And Carrie, with faraway, dumb reproach (you tricked me you all tricked me) (carrie i don't even know what happened is tommy) (you tricked me that happened trick trick trick o dirty trick) The mixture of image and emotion was staggering, indescribable. Blood. Sadness. Fear. The latest dirty trick in a long series of dirty tricks they flashed by in a dizzying shuffle that made Sue's mind reel helplessly, hopelessly. They shared the awful totality of perfect knowledge. (carrie don't don't don't hurts me) Now girls throwing sanitary napkins, chanting, laughing, Sue's face mirrored in her own mind ugly, caricatured, all mouth, cruelly beautiful. (see the dirty tricks see my whole life one long dirty trick) (look carrie look inside me) And Carrie looked. The sensation was terrifying. Her mind and nervous system had become a library. Someone in desperate need ran through her, fingers trailing lightly over shelves of books, lifting some out, scanning them, putting them back, letting some fall, leaving the pages to flutter wildly (glimpses that's me as a kid hate him daddy o mommy wide lips o teeth bobby pushed me o my knee car want to ride in the car we're going to see aunt cecily mommy come quick i made pee) in the wind of memory; and still on and on, finally reaching a shelf marked TOMMY, subheaded PROM. Books thrown open, flashes of experience, marginal notations in all the hieroglyphs of emotion, more complex than the Rosetta Stone. Looking. Finding more than Sue herself had suspectedlove for Tommy, jealousy, selfishness, a need to subjugate him to her will on the matter of taking Carrie, disgust for Carrie herself, (she could take better care of herself she does look just like a GODDAM TOAD) hate for Miss Desjardin, hate for herself. But no ill will for Carrie personally, no plan to get her in front of everyone and undo her. The feverish feeling of being raped in her most secret corridors began to fade. She felt Carrie pulling back, weak and exhausted. (why didn't you just leave me alone) (carrie i) (momma would be alive i killed my momma i want her o it hurts my chest hurts my shoulder o o o i want my momma) (carrie i) And there was no way to finish that thought, nothing there to complete it with. Sue was suddenly overwhelmed with terror, the worse because she could put no name to it The bleeding freak on this oilstained asphalt suddenly seemed meaningless and awful in its pain and dying. (o momma i'm scared momma MOMMA) Sue tried to pull away, to disengage her mind, to allow Carrie at least the privacy of her dying, and was unable to. She felt that she was dying herself and did not want to see this preview of her own eventual end. (carrie let me GO) (Momma Momma Momma oooooooooooooo OOOOOOOOOO) The mental scream reached a flaring, unbelievable crescendo and then suddenly faded. For a moment Sue felt as if she were watching a candle flame disappear down a long, black tunnel at a tremendous speed. (she's dying o my god i'm feeling her die) And then the light was gone, and the last conscious thought had been (momma i'm sorry where) and it broke up and Sue was tuned in only on the blank, idiot frequency of the physical nerve endings that would take hours to die. She stumbled away from it, holding her arms out in front of her like a blind woman, toward the edge of the parking lot. She tripped over the kneehigh guard rail and tumbled down the embankment. She got to her feet and stumbled into the field, which was filling with mystic white pockets of ground mist. Crickets chirruped mindlessly and a whippoorwill (whippoorwill somebody's dying) called in the great stillness of morning. She began to run, breathing deep in her chest, running from Tommy, from the fires and explosions, from Carrie, but mostly from the final horrorthat last lighted thought carried swiftly down into the black tunnel of eternity, followed by the blank, idiot hum of prosaic electricity. The afterimage began to fade reluctantly, leaving a blessed, cool darkness in her mind that knew nothing. She slowed, halted, and became aware that something had begun to happen. She stood in the middle of the great and misty field, waiting for realization. Her rapid breathing slowed, slowed, caught suddenly as if on a thorn And suddenly vented itself in one howling, cheated scream. As she felt the slow course of dark menstrual blood down her thighs. From the national AP ticker, Friday, June 5, 1979 CHAMBERLAIN, MAINE (AP) STATE OFFICIALS SAY THAT THE DEATH TOLL IN CHAMBERLAIN STANDS AT 409, WITH 49 STILL LISTED AS MISSING. INVESTIGATION CONCERNING CARIETTA WHITE AND THE SOCALLED TK PHENOMENA CONTINUES AMID PERSISTENT RUMORS THAT AN AUTOPSY ON THE WHITE GIRL HAS UNCOVERED CERTAIN UNUSUAL FORMATIONS IN THE CEREBRUM AND CEREBELLUM OF THE BRAIN. THIS STATE'S GOVERNOR HAS APPOINTED A BLUERIBBON COMMITTEE TO STUDY THE ENTIRE TRAGEDY. ENDS. FINAL JUNE 5 0303N AP From The Lewiston Daily Sun, Sunday, September 7 (p. 3) The Legacy of TK Scorched Earth and Scorched Hearts CHAMBERLAINProm Night is history now. Pundits have been saying for centuries that time heals all wounds, but the hurt of this small western Maine town may be mortal. The residential streets are still there on the town's East Side, guarded by graceful oaks that have stood for two hundred years. The trim saltboxes and ranch styles on Morin Street and Brickyard Hill are still neat and undamaged. But this New England pastoral lies on the rim of a blackened and shattered hub, and many of the neat houses have FOR SALE signs on their front lawns. Those still occupied are marked by black wreaths on front doors. Brightyellow Allied vans and orange UHauls of varying sizes are a common sight on Chamberlain's streets these days. The town's major industry, Chamberlain Mills and Weaving, still stands, untouched by the fire that raged over much of the town on those two days in May. But it has only been running one shift since June 4th, and according to mill president William A. Chamblis, further layoffs are a strong possibility. We have the orders, Chamblis said, but you can't run a mill without people to punch the time clock. We don't have them. I've gotten notice from thirtyfour men since August 15th. The only thing we can see to do now is close up the dye house and job our work out. We'd hate to let the men go, but this thing is getting down to a matter of financial survival. Roger Fearon has lived in Chamberlain for twentytwo years, and has been with the mail for eighteen of those years. He has risen during that time from a thirdfloor bagger making seventythree cents an hour to dyehouse foreman; yet he seems strangely unmoved by the possibility of losing his job. I'd lose a damned good wage, Fearon said. It's not something you take lightly. The wife and I have talked it over. We could sell the houseit's worth 20,000 easyand although we probably won't realize half of that, we'll probably go ahead and put it up. Doesn't matter. We don't really want to live in Chamberlain any more. Call it what you want, but Chamberlain has gone bad for us. Fearon is not alone. Henry Kelly, proprietor of a tobacco shop and soda fountain called the Kelly Fruit until Prom Night leveled it, has no plans to rebuild. The kids are gone, he shrugs. If I opened up again, there'd be too many ghosts in too many corners. I'm going to take the insurance money and retire to St. Petersburg. A week after the tornado of '54 had cut its path of death and destruction through Worcester, the air was filled with the sound of hammers, the smell of new timber, and a feeling of optimism and human resilience. There is none of that in Chamberlain this fall. The main road has been cleared of rubble and that is about the extent of it. The faces that you meet are full of dull hopelessness. Men drink beer without talking in Frank's Bar on the corner of Sullivan Street, and women exchange tales of grief and loss in back yards. Chamberlain has been declared a disaster area, and money is available to help put the town back on its feet and begin rebuilding the business district. But the main business of Chamberlain in the last four months has been funerals. Four hundred and forty are now known dead, eighteen more still unaccounted for. And sixtyseven of the dead were Ewen High School Seniors on the verge of graduation. It is this, perhaps, more than anythng else, that has taken the guts out of Chamberlain. They were buried on June 1 and 2 in three mass ceremonies. A memorial service was held on June 3 in the town square. It was the most moving ceremony that this reporter has ever witnessed. Attendance was in the thousands, and the entire assemblage was still as the school band, stripped from fiftysix to a bare forty, played the school song and taps. There was a somber graduation ceremony the following week at neighboring Motton Academy, but there were only fiftytwo Seniors left to graduate. The valedictorian, Henry Stampel, broke into tears halfway through his speech and could not continue. There were no Graduation Night parties following the ceremony; the Seniors merely took their diplomas and went home. And still, as the summer progressed, the hearses continued to roll as more bodies were discovered. To some residents it seemed that each day the scab was ripped off again, so that the wound could bleed afresh. If you are one of the many curiosityseekers who have been through Chamberlain in the last week, you have seen a town that may be suffering from terminal cancer of the spirit. A few people, looking lost, wander through the aisles of the AP. The Congregational Church on Carlin Street is gone, swept away by fire, but the brick Catholic Church still stands on Elm Street, and the trim Methodist Church on outer Main Street, although singed by fire, is unhurt. Yet attendance has been poor. The old men still sit on the benches in Courthouse Square, but there is little interest in the checkerboards or even in conversation. The overall impression is one of a town that is waiting to die. It is not enough, these days, to say that Chamberlain will never be the same. It may be closer to the truth to say that Chamberlain will simply never again be. Excerpt from a letter dated June ninth from Principal Henry Grayle to Peter Philpott, Superintendent of Schools . . . and so I feel I can no longer continue in my present position, feeling, as I do, that such a tragedy might have been averted if I had only had more foresight. I would like you to accept my resignation effective as of July 1, if this is agreeable to you and your staff. . . . Excerpt from a letter dated June eleventh from Rita Desjardin, instructor of Physical Education, to Principal Henry Grayle . . . am returning my contract to you at this time. I feel that I would kill myself before ever teaching again. Late at night I keep thinking If I had only reached out to that girl, if only, if only . . . Found painted on the lawn of the house lot where the White bungalow had been located CARRIE WHITE IS BURNING FOR HER SINS JESUS NEVER FAILS From Telekinesis Analysis and Aftermath (Science Yearbook, 1981), by Dean D. L. McGuffin In conclusion, I would like to point out the grave risk authorities are taking by burying the Carrie White affair under the bureaucratic matand I am speaking specifically of the socalled White Commission. The desire among politicians to regard TK as a onceinalifetime phenomenon seems very strong, and while this may be understandable it is not acceptable. The possibility of a recurrence, genetically speaking, is 99 per cent. It's time we planned now for what may be. . . . From Slang Terms Explained A Parents' Guide, by John R. Coombs (New York The Lighthouse Press, 1985), p. 73 to rip off a Carrie To cause either violence or destruction; mayhem, confusion; (2) to commit arson (from Carrie White, 19631979) From The Shadow Exploded (p. 201) Elsewhere in this book mention is made of a page in one of Carrie White's school notebooks where a line from a famous rock poet of the '60s, Bob Dylan, was written repeatedly, as if in desperation. It might not be amiss to close this book with a few lines from another Bob Dylan song, lines that might serve as Carrie's epitaph I wish I could write you a melody so plainThat would save you, dear lady, from going insaneThat would ease you and cool you and cease the painOf your useless and pointless knowledge . . .2 From My Name Is Susan Snell (p. 98) This little book is done now. I hope it sells well so I can go someplace where nobody knows me. I want to think things over, decide what I'm going to do between now and the time when my light is carried down that long tunnel into blackness. . . . From the conclusion of The State Investigatory Board of Maine in connection with the events of May 2728 in Chamberlain, Maine . . . and so we must conclude that, while an autopsy performed on the subject indicates some cellular changes which may indicate the presence of some paranormal power, we find no reason to believe that a recurrence is likely or even possible . . . Excerpt from a letter dated May 3, 1988, from Amelia Jenks, Royal Knob, Tennessee, to Sandra Jenks, Macon, Georgia . . . and your little neece is growin like a weed, awfull big for only 2. She has blue eyes like her daddy and my blond hair but that will porubly go dark. Still she is awfull pretty  I think sometimes when she is asleep how she looks like our momma. The other day wile she was playin in the dirt beside the house I sneeked around and saw the funnyest thing. Annie was playin with her brothers marbles only they was mooving around all by themselfs. Annie was giggeling and laffing but I was a little skared. Some of them marbles was going right up  down. It remined me of gramma, do you remember when the law came up that time after Pete and there guns flew out of there hands and grammie just laffed and laffed. And she use to be able to make her rocker go even when she wasen in it. It gave me a reel bad turn to think on it. I shure hope she don't get heartspels like grammie did, remember? Well I must go  do a wash so give my best to Rich and take care to send us some pitchers when you can. Still our Annie is awfull pretty  her eyes are as brite as buttons. I bet she'll be a worldbeeter someday. All my love, Melia PUBLISHED BY DOUBLEDAY a division of Bantam Doubleday Dell Publishing Group, Inc. 1540 Broadway, New York, New York 10036 DOUBLEDAY and the portrayal of an anchor with a dolphin are trademarks of Doubleday, a division of Bantam Doubleday Dell Publishing Group, Inc. www.doubleday.com LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOG CARD NUMBER 739037 Copyright  1974 by Stephen King ALL RIGHTS RESERVED eISBN 9780385528832 v3.0 This is for Tabby, who got me into it and then bailed me out of it. CARRIE Footnotes To return to the corresponding text, click on the reference number or "Return to text." 1 Lyrics from JUST LIKE A WOMAN by Bob Dylan. Copyright  1966 Dwarf Music. Used by permission of Dwarf Music. Return to text. 2 Lyrics from TOMBSTONE BLUES by Bob Dylan. Copyright  1965 M. Witmark  Sons. All Rights Reserved. Used by permission of WARNER BROS. MUSIC. Return to text. PART ONE BLOOD SPORT PART TWO PROM NIGHT PART THREE WRECKAGE Contents Title Page Dedication Part One Blood Sport News item from the Westover. . . Part Two Prom Night She put the dress on for the first. . . Part Three Wreckage Westover Mercy HospitalReport of Decease From the national AP ticker . . . By Stephen King Copyright


"MASTERFUL, CHILLING, JUICILY HORRIBLE . . . FOR THOSE WHO LIKE TO TAKE THEIR SCARE STRAIGHT." The New York Times Book Review The Creeds. An ideal family. Physician father, beautiful wife, charming little daughter, adorable infant son. Close, loving, wonderfully alive. When they found the old house and enchanting grounds in rural Maine, it seemed too good to be true. It was. For the truth was bloodchillingsomething more horrifying than death itself, and hideously more powerful. . . . PET SEMATARY "A STUNNER . . . A GUARANTEED BLOCKBUSTER . . . King gets you to believe the unbelievable . . . reaches out and touches the dread ... it scared the starch out of me." Detroit News "FOR SHEER HORROR, Stephen King wins skeleton hands down. A bunch more as good as Pet Sematary and King will outdistance even Poe" Cosmopolitan "UNRELENTING, CONVINCING . . . AWESOME POWER ... HIS BEST YET!" Pittsburgh Press Critics from coast to coast rave about Pet Sematary and Stephen King; please turn page. . . . "WHY, SOMEONE PLEASE TELL ME, WAS I HOLDING ON TO THIS BOOK SO HARD THAT MY KNUCKLES HAD BEGUN TO TURN WHITE?" Christopher LehmannHaupt, The New York Times "THE KING OF HORROR WEAVES HIS SCARIEST TALE EVER ... turn on all the lights while engrossed in it, turn up the radio for company, call friends and ask them to call you back to make sure you are still able to answer the phone . . . YES, IT'S THAT SCARY. YES, IT'S THAT GOOD." Cincinnati Enquirer "VIVID, POWERFUL, DISTURBING . . . offers the rare exhilaration of being scared within the safe limits of art. It is little wonder that so many readers have embraced the imaginative talents of Stephen King." Washington Post Book World "King once said his greatest ambition was to write a book that was too frightening to finish. . . . There may be many a reader, left whiteknuckled by this novel, who hope he doesn't come any closer." Pittsburgh Press "THE MOST FRIGHTENING NOVEL STEPHEN KING HAS EVER WRITTEN . . . SPELLBINDING . . . TERRIFYING!" Publishers Weekly "STEPHEN KING'S NEWEST REIGN OF TERROR IS A HAIRRAISER ... he oozes Nameless Dread right into your shoes in waves of unspeakable gore . . . and are you trapped! Ayiee. . . . You'll be scared!" Chicago SunTimes "POWERFUL, HARROWING, plumbs the depths of darkness King never reached before ... a great read . . . recommended!" Science Fiction and Fantasy Book Review "TERRIFYING! Stephen King goes on record as saying Pet Sematary is the one story that scared even him. . . . It is a perfect gem of a horror story . . . one that you'll spend many a dream trying to erase." New York Daily News "HORROR OOZES FROM THE PAGES, and the anticipation of the most terrifying moments is unnerving, creeping up on the reader with an eerie quality that is unsurpassed in horror fiction." Richmond Times Dispatch "Luckily for those of us hooked on King's wonderfully warped imagination . . . this is his most satisfying work . . . produces goosebumps and screams." Newsday "VIVID, MASTERFUL ... A HUMDINGER TALE OF THE SUPERNATURAL." United Press International PUBLISHER'S NOTE This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. AUTHOR'S NOTE Special thanks are in order to Russ Dorr and Steve Wentworth of Bridgton, Maine. Russ provided medical information and Steve provided information on American funeral and burial customs and some insight into the nature of grief. Copyright  1983 by Stephen King All rights reserved. For information address Doubleday  Company, Inc., 245 Park Avenue, New York, New York 10167. This is an authorized reprint of a hardcover edition published by Doubleday  Company, Inc. SIGNET TRADEMARK REG. U.S. PAT. OFF. AND FOREIGN COUNTRIES REGISTERED TRADEMARKMARCA REGISTRADA HECHO EN CHICAGO. U S A SIGNET, SIGNET CLASSIC, MENTOR, PLUME, MERIDIAN AND NAL BOOKS are published by New American Library, 1633 Broadway, New York, New York 10019 First Signet Printing, November, 1984 123456789 PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA For Kirby McCauley Contents PART ONE The Pet Sematary PART TWO The Micmac Burying Ground PART THREE Oz the Gweat and Tewwible Here are some people who have written books, telling what they did and why they did those things John Dean. Henry Kissinger. Adolph Hitler. Caryl Chessman. Jeb Magruder. Napoleon. Talleyrand. Disraeli. Robert Zimmerman, also known as Bob Dylan. Locke. Charlton Heston. Errol Flynn. The Ayatollah Khomeini. Gandhi. Charles Olson. Charles Colson. A Victorian Gentleman. Dr. X. Most people also believe that God has written a Book, or Books, telling what He did and whyat least to a degreeHe did those things, and since most of these people also believe that humans were made in the image of God, then He also may be regarded as a person . . . or, more properly, as a Person. Here are some people who have not written books, telling what they did . . . and what they saw The man who buried Hitler. The man who performed the autopsy on John Wilkes Booth. The man who embalmed Elvis Presley. The man who embalmedbadly, most undertakers say Pope John XXIII. The twoscore undertakers who cleaned up Jonestown, carrying body bags, spearing paper cups with those spikes custodians carry in city parks, waving away the flies. The man who cremated William Holden. The man who encased the body of Alexander the Great in gold so it would not rot. The men who mummified the Pharaohs. Death is a mystery, and burial is a secret. PART ONE The Pet Sematary Jesus said to them, Our friend Lazarus sleeps, but I go, that I may awake him out of his sleep. Then the disciples looked at each other, and some smiled because they did not know Jesus had spoken in a figure. Lord. if he sleeps, he shall do well. So then Jesus spoke to them more plainly, Lazarus is dead, yes . . . nevertheless let us go to him. JOHNS GOSPEL (paraphrase) 1 Louis Creed, who had lost his father at three and who had never known a grandfather, never expected to find a father as he entered his middle age, but that was exactly what happened . . . although he called this man a friend, as a grown man must do. when he finds the man who should have been his father relatively late in life. He met this man on the evening he and his wife and his two children moved into the big white frame house in Ludlow. Winston Churchill moved in with them. Church was his daughter Eileens cat. The search committee at the university had moved slowly, the hunt for a house within commuting distance of the university had been hairraising, and by the time they neared the place where he believed the house to beall the landmarks are right . . . like the astrological signs the night before Caesar was assassinated, Louis thought morbidlythey were all tired and tense and on edge. Gage was cutting teeth and fussed almost ceaselessly. He would not sleep, no matter how much Rachel sang to him. She offered him the breast even though it was off his schedule. Gage knew his dining schedule as well as shebetter, maybeand he promptly bit her with his new teeth. Rachel, still not entirely sure about this move to Maine from Chicago, where she had lived her whole life, burst into tears. Eileen promptly joined her. In the back of the station wagon, Church continued to pace restlessly as he had done for the last three days it had taken them to drive here from Chicago. His yowling from the cat kennel had been bad, but his restless pacing after they finally gave up and set him free in the car had been almost as unnerving. Louis himself felt a little like crying. A wild but not Unattractive idea suddenly came to him He would suggest that they go back to Bangor for something to eat while they waited for the moving van, and when his three hostages to fortune got out, he would floor the accelerator and drive away without so much as a look back, foot to the mat, the wagons huge fourbarrel carburetor gobbling expensive gasoline. He would drive south, all the way to Orlando, Florida, where he would get a job at Disney World as a medic, under a new name. But before he hit the turnpikebig old 95 southboundhe would stop by the side of the road and put the fucking cat out too. Then they rounded a final curve, and there was the house that only he had seen up until now. He had flown out and looked at each of the seven possibles they had picked from photos once the position at the University of Maine was solidly his, and this was the one he had chosen a big old New England colonial (but newly sided and insulated; the heating costs, while horrible enough, were not out of line in terms of consumption), three big rooms downstairs, four more up, a long shed that might be converted to more rooms later onall of it surrounded by a luxuriant sprawl of lawn, lushly green even in this August heat.. Beyond the house was a large field for the children to play in, and beyond the field were woods that went on damn near forever. The property abutted state lands, the realtor had explained, and there would be no development in the foreseeable future. The remains of the Micmac Indian tribe had laid claim to nearly eight thousand acres in Ludlow and in the towns east of Ludlow, and the complicated litigation, involving the federal government as well as that of the state, might stretch into the next century. Rachel stopped crying abruptly. She sat up. Is that Thats it, Louis said. He felt apprehensiveno, he felt scared. In fact he felt terrified. He had mortgaged twelve years of their lives for this; it wouldnt be paid off until Eileen was seventeen. He swallowed. What do you think? I think its beautiful, Rachel said, and that was a huge weight off his chestand off his mind. She wasnt kidding, he saw; it was in the way she was looking at it as they turned in the asphalted driveway that curved around to the shed in back, her eyes sweeping the blank windows, her mind already ticking away at such matters as curtains and oilcloth for the cupboards, and God knew what else. Daddy? Ellie said from the back seat. She had stopped crying as well. Even Gage had stopped fussing. Louis savored the silence. What, love? Her eyes, brown under darkish blond hair in the rearview mirror, also surveyed the house, the lawn, the roof of another house off to the left in the distance, and the big field stretching up to the woods. Is this home? Its going to be, honey, he said. Hooray! she shouted, almost taking his ear off. And Louis, who could sometimes become very irritated with Ellie, decided he didnt care if he ever clapped an eye on Disney World in Orlando. He parked in front of the shed and turned off the wagons motor. The engine ticked. In the silence, which seemed very big after Chicago and the bustle of State Street and the Loop, a bird sang sweetly in the late afternoon. Home, Rachel said softly, still looking at the house. Home, Gage said complacently on her lap. Louis and Rachel stared at each other. In the rearview mirror, Eileens eyes widened. Did you Did he Was that They all spoke together, then all laughed together. Gage took no notice; he only continued to suck his thumb. He had been saying Ma for almost a month now and had taken a stab or two at something that might have been Daaa or only wishful thinking on Louiss part. But this, either by accident of imitation, had been a real Word Home. Louis plucked Gage from his wifes lap and hugged him. That was how they came to Ludlow. 2 In Louis Creeds memory that one moment always held a magical qualitypartly, perhaps, because it really was magical, but mostly because the rest of the evening was so wild. In the next three hours, neither peace nor magic made an appearance. Louis had stored the house keys away neatly (he was a neat and methodical man, was Louis Creed) in a small manila envelope which he had labeled Ludlow Housekeys received June 29. He had put the keys away in the Fairlanes glove compartment. He was absolutely sure of that. Now they werent there. While he hunted for them, growing increasingly irritated, Rachel hoisted Gage onto her hip and followed Eileen over to the tree in the field. He was checking under the seats for the third time when his daughter screamed and then began to cry. Louis! Rachel called. Shes cut herself! Eileen had fallen from the tire swing and hit a rock with her knee. The cut was shallow, but she was screaming like someone who had just lost a leg, Louis thought (a bit ungenerously). He glanced at the house across the road, where a light burned in the living room. All right, Ellie, he said. Thats enough. Those people over there will think someones being murdered. But it hurrrrts! Louis struggled with his temper and went silently back to the wagon. The keys were gone, but the firstaid kit was still in the glove compartment. He got it and came back. When Ellie saw it, she began to scream louder than ever. No! Not the stingy stuff I dont want the stingy stuff Daddy! No Eileen, its just Mercurochrome, and it doesnt sting Be a big girl, Rachel said. Its just Nonononono You want to stop that or your ass will sting, Louis said. Shes tired, Lou, Rachel said quietly. Yeah, I know the feeling. Hold her leg out. Rachel put Gage down and held Eileens leg, which Louis painted with Mercurochrome in spite of her increasingly hysterical wails. Someone just came out on the porch of that house across the street, Rachel said. She picked Gage up. He had started to crawl away through the grass. Wonderful, Louis muttered. Lou, shes Tired, I know. He capped the Mercurochrome and looked grimly at his daughter. There. And it really didnt hurt a bit. Fess up, Ellie. it does! It does hurt! It hurrrr His hand itched to slap her and he grabbed his leg hard. Did you find the keys? Rachel asked. Not yet, Louis said, snapping the firstaid kit closed and getting up. Ill Gage began to scream. He was not fussing or crying but really screaming, writhing in Rachels arms. Whats wrong with him? Rachel cried, thrusting him almost blindly at Louis. It was, he supposed, one of the advantages of having married a doctoryou could shove the kid at your husband whenever the kid seemed to be dying. Louis! Whats The baby was grabbing frantically at his neck, screaming wildly. Louis flipped him over and saw an angry white knob rising on the side of Gages neck. And there was also something on the. strap of his jumper, something fuzzy, squirming weakly. Eileen, who had become quieter, began to scream again, Bee! Bee! BEEEEEE! She jumped back, tripped over the same protruding rock on which she had already come a cropper, sat down hard, and began to cry again in mingled pain, surprise, and fear. Im going crazy, Louis thought wonderingly. Wheeeeee! Do something, Louis! Cant you do something? Got to get the stinger out, a voice behind them drawled. Thats the ticket. Get the stinger out and put some baking Soda on it. Bumpll go down. But the voice was so thick With Down East accent that for a moment Louiss tired, confused mind refused to translate the dialect Got tget the stinga out n put some bakin soda ont. Tll go daown. He turned and saw an old man of perhaps seventya hale and healthy seventystanding there on the grass. He wore a biballs over a blue chambray shirt that showed his thickly folded and wrinkled neck. His face was sunburned, and he was smoking an unfiltered cigarette. As Louis looked at him, the old man pinched the cigarette out between his thumb and forefinger and pocketed it neatly. He held out his hands and smiled crookedly . . . a smile Louis liked at onceand he was not a man who took to people. Not to tell you ybusiness, Doc, he said. And that was how Louis met Judson Crandall, the man who should have been his father. 3 He had watched them arrive from across the street and had come across to see if he could help when it seemed they were in a bit of a tight, as he put it. While Louis held the baby on his shoulder, Crandall stepped near, looked at the swelling on Gages neck, and reached out with one blocky, twisted hand. Rachel opened her mouth to protesthis hand looked terribly clumsy and almost as big as Gages headbut before she could say a word, the old mans fingers had made a single decisive movement, as apt and deft as the fingers of a man walking cards across his knuckles or sending coins into conjurers limbo. And the stinger lay in his palm. Big un, he remarked. No prizewinner, but itd do for a ribbon, I guess. Louis burst out laughing. Crandall regarded him with that crooked smile and said, Ayuh, corker, aint she? What did he say, Mommy? Eileen asked, and then Rachel burst out laughing too. Of course it was terribly impolite, but somehow it was okay. Crandall pulled out a deck of Chesterfield Kings, poked one into the seamed corner of his mouth, nodded at them pleasantly as they laughed even Gage was chortling now, in spite of the swelling of the bee stingand popped a wooden match alight with his thumbnail. The old have their tricks, Louis thought. Small ones, but some of them are good ones. He stopped laughing and held out the hand that wasnt supporting Gages bottomGages decidedly damp bottom. Im pleased to meet you, Mr. Jud Crandall, he said and shook. Youre the doc, I guess. Yes. Louis Creed. This is my wife Rachel, my daughter Ellie, and the kid with the bee sting is Gage. Nice to know all of you. I didnt mean to laugh . . . that is, we didnt mean to laugh . . . its just that were . . . a little tired. Thatthe understatement of itcaused him to giggle again. He felt totally exhausted. Crandall nodded. Course you are, he said, which came out Coss you aaa. He glanced at Rachel. Why dont you take your little boy and your daughter over to the house for a minute, Missus Creed? We can put some bakin soda on a washrag and cool that off some. My wife would like to say hello too. She dont get out too much. Arthritis got bad the last two or three years. Rachel glanced at Louis, who nodded. That would be very kind of you, Mr. Crandall. Oh, I just answer to Jud, he said. There was a sudden loud honk, a motor winding down, and then the big blue moving van was turninglumberinginto the driveway. Oh Christ, and I dont know where the keys are, Louis said. Thats okay, Crandall said. I got a set. Mr. and Mrs. Cleveland...they that lived here before yougave me a set, oh, must have been fourteen, fifteen years ago. They lived here a long time. Joan Cleveland was my wifes best friend. She died two years ago. Bill went to that old folks apartment complex over in Orrington. Ill bring em back over. They belong to you now, anyway. Youre very kind, Mr. Crandall, Rachel said. Not at all, he said. Lookin forward to having young uns around again. Except that the sound of this, as exotic to their Midwestern ears as a foreign language, was yowwuns You just want to watch em around the road, Missus Creed Lots of big trucks on that road. Now there was the sound of slamming doors as the moving men hopped out of the cab and came toward them. Ellie had wandered away a little, and now she said, Daddy whats this? Louis, who had started to meet the moving men, glanced back. At the edge of the field, where the lawn stopped and high summer grass took over, a path about four feet wide had been cut, smooth and close. It wound up the hill, curved through a low stand of bushes and a copse of birches, and out of sight. Looks like a path of some kind, Louis said. Oh, ayuh, Crandall said, smiling. Tell you about it sometime, missy. You want to come over and well fix your baby brother up? Sure, Ellie said and then added with a certain hopefulness Does baking soda sting? 4 Crandall brought back the keys, but by then Louis found his set. There was a space at the top of the glove compartment and the small envelope had slipped down into the wiring. He fished it out and let the movers in. Crandall gave him the extra set. They were on an old, tarnished fob. Louis thanked him and slipped them absently into his pocket, watching the movers take in boxes and dressers and bureaus and all the other things they had collected over the ten years of their marriage. Seeing them this way, out of their accustomed places, diminished them. Just a bunch of stuff in boxes, he thought, and suddenly he felt sad and depressedhe guessed he was feeling what people called homesickness. Uprooted and transplanted, Crandall said, suddenly beside him, and Louis jumped a little. You sound like you know the feeling, he said. No, actually I dont. Crandall lit a cigarettepop! went the match, flaring brightly in the first early evening shadows. My dad built that house across the way. Brought his wife there, and she was taken with child there, and that child was me, born in the very year 1900. That makes you Eightythree, Crandall said, and Louis was mildly relieved that he didnt add years young, a phrase he cordially detested. You look a lot younger than that. Crandall shrugged. Anyway, Ive always lived there. I joined up when we fought the Great War, but the closest I got to Europe was Bayonne, New Jersey. Nasty place. Even in 1917 it was a nasty place. I was just as glad to come back here. Got married to my Norma, put in my time on the railroad, and here we still are. But Ive seen a lot of life right here in Ludlow. I sure have. The moving men stopped by the shed entrance, holding the box spring that went under the big double bed he and Rachel shared. Where do you want this, Mr. Creed? Upstairs . . . just a minute, Ill show you. He started toward them, then paused for a moment and glanced back at Crandall. You go on, Crandall said, smiling. Ill see how y folksre makin out. Send em back over and get out of your way. But movin ins mighty thirsty work. I usually sit out on my porch about nine and have a couple of beers. In warm Weather I like to watch the night come on. Sometimes Norma Joins me. You come over, if youre a mind. Well, maybe I will, Louis said, not intending to at all. The next thing would be an informal (and free) diagnosis of Normas arthritis on the porch. He liked Crandall, liked his Crooked grin, his offhand way of talking, his Yankee accent, which was not hardedged at all but so soft it was almost a drawl. A good man, Louis thought, but doctors became leery of people fast. It was unfortunate, but sooner or later even your best friends wanted medical advice. And with old people there was no end to it. But dont look for me, or stay upweve had a hell of a day. Just so long as you know you dont need no engraved invitation, Crandall saidand there was something in the mans crooked grin that made Louis feel that Crandall knew exactly what Louis was thinking. He watched the old guy for a moment before joining the movers. Crandall walked straight and easily, like a man of sixty instead of over eighty. Louis felt that first faint tug of affection. 5 By nine oclock the movers were gone. Ellie and Gage, both exhausted, were sleeping in their new rooms, Gage in his crib, Ellie on a mattress on the floor surrounded by a foothill of boxesher billions of Crayolas, whole, broken, and blunted; her Sesame Street posters; her picture books; her clothes; heaven knew what else. And of course Church was with her, also sleeping and growling rustily in the back of his throat. That rusty growl seemed the closest the big torn could come to purring. Rachel had prowled the house restlessly with Gage in her arms earlier, secondguessing the places where Louis had told. the movers to leave things, getting them to rearrange, change, or restack. Louis had not lost their check; it was still in his breast pocket, along with the five tendollar bills he had put aside for a tip. When the van was finally emptied, he handed both the check and the cash over, nodded at their thanks, signed the bill of receipt, and stood on the porch, watching them head back to their big truck. He supposed they would probably stop over in Bangor and have a few beers to lay the dust. A couple of beers would go down well right now. That made him think of Jud Crandall again. He and Rachel sat at the kitchen table, and he saw the circles under her eyes. You, he said, go to bed. Doctors orders? she asked, smiling a little. Yeah. Okay, she said, standing. Im beat. And Gage is apt to be up in the night. You coming? He hesitated. I dont think so, just yet. That old fella across the street Road. You call it a road, out in the country. Or if youre Judson Crandall, I guess you call it a rud. Okay, across the rud. He invited me over for a beer. I think Im going to take him up on it. Im tired, but Im too jivedup to sleep. Rachel smiled. Youll end up getting Norma Crandall to tell you where it hurts and what kind of mattress she sleeps on. Louis laughed, thinking how funnyfunny and scaryit was, the way wives could read their husbands minds after a while. He was here when we needed him, he said. I can do him a favor, I guess. Barter system? He shrugged, unwilling and unsure how to tell her that he had taken a liking to Crandall on short notice. Hows his wife? Very sweet, Rachel said. Gage sat on her lap. I was surprised because hes had a hard day, and you know he doesnt take very well to new people on short notice under the best of circumstances. And she had a dolly she let Eileen play with. How bad would you say her arthritis is? Quite bad. In a wheelchair? No . . . but she walks very slowly, and her fingers . . Rachel held her own slim fingers up and hooked them into claws to demonstrate. Louis nodded. Anyway, dont be late, Lou. I get the creeps in strange houses. It wont be strange for long, Louis said and kissed her. 6 Louis came back later feeling small. No one asked him to examine Norma Crandall; when he crossed the street (rud, he reminded himself, smiling), the lady had already retired for the night. Jud was a vague silhouette behind the screens of the enclosed porch. There was the comfortable squeak of a rocker on old linoleum. Louis knocked on the screen door, which rattled companionably against its frame. Crandalls cigarette glowed like a large, peaceable firefly in the summer darkness. From a radio, low, came the voice of a Red Sox game, and all of it gave Louis Creed the oddest feeling of coming home. Doc, Crandall said. I thought that was you. Hope you meant it about the beer, Louis said, coming in. Oh, about beer I never lie, Crandall said. A man who lies about beer makes enemies. Sit down, Doc. I put an extra couple on ice, just in case. The porch was long and narrow, furnished with rattan chairs and sofas. Louis sank into one and was surprised at how comfortable it was. At his left hand was a tin pail filled with ice cubes and a few cans of Black Label. He took one. Thank you, he said and opened it. The first two swallows hit his throat like a blessing. Moren welcome, Crandall said. I hope your time here will be a happy one, Doc. Amen, Louis said. Say! If you want crackers or somethin, I could get some. I got a wedge of rat thats just about ripe. A wedge of what? Rat cheese. Crandall sounded faintly amused. Thanks, but just the beer will do me. Well then, well just let her go. Crandall belched contentedly. Your wife gone to bed? Louis asked, wondering why he was opening the door like this. Ayuh. Sometimes she stays up. Sometimes she dont. Her arthritis is quite painful, isnt it? You ever see a case that wasnt? Crandall asked. Louis shook his head. I guess its tolerable, Crandall said. She dont complain much. Shes a good old girl, my Norma. There was a great and simple weight of affection in his voice. Out on Route 15, a tanker truck droned by, one so big and long that for a moment Louis couldnt see his house across the road. Written on the side, just visible in the last light, was the word ORINCO. One hell of a big truck, Louis commented. Orincos near Orrington, Crandall said. Chemical fertilizer factry. They come and go, all right. And the oil tankers, and the dump trucks, and the people who go to work in Bangor or Brewer and come home at night. He shook his head. Thats the one thing about Ludlow I dont like anymore. That frigging road. No peace from it. They go all day and all night. Wake Norma up sometimes. Hell, wake me up sometimes, and I sleep like a goddam log. Louis, who thought this strange Maine landscape almost eerily quiet after the constant roar of Chicago, only nodded his head. One day soon the Arabs will pull the plug, and theyll be able to grow African violets right down the yellow line, Crandall said. You might be right. Louis tilted his can back and was surprised to find it empty. Crandall laughed. You just grab yourself one to grow on, Doc. Louis hesitated and then said, All right, but just one more. I have to be getting back. Sure you do. Aint moving a bitch? It is, Louis agreed, and then for a time they were silent. The silence was a comfortable one, as if they had known each other for a long time. This was a feeling about which Louis had read in books, but which he had never experienced until now. He felt ashamed of his casual thoughts about free medical advice earlier. On the road a semi roared by, its running lights twinkling like earthstars. Thats one mean road, all right, Crandall repeated thoughtfully, almost vaguely, and then turned to Louis. There was a peculiar little smile on his seamed mouth. He poked a Chesterfield into one corner of the smile and popped a match with his thumbnail. You remember the path there that your little girl commented on? For a moment Louis didnt; Ellie had commented on a whole catalogue of things before finally collapsing for the night. Then he did remember. That wide mown patch winding up through the copse of trees and over the hill. "Yes, I do. You promised to tell her about it sometime. I did, and I will, Crandall said. That path goes up into the woods about a mile and a half. The local kids around Route 15 and Middle Drive keep it nice because they use it. Kids come and go . . . theres a lot more moving around than there used to be when I was a boy; then you picked a place out and stuck to it. But they seem to tell each other, and every spring a bunch of them mows that path. They keep it nice all the summer long. Not all of the adults in town know its therea lot of them do, of course, but not all, not by a long chalkbut all of the kids do. Id bet on it. Know whats there? The pet cemetery, Crandall said. Pet cemetery, Louis repeated, bemused. Its not as odd as it probly sounds, Crandall said, smoking and rocking. Its the road. It uses up a lot of animals, that road does. Dogs and cats, mostly, but that aint all. One of those big Orinco trucks run down the pet raccoon the Ryder children used to keep. That was backChrist, must have been in 73, maybe earlier. Before the state made keeping a coon or even a denatured skunk illegal, anyway. Why did they do that? Rabies, Crandall said. Lot of rabies in Maine now. There was a big old St. Bernard went rabid downstate a couple of years ago and killed four people. That was a hell of a thing. Dog hadnt had his shots. If those foolish people had seen that dog had had its shots, it never would have happened. But a coon or a skunk, you can vaccinate it twice a year and still it dont always take. But that coon the Ryder boys had, that was what the oldtimers used to call a sweet coon. Itd waddle right up to yougorry, want he fat!and lick your face like a dog. Their dad even paid a vet to spay him and declaw him. That must have cost him a country fortune! Ryder, he worked for IBM in Bangor. They went out to Colorado five years ago . . . or maybe it was six. Funny to think of those two almost old enough to drive. Were they broken up over that coon? I guess they were. Matty Ryder cried so long his mom got scared and wanted to take him to the doctor. I spose hes over it now, but they never forget. When a good animal gets run down in the road, a kid never forgets.


Louiss mind turned to Ellie as he had last seen her tonight, fast asleep with Church purring rustily on the foot of the mattress. My daughters got a cat, he said. Winston Churchill. We call him Church for short. Do they climb when he walks? I beg your pardon? Louis had no idea what he was talking about. He still got his balls or has he been fixed? No, Louis said. No, he hasnt been fixed. In fact there had been some trouble over that back in Chicago. Rachel had wanted to get Church spayed, had even made the appointment with the vet. Louis canceled it. Even now he wasnt really sure why. it wasnt anything as simple or as stupid as equating his masculinity with that of his daughters tom, nor even his resentment at the idea that Church would have to be castrated so the fat housewife next door wouldnt need to be troubled with twisting down the lids of her plastic garbage cansthose things had been part of it, but most of it had been a vague but strong feeling that it Would destroy something in Church that he himself valuedthat it would put out the gotohell look in the cats green eyes. Finally he had pointed out to Rachel that they were moving to the country, and it shouldnt be a problem. Now here was Judson Crandall, pointing out that part of country living in Ludlow consisted of dealing with Route 15, and asked him if the cat was fixed. Try a little irony, Dr. Creedits good for your blood. Id get him fixed, Crandall said, crushing his smoke between his thumb and forefinger. A fixed cat dont tend to wander as much. But if its all the time crossing back and forth, its luck will run out, and itll end up there with the Ryder kids coon and little Timmy Desslers cocker spaniel and Missus Bradleighs parakeet. Not that the parakeet got run over in the road, you understand. It just went feet up one day. Ill take it under advisement, Louis said. You do that, Crandall said and stood up. Hows that beer doing? I believe Ill go in for a slice of old Mr. Rat after all. Beers gone, Louis said, also standing, and I ought to go, too. Big day tomorrow. Starting in at the university? Louis nodded. The kids dont come back for two weeks, but by then I ought to know what Im doing, dont you think? Yeah, if you dont know where the pills are, I guess youll have trouble. Crandall offered his hand and Louis shook it, mindful again of the fact that old bones pained easily. Come on over any evening, he said. Want you to meet my Norma. Think shed enjoy you. Ill do that, Louis said. Nice to meet you, Jud. Same goes both ways. Youll settle in. May even stay awhile. I hope we do. Louis walked down the crazypaved path to the shoulder of the road and had to pause while yet anothertruck, this one followed by a line of five cars headed in the direction of Bucksport, passed by. Then, raising his hand in a short salute, he crossed the street (road, he reminded himself again) and let himself into his new house. It was quiet with the sounds of sleep. Ellie appeared not to have moved at all, and Gage was still in his crib, sleeping in typical Gage fashion, spreadeagled on his back, a bottle within easy reach. Louis paused there looking in at his son, his heart abruptly filling with a love for the boy so strong that it seemed almost dangerous. He supposed part of it was simply homesickness for all the familiar Chicago places and Chicago faces that were now gone, erased so efficiently by the miles that they might never have been at all. Theres a lot more moving around than there used to be . . . used to be you picked a place out and stuck to it. There was some truth in that. He went to his son, and because there was no one there to see him do it, not even Rachel, he kissed his fingers and then pressed them lightly and briefly to Gages cheek through the bars of the crib. Gage clucked and turned over on his side. Sleep well, baby, Louis said. He undressed quietly and slipped into his half of the bed that was for now just two single mattresses pushed together on the floor. He felt the strain of the day beginning to pass. Rachel didnt stir. Unpacked boxes bulked ghostly in the mom. Just before sleep, Louis hiked himself up on one elbow and looked out the window. Their room was at the front of the house, and he could look across the road at the Crandall place. It was too dark to see shapeson a moonlit night it would not have beenbut he could see the cigarette ember over there. Still up, he thought. Hell maybe be up for a long rime. The old sleep poorly. Perhaps they stand watch. Against what? Louis was thinking about that when he slipped into sleep. He dreamed he was in Disney World, driving a bright white van with a red cross on the side. Gage was beside him, and in the dream Gage was at least ten years old. Church was on the white vans dashboard, looking at Louis with his bright green eyes, and out on Main Street by the l890s train station, Mickey Mouse was shaking hands with the children clustered around him, his big white cartoon gloves swallowing their small, trusting hands. 7 The next two weeks were busy ones for the family. Little by little Louiss new job began to shake down for him (how it would be when ten thousand students, many of them drug and liquor abusers, some afflicted with social diseases, some anxious about grades or depressed about leaving home for the first time, a dozen of themgirls, mostlyanorexic... how it would be when all of them converged on the campus at once would be something else again). And while Louis began getting a handle on his job as head of University Medical Services, Rachel began to get a handle on the house. Gage was busy taking the bumps and spills that went with getting used to his new environment, and for a while his nighttime schedule was badly out of whack, but by the middle of their second week in Ludlow, he had begun to sleep through again. Only Ellie, with the prospect of beginning kindergarten in a new place before her, seemed always overexcited and on a hairtrigger. She was apt to go into prolonged giggling fits or periods of almost menopausal depression or temper tantrums at the drop of a word. Rachel said Ellie would get over it when she saw that school was not the great red devil she had made it out to be in her own mind, and Louis thought Rachel was right. Most of the time, Ellie was what she had always beena dear. His evening beer or two with Jud Crandall became something of a habit. Around the time Gage began sleeping through again, Louis began bringing his own sixpack over every second or third night. He met Norma Crandall, a sweetly pleasant woman who had rheumatoid arthritisfilthy old rheurnatoid arthritis, which kills so much of what could be good in the old ages of men and women who are otherwise healthy but her attitude was good. She would not surrender to the pain; there would be no white flags. Let it take her if it could. Louis thought she might have another five to seven productive if not terribly comfortable years ahead of her. Going completely against his own established customs, he examined her at his own instigation, inventoried the prescriptions her own doctor had given her, and found them to be completely in order. He felt a nagging disappointment that there was nothing else he could do or suggest for her, but her Dr. Weybridge had things as under control as they were ever going to be for Norma Crandallbarring some sudden breakthrough, which was possible but not to be counted upon. You learned to accept, or you ended up in a small room writing letters home with Crayolas. Rachel liked her, and they had sealed their friendship by exchanging recipes the way small boys trade baseball cards, beginning with Norma Crandalls deepdish apple pie for Rachels beef stroganoff. Norma was taken with both of the Creed childrenparticularly with Ellie, who, she said, was going to be an oldtime beauty. At least, Louis told Rachel that night in bed, Norma hadnt said Ellie was going to grow into a real sweet coon. Rachel laughed so hard she broke explosive wind, and then both of them laughed so long and loudly that they woke up Gage in the next room. The first day of kindergarten arrived. Louis, who felt pretty well in control of the infirmary and the medicalsupport facilities now, took the day off. (Besides, the infirmary was currently dead empty; the last patient, a summer student who had broken her leg on the Student Union steps, had been discharged a week before.) He stood on the lawn beside Rachel with Gage in his arms, as the big yellow bus made the turn from Middle Drive and lumbered to a stop in front of their house. The doors at the front folded open; the babble and squawk of many children drifted out on the mild September air. Ellie cast a strange, vulnerable glance back over her shoulder, as if to ask them if there might not yet be time to abort this inevitable process, and perhaps what she saw on the faces of her parents convinced her that the time was gone, and everything which would follow this first day was simply inevitable like the progress of Norma Crandalls arthritis. She turned away from them and mounted the steps of the bus. The doors folded shut with a gasp of dragons breath. The bus pulled away. Rachel burst into tears. Dont, for Christs sake, Louis said. He wasnt crying. Only damn near. Its only half a day. Half a day is bad enough, Rachel answered in a scolding voice and began to cry harder. Louis held her, and Gage slipped an arm comfortably around each parents neck. When Rachel cried, Gage usually cried too. But not this time. He has us to himself. Louis thought, and he damn well knows it. They waited with some trepidation for Ellie to return, drinking too much coffee, speculating on how it was going for her. Louis went out into the back room that was going to be his study and messed about idly, moving papers from one place to another but not doing much else. Rachel began lunch absurdly early. When the phone rang at a quarter past ten, Rachel raced for it and answered with a breathless Hello? before it could ring a second time. Louis stood in the doorway between his office and the kitchen, sure it would be Elliss teacher telling them that she bad decided Ellie couldnt hack it; the stomach of public education had found her indigestible and was spitting her back. But it was only Norma Crandall, calling to tell them that Jud had picked the last of the corn and they were welcome to a dozen ears if they wanted it. Louis went over with a shopping bag and scolded Jud for not letting him help pick it. Most of it aint worth a tin shit anyway, Jud said. Youll kindly spare that talk while Im around, Norma said. She came out on the porch with iced tea on an antique CocaCola tray. Sorry, my Love. He aint sorry a bit, Norma said to Louis and sat down with a wince. Saw Ellie get on the bus, Jud said, lighting a Chesterfield. Shell be fine, Norma said. They almost always are. Almost, Louis thought morbidly. But Ellie was fine. She came home at noon smiling and sunny, her blue firstdayofschool dress belling gracefully around her scabbed shins (and there was a new scrape on one knee to marvel over), a picture of what might have been two children or perhaps two walking gantries in one hand, one shoe untied, one ribbon missing from her hair, shouting, We sang Old MacDonald! Mommy! Daddy! We sang Old MacDonald! Same one as in the Carstairs Street School! Rachel glanced over at Louis, who was sitting in the window seat with Gage on his lap. The baby was almost asleep. There was something sad in Rachels glance, and although she looked away quickly, Louis felt a moment of terrible panic. Were really going to get old, be thought. Its really true. No ones going to make an exception for us. Shes on her way . . . and so are we. Ellie ran over to him, trying to show him her picture, her new scrape, and tell him about Old MacDonald and Mrs. Berryman all at the same time. Church was twining in and out between her legs, purring loudly, and Ellie was somehow, almost miraculously, not tripping over him. Shh, Louis said and kissed her. Gage had gone to sleep, unmindful of all the excitement. Just let me put the baby to bed and then Ill listen to everything. He took Gage up the stairs, walking through hot slanting September sunshine, and as he reached the landing, such a premonition of horror and darkness struck him that he stopped stopped coldand looked around in surprise, wondering what could possibly have come over him. He held the baby tighter, almost clutching him, and Gage stirred uncomfortably. Louiss arms and back had broken out in great rashes of gooseflesh. Whats wrong? he wondered, confused and frightened. His heart was racing; his scalp felt cool and abruptly too small to cover his skull; he could feel the surge of adrenaline behind his eyes. Human eyes really did bug out when fear was extreme, he knew; they did not just widen but actually bulged as blood pressure climbed and the hydrostatic pressure of the cranial fluids increased. What the hell is it? Ghosts? Christ, it really feels as if something just brushed by me in this hallway, something I almost saw. Downstairs the screen door whacked against its frame. Louis Creed jumped, almost screamed, and then laughed. It was simply one of those psychological cold pockets people Sometimes passed throughno more, no less. A momentary fugue. They happened; that was all. What had Scrooge said to the ghost of Jacob Marley? You may be no more than an underdone bit of potato. Theres more gravy than grave to you. And that was more correctphysiologically as well as psychologicallythan Charles Dickens had probably known. There were no ghosts, at least not in his experience. He had pronounced two dozen people dead in his career and had never once felt the passage of a soul. He took Gage into his room and laid him in his crib. As he pulled the blanket up over his son, though, a shudder twisted up his back, and he thought suddenly of his Uncle Carls showroom. No new cars there, no televisions with all the modem features, no dishwashers with glass fronts so you could watch the magical sudsing action. Only boxes with their lids up, a carefully hidden spotlight over each. His fathers brother was an undertaker. Good God, what gave you the horrors? Let it go! Dump it! He kissed his son and went down to listen to Ellie tell about her first day at the big kids school. 8 That Saturday, after Ellie had completed her first week of school and just before the college kids came back to campus, Jud Crandall came across the road and walked over to where the Creed family sat on their lawn. Ellie had gotten off her bike and was drinking a glass of iced tea. Gage was crawling in the grass, examining bugs, perhaps even eating a few; Gage was not particular where his protein came from. Jud, Louis said, getting up. Let me get you a chair. No need. Jud was wearing jeans, an openthroated work shirt, and a pair of green boots. He looked at Ellie. You still want to see where yon path goes, Ellie? Yes! Ellie said, getting up immediately. Her eyes sparkled. George Buck at school told me it was the pet cemetery, and I told Mommy, but she said to wait for you because you knew where it was. I do, too, Jud said. If its okay with your folks, well take us a stroll up there. Youll want a pair of boots though. Grounds a bit squishy in places. Ellie rushed into the house. Jud looked after her with amused affection. Maybe youd like to come too, Louis. I would, Louis said. He looked at Rachel. You want to come, honey? What about Gage? I thought it was a mile. Ill put him in the Gerrypack. Rachel laughed. Okay . . . but its your back, mister. They started off ten minutes later, all of them but Gage wearing boots. Gage was sitting up in the Gerrypack and looking at everything over Louiss shoulder, goggleeyed. Ellie ranged ahead constantly, chasing butterflies and picking flowers. The grass in the back field was almost waist high, and now there was goldenrod, that latesummer gossip which comes to tattle on autumn every year. But there was no autumn in the air today; today the sun was still all August, although calendar August was almost two weeks gone. By the time they had reached the top of the first hill, walking strung out along the mown path, there were big patches of sweat under Louiss arms. Jud paused. At first Louis thought it might be because the old man was windedthen he saw the view that had opened Out behind them. Pretty up here, Jud said, putting a piece of timothy grass between his teeth. Louis thought he had just heard the quintessential Yankee understatement. Its gorgeous, Rachel breathed and then turned to Louis, almost accusingly. How come you didnt tell me about this? Because! didnt know it was here, Louis said, and was a little ashamed. They were still on their own property; he had just never found time to climb the hill in back of the house until today. Ellie had been a good way ahead. Now she came back also gazing with frank wonder. Church padded at her heels. The hill was not a high one, but it did not need to be. To the east, heavy woods blocked any view, but looking this way, west, the land fell away in a golden and dozy late summer dream. Everything was still, hazed, silent. There was not even an Orinco tanker on the highway to break the quiet. It was the river valley they were looking into, of course; the Penobscot, where loggers had once floated their timber from the northeast down to Bangor and Derry. But they were south of Bangor and a bit north of Deny here. The river flowed wide and peacefully, as if in its own deep dream. Louis could make out Hampden and Winterport on the far side, and over here he fancied he could trace the black, riverparalleling snake of Route 15 nearly all the way Bucksport. They looked over the river, its lush hem of trees, the roads, the fields. The spire of the North Ludlow Baptist Church. poked through one canopy of old elms, and to the right he could see the square brick sturdiness of Ellies school. Overhead, white clouds moved slowly toward a horizon the color of faded denim. And everywhere were the latesummer fields, used up at the end of the cycle, dormant but not dead, an incredible tawny color. Gorgeous is the right word, Louis said finally. They used to call it Prospect Hill back in the old days, Jud said. He put a cigarette in the corner of his mouth but did not light it. Theres a few that still do, but now that younger people have moved into town, its mostly been forgot. I dont think theres very many people that even come up here. It dont look like you could see much because the hills not very high. But you can see He gestured with one hand and fell silent. You can see everything, Rachel said in a low, awed voice. She turned to Louis. Honey, do we own this? And before Louis could answer, Jud said Its part of the property, oh yes. Which wasnt, Louis thought, quite the same thing. It was cooler in the woods, perhaps by as much as eight or ten degrees. The path, still wide and occasionally marked with flowers in pots or in coffee cans (most of them wilted), was now floored with dry pine needles. They had gone about a quarter of a mile, moving downhill now, when Jud called Ellie back. This is a good walk for a little girl, Jud said kindly, but I want you to promise your mom and dad that if you come up here, youll always stay on the path. I promise, Ellie said promptly Why? He glanced at Louis, who had stopped to. rest. Toting Gage, even in the shade of these old pines and spruces, was heavy work. Do you know where you are? Jud asked Louis. Louis considered and rejected answers Ludlow, North Ludlow, behind my house, between Route 15 and Middle Drive. He shook his head. Jud jerked a thumb back over his shoulder. Plenty of stuff that way, he said. Thats town. This way, nothing but woods for fifty miles or more. The North Ludlow Woods they call it here, but it hits a little corner of Orrington, then goes over to Rockford. Ends up going onto those state lands I told you about, the ones the Indians want back. I know it sounds funny to say your nice little house there on the main road, with its phone and electric lights and cable TV and all, is on the edge of a wilderness, but it is. He looked back at Ellie. All Im saying is that you dont want to get messing around in these woods, Ellie. You might lose the path, and God knows where you might end up then. I wont, Mr. Crandall. Ellie was suitably impressed, even awed, but not afraid, Louis saw. Rachel, however, was looking at Jud uneasily, and Louis felt a little uneasy himself. It was, he supposed, the citybreds almost instinctive fear of the woods. Louis hadnt held a compass in his hand since Boy Scouts, twenty years before, and his memories of how to find your way by things like the North Star or which side of the trees moss grew on were as vague as his memories of how to tie a sheepshank or a half hitch. Jud looked them over and smiled a little. Now, we aint lost nobody in these woods since 1934, he said. At least, nobody local. The last one was Will Jeppsonno great loss. Except for Stanny Bouchard, I guess Will was the biggest tosspot this side of Bucksport. You said nobody local, Rachel remarked in a voice that was not quite casual, and Louis could almost read her mind Were not local. At least, not yet. Jud paused and then nodded. We do lose one of the tourists every two or three years because they think you cant get lost right off the main road. But we never lost even one of them for good, missus. Dont you fret. Are there moose? Rachel asked apprehensively, and Louis smiled. If Rachel wanted to fret, she would jolly well fret. Well, you might see a moose, Jud said, but he wouldnt give you any trouble, Rachel. During mating season they get a little irritated, but otherwise they do no more than look. Only people they take after out of their rutting time are people from Massachusetts. I dont know why thats so, but it is. Louis thought the man was joking but could not be sure; Jud looked utterly serious. Ive seen it time and time again. Some fella from Saugus or Milton or Weston up a tree, yelling about a herd of moose, every damn one of em as big as a motorhome. Seems like moose can smell Massachusetts on a man or a woman. Or maybe its just all those new clothes from L. L. Beans they smellI dunno. Id like to see one of those animal husbandry students from the college do a paper on it, but I spose none ever will. Whats rutting time? Ellie asked. Never mind, Rachel said. I dont want you up here unless youre with a grownup, Ellie. Rachel moved a step closer to Louis. Jud looked pained. I didnt want to scare you, Rachelyou or your daughter. No need to be scared in these woods. This is a good path; it gets a little buggy in the spring and its a little sloppy all the timeexcept for 55, which was the driest summer I can rememberbut hell, thereisnt even any poison ivy or poison oak, which there is at the back of the schoolyard, and you want to stay away from it, Ellie, if you dont want to spend three weeks of your life takin starch baths. Ellie covered her mouth and giggled. Its a safe path, Jud said earnestly to Rachel, who still didnt look convinced. Why, I bet even Gage could follow it, and the town kids come up here a lot, I already told you that. They keep it nice. Nobody tells them to; they just do it. I wouldnt want to spoil that for Ellie. He bent over her and winked. Its like many other things in life, Ellie. You keep on the path and alls well. You get off it and the next thing you know youre lost if youre not lucky. And then someone has to send out a searchin party. They walked on. Louis began to get a dull cramp of pain in his back from the baby carrier. Every now and then Gage would grab a double handful of his hair and tug enthusiastically or administer a cheerful kick to Louiss kidneys. Late mosquitoes cruised around his face and neck, making their eyewatering hum. The path curved down, bending in and out between very old firs, and then cut widely through a brambly, tangled patch of undergrowth. The going was soupy here, and Louiss boots squelched in mud and some standing water. At one point they stepped over a marshy spot using a pair of goodsized tussocks as stepping stones. That was the worst of it. They started to climb again and the trees reasserted themselves. Gage seemed to have magically put on ten pounds, and the day had, with some similar magic, warmed up ten degrees. Sweat poured down Louiss face. How you doing, hon? Rachel asked. Want me to carry him for a while? No, Im fine, he said, and it was true, although his heart was larruping along at a good speed in his chest. He was more used to prescribing physical exercise than he was to doing it. Jud was walking with Ellie by his side; her lemonyellow slacks and red blouse were bright splashes of color in the shady browngreen gloom. Lou, does he really know where hes going, do you think? Rachel asked in a low, slightly worried tone. Sure, Louis said. Jud called back cheerily over his shoulder Not much farther now . . . you bearin up, Louis? My God, Louis thought, the mans well past eighty, but I dont think hes even broken a sweat. Im fine, he called back a little aggressively. Pride probably would have led him to say the same thing even if he had felt the onset of a coronary. He grinned, hitched the straps of the Gerrypack up a bit, and went on. They topped the second hill, and then the path sloped through a headhigh swatch of bushes and tangled underbrush. It narrowed and then, just ahead, Louis saw Ellie and Jud go under an arch made of old weather stained boards. Written on these in faded black paint, only just legible, were the words PET SEMATARY. He and Rachel exchanged an amused glance and stepped under the arch, instinctively reaching out and grasping each others hands as they did so, as if they had come here to be married. For the second time that morning Louis was surprised into wonder. There was no carpet of needles here. Here was an almost perfect circle of mown grass, perhaps as large as forty feet in diameter. It was bounded by thickly interlaced underbrush on three sides and an old blowdown on the fourth, a jackstraw jumble of fallen trees that looked both sinister and dangerous. A man trying so pick his way through that or to climb over it would do well to put on a steel jock, Louis thought. The clearing was crowded with markers, obviously made by children from whatever materials they could beg or borrowthe slats of crates, scrapwood, pieces of beaten tin. And yet, seen against the perimeter of low bushes and straggly trees that fought for living space and sunlight here, the very fact of their clumsy manufacture, and the fact that humans were responsible for what was here, seemed to emphasize what symmetry they had. The forested backdrop lent the place a crazy sort of profundity, a charm that was not Christian but pagan. Its lovely, Rachel said, not sounding as if she meant it. Wow! Ellie cried. Louis unshouldered Gage and pulled him out of the baby carrier so he could crawl. Louiss back sighed with relief. Ellie ran from one monument to the next, exclaiming over each. Louis followed her while Rachel kept an eye on the baby. Jud sat down crosslegged, his back against a protruding rock, and smoked. Louis noticed that the place did not just seem to have a sense of order, a pattern; the memorials had arranged in rough concentric circles. SMUCKY THE CAT, one crateboard marker proclaimed. The hand was childish but careful. HE WAS OBEDIANT. And below this 19711974. A little way around the outer circle he came to a piece of natural slate with a name written on it in fading but perfectly legible red paint BIFFER. And below this a bit of verse BIFFER, BIFFER. A HELLUVA SNIFFER  UNTIL HE DIED HE MADE US RICHER. Buffer was the Desslers cocker spaniel, Jud said. He had dug a bald place in the earth with the heel of his shoe and was carefully tapping all his ashes into it. Got run over by a dumpster last year. Aint that some poime? It is, Louis agreed. Some of the graves were marked with flowers, some fresh, most old, not a few almost totally decomposed. Over half of the painted and penciled inscriptions that Louis tried to read had faded away to partial or total illegibility. Others bore no discernible mark at all, and Louis guessed that the writing on these might have been done with chalk or crayon. Mom! Ellie yelled. Heres a goldfishie! Come and see! Ill pass, Rachel said, and Louis glanced at her. She was standing by herself, outside the outermost circle, looking more uncomfortable than ever. Louis thought Even here shes upset. She never had been easy around the appearances of death (not, he supposed, that anyone really was), probably because of her sister. Rachels sister had died very young, and it had left a scar which Louis had learned early in their marriage not to touch. Her name had been Zelda, and her death had been from spinal meningitis. Her mortal Illness had probably been long and painful and ugly, and Rachel would have been at an impressionable age. If she Wanted to forget it, he thought there could be no harm in that. Louis tipped her a wink, and Rachel smiled gratefully at him. Louis looked up. They were in a natural clearing. He supposed that explained how well the grass did; the sun could get through. Nevertheless it would have taken watering and careful tending. That meant cans of water lugged up here or maybe Indian pumps even heavier than Gage in his Gerrypack carried on small backs. He thought again that it was an odd thing for children to have kept up for so long. His own memory of childhood enthusiasms, reinforced by his dealings with Ellie, was that they tended to bum like newsprintfast... hot . . . and quick to die. Moving inward, the pet graves became older; fewer and fewer of the inscriptions could be read, but those that could yielded a rough timeline extending into the past. Here was TRIXIE. KILT ON THE HIGHWAY SEPT 15, 1968. in the same circle was a wide flat board planted deep in the earth. Frost and thaw had warped it and canted it to one side, but Louis could still make Out IN MEMORY OF MARTA OUR PET RABIT DYED MARCH 1 1965. A row farther in was GEN. PATTON (OUR! GOOD! DOG! the inscription amplified), who had died in 1958; and POLYNESIA (who would have been a parrot, if Louis remembered his Doctor Doolittle correctly), who had squawked her last Polly want a cracker in the summer of 1953. There was nothing readable in the next two rows, and then, still a long way in from the center, chiseled roughly on a piece of sandstone, was HANNAH THE BEST DOG THAT EVER LIVED 19291939. Although sandstone was relatively softas a result the inscription was now little more than a ghostLouis found it hard to conceive of the hours some child must have spent impressing those nine words on the stone. The commitment of love and grief seemed to him staggering; this was something parents did not even do for their own parents or for their children if they died young. Boy, this does go back some, he said to Jud, who had strolled over to join him. Jud nodded. Come here, Louis. Want to show you something. They walked to a row only three back from the center. Here the circular pattern, perceived as an almost haphazard coincidence in the outer rows, was very evident. Jud stopped before a small piece of slate that had fallen over. Kneeling carefully, the old man set it up again. Used to be words here, Jud said. I chiseled em myself, but its worn away now. I buried my first dog here. Spot. He died of old age in 1914, the year the Great War begun. Bemused by the thought that here was a graveyard that went farther back than many graveyards for people, Louis walked toward the center and examined several of the markers. None of them were readable, and most had been almost reclaimed by the forest floor.