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Louis
backed
out
of
the
Pet
Sematary
,
not
turning
his
back
to
the
deadfall
--
that
ghostlike
glimmer
,
a
livid
scar
on
the
dark
--
until
he
was
well
down
the
path
.
Then
he
began
to
hurry
,
and
perhaps
a
quarter
of
a
mile
before
the
path
ran
out
of
the
woods
and
into
the
field
behind
his
house
,
he
found
enough
left
inside
him
to
run
.
Louis
slung
the
pick
and
shovel
indifferently
inside
the
garage
and
stood
for
a
moment
at
the
head
of
his
driveway
,
looking
first
back
the
way
he
had
come
and
then
up
at
the
sky
.
It
was
quarter
past
four
in
the
morning
,
and
he
supposed
dawn
could
not
be
so
far
away
.
Light
would
already
be
three
quarters
of
the
way
across
the
Atlantic
,
but
for
now
,
here
in
Ludlow
,
the
night
held
hard
.
The
wind
blew
steadily
.
He
went
into
the
house
,
feeling
his
way
along
the
side
of
the
garage
and
unlocking
the
back
door
.
He
went
through
the
kitchen
without
turning
on
a
light
and
stepped
into
the
small
bathroom
between
the
kitchen
and
the
dining
room
.
Here
he
did
snap
on
a
light
,
and
the
first
thing
he
saw
was
Church
,
curled
up
on
top
of
the
toilet
tank
,
staring
at
him
with
those
muddy
yellow-green
eyes
.
"
Church
,
"
he
said
.
"
I
thought
someone
put
you
out
.
"
Church
only
looked
at
him
from
atop
the
toilet
tank
.
Yes
,
someone
had
put
Church
out
;
he
had
done
it
himself
.
He
remembered
that
very
clearly
.
Just
as
he
remembered
replacing
the
window
pane
down-cellar
that
time
and
then
telling
himself
that
that
had
taken
care
of
the
problem
.
But
exactly
whom
had
he
been
kidding
?
When
Church
wanted
to
get
in
,
Church
got
in
.
Because
Church
was
different
now
.
It
did
n't
matter
.
In
this
dull
,
exhausted
aftermath
,
nothing
seemed
to
matter
.
He
felt
like
something
less
than
human
now
,
one
of
George
Romero
's
stupid
,
lurching
movie-zombies
,
or
maybe
someone
who
had
escaped
from
T.
S.
Eliot
's
poem
about
the
hollow
men
.
I
should
have
been
a
pair
of
ragged
claws
,
scuttling
through
Little
God
Swamp
and
up
to
the
Micmac
burying
ground
,
he
thought
and
uttered
a
dry
chuckle
.
"
Headpiece
full
of
straw
,
Church
,
"
he
said
in
his
croaking
voice
.
He
was
unbuttoning
his
shirt
now
.
"
That
's
me
.
You
better
believe
it
.
"
There
was
a
nice
bruise
coming
on
his
left
side
,
about
halfway
up
his
ribcage
,
and
when
he
rolled
up
his
pants
leg
he
saw
that
the
knee
he
had
banged
on
the
gravestone
was
swelling
up
like
a
balloon
.
It
had
already
turned
a
rotten
purple-black
,
and
he
supposed
that
as
soon
as
he
stopped
flexing
it
,
the
joint
would
become
stiff
and
painfully
obdurate
--
as
if
it
had
been
dipped
in
cement
.
It
looked
like
one
of
those
injuries
that
might
want
to
converse
with
him
on
rainy
days
for
the
rest
of
his
life
.
He
reached
out
a
hand
to
stroke
Church
,
wanting
some
sort
of
comfort
,
but
the
cat
leaped
down
from
the
toilet
tank
,
staggering
in
that
drunken
and
weirdly
unfeline
way
,
and
left
for
some
other
place
.
It
spared
Louis
one
flat
,
yellow
glance
as
it
went
.
