JК
Bag of Bones :: Кинг Стивен
Страница: 43 из 425I have no choice, it seems, but at every step my terror increases, and by the time I’m halfway down tothe shadowy sprawling bulk of the log house, fear has sunk into my bones like fever.
Something is wrong here, something is all twisted up. I’ll run away, I think. I’ll run back the way I came, like the gingerbread man I’ll run, run all the way back to Derry, if that’s what it takes, and I’ll never come here anymore. Except I can hear slobbering breath behind me in the growing gloom, and padding footsteps. The thing in the woods is now the thing in the driveway. It’s right behind me. if I turn around the sight of it will knock the sanity out of my head in a single roundhouse slap.
Something with red eyes, something slumped and hungry. The house is my only hope of safety. I walk on. The crowding bushes clutch like hands.
In the light of a rising moon (the moon has never risen before in this dream, but I have never stayed in it this long before), the rustling leaves look like sardonic faces. I see winking eyes and smiling mouths.
Below me are the black of the house and I know that there will be no power when I get the storm has knocked the power out, I will flick the lightswitch down, up and down, until something reaches out and takes my and pulls me like a lover deeper into the dark. I am three quarters of the way down the driveway now. I can see the steps leading down to the lake, and I can see the float out on the water, a black square in a track of moonlight. Bill Dean has it out. I can also see an oblong something lying at the place where driveway ends at the stoop. There has never been such an object What can it be? Another two or three steps, and I know. It’s a coffin, the one Frank Arlen for… because, he said, the mortician was trying to stick it to me. and lying on its side with the top partway open, enough for. to see it’s empty. I think I want to scream. I think I mean to turn around and run back: the driveway—I will take my chances with the thing behind me. But I can, the back door of Sara Laughs opens, and a terrible figure darting out into the growing darkness. It is human, this figure, it’s not. It is a crumpled white thing with baggy arms upraised.
No face where its face should be, and yet it is shrieking in a glot.
Loonlike voice. It must be Johanna. She was able to escape her coffin, her winding shroud. She is all tangled up in it.)usly speedy this creature is! It doesn’t drift as one imagines drifting, but races across the stoop toward the driveway.
Something is wrong here, something is all twisted up. I’ll run away, I think. I’ll run back the way I came, like the gingerbread man I’ll run, run all the way back to Derry, if that’s what it takes, and I’ll never come here anymore. Except I can hear slobbering breath behind me in the growing gloom, and padding footsteps. The thing in the woods is now the thing in the driveway. It’s right behind me. if I turn around the sight of it will knock the sanity out of my head in a single roundhouse slap.
Something with red eyes, something slumped and hungry. The house is my only hope of safety. I walk on. The crowding bushes clutch like hands.
In the light of a rising moon (the moon has never risen before in this dream, but I have never stayed in it this long before), the rustling leaves look like sardonic faces. I see winking eyes and smiling mouths.
Below me are the black of the house and I know that there will be no power when I get the storm has knocked the power out, I will flick the lightswitch down, up and down, until something reaches out and takes my and pulls me like a lover deeper into the dark. I am three quarters of the way down the driveway now. I can see the steps leading down to the lake, and I can see the float out on the water, a black square in a track of moonlight. Bill Dean has it out. I can also see an oblong something lying at the place where driveway ends at the stoop. There has never been such an object What can it be? Another two or three steps, and I know. It’s a coffin, the one Frank Arlen for… because, he said, the mortician was trying to stick it to me. and lying on its side with the top partway open, enough for. to see it’s empty. I think I want to scream. I think I mean to turn around and run back: the driveway—I will take my chances with the thing behind me. But I can, the back door of Sara Laughs opens, and a terrible figure darting out into the growing darkness. It is human, this figure, it’s not. It is a crumpled white thing with baggy arms upraised.
No face where its face should be, and yet it is shrieking in a glot.
Loonlike voice. It must be Johanna. She was able to escape her coffin, her winding shroud. She is all tangled up in it.)usly speedy this creature is! It doesn’t drift as one imagines drifting, but races across the stoop toward the driveway.