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Louis
's
wondering
,
terrified
face
tilted
up
and
up
,
like
a
man
following
the
trajectory
of
a
launched
rocket
.
The
thing
thudded
toward
him
,
and
there
was
the
ratcheting
sound
of
a
tree
--
not
a
branch
,
but
a
whole
tree
--
falling
over
somewhere
close
by
.
Louis
saw
something
.
The
mist
stained
to
a
dull
slate-gray
for
a
moment
,
but
this
diffuse
,
ill-defined
watermark
was
better
than
sixty
feet
high
.
It
was
no
shade
,
no
insubstantial
ghost
;
he
could
feel
the
displaced
air
of
its
passage
,
could
hear
the
mammoth
thud
of
its
feet
coming
down
,
the
suck
of
mud
as
it
moved
on
.
For
a
moment
he
believed
he
saw
twin
yellow-orange
sparks
high
above
him
.
Sparks
like
eyes
.
Then
the
sound
began
to
fade
.
As
it
went
away
,
a
peeper
called
hesitantly
--
one
.
It
was
answered
by
another
.
A
third
joined
the
conversation
;
a
fourth
made
it
a
bull
session
;
a
fifth
and
sixth
made
it
a
peeper
convention
.
The
sounds
of
the
thing
's
progress
(
slow
but
not
blundering
;
perhaps
that
was
the
worst
of
it
,
that
feeling
of
sentient
progress
)
were
moving
away
to
the
north
.
Little
...
less
...
gone
.
At
last
Louis
began
to
move
again
.
His
shoulders
and
back
were
a
frozen
ache
of
torment
.
He
wore
an
undergarment
of
sweat
from
neck
to
ankles
.
The
season
's
first
mosquitoes
,
new-hatched
and
hungry
,
found
him
and
sat
down
to
a
late
snack
.
The
Wendigo
,
dear
Christ
,
that
was
the
Wendigo
--
the
creature
that
moves
through
the
north
country
,
the
creature
that
can
touch
you
and
turn
you
into
a
cannibal
.
That
was
it
.
The
Wendigo
has
just
passed
within
sixty
yards
of
me
.
He
told
himself
not
to
be
ridiculous
,
to
be
like
Jud
and
avoid
ideas
about
what
might
be
seen
or
heard
beyond
the
Pet
Sematary
--
they
were
loons
,
they
were
St.
Elmo
's
fire
,
they
were
the
members
of
the
New
York
Yankees
"
bullpen
.
Let
them
be
anything
but
the
creatures
which
leap
and
crawl
and
slither
and
shamble
in
the
world
between
.
Let
there
be
God
,
let
there
be
Sunday
morning
,
let
there
be
smiling
Episcopalian
ministers
in
shining
white
surplices
...
but
let
there
not
be
these
dark
and
draggling
horrors
on
the
nightside
of
the
universe
.
Louis
walked
on
with
his
son
,
and
the
ground
began
to
firm
up
again
under
his
feet
.
Only
moments
later
he
came
to
a
felled
tree
,
its
crown
visible
in
the
fading
mist
like
a
gray-green
feather
duster
dropped
by
a
giant
's
housekeeper
.
The
tree
was
broken
off
--
splintered
off
--
and
the
break
was
so
fresh
that
the
yellowish-white
pulp
still
bled
sap
that
was
warm
to
Louis
's
touch
as
he
climbed
over
...
and
on
the
other
side
was
a
monstrous
indentation
out
of
which
he
had
to
scramble
and
climb
,
and
although
juniper
and
low
pump-laurel
bushes
had
been
stamped
right
into
the
earth
,
he
would
not
let
himself
believe
it
was
a
footprint
.
He
could
have
looked
back
to
see
if
it
had
any
such
configuration
once
he
had
climbed
beyond
and
above
it
,
but
he
would
not
.
He
only
walked
on
,
skin
cold
,
mouth
hot
and
arid
,
heart
flying
.
