sk.petsematary-第86部分

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　to　bulldoze　her　out　of　the　house　the　way　he　had；　but　she　had　been　weakened　by　Gage's　death。　Ellie　with　her　Polaroid　picture　of　Gage　and　her　pinched　face…it　had　been　the　face　of　a　child　who　has　survived　a　tornado　or　a　sudden　dive…bombing　from　a　clear　blue　sky。　There　had　been　times　in　the　dark　watches　of　the　night　when　she　had　longed　to　hate　Louis　for　the　grief　he　had　fathered　inside　her；　and　for　not　giving　her　the　fort　she　needed　（or　allowing　her　to　give　the　fort　she　needed　to　give）；　but　she　could　not。　She　loved　him　too　much　still；　and　his　face　had　been　so　pale。　。　。　so　watchful。
　　The　Chevette's　speedometer　needle　hung　poised　just　a　bit　to　the　right　of　sixty　miles　an　hour。　A　mile　a　minute。　Two　hours　and　a　quarter　to　Ludlow　maybe。　Maybe　she　could　still　beat　the　sunrise。
　　She　fumbled　with　the　radio；　turned　it　on；　found　a　rock…and…roll　station　out　of　Portland。　She　turned　up　the　volume　and　sang　along；　trying　to　keep　herself　awake。　The　station　began　to　fade　in　and　out　half　an　hour　later；　and　she　retuned　to　an　Augusta　station；　rolled　the　window　down；　and　let　the　restless　night　air　blow　in　on　her。
　　She　wondered　if　this　night　would　ever　end。
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　　Louis　had　rediscovered　his　dream　and　was　in　its　grip；　every　few　moments　he　looked　down　to　make　sure　it　was　a　body　in　a　tarpaulin　he　was　carrying　and　not　one　in　a　green　Hefty　Bag。　He　remembered　how　on　awakening　the　morning　after　Jud　had　taken　him　up　there　with　Church　he　had　been　barely　able　to　remember　what　they　had　done…but　now　he　also　remembered　how　vivid　those　sensations　had　been；　how　alive　each　of　his　senses　had　felt；　how　they　had　seemed　to　reach　out；　touching　the　woods　as　if　they　were　alive　and　in　some　kind　of　telepathic　contact　with　himself。
　　He　followed　the　path　up　and　down；　rediscovering　the　places　where　it　seemed　as　wide　as　Route　15；　the　places　where　it　narrowed　until　he　had　to　turn　sideways　to　keep　the　head　and　foot　of　his　bundle　from　getting　tangled　in　the　underbrush；　the　places　where　the　path　wound　through　great　cathedral　stands　of　trees。　He　could　smell　the　clear　tang　of　pine　resin；　and　he　could　hear　that　strange　crump…crump　of　the　needles　underfoot…a　sensation　that　is　really　more　feeling　than　sound。
　　At　last　the　path　began　to　slant　downward　more　steeply　and　constantly。　A　short　time　later　one　foot　splashed　through　thin　water　and　became　mired　in　the　sludgy　stuff　underneath　。　。　。　the　quicksand；　if　Jud　was　to　be　believed。　Louis　looked　down　and　could　see　the　standing　water　between　growths　of　reeds　and　low；　ugly　bushes　with　leaves　so　broad　they　were　almost　tropical。　He　remembered　that　the　light　had　seemed　brighter　that　other　night　too。　More　electrical。
　　This　next　bit　is　like　the　deadfall…you　got　to　walk　steady　and　easy。　Just　follow　me　and　don't　look　down。
　　Yes；　okay。　。　。　and　just　by　the　bye；　have　you　ever　seen　plants　like　these　in　Maine　before？　In　Maine　or　anywhere　else？　What　in　Christ's　name　are　they？
　　Never　mind；　Louis。　Just。　。　。　let's　go。
　　He　began　to　walk　again；　looking　at　the　wet；　marshy　undergrowth　just　long　enough　to　sight　the　first　tussock　and　then　only　looking　ahead　of　himself；　his　feet　moving　from　one　grassy　hump　to　the　next…faith　is　accepting　gravity　as　a　postulate；　he　thought；　nothing　he　had　been　told　in　a　college　theology　or　philosophy　course；　but　something　his　high　school　physics　instructor　had　once　tossed　off　near　the　end　of　a　period　。　。　。　something　Louis　had　never　forgotten。
　　He　accepted　the　ability　of　the　Micmac　burying　ground　to　resurrect　the　dead　and　walked　into　Little　God　Swamp　with　his　son　in　his　arms；　not　looking　down　or　back。　These　marshy　bottoms　were　noisier　now　than　they　had　been　at　the　tag　end　of　autumn。　Peepers　sang　constantly　in　the　reeds；　a　shrill　chorus　which　Louis　found　alien　and　uninviting。　An　occasional　frog　twanged　a　deep　elastic　somewhere　in　its　throat。　Twenty　paces　or　so　into　Little　God　Swamp　he　was　buzz…bombed　by　some　shape。　。　。　a　bat；　perhaps。
　　The　groundmist　began　to　swirl　around　him；　first　covering　his　shoes；　then　his　shins；　finally　enclosing　him　in　a　glowing　white　capsule。　It　seemed　to　him　that　the　light　was　brighter；　a　pulsing　effulgence　like　the　beat　of　some　strange　heart。　He　had　never　before　felt　so　strongly　the　presence　of　nature　as　a　kind　of　coalescing　force；　a　real　being　。　。　。　possibly　sentient。　The　swamp　was　alive；　but　not　with　the　sound　of　music。　If　asked　to　define　either　the　sense　or　the　nature　of　that　aliveness；　he　would　have　been　unable。　He　only　knew　that　it　was　rich　with　possibility　and　textured　with　strength。　Inside　it；　Louis　felt　very　small　and　very　mortal。
　　Then　there　was　a　sound；　and　he　remembered　this　from　the　last　time　as　well：　a　high；　gobbling　laugh　that　became　a　sob。　There　was　silence　for　a　moment　and　then　the　laugh　came　again；　this　time　rising　to　a　maniacal　shriek　that　froze　Louis's　blood。　The　mist　drifted　dreamily　around　him。　The　laughter　faded；　leaving　only　the　drone　of　the　wind；　heard　but　no　longer　felt。　Of　course　not；　this　had　to　be　some　sort　of　geological　cup　in　the　earth。　If　the　wind　could　have　penetrated　here；　it　would　have　torn　this　mist　to　tatters　。　。　。　and　Louis　wasn't　sure　he　would　want　to　see　what　might　have　been　revealed。
　　You　may　hear　sounds　like　voices；　but　they　are　the　loons　down　south　toward　Prospect。　The　sound　carries。　It's　funny。
　　〃Loons；〃　Louis　said　and　barely　recognized　the　cracked；　somehow　ghastly　sound　of　his　own　voice。　But　he　sounded　amused。　God　help　him；　he　actually　sounded　amused。
　　He　hesitated　briefly　and　then　moved　on　again。　As　if　to　punish　him　for　his　brief　pause；　his　foot　slipped　from　the　next　tussock；　and　he　almost　lost　his　shoe；　pulling　it　free　from　the　grasping　ooze　under　the　shallow　water。
　　The　voice…if　that　was　what　it　was…came　again；　this　time　from　the　left。　Moments　later　it　came　from　behind　him　。　。　。　from　directly　behind　him；　it　seemed；　as　if　he　could　have　turned　and　seen　some　blood…drenched　thing　less　than　a　foot　from　his　back；　all　bared　teeth　and　glittering　eyes　。　。　。　but　this　time　Louis　did　not　slow。　He　looked　straight　ahead　and　kept　walking。
　　Suddenly　the　mist　lost　its　light　and　Louis　realized　that　a　face　was　hanging　in　the　air　ahead　of　him；　leering　and　gibbering。　Its　eyes；　tilted　up　like　the　eyes　in　a　classical　Chinese　painting；　were　a　rich　yellowish…gray；　sunken；　gleaming。　The　mouth　was　drawn　down　in　a　rictus；　the　lower　lip　was　turned　inside　out；　revealing　teeth　stained　blackish…brown　and　worn　down　almost　to　nubs。　But　what　struck　Louis　were　the　ears；　which　were　not　ears　at　all　but　curving　horns　。　。　。　they　were　not　like　devil's　horns；　they　were　ram's　horns。
　　This　grisly；　floating　head　seemed　to　be　speaking…laughing。　Its　mouth　moved；　although　that　turned…down　lower　lip　never　came　back　to　its　natural　shape　and　place。　Veins　in　there　pulsed　black。　Its　nostrils　flared；　as　if　with　breath　and　life；　and　blew　out　white　vapors。
　　As　Louis　drew　closer；　the　floating　head's　tongue　lolled　out。　It　was　long　and　pointed；　dirty　yellow　in　color。　It　was　coated　with　peeling　scales　and　as　Louis　watched；　one　of　these　flipped　up　and　over　like　a　manhole　cover　and　a　white　worm　oozed　out。　The　tongue's　tip　skittered　lazily　on　the　air　somewhere　below　where　its　adam's　apple　should　have　been。　。　。　it　was　laughing。
　　He　clutched　Gage　closer　to　him；　hugging　him；　as　if　to　protect　him；　and　his　feet　faltered　and　began　to　slip　on　the　grassy　tussocks　where　they　held　slim　purchase。
　　You　might　see　St。　Elmo's　fire；　what　the　sailors　call　foo…lights。　It　can　make　funny　shapes；　but　it's　nothing。　If　you　should　see　some　of　those　shapes　and　they　bother　you；　just　look　the　other　way。
　　Jud's　voice　in　his　head　gave　him　a　measure　of　resolve。　He　began　to　move　steadily　forward　again；　lurching　at　first；　then　finding　his　balance。　He　didn't　look　away　but　noticed　that　the　face
　　…if　that　was　what　it　was　and　not　just　a　shape　made　by　the　mist　and　his　own　mind…seemed　to　always　remain　the　same　distance　away　from　him。　And　seconds　or　minutes　later；　it　simply　dissolved　into　drifting　mist。
　　That　was　not　St。　Elmo's　fire。
　　No；　of　course　it　wasn't。　This　place　was　thick　with　spirits；　it　was　tenebrous　with　them。　You　could　look　around　and　see　something　that　would　send　you　raving　mad。　He　would　not　think　about　it。　There　was　no　need　to　think　about　it。　There　was　no　ne