sk.petsematary-第81部分

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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　cleaver's　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　e　back。
　　Remember；　it　ain't　a　kid。　It　may　scream　or　somethin　when　it　sees　you've　got　its　number；　it　may　cry。　But　you　ain't　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。　Jud's　eye　followed　it　for　a　moment　and　then　he　looked　up　again。
　　The　kitchen　faced　east；　and　dawn's　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　suit's　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。　〃I've　e　to　send　your　rotten；　stinking　old　soul　straight　to　hell。　You　fucked　with　me　once。　Did　you　think　I　wouldn't　e　back　sooner　or　later　and　fuck　with　you？〃
　　Jud　raised　the　cleaver。　〃e　on　and　get　your　pecker　out　then；　whatever　you　are。　We'll　see　who　fucks　with　who。〃
　　〃Norma's　dead；　and　there'll　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。　That's　how　she　liked　it　best。　She's　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　of　it　as　if　to　shake　with　him；　the　other　hand　was　curled　behind　its　back。
　　〃Listen；　Jud；〃　it　whispered…and　then　its　mouth　hung　open；　baring　small　milk　teeth；　and　although　the　lips　did　not　move；　Norma's　voice　issued　forth。
　　〃I　laughed　at　you！　We　all　laughed　at　you！　How　we　laaaaaauuughed…〃
　　〃Stop　it！〃　The　cleaver　jittered　in　his　hand。
　　〃We　did　it　in　our　bed；　Herk　and　I　did　it；　I　did　it　with　George；　I　did　it　with　all　of　them；　I　knew　about　your　whores　but　you　never　knew　you　married　a　whore　and　how　we　laughed；　Jud！　We　rutted　together　and　we　laaaaaaaaaughed　at…〃
　　〃STOP　IT！〃　Jud　screamed。　He　sprang　at　the　tiny；　swaying　figure　in　its　dirty　burial　suit；　and　that　was　when　the　cat　arrowed　out　of　the　darkness　under　the　butcher　block　where　it　had　been　crouched。　It　was　hissing；　its　ears　laid　back　along　the　bullet　of　its　skull；　and　it　tripped　Jud　up　just　as　neat　as　you　please。　The　cleaver　flew　out　of　his　hand。　It　skittered　across　the　humped　and　faded　linoleum；　blade　and　handle　swiftly　changing　places　as　it　whirled。　It　struck　the　baseboard　with　a　thin　clang　and　slid　under　the　refrigerator。
　　Jud　realized　that　he　had　been　fooled　again；　and　the　only　consolation　was　that　it　was　for　the　final　time。　The　cat　was　on　his　legs；　mouth　open；　eyes　blazing；　hissing　like　a　teakettle。　And　then　Gage　was　on　him；　grinning　a　happy　black　grin；　eyes　moon…shaped；　rimmed　with　red；　and　his　right　hand　came　out　from　behind　his　back；　and　Jud　saw　that　what　he　had　been　holding　when　he　came　in　was　a　scalpel　from　Louis's　black　bag。
　　〃Oh　m'　dear　Jesus；〃　Jud　managed　and　put　his　right　hand　up　to　block　the　blow。　And　here　was　an　optical　illusion；　surely　his　mind　had　snapped　because　it　appeared　that　the　scalpel　was　on　both　sides　of　his　palm　at　the　same　time。　Then　something　warm　began　to　drizzle　down　on　his　face；　and　he　understood。
　　〃I'm　gonna　fuck　with　you；　old　man！〃　the　Gage…thing　chortled；　blowing　its　poisoned　breath　in　his　face。　〃I'm　gonna　fuck　with　you/I'm　gonna　fuck　with　you　all　want！〃
　　Jud　flailed　and　got　hold　of　Gage's　'wrist。　Skin　peeled　off　like　parchment　in　his　hand。
　　The　scalpel　was　yanked　out　of　his　hand；　leaving　a　vertical　mouth。
　　〃All。。。I。。。WANT！〃
　　The　scalpel　came　down　again。
　　And　again。
　　And　again。
　　　59
　　〃Try　it　now；　ma'am；〃　the　truck　driver　said。　He　was　looking　into　the　engine　cavity　of　Rachel's　rented　car。
　　She　turned　the　key。　The　Chevette's　engine　roared　into　life。　The　truck　driver　slammed　the　hood　down　and　came　around　to　her　window；　wiping　his　hands　on　a　big　blue　handkerchief。　He　had　a　pleasant；　ruddy　face。　A　Dysart's　Truck…Stop　cap　was　tilted　back　on　his　head。
　　〃Thank　you　so　much；〃　Rachel　said；　on　the　verge　of　tears。　〃I　just　didn't　know　what　I　was　going　to　do。〃
　　〃Aw；　a　kid　could　have　fixed　that；〃　the　trucker　said。　〃But　it　was　funny。　Never　seen　something　like　that　go　wrong　on　such　a　new　car；　anyway。〃
　　〃Why？　What　was　it？〃
　　〃One　of　your　battery　cables　e　right　off。　Wasn't　nobody　frigging　with　it；　was　there？〃
　　〃No；〃　Rachel　said；　and　she　thought　again　of　that　feeling　she'd　had；　that　feeling　of　running　into　the　rubber　band　of　the　world's　biggest　slingshot。
　　〃Must　have　jogged　her　loose　just　ridin　along；　I　guess。　But　you　won't　have　no　more　trouble　with　your　cables　anyway。　I　tightened　em　up　real　good。〃
　　〃Could　I　give　you　some　money？〃　Rachel　asked　timidly。
　　The　trucker　roared　with　laughter。　〃Not　me；　lady；〃　he　said。　〃Us　guys　are　the　knights　of　the　road；　remember？〃
　　She　smiled。　〃Well。　。　。　thank　you。〃
　　〃More'n　wele。〃　He　gave　her　a　good　grin；　incongruously　full　of　sunshine　at　this　hour　of　the　morning。
　　Rachel　smiled　back　and　drove　carefully　across　the　parking　lot　to　the　feeder　road。　She　glanced　both　ways　for　traffic　and　five　minutes　later　was　back　on　the　turnpike　again；　headed　north。　The　coffee　had　helped　more　than　she　would　have　believed。　She　felt　totally　awake　now；　not　the　slightest　bit　dozy；　her　eyes　as　big　as　doorknobs；　That　feather　of　unease　touched　her　again；　that　absurd　feeling　that　she　was　being　manipulated。　The　battery　cable　ing　off　the　terminal　post　like　that。
　　So　she　could　be　held　up　just　long　enough　for。
　　She　laughed　nervously。　Long　enough　for　what？
　　For　something　irrevocable　to　happen。
　　That　was　stupid。　Ridiculous。　But　Rachel　began　to　push　the　little　car　along　faster　nonetheless。
　　At　five　o'clock；　as　Jud　was　trying　to　ward　off　a　scalpel　stolen　from　the　black　bag　of　his　good　friend　Dr。　Louis　Creed；　and　as　her　daughter　was　awakening　bolt…upright　in　bed；　screaming　in　the　grip　of　a　nightmare　which　she　could　mercifully　not　remember；　Rachel　left　the　turnpike；　drove　the　Hammond　Street　Cutoff　close　to　the　cemetery　where　a　spade　was　now　the　only　thing　buried　in　her　son's　coffin；　and　crossed　the　Bangor…Brewer　Bridge。　By　quarter　past　five；　she　was　on　Route　15　and　headed　for　Ludlow。
　　She　had　decided　to　go　directly　to　Jud's；　she　would　make　good　on　at　least　that　much　of　her　promise。　The　Civic　was　not　in　their　driveway；　anyway；　and　although　she　supposed　it　might　be　in　the　garage；　their　house　had　a　sleeping；　unoccupied　look。　No　intuition　suggested　to　her　that　Louis　might　be　home。
　　Rachel　parked　behind　Jud's　pickup　and　got　out　of　the　Chevette；　looking　around　carefully。　The　grass　was　heavy　with　dew；　sparkling　in　this　clear；　new　light。　Somewhere　a　bird　sang　and　then　was　silent。　On　the　few　occasions　since　her　preteenage　years　when　she　had　been　awake　and　alone　at　dawn　without　some　responsibility　to　fulfill　as　the　reason；　she　had　a　lonely　but　somehow　uplifted　feeling…a　paradoxical　sense　of　newness　and　continuity。　This　morning　she　felt　nothing　so　clean　and　good。　There　was　only　a　dragging　sense　of　unease　which　she　could　not　entirely　charge　off　to　the　terrible　twenty…four　hours　just　gone　by　and　her　recent　bereavement。
　　She　mounted　the　porch　steps　and　opened　the　screen　door；　meaning　to　use　the　old…fashioned　bell　on　the　front　door。　She　had　been　charmed　by　that　bell　the　first　time　she　and　Louis　came　over　together；　you　twisted　it　clockwise；　and　it　uttered　a　loud　but　musical　cry　that　was　anachronistic　and　delightful。
　　She　reached　for　it　now；　then　glanced　down　at　the　porch　floor　and　frowned。　There　were　muddy　tracks　on　the　mat。　Looking　around；　she　saw　that　they　led　from　the　screen　door　to　this　one。　Very　small　tracks。　A　child's　tracks；　by　the　look　of　them。　But　she　had　been　driving　all　night；　and　there　had　been　no　rain。　Wind；　but　no　rain。
　　She　looked　at　the　tracks　for　a　long　time…too　long；　really…and　discovered　she　had　to　force　her　hand　back　to　the　turn　bell。　She　grasped　it。　。　。　and　then　her　hand　fell　away　again。
　　I'm　anticipating；　that's　all。　Anticipating　the　sound　of　that　bell　in　this　stillness。　He's　probably　gone　to　sleep　after　all　and　it　will　startle　him　awake。
　　But　that　wasn't　what　she　was　afraid　of。　She　had　been　nervous；　scared　in　some　deep　and　diffuse　way　ever　since　she　had　found　it　so　hard　to　stay　awake；　but　this　sharp　fear　was　something　new；　something　which　had　solely　to　do　with　those　small　tracks。　Tracks　that　were　the　size…　Her　mind　tried　to　block　this　thought；　but　it　was　too　tired；　too　slow。
　　…of　Gage's　feet。
　　Oh　stop　it；　can't　you　stop　it？
　　She　reached　out　and　twisted　the　bell。
　　Its　sound　was　even　louder　than　she　remembered；　but　not　so　musical…it