Кладбище домашних животных

16

           Theymightaswellhavecalledaplumber,arainmaker,ortheManfromGlad.

           Andevenasthesethoughtspassedthroughhismind,hewasdrawnforwardontothepath.Hefollowedthejoggingshorts,asmarooninthislightasthedriedbloodonPascow’sface.

           Hedidn’tlikethisdream.OhGod,notatall.Itwastooreal.Thecoldnubblesintherug,thewayhehadnotbeenabletopassthroughthesheddoorwhenapersoncould(orshould)beabletowalkthroughdoorsandwallsinanyself-respectingdream...andnowthecoolbrushofdewonhisbarefeet,andthefeelofthenightwind,justabreathofit,onhisbody,whichwasnakedexceptforhisJockeyshorts.Onceunderthetrees,pineneedlesstucktothesolesofhisfeet...anotherlittledetailthatwasjustabitmorerealthanitneededtobe.

           Nevermind.Nevermind.Iamhomeinmyownbed.It’sjustadream,nomatterhowvivid,andlikeallotherdreams,itwillseemridiculousinthemorning.Mywakingmindwilldiscoveritsinconsistencies.

           Thesmallbranchofadeadtreepokedhisbiceprudelyandhewinced.Upahead,Pascowwasonlyamovingshadow,andnowLouis’sterrorseemedtohavecrystallizedintoabrightsculptureinhismind:Iamfollowingadeadmanintothewoods,IamfollowingadeadmanuptothePetSematary,andthisisnodream.Godhelpme,thisisnodream.Thisishappening.

           Theywalkeddownthefarsideofthewoodedhill.

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