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file:///E|/Funny%20&%20Weird%20Shit/75%20-%20Stephen%20King%20Books/Stephen%20King%20-%20Pet%20Sematary.htmthe fence. Then he went back for the rest of his things.He gained the top of the hill again, put the gloves on, and piled the flashlight, pick, and shovel next tothe tarp. Then he rested, back against the staves of the fence, hands propped on his knees. The newdigital watch Rachel had given him for Christmas informed him that it was now 2:01.He gave himself five minutes to regroup and then tossed the shovel over the fence. He heard it thud inthe grass. He tried to stuff the flashlight into his pants, but it just wouldn’t go. He slipped it through twoof the iron staves and listened to it roll down the hill, hoping it would not hit a stone and break. Hewished he had worn a packsack.He removed his dispenser of strapping tape from the pocket of his jacket and bound the business-end ofthe pick to the canvas roll, going around and around, drawing the tape tight over the pick’s metal armsand tight under the canvas. He did this until the tape was gone and then tucked the empty dispenser backin his pocket. He lifted the bundle and hoisted it over the fence (hisback screamed in protest; he would pay for this night all the following week, he suspected) and then letit drop, wincing at the soft thud.Now he swung one leg over the fence, grasped two of the decorative arrow points, and swung his otherleg over. He skidded down, digging in at the earth between the staves of the fence with the toes of hisshoes, and dropped to the ground.He made his way down the far side of the hill and felt through the grass. He found the shovel right away—muted as the glow from the streetlights was through the trees, it reflected a faint gleam from the blade.He had a couple of bad moments when he was unable to find the flashlight—how far could it have rolledin this grass? He got down on his hands and knees and felt through the thick plush, his breath andheartbeat loud in his own ears.At last he spotted it, a thin black shadow some five feet from where he had guessed it would be—likethe hill masking the cemetery crypt, the regularity of its shape gave it away. He grabbed it, cupped ahand over its felted lens, and pushed the little rubber nipple that hid the switch. His palm lit up briefly,and he switched the flashlight off. It was okay.He used his pocketknife to cut the pick free from the canvas roll and took the tools through the grass tothe trees. He stood behind the biggest, looking both ways along Mason Street. It was utterly desertednow. He saw only one light on the entire street— a square of yellow-gold in an upstairs room. Aninsomniac, perhaps, or an invalid.Moving quickly but not running, Louis stepped out onto the sidewalk. After the dimness of thecemetery, he felt horribly exposed under the streetlights; here he stood, only yards away from Bangor’ssecond-largest boneyard, a pick, shovel, and flashlight cradled in his arms. If someone saw him now, thefile:///E|/Funny%20&%20Weird%20Shit/75%20-%20St...20Books/Stephen%20King%20-%20Pet%20Sematary.htm (281 of 333)7/28/2005 9:21:50 PM