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file:///E|/Funny%20&%20Weird%20Shit/75%20-%20Stephen%20King%20Books/Stephen%20King%20-%20Pet%20Sematary.htmhe going against everyone’s warning—Jud’s, the dream of Pascow, the trepidation of his own troubledheart?He thought of the grave markers in the Pet Sematary, those rude circles, spiraling down into theMystery, and then the coldness came over him again. Why was he standing here, trying to summon upGage’s face anyway?He would be seeing it soon enough.The headstone was here now; it read simply CAGE WILLIAM CREED, followed by the two dates.Someone had been here today to pay his or her respects, he saw; there were fresh flowers. Who wouldthat have been? Missy Dandridge?His heart beat heavily but slowly in his chest. This was it then; if he was going to do it, he had betterstart. There was only so much night ahead, and then the day would come.Louis glanced into his heart one final time and saw that yes, he did intend to go ahead with this. Henodded his head almost imperceptibly and fished for his pocketknife. He had cinched his bundle withScotch strapping tape, and now he cut it. He unrolled the tarp at the foot of Gage’s grave like a bedrolland then arranged items in exactly the same way he would have arranged instruments to suture a cut orto perform a small in-office operation.Here was the flashlight with its lens felted as the hardware store clerk had suggested. The felt was alsosecured with strapping tape. He had made a small circle in the middle by placing a penny on the felt andcutting around it with a scalpel. Here was the short-handled pick which he should not have to use—hehadbrought it only as a contingency. He would have no sealed cap to deal with, and he shouldn’t run intoany rocks in a newly filled grave. Here was the shovel, the spade, the length of rope, the work gloves.He put the gloves on, grabbed the spade, and started.The ground was soft, the digging easy. The grave’s shape was well defined, the dirt he was throwing outsofter than the earth at the verge. His mind made a kind of automatic comparison between the ease ofthis dig and the rocky, unforgiving ground of the place where, if all went well, he would be reburyinghis son later on this night. Up there he would need the pick. Then he tried to stop thinking altogether. Itonly got in the way.He threw the dirt on the ground to the left of the grave, working into a steady rhythm that only becamemore difficult to maintain as the hole deepened. He stepped into the grave, smelling that dank aroma offresh dirt, a smell he remembered from his summers with Uncle Carl.Digger, he thought and stopped to wipe sweat from his brow. Uncle Carl had told him that was thefile:///E|/Funny%20&%20Weird%20Shit/75%20-%20St...20Books/Stephen%20King%20-%20Pet%20Sematary.htm (271 of 333)7/28/2005 9:21:50 PM