Pet Sematary

sworn there was a path beyond, leading deeper into the woods.
No business of yours, Louis. You’ve got to let this go.
Okay, boss.
Louis turned and headed home.
He stayed up that night an hour after Rachel went to bed, reading a stack of medical journals he had already been through, refusing to admit that the thought of going to bed-going to sleep-made him nervous. He had never had an episode of somnambulism before, and there was no way to be sure it was an isolated incident… until it did or didn’t happen again.
He heard Rachel get out of bed, and then she called down softly, “Lou? Hon? You coming up?”
“Just was,” he said, turning out the lamp over his study desk and getting up.
It took a good deal longer than seven minutes to shut the machine down that night. Listening to Rachel draw the long, calm breaths of deep sleep beside him, the apparition of Victor Pascow seemed less dreamlike. He would close his eyes and see the door crashing open and there he was, Our Special Guest Star, Victor Pascow, standing there in his jogging shorts, pallid under his summer tan, his collarbone poking up.
He would slide down toward sleep, think about how it would be to come fully, coldly awake in the Pet Sematary, to see those roughly concentric circles litten by moonlight, to have to walk back, awake, along the path through the woods. He would think these things and then snap fully awake again.
It was sometime after midnight when sleep finally crept up on his blind side and bagged him. There were no dreams. He woke up promptly at seven-thirty, to the sound of cold autumn rain beating against the window. He threw the sheets back with some apprehension. The ground sheet on his bed was flawless. No purist would describe his feet, with their rings of heel calluses, that way, but they were at least clean.
Louis caught himself whistling in the shower.

Missy Dandridge kept Gage while Rachel ran Winston Churchill to the vet’s office. That night Ellie stayed awake until after eleven, complaining querulously that she couldn’t sleep without Church and calling for glass after glass of water. Finally Louis refused to let her have any more on the grounds that she would wet the bed. This caused a crying tantrum of such ferocity that Rachel and Louis stared at each other blankly, eyebrows raised.
“She’s scared for Church,” Rachel said. “Let her work it out, Lou.”
“She can’t keep it up at that pitch for long,” Louis said. “I hope.”
He was right. Ellie’s hoarse, angry cries became hitches and hiccups and moans.
Finally there was silence. When Louis went up to check on her, he found she was sleeping on the floor with her arms wrapped tightly around the cat bed that Church hardly even deigned to sleep in.
He removed it from her arms, put her back in bed, brushed her hair back from her sweaty brow gently, and kissed her, On impulse he went into the small room that served as Rachel’s office, wrote a quick note in large block letters on a sheet of paper-I WILL BE BACK TOMORROW, LOVE, CHURCH-and pinned it to the cushion on the bottom of the cat bed. Then he went into his bedroom, looking for Rachel.
Rachel was there. They made love and fell asleep in each other’s arms.
Church returned home on the Friday of Louis’s first full week of work; Ellie made much of him, used part of her allowance to buy him a box of cat treats, and nearly slapped Gage once for trying to touch him. This made Cage cry in a way mere parental discipline could never have done. Receiving a rebuke from Ellie was like receiving a rebuke from Cod.
Looking at Church made Louis feel sad. It was ridiculous, but that didn’t change the emotion. There was no sign of Church’s former feistiness. No more did he walk like a gunslinger; now his walk was the slow, careful walk of the convalescent. He allowed Ellie to hand-feed him. He showed no sign of wanting to go outside, not even to the garage. He had changed. Perhaps it was ultimately for the better that he had changed.
Neither Rachel nor Ellie seemed to notice.

Indian summer came and went. Brazen color came into the trees, rioted briefly, and then faded. After one cold, driving rain in mid-October, the leaves started to fall. Ellie began to arrive home laden with Halloween decorations she had made at school and entertained Gage with the story of the Headless Horseman.
Gage spent that evening babbling happily about somebody named Itchybod Brain.
Rachel got giggling and couldn’t stop. It was a good time for them, that early autumn.