JК
Bag of Bones :: Кинг Стивен
Страница: 126 из 425The cellar of Sara Laughs is high, and the upper three feet of the concrete—the part which lies against the ground’s frost-belt—had been insulated with big silver-backed panels of Insu-Gard. The sound that I heard was, I am quite sure, a fist striking against one of these. Just a fist hitting a square of insulation, but every gut and muscle of my body seemed to come unwound. My hair stood up. My eyesockets seemed to be expanding and my eyeballs contracting, as if my head were trying to turn into a skull. Every inch of my skin broke out in gooseflesh.
Something was in here with me. Very likely something dead. I could no longer have turned on the light if I’d wanted to. I no longer had the strength to raise my arm. I tried to talk, and at last, in a husky whisper I hardly recognized, I said: “Are you really there?” Thud. “Who are you?” I could still do no better than that husky whisper, the voice of a man giving last instructions to his family as he lies on his deathbed. This time there was nothing from below. I tried to think, and what came to my struggling mind was Tony Curtis as Harry Houdini in some old movie. According to the film, Houdini had been the Diogenes of the Ouija board circuit, a guy who spent his spare time just looking for an honest medium. He’d attended one sance where the dead communicated by-“Tap once for yes, twice for no,” I said. “Can you do that?” Thud. It was on the stairs below me. . but not too far below. Five steps down, six or seven at most. Not quite close enough to touch if I should reach out and wave my hand in the black basement air. . a thing I could imagine, but not actually imagine doing. “Are you…” My voice trailed off. There was simply no strength in my diaphragm. Chilly air lay on my chest like a flatiron. I gathered all my will and tried again. “Are you Jo?” Thud. That soft fist on the insulation. A pause, and then:
Thud-thud. Yes and no. Then, with no idea why I was asking such an inane question: “Tkre the owls down here?” Thud-thud. “Do you know where they are?” Thud. “Should I look for them?” Thud! Very hard.
Why didshe want them? I could ask, but the thing on the stairs had no way to an-Hot fingers touched my eyes and I almost screamed before realizing it was sweat. I raised my hands in the dark and wiped the heels of them up my face to the hairline. They skidded as if on oil.
Cold or not, I was all but bathing in my own sweat. “Are you Lance Devore?” Thud-thud, at once. “Is it safe for me at Sara? Am I safe?”
Thud. A pause. And I knew it was a pause, that the thing on the stairs wasn’t finished. Then: Thud-thud. Yes, I was safe. No, I wasn’t safe. I had regained marginal control of my arm.
Something was in here with me. Very likely something dead. I could no longer have turned on the light if I’d wanted to. I no longer had the strength to raise my arm. I tried to talk, and at last, in a husky whisper I hardly recognized, I said: “Are you really there?” Thud. “Who are you?” I could still do no better than that husky whisper, the voice of a man giving last instructions to his family as he lies on his deathbed. This time there was nothing from below. I tried to think, and what came to my struggling mind was Tony Curtis as Harry Houdini in some old movie. According to the film, Houdini had been the Diogenes of the Ouija board circuit, a guy who spent his spare time just looking for an honest medium. He’d attended one sance where the dead communicated by-“Tap once for yes, twice for no,” I said. “Can you do that?” Thud. It was on the stairs below me. . but not too far below. Five steps down, six or seven at most. Not quite close enough to touch if I should reach out and wave my hand in the black basement air. . a thing I could imagine, but not actually imagine doing. “Are you…” My voice trailed off. There was simply no strength in my diaphragm. Chilly air lay on my chest like a flatiron. I gathered all my will and tried again. “Are you Jo?” Thud. That soft fist on the insulation. A pause, and then:
Thud-thud. Yes and no. Then, with no idea why I was asking such an inane question: “Tkre the owls down here?” Thud-thud. “Do you know where they are?” Thud. “Should I look for them?” Thud! Very hard.
Why didshe want them? I could ask, but the thing on the stairs had no way to an-Hot fingers touched my eyes and I almost screamed before realizing it was sweat. I raised my hands in the dark and wiped the heels of them up my face to the hairline. They skidded as if on oil.
Cold or not, I was all but bathing in my own sweat. “Are you Lance Devore?” Thud-thud, at once. “Is it safe for me at Sara? Am I safe?”
Thud. A pause. And I knew it was a pause, that the thing on the stairs wasn’t finished. Then: Thud-thud. Yes, I was safe. No, I wasn’t safe. I had regained marginal control of my arm.