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Bag of Bones :: Кинг Стивен
Страница: 68 из 425There was no sense of dji vu, but for a moment I thought the shape would appear anyway—here in the real world, in real time. I stood waiting for it with my sweaty hands clenched. I drew in another dry breath, and this time I held it.
The soft lap of water against the shore.
A breeze that patted my face and rattled the bushes.
A loon cried out on the lake; moths battered the stoop light.
No shroud-monster threw open the door, and through the big windows to the left and right of the door, I could see nothing moving, white or otherwise. There was a note above the knob, probably from Bill, and that was it. I let out my breath in a rush and walked the rest of the way down the driveway to Sara Laughs.
The note was indeed from Bill Dean. It said that Brenda had done some shopping for me; the supermarket receipt was on the kitchen table, and I would find the pantry well stocked with canned goods. She’d gone easy with the perishables, but there was milk, butter, half-and-half, and hamburger, that staple of single-guy cuisine. I will see you next Mon… Bill had written. if I had my druthers I’d be here to say hello in person but the good wi3 says it’s our turn to do the holiday trotting and so we are going down to l’rginia (hot!!) to spend the 4th with her sister. If you need anything or run into problems… He had jotted his sister-in-law’s phone number in Virginia as well as Butch Wiggins’s number in town, which locals just call “the TR,” as in “Me and mother got tired of Bethel and moved our trailer over to the TR.” There were other numbers, as well—the plumber, the electrician, Brenda Meserve, even the TV guy over in Harrison who had repositioned the DSS dish for maximum reception. Bill was taking no chances. I turned the note over, imagining a final P.S.: Say, Mike, if nuclear war should break out bej3re me and Yvette get back from l, qrginia-Something moved behind me.
I whirled on my heels, the note dropping from my hand. It fluttered to the boards of the back stoop like a larger, whiter version of the moths banging the bulb overhead. In that instant I was sure it would be the shroud-thing, an insane revenant in my wife’s decaying body, Give me my dust-catcher, give it to me, how dare you come down here and disturb my rest, how dam you come to Manderley again, and now that you’re here, how will you ever get away? Into the mystery with you, you silly little man.
Into the mystery with you. Nothing there. It had just been the breeze again, stirring the bushes around a little… except I had felt no breeze against my sweaty skin, not that time.
The soft lap of water against the shore.
A breeze that patted my face and rattled the bushes.
A loon cried out on the lake; moths battered the stoop light.
No shroud-monster threw open the door, and through the big windows to the left and right of the door, I could see nothing moving, white or otherwise. There was a note above the knob, probably from Bill, and that was it. I let out my breath in a rush and walked the rest of the way down the driveway to Sara Laughs.
The note was indeed from Bill Dean. It said that Brenda had done some shopping for me; the supermarket receipt was on the kitchen table, and I would find the pantry well stocked with canned goods. She’d gone easy with the perishables, but there was milk, butter, half-and-half, and hamburger, that staple of single-guy cuisine. I will see you next Mon… Bill had written. if I had my druthers I’d be here to say hello in person but the good wi3 says it’s our turn to do the holiday trotting and so we are going down to l’rginia (hot!!) to spend the 4th with her sister. If you need anything or run into problems… He had jotted his sister-in-law’s phone number in Virginia as well as Butch Wiggins’s number in town, which locals just call “the TR,” as in “Me and mother got tired of Bethel and moved our trailer over to the TR.” There were other numbers, as well—the plumber, the electrician, Brenda Meserve, even the TV guy over in Harrison who had repositioned the DSS dish for maximum reception. Bill was taking no chances. I turned the note over, imagining a final P.S.: Say, Mike, if nuclear war should break out bej3re me and Yvette get back from l, qrginia-Something moved behind me.
I whirled on my heels, the note dropping from my hand. It fluttered to the boards of the back stoop like a larger, whiter version of the moths banging the bulb overhead. In that instant I was sure it would be the shroud-thing, an insane revenant in my wife’s decaying body, Give me my dust-catcher, give it to me, how dare you come down here and disturb my rest, how dam you come to Manderley again, and now that you’re here, how will you ever get away? Into the mystery with you, you silly little man.
Into the mystery with you. Nothing there. It had just been the breeze again, stirring the bushes around a little… except I had felt no breeze against my sweaty skin, not that time.