sk.petsematary-第98部分

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who　wakes　up　only　to　find　he　has　sleepwalked　his　way　onto　a　high　skyscraper　ledge。
　　She's　dead　and　I　think　that　maybe　Louis　has　killed　her；　Louis　has　gone　mad；　utterly　mad；　but…　But　there　was　something　worse　than　madness　here…something　much；　much　worse。　It　was　as　if　there　was　a　magnet　somewhere　out　in　those　woods　and　he　could　feel　it　pulling　at　something　in　his　brain。　Pulling　him　toward　that　place　where　Louis　was　taking　Rachel。
　　e　on；　walk　the　path。　。　。　walk　the　path　and　see　where　It　goes。　We　got　stuff　to　show　you　out　here；　Steverino；　stuff　they　never　told　you　about　in　the　Atheists'　Society　back　in　Lake　Forest。
　　And　then；　perhaps　simply　because　it　had　enough　for　one　day　to　feed　on　and　lost　interest　in　him；　the　call　of　the　place　in　his　mind　simply　ceased。　Steve　took　two　plunging；　drunken　steps　back　down　the　side　of　the　deadfall。　Then　more　branches　let　go　with　a　grinding　rattle　and　his　left　foot　plunged　into　the　tangled　deadwood；　harsh　sharp　splinters　pulled　off　his　sneaker　and　then　tore　into　his　flesh　as　he　yanked　free。　He　fell　forward　into　the　Pet　Sematary；　barely　missing　a　piece　of　orange　crate　that　could　easily　have　punched　into　his　stomach。
　　He　got　to　his　feet；　staring　around；　bewildered；　wondering　what　had　happened　to　him。　。　。　or　if　anything　had　happened　to　him。　Already　it　had　begun　to　seem　like　a　dream。
　　Then；　from　the　deep　woods　behind　the　deadfall；　woods　so　deep　that　the　light　looked　green　and　tarnished　even　on　the　brightest　days；　a　low；　chuckling　laugh　arose。　The　sound　was　huge。　Steve　could　not　even　begin　to　imagine　what　sort　of　creature　could　have　made　such　a　sound。
　　He　ran；　one　shoe　off　and　one　shoe　on；　trying　to　shriek　but　unable。　He　was　still　running　when　he　reached　Louis's　house；　and　still　trying　to　shriek　when　he　finally　got　his　bike　started　and　slued　out　onto　Route　15。　He　very　nearly　sideswiped　an　arriving　fire　engine　from　Brewer。　Inside　his　Bell　helmet；　his　hair　was　standing　on　end。
　　By　the　time　he　got　back　to　his　apartment　in　Orono；　he　could　not　precisely　remember　having　gone　to　Ludlow　at　all。　He　called　in　sick　at　the　infirmary；　took　a　pill；　and　went　to　bed。
　　Steve　Masterton　never　really　remembered　that　day。　。　。　except　in　deep　dreams；　those　that　e　in　the　small　hours　of　the　morning。　And　in　these　dreams　he　would　sense　that　something　huge　had　shrugged　by　him…something　which　had　reached　out　to　touch　him。　。　。　and　had　then　withdrawn　its　inhuman　hand　at　the　very　last　second。
　　Something　with　great　yellow　eyes　which　gleamed　like　foglamps。
　　Steve　sometimes　awoke　shrieking　from　these　dreams；　his　eyes　wide　and　bulging；　and　he　would　think：　You　think　you　are　screaming；　but　it's　only　the　sound　of　the　loons；　down　south；　in　Prospect。　The　sound　carries。　It's　funny。
　　But　he　did　not　know；　could　not　remember；　what　such　a　thought　might　mean。　The　following　year　he　took　a　job　halfway　across　the　country；　in　St。　Louis。
　　In　the　time　between　his　last　sight　of　Louis　Creed　and　his　departure　for　the　Midwest；　Steve　never　went　into　the　town　of　Ludlow　again。
　　
EPILOGUE
　　The　police　came　late　that　afternoon。　They　asked　questions　but　voiced　no　suspicions。　The　ashes　were　still　hot；　they　had　not　yet　been　raked。　Louis　answered　their　questions。　They　seemed　satisfied。　They　spoke　outside　and　he　wore　a　hat。　That　was　good。　If　they　had　seen　his　gray　hair；　they　might　have　asked　more　questions。　That　would　have　been　bad。　He　wore　his　gardening　gloves；　and　that　was　good　too。　His　hands　were　bloody　and　ruined。
　　He　played　solitaire　that　night　until　long　after　midnight。
　　He　was　just　dealing　a　fresh　hand　when　he　heard　the　back　door　open。
　　What　you　buy　is　what　you　own；　and　sooner　or　later　what　you　own　will　e　back　to　you；　Louis　Creed　thought。
　　He　did　not　turn　around　but　only　looked　at　his　cards　as　the　slow；　gritting　footsteps　approached。　He　saw　the　queen　of　spades。　He　put　his　hand　on　it。
　　The　steps　ended　directly　behind　him。
　　Silence。
　　A　cold　hand　fell　on　Louis's　shoulder。　Rachel's　voice　was　grating；　full　of　dirt。
　　〃Darling；〃　it　said。
　　…February　1979…December　1982