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file:///E|/Funny%20&%20Weird%20Shit/75%20-%20Stephen%20King%20Books/Stephen%20King%20-%20Pet%20Sematary.htm“I don’t care if it was judgment trump,” Louis said with a sudden low and hoarse savagery that causedher to pull back a little. He was remembering the student nurses, those two candy stripers whose evilluck it had been to be in attendance on the morning Pascow had been brought in dying. One of them, atough little lady named Carla Shavers, had returned the next day and had worked out so well that evenChariton was impressed. The other they had never seen again. Louis was not surprised and did not blameher.Where was the nurse? There should have been an R.N. in attendance . . . they went out, they actuallywent out and left an eight-year-old kid in charge of her dying sister, who was probably clinically insaneby then. Why? Because it was Passover season. And because elegant Dory Goldman couldn’t stand thestink that particular morning and had to get away from it for just a little while. So Rachel got the duty.Right, friends and neighbors? Rachel got the duty. Eight years old, pigtails, middy blouse. Rachel gotthe duty. Rachel could stay and put up with the stink. What did they send her to Camp Sunset inVermont for six weeks every year, if not to put up with the stink of her dying, insane sister? Ten newshirt-and-jumper combinations for Gage and six new dresses for Ellie and I’ll pay your way throughmedical school if you’ll stay away from my daughter. . . but where was the overflowing checkbookwhen your daughter was dying ofspinal meningitis and your other daughter was alone with her, you bastard? Where was the R-fucking-N?Louis sat up, got out of bed.“Where are you going?” Rachel asked, alarmed.“To get you a Valium.”“You know I don’t—”“Tonight you do,” he said.She took the pill and then told him the rest. Her voice remained calm throughout. The tranquilizer wasdoing its job.The next-door neighbor had retrieved eight-year-old Rachel from behind a tree where she was crouchingand screaming “Zelda’s dead!” over and over. Rachel’s nose had been bleeding. She had blood all overher. The same neighbor had called the ambulance and then her parents; after getting Rachel’s nosebleedstopped and calming her with a cup of hot tea and two aspirins, she was able to get the location of herparents out of her—they were visiting Mr. and Mrs. Cabron across town; Peter Cabron was anaccountant in her father’s business.By that evening, great changes had taken place in the Goldman household. Zelda was gone. Her roomfile:///E|/Funny%20&%20Weird%20Shit/75%20-%20St...20Books/Stephen%20King%20-%20Pet%20Sematary.htm (166 of 333)7/28/2005 9:21:49 PM
file:///E|/Funny%20&%20Weird%20Shit/75%20-%20Stephen%20King%20Books/Stephen%20King%20-%20Pet%20Sematary.htmhad been cleaned and fumigated. All of the furniture was gone. The room was a bare box. Later—muchlater—it had become Dory Goldman’s sewing room.The first of the nightmares had come to Rachel that night, and when Rachel woke up at two o’clock inthe morning, screaming for her mother, she had been horrified to discover that she could barely get outof bed. Her back was in agony. She had strained it moving Zelda. In her spurt of adrenaline-poweredstrength, she had, after all, lifted Zelda with enough force to pull her own blouse apart.That she had strained herself trying to keep Zelda from choking was simple, obvious, elementary-mydear-Watson.To everyone, that was, except Rachel herself. Rachel had been sure that this was Zelda’srevenge from beyond the grave. Zelda knew that Rachel was glad she was dead; Zelda knew that whenRachel burst from the house telling all and sundry Zelda’s dead, Zelda’s dead at the top of her voice, shehad been laughing, not screaming; Zelda knew she had been murdered and so had given Rachel spinalmeningitis, and soon Rachel’s back would start to twistand change and she too would have to lie in bed, slowly but surely turning into a monster, her handshooking into claws.After a while she would begin screaming with the pain, as Zelda had done, and then she would startwetting the bed, and finally she would choke to death on her own tongue. It was Zelda’s revenge.No one could talk Rachel out of this belief—not her mother, her father, or Dr. Murray, who diagnosed amild backsprain and then told Rachel brusquely (cruelly, some—Louis, for instance—would have said)to stop behaving so badly. She ought to remember that her sister had just died, Dr. Murray told her; herparents were prostrate with grief and this was not the time for Rachel to make a childish play forattention. Only the slowly abating pain had been able to convince her that she was neither the victim ofZelda’s supernatural vengeance nor God’s just punishment of the wicked. For months (or so she toldLouis; it had actually been years, eight of them) afterward she would awaken from nightmares in whichher sister died over and over again, and in the dark Rachel’s hands would fly to her back to make sure itwas all right. In the frightful aftermath of these dreams she often thought that the closet door would bangopen and Zelda would lurch out, blue and twisted, her eyes rolled up to shiny whites, her black tonguepuffing out through her lips, her hands hooked into claws to murder the murderer cowering in her bedwith her hands jammed into the small of her back.She had not attended Zelda’s funeral or any funeral since.“If you’d told me this before,” Louis said, “it would have explained a hell of a lot.”“Lou, I couldn’t,” she said simply. She sounded very sleepy now. “Since then I’ve been. . . I guess alittle phobic on the subject.”Just a little phobic, Louis thought. Yeah, right.file:///E|/Funny%20&%20Weird%20Shit/75%20-%20St...20Books/Stephen%20King%20-%20Pet%20Sematary.htm (167 of 333)7/28/2005 9:21:49 PM
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