sk.petsematary-第77部分
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hat 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 need to… Something was ing。
Louis came to a total halt； listening to that sound。 。 。 that inexorable； approaching sound。 His mouth fell open； every tendon that held his jaw shut simply giving up。
It was a sound like nothing he had ever heard in his life…a living sound； a big sound。 Somewhere nearby； growing closer； branches were snapping off。 There was a crackle of underbrush breaking under unimaginable feet。 The jellylike ground under Louis's feet began to shake in sympathetic vibration。 He became aware that he was moaning
（oh my God oh my dear God what is that what is ing through this fog？）
and once more clutching Gage to his chest； he became aware that the peepers and frogs had fallen silent； he became aware that the wet； damp air had taken on an eldritch； sickening smell like warm； spoiled pork。
Whatever it was； it was huge。
Louis's wondering； terrified face tilted up and up； like a man following the trajectory of a launched rocket。 The thing thudded toward him； and there was the ratcheting sound of a tree…not a branch； but a whole tree…falling over somewhere close by。
Louis saw something。
The mist stained to a dull slate…gray for a moment； but this diffuse； ill…defined watermark was better than sixty feet high。 It was no shade； no insubstantial ghost； he could feel the displaced air of its passage； could hear the mammoth thud of its feet ing down； the suck of mud as it moved on。
For a moment he believed he saw twin yellow…orange sparks high above him。 Sparks like eyes。
Then the sound began to fade。 As it went away； a peeper called hesitantly…one。 It was answered by another。 A third joined the conversation； a fourth made it a bull session； a fifth and sixth made it a peeper convention。 The sounds of the thing's progress （slow but not blundering； perhaps that was the worst of it； that feeling of sentient progress） were moving away to the north。 Little。 。 。 less。 。 。 gone。
At last Louis began to move again。 His shoulders and back were a frozen ache of torment。 He wore an undergarment of sweat from neck to ankles。 The season's first mosquitoes； new…hatched and hungry； found him and sat down to a late snack。
The Wendigo； dear Christ； that was the Wendigo…the creature that moves through the north country； the creature that can touch you and turn you into a cannibal。 That was it。 The Wendigo has just passed within sixty yards of me。
He told himself not to be ridiculous； to be like Jud and avoid ideas about what might be seen or heard beyond the Pet Sematary…they were loons； they were St。 Elmo's fire； they were the members of the New York Yankees' bullpen。 Let them be anything but the creatures which leap and crawl and slither and shamble in the world between。 Let there be God； let there be Sunday morning； let there be smiling Episcopalian ministers in shining white surplices 。 。 。 but let there not be these dark and draggling horrors on the nightside of the universe。
Louis walked on with his son； and the ground began to firm up again under his feet。 Only moments later he came to a felled tree； its crown visible in the fading mist like a gray…green feather duster dropped by a giant's housekeeper。
The tree was broken off…splintered off…and the break was so fresh that the yellowish…white pulp still bled sap that was warm to Louis's touch as he climbed over 。 。 。 and on the other side was a monstrous indentation out of which he had to scramble and climb； and although juniper and low pump…laurel bushes had been stamped right into the earth； he would not let himself believe it was a footprint。 He could have looked back to see if it had any such configuration once he had climbed beyond and above it； but he would not。 He only walked on； skin cold； mouth hot and arid； heart flying。
The squelch of mud under his feet soon ceased。 For a while there was the faint cereal sound of pine needles again。 Then there was rock。 He had nearly reached the end。
The ground began to rise faster。 He barked his shin painfully on an outcropping。 But this was not just a rock。 Louis reached out clumsily with one hand （the strap of his elbow； which had grown numb； screamed briefly） and touched it。
Steps here。 Cut into the rock。 Just follow me。 We get to the top and we're there。
So he began to climb and the exhilaration returned； once more beating exhaustion back。 。 。 at least a little way。 His mind tolled off the steps as he rose into the chill； as he climbed back into that ceaseless river of wind； stronger now； rippling his clothes； making the piece of canvas tarp Gage was wrapped in stutter gunshot sounds like a lifted sail。
He cocked his head back once and saw the mad sprawl of the stars。 There were no constellations he recognized； and he looked away again； disturbed。 Beside him was the rock wall； not smooth but splintered and gouged and friable； taking here the shape of a boat； here the shape of a badger； here the shape of a man's face with hooded； frowning eyes。 Only the steps that had been carved from the rock were smooth。
Louis gained the top and only
