jud movedwaved him back. Shouted something Louis could not make out over the pervasive whine of the wind. Louis stepped back, realizing suddenly that the winds whine had deepened and sharpened. A moment later an airhorn blatted and an Orinco truck roared past close enough to make his pants and jacket flap. Damned if he hadnt almost walked right out in front of the thing. This time he checked both ways before crossing. There was only the tankers taillights, dwindling into the twilight. Thought that Rinco truck was gonna get you, Jud said. Have a care, Louis. Even this close, Louis couldnt see Juds face, and the uncomfortable feeling persisted that this could have been anyone . . . anyone at all. Wheres Norma? he asked, still not looking down at the sprawled bundle of fur by Juds foot. Went to the Thanksgiving church service, he said. Shell stay to the supper, I guess, although I dont think shell eat nothing. Shes gotten peckish. The wind gusted, shifting the hood back momentarily, and Louis saw that it was indeed Judwho else would it have been? Its mostly an excuse for a hen paaaty, Jud said. They dont eat much but sanwidges after the big meal at noon. Shell be back around eight. Louis knelt down to look at the cat. Dont let it be Church, he wished fervently, as he turned its head gently on its neck with gloved fingers. Let it be someone elses cat, let Jud be wrong. But of course it was Church. He was in no way mangled or disfigured; he had not been run over by one of the big tankers or semis that cruised Route 15 (just what was that Orinco truck doing out on Thanksgiving? he wondered randomly). Churchs eyes were halfopen, as glazed as green marbles. A small flow of blood had come from his mouth, which was also open. Not a great deal of blood; just enough to stain the white bib on his chest. Yours, Louis? Mine, he agreed and sighed. He was aware for the first time that he had loved Churchmaybe not as fervently as Ellie but in his own absent way. In the weeks following his castration, Church had changed, had gotten fat and slow, had established aroutine that took him between Ellies bed, the couch, and his dish but rarely out of the house. Now, in death, he looked to Louis like the old Church. The mouth so small and bloody, filled with needlesharp cats teeth, was frozen in a shooters snarl. The dead eyes seemed furious. It was as if after the short and placid stupidity of his life as a neuter, Church had rediscovered his real nature in dying. Yeah, its Church, he said. Ill be damned if I know how Im going to tell Ellie about it. Suddenly he had an idea. He would bury Church up in the Pet Sematary with no marker or any of that foolishness. He would say nothing to Ellie on the phone tonight about Church; tomorrow he would mention casually that he hadnt seen Church around; the day after he would suggest that perhaps Church had wandered off. Cats did that sometimes. Ellie would be upset, sure, but there would be none of the finality . . . no reprise of Rachels upsetting refusal to deal with death . . . just a withering away. Coward, part of his mind pronounced. Yes . . . no argument. But who needs this hassle? Loves that cat pretty well, doesnt she? Jud asked. Yes, Louis said absently. He moved Churchs head again. The cat had begun to stiffen, but the head still moved much more easily than it should have. Broken neck. Yeah. Given that, he thought he could reconstruct what had happened. Church had been crossing the roadfor what reason God alone knewand a car or truck had hit him, breaking his neck and throwing him aside onto Jud Crandalls lawn. Or perhaps the cats neck had been broken when he struck the frozen ground. It didnt matter. Either way the remains remained the same. Church was dead. He glanced up at Jud, about to tell him his conclusions, but Jud was looking away toward that fading orange line of light at the horizon. His hood had fallen back halfway, and his face seemed thoughtful and stern . . . harsh, even. Louis pulled the green garbage bag out of his pocket and unfolded it, holding it tightly to keep the wind from whipping it away. The brisk crackling sound of the bag seemed to bring Jud back to this here and now. Yes, I guess she loves it pretty well, Jud said. His use of the present tense felt slightly eerie . . . the whole setting, with the fading light, the cold, and the wind, struck him as eerie and gothic. Heres Heathcliff out on the desolate moors, Louis thought, grimacing against the cold. Getting ready to pop the family cat into a Hefty Bag. Yowza. He grabbed Churchs tail, spread the mouth of the bag, and lifted the cat. He pulled a disgusted, unhappy face at the sound the cats body made coming uprrrriiippp as he pulled it out of the frost it had set into. The cat seemed almost unbelievably heavy, as if death had settled into it like a physical weight. Christ, he feels like a bucket of sand. Jud held the other side of the bag, and Louis dropped Church in, glad to be rid of that strange, unpleasant weight. What are you going to do with it now? Jud asked. Put him in the garage, I guess, Louis said. Bury him in the morning. In the Pet Sematary? Louis shrugged. Suppose so. Going to tell Ellie? I . . . Ill have to mull that one over awhile. Jud was quiet a moment longer, and then he seemed to reach a decision. Wait here a minute or two, Louis. Jud moved away, with no apparent thought that Louis might not want to wait just a minute on this bitter night. He moved away with assurance and that lithe ease which was so strange in a man of his age. And Louis found he had nothing to say anyway. He didnt feel much like himself. He watched Jud go, quite content to stand here. He raised his face into the wind after the door had clicked closed, the garbage bag with Churchs body in it riffling between his feet. Content. Yes, he was. For the first time since they had moved to Maine, he felt that he was in his place, that he was home. Standing here by himself in the afterglow of the day, standing on the rim of winter, he felt unhappy and yet oddly exhilarated and strangely wholewhole in a way he had not been, or could not remember feeling that he had been, since childhood. Something gonna happen here, Bubba. Something pretty weird, I think. He tilted his head back and saw cold winter stars in a blackening sky. How long he stood like that he did not know, although it could not have been long in terms of seconds and minutes. Then a light flickered on Juds porch, bobbed, approached the porch door, and descended the steps. It was Jud behind a big fourcell flashlight. In his other hand he held what Louis at first thought was a large X . . . and then he saw that it was a pick and shovel. He handed the shovel to Louis, who took it in his free hand. Jud, what the hell are you up to? We cant bury him tonight. Yeah, we can. And were gonna. Juds face was lost behind the glaring circle of the flashlight. Jud, its dark. Its late. And cold Come on, Jud said. Lets get it done. Louis shook his head and tried to begin again, but the words came hardthe words of explanation and reason. They seemed so meaningless against the low shriek of the wind, the seedling bed of stars in the black. It can wait till tomorrow when we can see Does she love the cat? Yes, but Juds voice, soft and somehow logical And do you love her? Of course I love her, shes my dau Then come on. Louis went. Twicemaybe three timeson the walk up to the Pet Sematary that night Louis tried to talk to Jud, but Jud didnt answer. Louis gave up. That feeling of contentment, odd under the circumstances but a pure fact, persisted. It seemed to come from everywhere. The steady ache in his muscles from carrying Church in one hand and the shovel in the other was a part of it. The wind, deadly cold, numbing exposed skin, was a part of it; it wound steadily in the trees. Once they got into the woods, there was no snow to speak of. The bobbing light of Juds flash was a part of it. He felt the pervasive, undeniable, magnetic presence of some secret. Some dark secret. The shadows fell away and there was a feeling of space. Snow shone pallidly. Rest here, Jud said, and Louis set the bag down. He wiped sweat off his forehead with his arm. Rest here? But they were here. He could see the markers in the moving, aimless sweep of Juds light as Jud sat down in the thin snow and put his face between his arms. Jud? Are you all right? Fine. Need to catch my breath a bit, thats all. Louis sat down next to him and deepbreathed half a dozen times. You know, he said, I feel better than I have in maybe six years. I know thats a crazy thing to say when youre burying your daughters cat, but its the flat truth, Jud. I feel good. Jud breathed deeply once or twice himself. Yeah, I know, he said. It is that way once in a while. You dont pick your times for feeling good, any more than you do for the other. And the place has something to do with it too, but you dont want to trust that. Heroin makes dope addicts feel good when theyre putting it in their arms, but all the time its poisoning them. Poisoning their bodies and poisoning their way of thinking. This place can be like that, Louis, and dont you ever forget it. I hope to God Im doing right. I think I am, but I cant be sure. Sometimes my head gets muddled. Its senility coming, I think. I dont know what youre talking about. This place has power, Louis. Not so much here, but . . . the place were going. Jud Come on, Jud said and was on his feet again. The flashlights beam illuminated the deadfall. Jud was walking toward it. Louis suddenly remembered his episode of somnambulism. What was it Pascow had said in the dream that had accompanied it? Dont go beyond, no matter how much you feel you need to, Doctor. The barrier was not made to be broken. But now, tonight, that dream or warning or whatever it had been seemed years rather than months distant. Louis felt fine and fey and alive, ready to cope with anything, and yet full of wonder. It occurred to him that this was very much like a dream.


Then Jud turned toward him, the hood seeming to surround a blankness, and for one moment Louis imagined that it was Pascow himself who now stood before him, that the shining light would be reversed, trained on a grinning, gibbering skull framed in fur, and his fear returned like a dash of cold water. Jud, he said, we cant climb over that. Well each break a leg and then probably freeze to death trying to get back. Just follow me, Jud said. Follow me and dont look down. Dont hesitate and dont look down. I know the way through, but it has to be done quick and sure. Louis began to think that perhaps it was a dream, that he had simply never awakened from his afternoon nap. If I was awake, he thought, Id no more head up that deadfall than Id get drunk and go skydiving. But Im going to do it. I really think I am. So I must be dreaming. Right? Jud angled slightly left, away from the center of the deadfall. The flashs beam centered brightly on the jumbled heap of (bones) fallen trees and old logs. The circle of light grew smaller and even brighter as they approached. Without the slightest pause, without even a brief scan to assure himself that he was in the right place, Jud started up. He did not scramble; he did not climb bent over, the way a man will climb a rocky hillside or a sandy slope. He simply mounted, as if climbing a set of stairs. He walked like a man who knows exactly where his next step is coming from. Louis followed in the same way. He did not look down or search for footholds. It came to him with a strange but total surety that the deadfall could not harm him unless he allowed it to. It was a piece of utter assholery of course, like the stupid confidence of a man who believes its safe to drive when totally shitfaced as long as hes wearing his St. Christophers medallion. But it worked, There was no pistolshot snap of an old branch giving way, no sickening plunge into a hole lined with jutting, weatherwhitened splinters, each one ready to cut and gore and mangle. His shoes (Hush Puppy loafershardly recommended for climbing deadfalls) did not slip on the old dry moss which had overgrown many of the fallen trees. He pitched neither forward nor backward. The wind sang wildly through the fir trees all around them. For a moment he saw Jud standing on top of the deadfall, and then he began down the far side, calves dropping out of sight, then thighs, then hips and waist. The light bounced randomly off the whipping branches of the trees on the other side of the . . . the barrier. Yes, thats what it waswhy try to pretend it wasnt? The barrier. Louis reached the top himself and paused there momentarily, right foot planted on an old fallen tree that was canted up at a thirtyfivedegree angle, left foot on something springiera mesh of old fir branches? He didnt look down to see, but only switched the heavy trashbag with Churchs body in it from his right hand to his left, exchanging it for the lighter shovel. He turned his face up into the wind and felt it sweep past him in an endless current, lifting his hair. It was so cold, so clean . . . so constant. Moving casually, almost sauntering, he started down again. Once a branch that felt to be the thickness of a brawny mans wrist snapped loudly under his foot, but he felt no concern at alland his plunging foot was stopped firmly by a heavier branch some four inches down. Louis hardly staggered. He supposed that now he could understand how company commanders in World War I had been able to stroll along the top of the trenches with bullets snapping all around them, whistling Tipperary. It was crazy, but the very craziness made it tremendously exhilarating. He walked down, looking straight ahead at the bright circle of Juds light. Jud was standing there, waiting for him. Then he reached the bottom, and the exhilaration flared up in him like a shot of coal oil on embers. We made it! he shouted. He put the shovel down and clapped Jud on the shoulder. He remembered climbing an apple tree to the top fork where it swayed in the wind like a ships mast. He had not felt so young or so viscerally alive in twenty years or more. Jud, we made it! Did you think we wouldnt? Jud asked. Louis opened his mouth to say somethingThink we wouldnt? Were damn lucky we didnt kill ourselves!and then he shut it again. He had never really questioned at all, not from the moment Jud approached the deadfall. And he was not worried about getting back over again. I guess not, he said. Come on. Cot a piece to walk yet. Three miles or more. They walked. The path did indeed go on. In places it seemed very wide, although the moving light revealed little clearly; it was mostly a feeling of space, a feeling that the trees had drawn back. Once or twice Louis looked up and saw stars wheeling between the massed dark border of trees. Once something loped across the path ahead of them, and the light picked up the reflection of greenish eyesthere and then gone. At other times the path closed in until underbrush scratched stiff fingers across the shoulders of Louiss coat. He switched the bag and the shovel more often, but the ache in his shoulders was now constant. He fell into a rhythm of walking and became almost hypnotized with it. There was power here, yes, he felt it. He remembered a time when he had been a senior in high school. He and his girl and some other couple had gone way out in the boonies and had ended up necking at the end of a deadend dirt road near a power station. They hadnt been there long before Louiss girl said that she wanted to go home, or at least to another place, because all her teeth (all the ones with fillings, anyway, and that was most of them) were aching. Louis had been glad to leave himself. The air around the power station had made him feel nervous and too awake. This was like that, but it was stronger. Stronger but not unpleasant at all. It was Jud had stopped at the base of a long slope. Louis ran into him. Jud turned toward him. Were almost where were going now, he said calmly. This next bit is like the deadfallyou got to walk steady and easy. Just follow me and dont look down. You felt us going downhill? Yes. This is the edge of what the Micmacs used to call Little Cod Swamp. The fur traders who came through called it Dead Mans Bog, and most of them who came once and got out never came gain. Is there quicksand? Oh, ayuh, quicksand aplenty! Streams that bubble up through a big deposit of quartz sand left over from the glacier. Silica sand, we always called it, although theres probably a proper name for it. Jud looked at him, and for a moment Louis thought he saw something bright and not completely pleasant in the old mans eyes. Then Jud shifted the flashlight and that look was gone. Theres a lot of funny things down this way, Louis. The airs heavier . . . more electrical . . . or somethin. Louis started. Whats wrong? Nothing, Louis said, thinking of that night on the deadend road. You might see St. Elmos firewhat the sailors call foolights. It makes funny shapes, but its nothing. If you should see some of those shapes and they bother you, just look the other way. You may hear sounds like voices, but they are the loons down south toward Prospect. The sound carries. Its funny. Loons? Louis said doubtfully. This time of year? Oh, ayuh, Jud said again, and his voice was terribly bland and totally unreadable. For a moment Louis wished desperately he could see the old mans face again. That look Jud, where are we going? What the hell are we doing out here in the back of the beyond? Ill tell you when we get there. Jud turned away. Mind the tussocks. They began to walk again, stepping from one broad hummock to the next. Louis did not feel for them. His feet seemed to find them automatically, with no effort from him. He slipped only once, his left shoe breaking through a thin scum of ice and dipping into cold and somehow slimy standing water. He pulled it out quickly and went on, following Juds bobbing light. That light, floating through the woods, brought back memories of the pirate tales he had liked to read as a boy. Evil men off to bury gold doubloons by the dark of the moon . . . and of course one of them would be tumbled into the pit on top of the chest, a bullet in his heart, because the pirates had believedor so the authors of these lurid tales solemnly attestedthat the dead comrades ghost would remain there to guard the swag. Except its not treasure weve come to bury. Just my daughters castrated cat. He felt wild laughter bubble up inside and stifled it. He did not hear any sounds like voices, nor did he see any St. Elmos fire, but after stepping over half a dozen tussocks, he looked down and saw that his feet, calves, knees, and lower thighs had disappeared into a ground fog that was perfectly smooth, perfectly white, and perfectly opaque. It was like moving through the worlds lightest drift of snow. The air seemed to have a quality of light in it now, and it was warmer, he could have sworn it. He could see Jud before him, moving steadily along, the blunt end of the pick hooked over his shoulder. The pick enhanced the illusion of a man intent on burying treasure. That crazy sense of exhilaration persisted, and he suddenly wondered if maybe Rachel was trying to call him; if, back in the house, the phone was ringing and ringing, making its rational, prosaic sound. If He almost walked into Juds back again. The old man had stopped in the middle of the path. His head was cocked to one side. His mouth was pursed and tense. Jud? Whats Shhh! Louis hushed, looking around uneasily. Here the ground mist was thinner, but he still couldnt see his own shoes. Then he heard crackling underbrush and breaking branches. Something was moving out theresomething big. He opened his mouth to ask Jud if it was a moose (bear was the thought that actually crossed his mind), and then he closed it again. The sound carries, Jud had said. He cocked his head to one side in unconscious imitation of Jud, unaware that he was doing it, and listened. The sound seemed at first distant, then very close; moving away arid then moving ominously toward them. Louis felt the sweat on his forehead begin to trickle down his chapped cheeks. He shifted the Hefty Bag with Churchs body in it from one hand to the other. His palm had dampened, and the green plastic seemed greasy, wanting to slide through his fist. Now the thing out there seemed so close that Louis expected to see its shape at any moment, rising up on two legs, perhaps, blotting out the stars with some unthoughtof, immense and shaggy body. Bear was no longer what he was thinking of. Now he didnt know just what he was thinking of. Then it moved away and disappeared. Louis opened his mouth again, the words What was that? already on his tongue. Then a shrill, maniacal laugh came out of the darkness, rising and falling in hysterical cycles, loud, piercing, chilling. To Louis it seemed that every joint in his body had frozen solid and that he had somehow gained weight, so much weight that if he turned to run he would plunge down and out of sight in the swampy ground. The laughter rose, split into dry cackles like some rottenly friable chunk of rock along many fault lines; it reached the pitch of a scream, then sank into a guttural chuckling that might have become sobs before it faded out altogether. Somewhere there was a drip of water and above them, like a steady river in a bed of sky, the monotonous whine of the wind. Otherwise Little God Swamp was silent. Louis began to shudder all over. His fleshparticularly that of his lower bellybegan to creep. Yes, creep was the right word; his flesh actually seemed to be moving on his body. His mouth was totally dry. There seemed to be no spit at all left in it. Yet that feeling of exhilaration persisted, an unshakable lunacy. What in Christs name? he whispered hoarsely to Jud. Jud turned to look at him, and in the dim light Louis thought the old man looked a hundred and twenty. There was no sign of that odd, dancing light in his eyes now. His face was drawn, and there was stark terror in his eyes. But when he spoke, his voice was steady enough. Just a loon, he said. Come on. Almost there. They went on. The tussocks became firm ground again. For a few moments Louis had a sensation of open space, although that dim glow in the air had now faded, and it was all he could do to make out Juds back three feet in front of him. Short grass stiff with frost was underfoot. It broke like glass at every step. Then they were in the trees again. He could smell aromatic fir, feel needles. Occasionally a twig or a branch scraped against him. Louis had lost all sense of time or direction, but they did not walk long before Jud stopped again and turned toward him. Steps here, he said. Cut into rock. Fortytwo or fortyfour, I disremember which. Just follow me. We get to the top and were there. He began to climb again, and again Louis followed. The stone steps were wide enough, but the sense of the ground dropping away was unsettling. Here and there his shoe gritted on a strew of pebbles and stone fragments. Twelve . . . thirteen . . . fourteen. The wind was sharper, colder, quickly numbing his face. Are we above the treeline? he wondered. He looked up and saw a billion stars, cold lights in the darkness. Never in his life had the stars made him feel so completely small, infinitesimal, without meaning. He asked himself the old questionis there anything intelligent out there?and instead of wonder, the thought brought a horrid cold feeling, as if he had asked himself what it might be like to eat a handful of squirming bugs. twentysix . . . twentyseven . . . twentyeight. Who carved these, anyway? Indians? The Micmacs? Were they toolbearing Indians? I'll have to ask Jud. Toolbearing Indians made him think of furbearing animals, and that made him think of that thing that had been moving near them in the woods. One foot stumbled, and he raked a gloved hand along the rock wall to his left for balance. The wall felt old, chipped and channeled and wrinkled. Like dry skin thats almost worn out, he thought. You all right, Louis? Jud murmured. Im okay, he said, although he was nearly out of breath and his muscles throbbed from the weight of Church in the bag. fortytwo . . . fortythree . . . fortyfour. Fortyfive, Jud said. Ive forgot. Havent been up here in twelve years, I guess. Dont suppose Ill ever have a reason to come again. Here . . . up you come and up you get. He grabbed Louiss arm and helped him up the last step. Were here, Jud said. Louis looked around. He could see well enough; the starlight was dim but adequate. They were standing on a rocky, rubble strewn plate of rock which slid out of the thin earth directly ahead like a dark tongue. Looking the other way, he could see the tops of the fir trees they had come through in order to reach the steps. They had apparently climbed to the top of some weird, flattopped mesa, a geological anomaly that would have seemed far more normal in Arizona or New Mexico. Because the grassedover top of the mesaor hill, or truncated mountain, or whatever it waswas bare of trees, the sun had melted the snow here. Turning back to Jud, Louis saw dry grasses bending before the steady wind that blew coldly in his face, and saw that it was a hill, not an isolated mesa. Ahead of them the ground rose again toward trees. But this flatness was so obvious, and so odd in the context of New Englands low and somehow tired hills Toolbearing Indians, his mind suddenly spoke up. Come on, Jud said and led him twentyfive yards toward the trees. The wind blew hard up here, but it felt clean. Louis saw a number of shapes just under the gloom cast by the treestrees which were the oldest, tallest firs he had ever seen. The whole effect of this high, lonely place was emptinessbut an emptiness which vibrated. The dark shapes were cairns of stones. Micmacs sanded off the top of the hill here, Jud said. No one knows how, no more than anyone knows how the Mayans built their pyramids. And the Micmacs have forgot themselves, just like the Mayans have. Why? Why did they do it? This was their burying ground, Jud said. I brought you here so you could bury Ellies cat here. The Micmacs didnt discriminate, you know. They buried their pets right alongside their owners. This made Louis think of the Egyptians, who had gone that one better they had slaughtered the pets of royalty so that the souls of the pets might go along to whatever afterlife there might be with the souls of their masters. He remembered reading about the slaughter of more than ten thousand domestic animals following the decease of one pharaohs daughterincluded in the tally had been six hundred pigs and two thousand peacocks. The pigs had been scented with attar of roses, the dead ladys favorite perfume, before their throats were cut. And they built pyramids too. No one knows for sure what the Mayan pyramids are fornavigation and chronography, some say, like Stonehengebut we know damn well what the Egyptian pyramids were and are . . . great monuments to death, the worlds biggest gravestones. Here Lies Ramses II, He Was Obedient, Louis thought and uttered a wild, helpless cackle. Jud looked at him, unsurprised. Go on and bury your animal, he said. Im gonna have a smoke. Id help you, but you got to do it yourself. Each buries his own. Thats the way it was done then. Jud, whats this all about? Why did you bring me here? Because you saved Normas life, Jud said, and although he sounded sincereand Louis was positive he believed himself sincerehe had a sudden, overpowering sense that the man was lying . . . or that he was being lied to and then passing the lie on to Louis. He remembered that look he had seen, or thought he had seen, in Juds eye. But up here none of that seemed to matter. The wind mattered more, pushing freely around him in that steady river, lifting his hair from his brow and off his ears. Jud sat down with his back against one of the trees, cupped his hands around a match, and lit a Chesterfield. You want to rest a bit before you start? No, Im okay, Louis said. He could have pursued the questions, but he found he didnt really care to. This felt wrong but it also felt right, and he decided to let that be enough . . . for now. There was really only one thing he needed to know. Will I really be able to dig him a grave? The soil looks thin. Louis nodded toward the place where the rock pushed out of the ground at the edge of the steps. Jud nodded slowly. Ayuh, he said. Soils thin, all right. But soil deep enough to grow grass is generally deep enough to bury in, Louis. And people have been burying here for a long, long time. You wont find it any too easy, though. Nor did he. The ground was stony and hard, and very quickly he saw that he was going to need the pick to dig the grave deep enough to hold Church. So he began to alternate, first using the pick to loosen the hard earth and stones, then the shovel to dig out what he had loosened. His hands began to hurt. His body began to warm up again. He felt a strong, unquestionable need to do a good job. He began to hum under his breath, something he sometimes did when suturing a wound. Sometimes the pick would strike a rock hard enough to flash sparks, and the shiver would travel up the wooden haft to vibrate in his hands. He could feel blisters forming on his palms and didnt care, although he was, like most doctors, usually careful of his hands. Above and around him, the wind sang and sang, playing a treenote melody. Counterpointing this he heard the soft drop and chunk of rock. He looked over his shoulder and saw Jud, hunkered down and pulling out the bigger rocks he had dug up, making a heap of them. For your cairn, he said when he saw Louis looking. Oh, Louis said and went back to work. He made the grave about two feet wide and three feet longa Cadillac of a grave for a damn cat, he thoughtand when it was perhaps thirty inches deep and the pick was flashing sparks up from almost every stroke, he tossed it and the shovel aside and asked Jud if it was okay. Jud got up and took a cursory look. Seems fine to me, he said. Anyway, its what you think that counts. Will you tell me now what this is about? Jud smiled a little. The Micmacs believed this hill was a magic place, he said. Believed this whole forest, from the swamp on north and east, was magic. They made this place, and they buried their dead here, away from everything else. Other tribes steered clear of itthe Penobscots said these woods were full of ghosts. Later on, the fur trappers started saying pretty much the same thing. I suppose some of them saw the foofire in Little God Swamp and thought they were seeing ghosts. Jud smiled, and Louis thought That isnt what you think at all. Later on, not even the Micmacs themselves would come here. One of them claimed he saw a Wendigo here and that the ground had gone sour. They had a big powwow about it . . . or so I heard the tale in my green years, Louis, but I heard it from that old tosspot Stanny B.which is what we all called Stanley Bouchardand what Stanny B. didnt know, hed make up. Louis, who knew only that the Wendigo was supposed to be a spirit of the north country, said, Do you think the grounds gone sour? Jud smiledor at least his lips slanted. I think its a dangerous place, he said softly, but not for cats or dogs or pet hamsters. Go on and bury your animal, Louis. Louis lowered the Hefty Bag into the hole and slowly shoveled the dirt back in. He was cold now and tired. The patter of the earth on the plastic was a depressing sound, and while he did not regret coming up here, that sense of exhilaration was fading, and he had begun to wish the adventure over. It was a long walk back home. The pattering sound muffled, then stoppedthere was only the whump of dirt on more dirt. He scraped the last bit into the hole with the blade of his shovel (theres never enough, he thought, recalling something his undertaker uncle had said to him at least a thousand years ago, never enough to fill the hole up again) arid then turned to Jud. Your cairn, Jud said. Look, Jud, Im pretty tired and Its Ellies cat, Jud said, and his voice, although soft, was implacable. Shed want you to do it right. Louis sighed. I suppose she would, he said. It took another ten minutes to pile up the rocks Jud handed him, one by one. When it was done, there was a low, conical pile of stones on Churchs grave, and Louis did indeed feel a small, tired pleasure. It looked right, somehow, rising with the others in the starlight. He supposed Ellie would never see itthe thought of taking her through that patch of swamp where there was quicksand would make Rachels hair turn whitebut he had seen it, and it was good. Most of these have fallen over, he said to Jud, standing and brushing at the knees of his pants. He was seeing more clearly now, and in several places he could clearly make out scattered strews of loose stones. But Jud had seen to it that he built his own cairn only from stones taken from the grave he himself had dug. Ayuh, Jud said. Told you the place is old. Are we done now? Ayuh. He clapped Louis on the shoulder. You did good, Louis. I knew you would. Lets go home. Jud he began again, but Jud only grabbed the pick and walked off toward the steps. Louis got the shovel, had to trot to catch up, and then saved his breath for walking. He looked back once, but the cairn marking the grave of his daughters cat Winston Churchill had melted into the shadows, and he could not pick it out. We just ran the film backward, Louis thought tiredly as they emerged from the woods and into the field overlooking his own house some time later. He did not know how much later; he had taken off his watch when he had lain down to doze that afternoon, and it would still be there on the windowsill by his bed. He only knew that he was beat, used up, done in. He could not remember feeling so kickeddog weary since his first day on Chicagos rubbishdisposal crew one highschool summer sixteen or seventeen years ago. They came back the same way they had gone, but he could remember very little about the trip. He stumbled on the deadfall, he remembered thatlurching forward and thinking absurdly of Peter Panoh Jesus, I lost my happy thoughts and down I come and then Juds hand had been there, firm and hard, and a few moments later they had been trudging past the final resting places of Smucky the Cat and Trixie and Marta Our Pet Rabit and onto the path he had once walked not only with Jud but with his whole family. It seemed that in some weary way he had pondered the dream of Victor Pascow, the one which had resulted in his somnambulistic episode, but any connection between that night walk and this had eluded him. It had also occurred to him that the whole adventure had been dangerousnot in any melodramatic Wilkie Collins sense but in a very real one. That he had outrageously blistered his hands while in a state that was nearly somnambulistic was really the least of it. He could have killed himself on the deadfall. Both of them could have. It was hard to square such behavior with sobriety. In his current exhaustion, he was willing to ascribe it to confusion and emotional upset over the death of a pet the whole family had loved. And after a time, there they were, home again. They walked toward it together, not speaking, and stopped again in Louiss driveway. The wind moaned and whined. Wordlessly, Louis handed Jud his pick. Id best get across, Jud said at last. Louella Bisson or Ruthie Parks will be bringin Norma home and shell wonder where the hell I am. Do you have the time? Louis asked. He was surprised that Norma wasnt home yet; in his muscles it seemed to him that midnight must have struck. Oh, ayuh, Jud said. I keep the time as long as Im dressed and then I let her go. He fished a watch out of his pants pocket and flicked the scrolled cover back from its face. Its gone eightthirty, he said and snapped the cover closed again. Eightthirty? Louis repeated stupidly. Thats all? How late did you think it was? Jud asked. Later than that, Louis said. Ill see you tomorrow, Louis, Jud said and began to move away. He turned toward Louis, mildly questioning. Jud, what did we do tonight? Why, we buried your daughters cat. Is that all we did? Nothing but that, Jud said. Youre a good man, Louis, but you ask too many questions. Sometimes people have to do things that just seem right. That seem right in their hearts, I mean. And if they do those things and then end up not feeling right, full of questions and sort of like they got indigestion, only inside their heads instead of in their guts, they think they made a mistake. Do you know what I mean? Yes, Louis said, thinking that Jud must have been reading his mind as the two of them walked downhill through the field and toward the house lights. What they dont think is that maybe they should be questioning those feelings of doubt before they question their own hearts, Jud said, looking at him closely. What do you think, Louis? I think, Louis said slowly, that you might be right. And the things that are in a mans heartit dont do him much good to talk about those things, does it? Well No, Jud said, as if Louis had simply agreed. It dont. And in his calm voice that was so sure and so implacable, in that voice which somehow put the chill through Louis, he said They are secret things. Women are supposed to be the ones good at keeping secrets, and I guess they do keep a few, but any woman who knows anything at all would tell you shes never really seen into any mans heart. The soil of a mans heart is stonier, Louislike the soil up there in the old Micmac burying ground. Bedrocks close. A man grows what he can . . . and he tends it. Jud Dont question, Louis. Accept whats done and follow your heart. But But nothing. Accept whats done, Louis, and follow your heart. We did what was right this time . . . at least, I hope to Christ it was right. Another time it could be wrongwrong as hell. Will you at least answer one question? Well, lets hear what it is, and then well see. How did you know about that place? This question had also occurred to Louis on the way back, along with the suspicion that Jud himself might be part Micmacalthough he did not look like it; he looked as if every one of his ancestors had been one hundred percent cardcarrying Anglos. Why, from Stanny B., he said, looking surprised. He just told you? No, Jud said. It isnt the kind of place you just tell somebody about. I buried my dog Spot up there when I was ten. He was chasing a rabbit, and he run on some rusty barbed wire. The wounds infected and it killed him. There was something wrong about that, something that didnt fit with something Louis had been previously told, but he was too tired to puzzle out the discontinuity. Jud said no more; only looked at him from his inscrutable old mans eyes. Goodnight, Jud, Louis said. Goodnight. The old man crossed the road, carrying his pick and shovel. Thanks! Louis called impulsively. Jud didnt turn; he only raised one hand to indicate he had heard. And in the house, suddenly, the telephone began to ring. Louis ran, wincing at the aches that flared in his upper thighs and lower back, but by the time he had gotten into the warm kitchen, the phone had already rung six or seven times. It stopped ringing just as he put his hand on it. He picked it up anyway and said hello, but there was only the open hum. That was Rachel, he thought. I'll call her back. But suddenly it seemed like too much work to dial the number, to dance clumsily with her motheror worse, her checkbookbrandishing fatherto be passed on to Rachel . . . and then to Ellie. Ellie would still be up of course; it was an hour earlier in Chicago. Ellie would ask him how Church was doing. Great, hes fine. Got hit by an Orinco truck. Somehow Im absolutely positive it was an Orinco truck. Anything else would lack dramatic unity, if you know what I mean. You dont? Well, never mind. The truck killed him but didnt mark him up hardly at all. Jud and I planted him up in the old Micmac burying ground sort of an annex to the Pet Sematary, if you know what I mean. Amazing walk, punkin. Ill take you up there sometime and well put flowers by his markerexcuse me, his cairn. After the quicksand's frozen over, that is, and the bears go to sleep for the winter. He rehung the telephone, crossed to the sink, and filled it with hot water. He removed his shirt and washed. He had been sweating like a pig in spite of the cold, and a pig was exactly what he smelled like. There was some leftover meatloaf in the refrigerator. Louis cut it into slabs, put them on a slice of Roman Meal bread, and added two thick rounds of Bermuda onion. He contemplated this for a moment before dousing it with ketchup and slamming down another slice of bread. If Rachel and Ellie had been around, they would have wrinkled their noses in identical gestures of distaste yuck, gross. Well, you missed it, ladies, Louis thought with undeniable satisfaction and gobbled his sandwich. It tasted great. Confucius say he who smell like pig eat like wolf, he thought and smiled. He chased the sandwich with several long swallows of milk directly from the cartonanother habit Rachel frowned on strenuously and then he went upstairs, undressed, and got into bed without even washing his teeth. His aches and pains had faded to one low throb that was almost comforting. His watch was there where he had left it, and he looked at it. Ten minutes of nine. It really was incredible. Louis turned off the light, turned over on his side, and slept.