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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
.
You
've
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
bed
--
going
to
sleep
--
made
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
did
n't
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
seven-thirty
,
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
.
