sk.dreamcatcher-第35部分

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thanks　to　the　retired　professor；　fucking　elderly　asshole　shouldn't　have　been　driving　in　the　first　place；　thanks　a　lot；　prof；　thanks　a　fucking　pantload；　and　if　he　couldn't　hold　the　door　shut　and　he　couldn't　run；　what　then？
　　　　What　had　happened　to　Beaver；　of　course。　It　had　had　the　Beav's　nose　stuck　in　its　teeth　like　a　shish　kebab。
　　　　Moaning；　Jonesy　held　the　knob。　For　a　moment　the　pressure　increased　even　more；　and　then　it　stopped。　From　behind　the　thin　wood　of　the　door；　the　thing　yammered　angrily。　Jonesy　could　smell　the　ethery　aroma　of　starter　fluid。
　　　　How　was　it　holding　on　in　there？　It　had　no　limbs；　not　that　Jonesy　had　been　able　to　see；　just　that　reddish　tail…thing；　so　how…
　　　　He　heard　the　minute　crackle…crunch…splinter　of　wood　on　the　other　side　of　the　door；　directly　in　front　of　his　own　head　by　the　sound；　and　knew。　It　was　clinging　by　its　teeth。　The　idea　filled　Jonesy　with　unreasoning　horror。　That　thing　had　been　inside　McCarthy；　he　had　absolutely　no　doubt　of　it。　Inside　McCarthy　and　growing　like　a　giant　tapeworm　in　a　horror　movie。　Like　a　cancer；　one　with　teeth。　And　when　it　had　grown　enough；　when　it　was　ready　to　go　to　bigger　and　better　things；　you　might　say；　it　had　simply　chewed　its　way　out。
　　　　'No；　man；　no；'　Jonesy　said　in　a　watery；　almost　weeping　voice。
　　　　The　knob　of　the　bathroom　door　began　trying　to　turn　the　other　way。　Jonesy　could　see　it　in　there；　on　its　side　of　the　bathroom　door；　battened　to　the　wood　like　a　leech　with　its　teeth；　its　tall　or　single　tentacle　wrapped　around　the　doorknob　like　a　loop　ending　in　a　hangman's　noose；　pulling…
　　　　'No；　no；　no；'　Jonesy　panted；　hanging　onto　the　knob　with　all　of　his　strength。　It　was　on　the　verge　of　slipping　away　from　him。　There　was　sweat　on　his　face　and　on　his　Palms；　too；　he　could　feel　it。
　　　　In　front　of　his　bulging；　frightened　eyes；　a　constellation　of　bumps　appeared　in　the　wood。　Those　were　where　its　teeth　were　planted　and　working　deeper　all　the　time。　Soon　the　points　would　burst　through　（if　he　didn't　lose　his　grip　on　the　doorknob　first；　that　was）　and　he'd　actually　have　to　look　at　the　fangs　that　had　torn　his　friend's　nose　off　his　face。
　　　　That　brought　it　home　to　him：　Beaver　was　dead。　His　old　friend。
　　　　'You　killed　him！'　Jonesy　cried　at　the　thing　on　the　other　side　of　the　door。　His　voice　quivered　with　sorrow　and　terror。　'You　killed　the　Beav！'
　　　　His　cheeks　were　hot；　the　tears　which　now　began　to　course　down　them　even　hotter。　Beaver　in　his　black　leather　jacket　（What　a　lot　of　zippers！　Duddits's　Mom　had　said　on　the　day　they　met　her）；　Beaver　next　door　to　shitfaced　at　the　Senior　Prom　and　dancing　like　a　Cossack；　arms　folded　across　his　chest　and　his　feet　kicking；　Beaver　at　Jonesy　and　Carla's　wedding　reception；　hugging　Jonesy　and　whispering　fiercely　in　his　ear；　'You　got　to　be　happy；　man。　You　got　to　be　happy　for　all　of　us。'　And　that　had　been　the　first　he　knew　that　Beaver　wasn't　…　Henry　and　Peter；　of　course；　about　them　there　had　never　been　a　question；　but　the　Beav？　And　now　Beaver　was　dead；　Beaver　was　lying　half　in　and　half　out　of　the　tub；　lying　noseless　on　top　of　Mr　Richard　Fucking　I…Stand…at…the…Door…and…Knock　McCarthy。
　　　　'You　killed　him；　you　fuck！'　he　shouted　at　the　bulges　in　the　door　…　there　had　been　six　of　them　and　now　there　were　nine；　hell；　a　dozen。
　　　　As　if　surprised　by　his　rage；　the　widdershins　pressure　on　the　doorknob　eased　again。　Jonesy　looked　around　wildly　for　anything　that　might　help　him；　saw　nothing；　then　looked　down。　The　roll　of　friction　tape　was　there。　He　might　be　able　to　bend　and　snatch　it　up；　but　then　what？　He　would　need　both　hands　to　pull　lengths　of　tape　off　it；　both　hands　and　his　teeth　to　rip　them；　and　even　supposing　the　thing　gave　him　time；　what　was　the　good　of　it；　when　he　could　barely　hold　the　doorknob　still　against　its　pressure？
　　　　And　now　the　knob　began　to　turn　again。　Jonesy　held　it　on　his　side；　but　he　was　getting　tired　now；　the　adrenaline　in　his　muscles　starting　to　decay　and　turn　to　lead；　his　palms　more　slippery　than　ever；　and　that　smell　the　ethery　smell；　was　clearer　now　and　somehow　purer；　untainted　by　the　wastes　and　gases　of　McCarthy's　body；　and　how　could　it　be　so　strong　on　this　side　of　the　door？　How　could　it　unless…
　　　　In　the　half…second　or　so　before　the　rod　connecting　the　doorknobs　on　the　inside　and　outside　of　the　bathroom　door　snapped；　Jonesy　became　aware　that　it　was　darker　now。　just　a　little。　As　if　someone　had　crept　up　behind　him；　was　standing　between　him　and　the　light；　him　and　the　back　door…
　　　　The　rod　snapped。　The　knob　in　Jonesy's　hand　pulled　free　and　the　bathroom　door　immediately　swung　in　a　little；　pulled　by　the　weight　of　the　eelish　thing　clinging　to　it。　Jonesy　shrieked　and　dropped　the　knob。　It　hit　the　roll　of　tape　and　bounced　askew。
　　　　He　turned　to　run　and　there　stood　a　gray　man。
　　　　He　…　it　…　was　a　stranger；　but　in　a　way　no　stranger　at　all。　Jonesy　had　seen　representations　of　him　on　a　hundred　'Weird　mysteries'　TV　shows；　on　the　front　pages　of　a　thousand　tabloid　newspapers　（the　kind　that　shouted　their　serio…ic　horrors　at　you　as　you　stood　prisoner　in　the　supermarket　checkout　lanes）；　in　movies　like　ET　and　Close　Encounters　and　Fire　in　the　Sky；　Mr　Gray　who　was　an　X…Files　staple。
　　　　All　the　images　had　gotten　the　eyes　night；　at　least；　those　huge　black　eyes　that　were　just　like　the　eyes　of　the　thing　that　had　chewed　its　way　out　of　McCarthy's　ass；　and　the　mouth　was　close　…　a　vestigial　slit；　no　more　than　that　…　but　its　gray　skin　hung　in　loose　folds　and　swags；　like　the　skin　of　an　elephant　dying　of　old　age。　From　the　wrinkles　there　ran　listless　yellow…white　streams　of　some　pussy　substance；　the　same　stuff　ran　like　tears　from　the　ers　of　its　expressionless　eyes。　Clots　and　smears　of　it　puddled　across　the　floor　of　the　big　room；　across　the　Navajo　rug　beneath　the　dreamcatcher；　back　toward　the　kitchen　door　through　which　it　had　entered。　How　long　had　Mr　Gray　been　there？　Had　he　been　outside；　watching　Jonesy　run　from　the　snowmobile　shed　to　the　back　door　with　the　useless　roll　of　friction　tape　in　his　hand？
　　　　He　didn't　know。　He　only　knew　that　Mr　Gray　was　dying；　and　Jonesy　had　to　get　past　him　because　the　thing　in　the　bathroom　had　just　dropped　onto　the　floor　with　a　heavy　thud。　It　would　be　ing　for　him。
　　　　Marcy；　Mr　Gray　said。
　　　　He　spoke　with　perfect　clarity；　although　the　vestige　of　a　mouth　never　moved。　Jonesy　heard　the　word　in　the　middle　of　his　head；　in　the　same　precise　place　where　he　had　always　heard　Duddits's　crying。
　　　　'What　do　you　want？'
　　　　The　thing　in　the　bathroom　slithered　across　his　feet；　but　Jonesy　barely　noticed　it。　Barely　noticed　it　curl　between　the　bare；　toeless　feet　of　the　gray　man。
　　　　Please　stop；　Mr　Gray　said　inside　Jonesy's　head。　It　was　the　click。　More；　it　was　the　line。　Sometimes　you　saw　the　line；　sometimes　you　heard　it；　as　he　had　heard　the　run　of　Defuniak's　guilty　thoughts　that　time。　I　can't　stand　it；　give　me　a　shot；　where's　Marcy？
　　　　Death　looking　for　me　that　day；　Jonesy　thought。　Missed　me　in　the　street；　missed　me　in　the　hospital　…　if　only　by　a　room　or　two　…　been　looking　ever　since。　Finally　found　me。
　　　　And　then　the　thing's　head　exploded；　tore　wide　open；　releasing　a　red…orange　cloud　of　ether…smelling　particles。
　　　　Jonesy　breathed　them　in。

CHAPTER　EIGHT

ROBERTA


1

With　her　hair　now　all　gray；　a　widow　at　fifty…eight　（but　still　a　birdie…woman　who　favored　flowered　print　dresses；　those　things　hadn't　changed）；　Duddits's　mother　sat　in　front　of　the　television　in　the　ground…floor　apartment　in　West　Derry　Acres　which　she　and　her　son　now　shared。　She　had　sold　the　house　on　Maple　Lane　after　Alfie　died。　She　could　have　afforded　to　keep　it　…　Alfie　had　left　plenty　of　money；　the　life　insurance　had　paid　out　plenty　more；　and　there　was　her　share　of　the　imported　auto…parts　pany　he'd　started　in　1975　on　top　of　that　…　but　it　was　too　big　and　there　were　too　many　memories　above　and　below　the　living　room　where　she　and　Duddits　spent　most　of　their　time。　Above　was　the　bedroom　where　she　and　Alfie　had　slept　and　talked；　made　plans　and　made　love。　Below　was　the　rec　room　where　Duddits　and　his　friends　had　spent　so　many　afternoons　and　evenings。　In　Roberta's　view　they　had　been　friends　sent　from　heaven；　angels　with　kind　hearts　and　dirty　mouths　who　had　actually　expected　her　to　believe　that　when　Duddits　started　saying　fut；　he　was　trying　to　say　Fudd；　which；　they　explained　earnestly；　was　the　name　of　Pete's　new　puppy　…　Elmer　Fudd；　just　Fudd　for　short。　And　of　course　she　had　pretended　to　believe　this。
　　　　Too　many　memories；　too　many　ghosts　of　happier　times。　And　then；　of　course；　Duddits　had　gotten　sick。　Two　years　now　he'd　been　sick；　and　none　of　his　old　friends　knew　because　they　didn't　e　around　anymore　and　she　hadn't　had　the　heart　to　pick　up　the　phone　and　call　Beaver；　who　would　have　called　the　others。
　　　　Now　she　sat　in　front　of　the　TV；　where　the　local…news　folks　had　finally　given　up　just　breaking　into　her　afternoon　stories　and　had　gone　on　the　air　full…time。　Roberta　listened；　afraid　of　what　might　be　happening　up　north　but　fascinated；　too。　The　scariest　part　was　that　no　one　seemed　to　know　exactly　what　was　happening　or　just　what　the　story　was　or　how　big　it　was。　There　were　missing　hunters；　maybe　as　many　as　a　dozen；　in　a　remote　area　of　Maine　a　hundred　and　fifty　miles　north　of　Derry。　That　part　was　clear　enough。　Roberta　wasn't　positive；　but　she　was　quite　sure　that　the　reporters　were　talking　about　Jefferson　Tract；　where　the　boys　used　to　go　hunting；　ing　back　with　bloody　stories　that　both　fascinated　Duddits　and　frightened　him。
　　　　Were　those　hunters　just　cut　off　by　an　Alberta　Clipper　storm　that　had　passed　through；　dropping　six　or　eight　inches　of　snow　on　the　area？　Maybe。　No　one　could　say　for　sure；　but　one　party　of　four　that　had　been　hunting　in　the　Kineo　area　really　did　seem　to　be　missing。　Their　pictures　were　flashed　on　the　screen；　their　names　recited　solemnly：　Otis；　Roper；　McCarthy；　Shue。　The　last　was　a　woman。
　　　　Missing　hunters　weren't　big　enough　to　warrant　interrupting　the　afternoon　soaps；　but　there　was　other　stuff；　too。　People　had　glimpsed　strange；　varicolored　lights　in　the　sky。　Two　hunters　from　Millinocket　who　had　been　in　the　Kineo　area　two　days　previous　claimed　to　have　seen　a　cigar…shaped　object　hovering　over　a　powerline…cut　in　the　woods。　There　had　been　no　rotors　on　the　craft；　they　said；　and　no　visible　means　of　propulsion。　It　simply　hung　there　about　twenty　feet　above　the　powerlines；　emit