Pet Sematary - Stephen King [174]
Louis? he tried to call again, but only a faint croak actually emerged because now he could smell the thing which had come into his house here at the end of the night. It was a dirty, low smell-the smell of poisoned tidal flats.
Jud could make out bulking shapes in the gloom-Normas armoire, the Welsh dresser, the highboy-but no details. He tried to get to his feet on legs that had gone to water, his mind screaming that he needed more time, that he was too old to face this again without more time; Timmy Baterman had been bad enough, and Jud had been young then.
The swing door opened and let in shadows. One of the shadows was more substantial than the others.
Dear God, that stink.
Shuffling steps in the darkness.
Gage? Jud gained his feet at last. From one corner of his eye he saw the neat roll of cigarette ash in the Jim Beam ashtray. Gage, is that y-
A hideous mewling sound now arose, and for a moment all of Juds bones turned to white ice. It was not Louiss son returned from the grave but some hideous monster.
No. It was neither.
It was Church, crouched in the hail doorway, making that sound. The cats eyes flared like dirty lamps. Then his eyes moved in the other direction and fixed on the thing which had come in with the cat.
Jud began to back up, trying to catch at his thoughts, trying to hold on to his reason in the face of that smell. Oh, it was cold in here-the thing had brought its chill with it.
Jud rocked unsteadily on his feet-it was the cat, twining around his legs, making him totter. It was purring. Jud kicked at it, driving it away. It bared its teeth at him and hissed.
Think! Oh, think, you stupid old man, it maynt be too late, even yet it maynt be too late its back but it can he killed again if you can only do it if you can only think..
He backed away toward the kitchen, and he suddenly remembered the utensil drawer beside the sink. There was a meat cleaver in that drawer.
His thin shanks struck the swinging door that led into the kitchen and he pushed it open. The thing that had come into his house was still indistinct, but Jud could hear it breathing. He could see one white hand swinging back and forth-there was something in that hand, but he could not make out what. The door swung back as he entered the kitchen, and Jud at last turned his back and ran to the utensil drawer. He jerked it open and found the cleavers worn hardwood handle. He snatched it up and turned toward the door again; he even took a step or two toward it. Some of his courage had come back.
Remember, it aint a kid. It may scream or somethin when it sees youve got its number; it may cry. But you aint gonna be fooled. You been fooled too many times already, old man. This is your last chance.
The swing door opened again, but at first only the cat came through. Juds eye followed it for a moment and then he looked up again.
The kitchen faced east, and dawns first light came in through the windows, faint and milky white. Not much light but enough. Too much.
Gage Creed came in, dressed in his burial suit. Moss was growing on the suits shoulders and lapels. Moss had fouled his white shirt. His fine blond hair was caked with dirt. One eye had gone to the wall; it stared off into space with terrible concentration. The other was fixed on Jud.
Gage was grinning at him.
Hello, Jud, Gage piped in a babyish but perfectly understandable voice. Ive come to send your rotten, stinking old soul straight to hell. You fucked with me once. Did you think I wouldnt come back sooner or later and fuck with you?
Jud raised the cleaver. Come on and get your pecker out then, whatever you are. Well see who fucks with who.
Normas dead, and therell be no one to mourn you, Gage said. What a cheap slut she was. She fucked every one of your friends, Jud. She let them put it up her ass. Thats how she liked it best. Shes burning down in hell, arthritis and all. I saw her there, Jud. I saw her there.
It lurched two steps toward him, shoes leaving muddy tracks on the worn linoleum. It held one hand out in front