Read Online Pet Sematary by Stephen King - Free Book Online Page A

get a little girl all upset about something she can’t understand until she’s much older?”
    â€œRachel, listen.”
    But Rachel had no intention of listening. She was blazing. “It’s bad enough to try and cope with a death—a pet or a friend or a relative—when it happens, without turning it into a . . . a goddam tourist attraction . . . a F-F-Forest Lawn for a-animals . . .” Tears were running down her cheeks.
    â€œRachel,” he said and tried to put his hands on her shoulders. She shrugged them off in a quick, hard gesture.
    â€œNever mind,” she said. “You don’t have the slightest idea what I’m talking about.”
    He sighed. “I feel like I fell through a hidden trapdoor and into a giant Mixmaster,” he said, hoping for asmile. He got none; only her eyes, locked on his, black and blazing. She was furious, he realized; not just angry, but absolutely furious. “Rachel,” he said suddenly, not fully sure what he was going to say until it was out, “how did you sleep last night?”
    â€œOh boy,” she said scornfully, turning away—but not before he had seen a wounded flicker in her eyes. “That’s really intelligent. Really intelligent. You never change, Louis. When something isn’t going right, blame Rachel, right? Rachel’s just having one of her weird emotional reactions.”
    â€œThat’s not fair.”
    â€œNo?” She took the bowl of cake batter over to the far counter by the stove and set it down with another bang. She began to grease a cake tin, her lips pressed tightly together.
    He said patiently, “There’s nothing wrong with a child finding out something about death, Rachel. In fact, I’d call it a necessary thing. Ellie’s reaction—her crying—that seemed perfectly natural to me. It—”
    â€œOh, it sounded natural,” Rachel said, whirling on him again. “It sounded very natural to hear her weeping her heart out over her cat which is perfectly fine—”
    â€œStop it,” he said. “You’re not making any sense.”
    â€œI don’t want to discuss it anymore.”
    â€œYes, but we’re going to,” he said, angry himself now. “You had your at-bats—how about giving me mine?”
    â€œShe’s not going up there anymore. And as far as I’m concerned, the subject is closed.”
    â€œEllie has known where babies come from since last year,” Louis said deliberately. “We got her the Myers book and talked to her about it, do you remember that? We both agreed that children ought to know where they come from.”
    â€œThat has nothing to do with—”
    â€œIt does, though!” he said roughly. “When I was talking to her in my office, about Church, I got thinking about my mother and how she spun me that old cabbage-leaf story when I asked her where women got babies. I’ve never forgotten that lie. I don’t think children ever forget the lies their parents tell them.”
    â€œWhere babies come from has nothing to do with a goddam pet cemetery!” Rachel cried at him, and what her eyes said to him was Talk about the parallels all night and all day, if you want to, Louis; talk until you turn blue, but I won’t accept it.
    Still, he tried.
    â€œShe knows about babies; that place up in the woods just made her want to know something about the other end of things. It’s perfectly natural. In fact, I think it’s the most natural thing in the w—”
    â€œWill you stop saying that!” she screamed suddenly—really screamed—and Louis recoiled, startled. His elbow struck the open bag of flour on the counter. It tumbled off the edge and struck the floor, splitting open. Flour puffed up in a dry white cloud.
    â€œOh fuck,” he said dismally.
    In an upstairs room, Gage began to cry.
    â€œThat’s