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file:///E|/Funny%20&%20Weird%20Shit/75%20-%20Stephen%20King%20Books/Stephen%20King%20-%20Pet%20Sematary.htm55Louis had rediscovered his dream and was in its grip; every few moments he looked down to make sureit was a body in a tarpaulin he was carrying and not one in a green Hefty Bag. He remembered how onawakening the morning after Jud had taken him up there with Church he had been barely able toremember what they had done—but now he also remembered how vivid those sensations had been, howalive each of his senses had felt, how they had seemed to reach out, touching the woods as if they werealive and in some kind of telepathic contact with himself.He followed the path up and down, rediscovering the places where it seemed as wide as Route 15, theplaces where it narrowed until he had to turn sideways to keep the head and foot of his bundle fromgetting tangled in the underbrush, the places where the path wound through great cathedral stands oftrees. He could smell the clear tang of pine resin, and he could hear that strange crump-crump of theneedles underfoot—a sensation that is really more feeling than sound.At last the path began to slant downward more steeply and constantly. A short time later one footsplashed through thin water and became mired in the sludgy stuff underneath . . . the quicksand, if Judwas to be believed. Louis looked down and could see the standing water between growths of reeds andlow, ugly bushes with leaves so broad they were almost tropical. He remembered that the light hadseemed brighter that other night too. More electrical.This next bit is like the deadfall—you got to walk steady and easy. Just follow me and don’t look down.Yes, okay. . . and just by the bye, have you ever seen plantslike these in Maine before? In Maine or anywhere else? What in Christ’s name are they?Never mind, Louis. Just. . . let’s go.He began to walk again, looking at the wet, marshy undergrowth just long enough to sight the firsttussock and then only looking ahead of himself, his feet moving from one grassy hump to the next—faith is accepting gravity as a postulate, he thought; nothing he had been told in a college theology orphilosophy course, but something his high school physics instructor had once tossed off near the end ofa period . . . something Louis had never forgotten.He accepted the ability of the Micmac burying ground to resurrect the dead and walked into Little GodSwamp with his son in his arms, not looking down or back. These marshy bottoms were noisier nowthan they had been at the tag end of autumn. Peepers sang constantly in the reeds, a shrill chorus whichLouis found alien and uninviting. An occasional frog twanged a deep elastic somewhere in its throat.Twenty paces or so into Little God Swamp he was buzz-bombed by some shape. . . a bat, perhaps.The groundmist began to swirl around him, first covering his shoes, then his shins, finally enclosing himfile:///E|/Funny%20&%20Weird%20Shit/75%20-%20St...20Books/Stephen%20King%20-%20Pet%20Sematary.htm (292 of 333)7/28/2005 9:21:50 PM