Pet Sematary - Stephen King [100]
even-when accused of some mistake. It was only her way of dealing with criticism, but that did not keep it from infuriating Louis when she laid it on too thick or when he was particularly tired. But this night the kite flying had left him in a fine mood, and Ellie was inclined to be reasonable. She agreed to be more careful and then went downstairs to watch TV until 8:30, a Saturday indulgence she treasured. Okay, thats out of the way, and it might even do some good, Louis thought, not knowing that marbles were really not the problem, and chills were really not the problem, that a large Orinco truck was going to be the problem, that the road was going to be the problem as Jud Crandall had warned them it might be on that first day of August.
He went upstairs that night about fifteen minutes after Cage had been put to bed. He found his son quiet but still awake, drinking the last of a bottle of milk and looking contemplatively up at the ceiling.
Louis took one of Gages feet in one hand and raised it up. He kissed it, lowered it. Goodnight, Gage, he said.
Kite flyne, Daddy, Gage said.
It really did fly, didnt it? Louis said, and for no reason at all he felt tears behind his eyes. Right up to the sky, my man.
Kite flyne, Cage said. Up to the kye.
He rolled over on his side, closed his eyes, and slept. Just like that.
Louis was stepping into the hail when he glanced back and saw yellowy-green, disembodied eyes staring out at him from Gages closet. The closet door was open just a crack. His heart took a lurch into his throat, and his mouth pulled back and down in a grimace.
He opened the closet door, thinking
(Zelda its Zelda in the closet her black tongue puffing out between her lips)
he wasnt sure what, but of course it was only Church, the cat was in the closet, and when it saw Louis it arched its back like a cat on a Halloween card. It hissed at him, its mouth partly open, revealing its needle-sharp teeth.
Get out of there, Louis whispered.
Church hissed again. It did not move.
Get out, I said. He picked up the first thing that came to
hand in the litter of Gages toys, a bright plastic Chuggy-ChuggyChoo-Choo which in this dim light was the maroon color of dried blood. He brandished it at Church; the cat not only stood its ground but hissed again.
And suddenly, without even thinking, Louis threw the toy at the cat, not playing, not goofing around; he pegged the toy at the cat as hard as he could, furious at it, and scared of it too, that it should hide here in the darkened closet of his sons room and refuse to leave, as if it had a right to be there.
The toy locomotive struck the cat dead center. Church uttered a squawk and fled, displaying its usual grace by slamming into the door and almost falling over on its way out.
Cage stirred, muttered something, shifted position, and was still again. Louis felt a little sick. There was sweat standing out in beads on his forehead.
Louis? Rachel, from downstairs, sounding alarmed. Did Gage fall out of his crib?
Hes fine, honey. Church knocked over a couple of his toys.
Oh, all right.
He felt-irrationally or otherwise-the way he might have felt if he had looked in on his son and found a snake crawling over him or a big rat perched on the bookshelf over Gages crib. Of course it was irrational. But when it had hissed at him from the closet like that.
(Zelda did you think Zelda did you think Oz the Gweat and Tewwible?)
He closed Gages closet door, sweeping a number of toys back in with its moving foot. He listened to the tiny click of the latch. After a moments further hesitation, he turned the closets thumbbolt.
He went back to Gages crib. In shifting around,