Chapter 2 1

Ted Trenton, four years old, was going to the bathroom one early morning in May of that year, just after midnight.He got out of bed and walked dazedly into a wedge of light that came in through a half-open door, his pajama pants halfway down.He always pees, flushes, and goes back to his bed.When he lifted the quilt, he saw that thing, it was in his closet. There it was, squatting on the ground, its huge shoulders arched over its raised head, its eyes gleaming like wells of amber light—something half man, half wolf. Its eyes rolled and followed him until he stood up.His balls twitched, his hair stood on end, his breath was short of breath, the winter wind howled in his throat: those crazy eyes that laughed, those eyes that foreshadowed the horror of death, and the screaming music that could not be heard... ...there is an item in the closet.

He heard it whine.He smelled its sweet carrion. Ted Trenton slammed his hands over his eyes, gasped and began to shake, finally screaming. A vague cry came from another room—it was his father. A startled cry "What is it?" came from the same room--his mother. The sound of their footsteps, running.He was peeping out through his fingers when they came in, and he saw it in the farm closet, howling, as if foreshadowing: They might come, but they were sure to go, and as soon as they went... light is on.Vic and Donna walked to the bed and saw his pale face and glazed eyes, and they exchanged anxious glances.

His mother said, no, she was screaming, "I told you three hot dogs was too much, Vic!" Then his dad sat up on the bed, wrapped his arms around his back, and asked him what happened. Tad mustered up the courage to look at the closet door again. The devil is gone.Where the hungry beast had been, there were only two piles of shaggy blankets for the winter, which Donna had planned to send to a third-floor cubicle, but she hadn't had time yet; The shaggy triangular head protruding sideways in the posture of a predatory animal has become his toy on the blanket; the pair of deep-set rose eyes with ominous omens have become a teddy bear Open your eyes to the friendly brown glass ball of the world.

"What's the matter, Tad?" Dad asked him again. "There's a demon!" Thad exclaimed in horror. "It's in my closet!" Tears rolled down his cheeks. Mom sat down beside him, and they surrounded him, trying to comfort him. This was the usual ritual the parents performed afterwards: they explained that there were no demons, he was just having a bad dream; his mother explained why sometimes the shadow looked like bad things they saw on TV or comic novels; Dad told him it was all right, well, nothing would hurt him in their nice house.Thad nodded in agreement that it was, but he knew it wasn't.

His father explained to him how two piles of unkempt blankets in the dark can look like raised shoulders, how a teddy bear can look like a head sticking out, and how the light from the bathroom, passing through the teddy bear's glass eyes How does the reflection of the glass eye look like a living animal's eye. "Now watch," he said, "watch me, Tad." Ted watched. His father took the two piles of blankets and put them in the back of the Tednon closet.Tad could hear the clothes hook jingle softly a few times, talking to Dad in the language of the hook.It was funny, he smiled slightly.Seeing him smiling, my mother smiled at him too, relieved.

His dad came out of the closet, took the toy out and put it on his son's arm. "There's at least one trick," Dad said, dancing around, and both Ted and Mom giggled. "Chair." He closed the closet door tightly and propped a chair against it.When he got back to Tad's bedside, Dad was still smiling, but his eyes were serious. "Are you ready, Ted?" "Yes," Thad said, forcing himself to say it. "But it was there, Dad, and I saw it, and it was there." "Your mind saw something, Tad," Pa said, running his big warm hands through Tad's hair. "But you don't see any demons in the closet, not actually. There are no demons, Tad. They're only in the novels, or in your head."

He looked at his father, then at his mother, at them—their big, loving faces. "real?" "Really," said his mother, "now get up and go pee, boy." "I'm too young, that's how I got up." "Okay," she said, because your parents never believed you, "Come on, what did you say?" So he went in again until she watched him squeeze out four drops and she smiled and said, "See, you really need to go." Resigned, Ted nodded and went back to bed.They put him in the quilt and covered him, and they kissed him. After his mother and father had gone out of the door, the horror enveloped him again, like a cold misty coat, like a shroud, exuding the breath of hopeless death.Oh please, he thought, but he couldn't think of anything more than that: Oh please.Oh please, oh please.

Possibly's father saw his doubts, because Vic was back again, with one hand on the light switch, and repeated, "No demons, Tad." "No, Dad," said Tad, and for a moment his father's eyes were dark and distant, as if waiting for his reassurance. "No demons." Forget that. The lights snapped off. "Good night, Ted." The mother's voice followed softly.He screamed out in his mind, look out, mom, they eat ladies!All the movies where they grab the ladies and take them away and eat them, oh please, oh please, oh please... But they're gone. And so, Ted Trenton, four years old, lay in his bed with all the ropes and taut bindings fastened to him.

Lying with one arm over his teddy bear, the quilt pulled up to his chin, he had a picture of Luke the Trapeze on one wall and a golden flower standing on a mixer on the other. Rat, grinning merrily with its mouth wide open (it's brazenly saying, if life gives you lemons, make lemons); on the third wall is the whole Sesame Street group in light suits, with big birds, Ernie, Oscar, Grover.Very good totem, very good magic. But, oh, the wind outside, screaming through the roof and sliding down the black gutter.He could not sleep again that night. But little by little, the rope untied itself, the tense muscles of the anchor loosened, and his mind began to wander imperceptibly.

Then a new scream, closer than the night wind outside, brought him back to harsh lucidity. Hinges on wardrobe doors. Squeak—— Only dogs and children who are still awake in the middle of the night can hear this threadlike sound. His closet door swung open, and slowly, steadily, a dead gray mouth emerged from the darkness; inch, inch, foot, foot. The demon was there in that darkness, crouching where it had crouched, smiling at him with its mouth open, its huge shoulders arching over its outstretched head, its eyes shining glass-colored, alive, stupid and cunning.I told you they'd leave, Ted.it whispered.

They always end up like this.Then I can come back, and I love coming back.I like you, Ted.I'm coming back every night now, I think, and every night I'm going to get a little closer to your bed... a little closer... until one night, before you can scream at them, you hear something Howling, howling right next to you, Ted, it's me, I'll pounce on you, and I'll eat you, you're in my stomach. Tad stared at the creature in his closet, fascinated, obsessed and terrified.There's something there...almost familiar.One he almost knew.That's the worst, almost knowing, because— Because I'm crazy, Ted, I'm here.I have been here all the time.My name used to be Frank Dude, and I killed the ladies, and I probably ate them too.I've been here, I've been nailed here, I've put my ear to the ground, I'm the demon, Ted, the demon, I'll catch you soon Ted, feel it, I'm getting closer ... getting closer and closer... Maybe the thing in the closet was speaking to him with its own hissing breathing, or maybe that voice was the howling of the wind again, maybe both, or neither, but that didn't matter.He listened to its words, horrified, dazed, almost fainting (but, oh, so lucid); and he looked at its tangled face of overlapping shadows, which he almost recognized. He won't be able to sleep again tonight, and probably he never will. But after a while, probably between half-past and one in the morning, probably because he was still very young, Tad fell asleep again before he knew it. In the dream, a huge, disheveled creature with white teeth bared chased him until he fell into a deep sleep, and all the dreams disappeared... The wind and the gutter had a long conversation.A bright spring moon rose in the night sky, and in the night, on a quiet meadow in the distance, or on a promenade lined with pine trees by the forest, a dog was barking fiercely, and then, the sky and the earth became a blur. peaceful. In Ted Trenton's closet, something looked long with its glass-colored eyes. "Did you put the blanket back?" Donna asked her husband early the next morning, as she stood by the fire cooking the meat. Ted was in the other room, eating a bowl of Wink while watching The New Zoo Lampoon.Blink is a sharp cereal that the Trenton family eats for free. "Huh?" Vic asked, buried deep in the sports pages.Until now, he'd managed to fend off Red Star mania, but he was masochistically wanting to see Metz get off to another bleak start. "The blankets are in Tad's closet, they've been put back, the chairs have been put back, and the door has been opened again." She served the bacon, which dried on a paper towel, and the bacon was still there Hissing. "Did you put them back?" "It's not me," Vic said, turning the page, "It smells like a sanitation conference just started in there." "Interesting. He must have put them back himself." He put the newspaper aside and looked up at her. "What are you talking about, Donna?" "Do you remember the bad dream last night?" "It's not easy to forget, and I think the boy was scared to death, and the shock was great." She nodded. "He thought those two piles of blankets were some kind of—" She shrugged. "Witch," Vic said, grinning. "I guess so. You gave him his teddy bear and put those two blankets in the closet. But when I went in and made his bed, they were back on the chair," she said. "I looked carefully, and I was there just now thinking--" "Now I know how he did it," said Vic, picking up the paper again and giving her a friendly glance. "Three hot dogs, my ass." Later, Vic hurried off to work.Donna asked Tad why he had put the chair back in the farm closet, and put the blanket on it again, which had scared him that night. Ted raised his head and stared blankly at her, that originally full of life.The lively, lovely face looked pale and alert--so old. His Star Wars coloring book was open in front of him.He just did a painting for "Interstellar Tavern" and is now coloring Gredo with a green crayon. "I haven't," he said. "But Ted, if you don't, Dad doesn't, and I don't—" "It was the devil that put it," Thad said, "the one that was in my closet." He turned his head back to his painting. She stood there looking at him, disturbed, even a little panicked.He was a cheerful kid, probably with too much imagination, which is not good news.Looks like she's going to have to talk to Vic about it tonight. "Ted, remember what your father said?" she told him, "There's no such thing as a demon." "Anyway, not during the day." He smiled at her as he said, so cheerful and beautiful.She too was mesmerized by his look and didn't worry anymore.She gently stroked his hair and kissed him on the cheek. She was going to have a talk with Vic.When Ted went to kindergarten, Steve Kemp came, and she forgot about it.This night.Ted screamed again, screaming that it was in his closet, the devil, the devil! The door of the farm closet was ajar, and the blanket was on the chair.Vic finally decided to take them to the third floor, where he piled them high in the wardrobe. "Lock it up, Taddle," said Vic, kissing his son. "You can rest easy. Go back to sleep and have sweet dreams." But Ted couldn't sleep for a long time, and when he was about to fall asleep, there was a rattling, and the closet door slowly swung open from the deadbolt, and the dead gray mouth stood in the dead darkness. In the dead darkness there was something, shaggy, with sharp teeth and claws, waiting there, oozing sour blood and black omens. Hello Ted.It whispered in a corrupt voice. The moon stared in through Tad's window like the white eye of a dead man's half-opened. The oldest of Castle Rock's residents that spring was Evelyn Chalmers, whom the village elders called "Auntie Evie," and George Miara secretly called her "the Loud talking old bitch".George had to send her in the mail—mostly Reader's Digest bibliographies and giveaways, and some prayer booklets on the Crusade of the Eternal Christ—and listen to her endless monologues.Talking about the weather was something the loud old bitch was especially good at, and George and his cronies had to admit it when the drunken tiger was drinking too much.The Drunken Tiger is a silly name for a bar, but since it's the only one in Castle Rock that it can boast of, it seems people are still pretty attached to the name. Everyone generally agrees with George.Aunt Evie was the oldest resident of Castle Rock after Arnold Hibbert, and she had been carrying a Boston Post cane for two years. Arnold Hibbert lived to be one hundred and one, so old that talking to him was a complete intellectual challenge, like talking to an empty cat food can.He broke his neck after staggering out of the backyard of the Acres Sanitarium, exactly twenty-five minutes after he had shivered into his trousers for the last time. Aunt Evie was nowhere near as old as Arnie Hibbert, nor was she that old, but at ninety-three she was old enough.As much as she liked to yell at (and often loom over) George Miara, who delivered the mail helplessly, she wasn't stupid enough to leave her home like Hibbert. But she does have a knack for the weather.The elders of the town (who care a lot about such things) agree that Aunt Evie never misses three things: what week of summer the first dry leather should be cut; How good (or bad); and what the weather will be like. One day in early June of this year, Job Miara thought, Know how to get rid of you Evie) in front of the mailbox at the end. She was leaning heavily on her Boston Post cane, a Herbert Triton cigarette in her mouth.She greeted Myara with a yell—whose deafness apparently made her feel that everyone in the world was sympathetically deaf too—and yelled that the hottest summer in nearly thirty years was coming, "Morning It will be very hot, it will be very hot at night." Her loud voice cut through the drowsiness and silence at eleven o'clock, "It will be hotter at noon." "Is that so?" George asked. "what?" "I said, is that so?" Another thing Aunt Evie was good at was making you scream with her until your veins popped. "If I'm wrong, I'll smile at a pig and kiss it," cried Aunt Evie, her mouth smelling of pickles.The ashes from her cigarettes fell on George Myara's uniform jacket, which he had just dry-cleaned earlier this morning, and he patted the ashes resignedly. "The field mice are out of the vegetable cellar! Before the robins came back, Tommy Niedo saw the deer coming out of the farm and grinding off the antlers. Myara!" "Is that so, Evie?" George responded, and it seemed that he had to answer, his head was starting to hurt. "what?" "Is-is-like-is-, E-vi-i-a-aunt-?" Giorgiomiara roared, spittle flying. "Oh, ouch!" Aunt Evie burst out with satisfaction. "I saw heat lightning last night, bad omen, Miara! Early heat is a bad omen, and someone will die of heat this summer! It's going to be bad! And—" "I'm leaving, Aunt Evie!" cried George. "I'm also sending a special letter to Stringer Biolieu." Aunt Evie threw her head back and clucked something to the sky until she choked.More soot slid down the front of her civilian dress.She spat out the last stub of her cigarette, which fell to the driveway, smoldering next to her old lady's shoes.They were stove black, stiff as a woman's corset, and old, as old as Aunt Evie. "You want to send a special letter to the Frenchman Biaulieu? Well, I say, he doesn't even know the name on his own tombstone!" "I've got to go, Aunt Evie!" said George hurriedly, starting the car. "That Frenchman, Biaulieu, is a rigid natural fool!" exclaimed Aunt Hevie.But now all she could do was hiss at the dust raised by George Miara, who fled. She stood against the mailbox for a while, looking at the dust resentfully.There were no personal letters from her today, not these days, and nearly all the people she knew who could write letters were dead, and she suspected that she would follow in their footsteps soon. The coming summer gave her a bad premonition and made her panic.She said she saw the field mouse coming out of the vegetable cellar early, said she saw the heat lightning in the spring sky, but she said no to the heat she felt coming from somewhere on the far horizon-it crouched there , like a skinny but very ferocious beast, it has a whole body of dirty fur, a pair of red eyes that are smoldering with flames; she can't explain her dreams, the heat is so hot, there is no shelter, and the thirst is unbearable; She couldn't even tell about the tears that morning, the tears that filled her eyes but didn't flow, like sweat in a crazy hot August, and she smelled an approaching madness on the wind. "George Miara, you old fart," said Aunt Evie, with a thick Maine vibe in her voice, as if heralding a catastrophe, as if there was a Kind of ridiculous: fart... Leaning on the Boston Post cane, which she had given her in a ceremony at City Hall, she began to move back into the house, just to prove her age.Nothing strange, she thought, the bloody certificate was about to break. She staggered and stopped, looking into the sky, which was still as pure as spring and as soft as crayon painting.Oh, but she knew it was coming.It's hot and dirty. Last summer, when Vic's old Jaguar rattled miserably somewhere on the left rear, George recommended him to Joe Campbell outside Castle Rock. "The way he does things is interesting." George told him, "He's always like that, telling you how much the job costs, and then he does it, and then he asks you for that much money, which is funny, huh?" He said and drove off. Vic stood in front of the mailbox, wondering if the postman meant what he said, suspecting that he had been played some obscure Yankee joke. But he finally called Campbell.One day in July (it was a cool July last year), he, Donna, and Ted drove to Camber's garage.It was indeed far, and Vic stopped twice on the road just to ask for directions.He has since called the point on the farthest east side of the town East Gloves Corner. By the time he drove the Jaguar into Camber's front yard, the rear tires were rattling more than ever.Ted, then three years old, was sitting on Donna Trenton's lap, smiling at her: traveling in Dad's "topless" car made him very happy, and Donna felt good about herself. A boy about eight or nine years old was standing in the yard, and he was hitting a very old baseball, which looked even older.The ball flew through the air, hit one of the barn walls (Mr. Campbell's garage, Vic thought), and rolled all the way back. "Hi!" said the boy. "Are you Mr. Trenton?" "Yes," Vic said. "I'm going to find Dad." The boy said and went into the back room. The Trentons got out of the car, and Vic went around behind the Jaguar and squatted down beside the ring wheel.He's not sure yet, maybe he'll have to send the car to Portland, the situation here doesn't look reassuring, there's not even a sign outside Camber's door. His contemplation was interrupted by Donna.Donna was saying his name uncomfortably, "My God, Vic—" He stood up quickly and saw a huge dog appear at the barn door. For a moment (a very absurd moment) he wondered if it was really a dog, or some sort of strange ugly colt. Then the dog came trotting from the shadow of the barn mouth, and he saw the melancholy eyes and realized that it was a St. Eunate dog. On a subconscious impulse, Donna dragged Ted back toward the back of the Jaguar, but Ted struggled irritably in her arms, trying to get down. "I want to watch Gouzi, Mom... I want to watch Gouzi!" Donna gave Vic a nervous look, and he shrugged, also uncomfortable.Then the boy ran back and stroked the dog's head in front of Vic.The dog wags its tail (an absolutely huge tail) and Ted struggles again. "You can put him down, ma'am," the boy said politely. "Cujo likes kids, it won't hurt him." Then he turned to Vic. "My dad will be here in a minute. He's washing his hands." "Okay," Vic said. "What a big fucking dog, boy, are you sure he's safe?" "He's safe," the boy assured, but Vic found himself taking a small step away from his wife and son and staggering toward the dog.Cujo stood there with his head out and his huge tail like a big brush wagging slowly back and forth. "Vic—" Donna began. "It'll be all right," Vic said, thinking, I hope so.The dog was big enough to swallow Ted in one bite. Ted paused for a moment, obviously doubtful too.He and the dog looked at each other blankly. "Dog," Ted said. "Cujo," Camber's son said, stepping up to Tad. "His name is Cujo." "Cujo," Thad said, and the big dog ran up to him and started licking his face.The big, kind, wet lick made Tad giggle and try to fend it off with his hands.He turned and ran back to his parents, laughing all the way the way they used to scratch their itch.Somehow his legs got entangled and he fell. Suddenly the dog came running towards him, past him... Vic had his arms around Donna's waist, he felt his wife panting, he could hear her panting, he couldn't help but move forward... and stopped again. Cujo helped Tad to his feet slowly, holding the woven Ford T-shirt on Ted's back in his mouth - Tad was like a kitten in his mother's mouth at this moment - until he stood up. Ted ran back to his parents: "I like dogs, Mom! Dad! I like dogs!" Campbell's children watched with interest, hands tucked into their jeans pockets. "A wonderful dog, of course," said Vic, amused too, but still beating his heart.For a moment he really believed the dog would bite off Ted's head like a lollipop. "It's a St. Bernard, Ted," Vic said. "St. . . . Burnett!" Thad yelled, running back to Cujo—who was sitting like a hill on the mouth of the barn—"Cujo! Cujo—!" Donna was a little nervous again around Vic. "Hey, Vic, what do you think—" But Tad was already with Cujo, hugging it wantonly, then putting his nose to Cujo's, looking straight at him.Cujo sat there, his big tail thumping on the gravel, his pink tongue sticking out.Tad tiptoed against Cujo, his eyes almost looking into Cujo's. "I don't think they'll be all right," Vic said. Tad stuck a tiny hand into Cujo's mouth and stared, like the world's tiniest stomatologist.This made Vic shudder uncomfortably again, but Tad was already running back. "Dogs have teeth," he told Vic. "Yes," Vic said. "Lots of teeth." He turned to the boy, about to ask him how he got the name Cujo, when Joe Camber emerged from the barn.Joe wiped his hands with a piece of scrap paper so he wouldn't get Vic's hands greasy when he shook hands. He listened attentively for the sound of footsteps as Campbell and Vic drove to a building down the hill and back to the garage. "Axle bearings are passable now," Campbell said curtly. "You're lucky it didn't leave you somewhere." "Can it be fixed?" Vic asked. "Well, if you don't mind, I can fix it now, and you can walk around and have a look." "That's great," said Vic, turning to look at Tad and the dog. Ted was playing the baseball that Campbell's son had just ordered.He tossed the ball far away (not very far), and the Humber's St. Bernard dog meekly brought it back to Tad.The ball is already soaked. "Your dog makes my son very happy." "Cujo likes kids," Campbell agreed, and then asked, "Can you drive into the barn, Mr. Trenton?" The doctor wants to see you, Vic thought happily, driving the Jaguar in.It turned out that the job took only an hour and a half, and Camber's asking price was so reasonable that Vic was a little surprised. Ted had been running this cool afternoon, calling the dog's name over and over again, "Cujo... Cujo... come here, Cujo..." As they were leaving, Camber's son, Brett, lifted Tad straight onto Cujo's back, letting him wrap around Cujo's waist, while Cujo obediently ran up and down the gravel yard twice. It looked into Vic's eyes as it passed... Vic could tell it was smiling. Just three days after George Miara's hoarse conversation with Aunt Evie Chalmers, a little girl Ted's age rose from her seat at the breakfast table—the so-called The breakfast table, which is nothing more than a breakfast nook in a tidy cabin in Iowa City, Iowa—saying, "Oh, Mom, I don't feel well, I think I'm sick." Her mother didn't look very surprised. Marth's brother had been sent back from school two days earlier with a nasty stomach infection.Brock is mostly healed now, mind you he's been shit for the past 24 hours, he's been squirting hotly from both openings in his body. "Are you sure, baby?" Marth's mother asked. "Oh, I—" Marthe groaned, clasped her hands on her stomach, and staggered towards the downstairs hall.Her mother watched her run to the bathroom and, oh my god, here we go again. She heard the vomiting sound start, and then it went into the bathroom.Her mind was already full of stuff from the house: fresh water, bedsteads, pots, some books, the portable TV that Brock had put in her room when he got back from school, and— She was watching, and her thoughts were pushed back by a sound like a heavy punch. The toilet bowl where her four-year-old daughter had vomited was filled with blood, spattering over the rim and dripping onto the tiled floor. "Oh, Mommy, I don't feel so good." Her daughter writhing, writhing, her mouth full of blood, blood running down her face, soaking her sailor blue dress, blood, oh dear god dear jesus joseph mother mary so much blood —— "Mommy..." Her daughter vomited blood again, and a large mass of blood-red stuff flew out of her mouth like an evil rain, splashing everywhere.The mother rushed over, picked her up, stumbled into the kitchen, and dialed the number of the emergency center.