– STEPHEN KING, "Pet Sematary"
What was about to happen here was very, very wrong. The bird was vaguely aware of that. There is life and there is death, and like all living creatures it had an inherent respect and awe for the dividing line between. But this wrong thing was about to happen nonetheless. Whoever the crow was here to resurrect, something so terrible had happened to them that the basic laws of nature would simply have to be overridden in order to correct some mystical imbalance and compensate for their pain. The crow had taken this journey many times, but it had never fully understood it.
But to the task at hand.
A powerful magic, this. But selective too. Its force was focused on one single goal, only one body out of anywhere between fifteen and twenty-five. One man would hear the crow's summoning and one alone – the bones of all those around him would remain indifferent to the crow's call, safely locked within their incomprehensive stasis. No matter what went on beneath the soil of this sacred ground, only one man would ultimately be affected. The others would remain undisturbed.
Beneath the earth, bones twitched and jumped, began shuffling towards one another. Joining, locking. The skull would have to regenerate itself entirely; whatever had happened to this man, his head had been destroyed completely by some great injury. The crow beat its open wings, as if willing the correct bones to find each other. Exactly what went on below the ground it did not know – it had never known, despite having guided many on this same dark journey. But if its own senses were anything to go by, what was happening beneath the soil was not pleasant.
Ah, something clicked inside its brain, it is finished; the skeleton was complete. Now came the tricky part – clothing the whole in muscle and flesh and revitalising it with living blood. It was always more difficult when it happened this way, with a body long decomposed. More work, more concentration, and the poor soul involved no doubt endured a great deal more trauma. But who was the crow to question this delay in justice? It was here to do a job, and that was all there was to it.
The crow snapped its wings shut and cawed once more. Let it begin.
Immediately, it could feel a new force surging through its little body, entering at the crown of its dark feathered head rushing down through its black clawed feet and into the ground below. It hurt . . . in a strange way it could not fully comprehend, it really hurt. A healing wound causes pain, an entire body reforming itself over a simple skeleton is agony. Gurgling quietly in its throat, determined not to cry out, the bird shuddered to itself, forcing itself to remain connected to the earth, not to fly away and break the charm.
As marrow and muscle grew from nothing, tiny tendons and strands wrapping them around bones and joints, the crow felt it happen as if millions of tiny burning ants were crawling over its own skin. It quivered under the pressure, but forced itself to concentrate. Flesh formed out of dead cells and empty space, determinedly knitting itself along the designated paths, following the courses of empty hollow veins. Blood cells formed but did not move. For that to happen, the heart would have to beat. And for the heart to beat, the body would have to live.
Single molecules were pulled seemingly from nowhere, and found their correct positions and linked together to form cells which formed systems which formed whole organs. As a pair of lungs unfolded and settled into the concavity of the dead man's chest, the crow felt the air being sucked out of its own, and the aching buzzing pain of the magic knotted it to the ground. For now, movement was impossible. No matter how much it hurt, the crow would not be able to flee what had begun.
Finally, a face was formed from the living dead tissue surrounding the skull. Lips, eyes, cheeks, nose; cells busily gathering and clustering and dividing at a dizzying rate the crow sensed if not understood. Fingernails and toenails developed and hardened, and hair began to grow once more on the pale bare skin. Even though this marked the conclusion of the second phase, the crow did not dare to relax. Mistakes could be made every step of the way.
A rumble from the sky. Anxiously, it looked up, anticipating some unexpected intervention from whatever immensity waited beyond the horizon. But it was a perfectly natural sign, announcing the coming of yet another storm. Oh well, that added to the dramatic atmosphere of the proceedings, if nothing else.
At last, the second phase of the mysterious ritual was complete. Whosoever lay beneath this earth was now a completed form. This final stage was the one the crow truly dreaded. The highest chance of things going wrong, the greatest amount of strength and energy expended. It waited and rested for a few precious moments, re-gathering its thoughts and power, scratching at the soil more out of habit than necessity. It waited until it was told the time had come.
NOW!!!
Spreading its wings with all the strength it could muster, the crow threw its head back and cawed to the sky. The pain hit it like lightning, and like a lightning rod, the crow directed this force down through its body and into the ground beneath. For a moment the earth grew searing hot to the touch and once again the crow fought the urge to use the wings it was born with to escape. But that moment passed, and the earth was as cold as it had been to begin with.
But something else was no longer cold.
The roar in the crow's ears faded, and the pain abated. After assuring itself that the ritual was over and everything was as it should be, the crow hopped a couple of paces and bent down, placing its tiny ear to the ground.
The heartbeat had begun.
He was back.
Then there was darkness . . .
Darkness. All of a sudden, it seemed very dark.
Why did I not notice that before . . . ? And what is that sound . . . ?
Muffled, a rushing hollow sound, that seemed very far away. The more he listened, the more it made sense. It was still a rush, but there was a distinct rhythm to it. He felt connected to it in some way he could not explain.
that's your heart boy
What was that I just heard? He had understood the message with crystal clarity, but it had seemed not to travel through his ears rather than through some more essential channel he could not identify. Whether the voice was male or female he did not know, but it had spoken to him and it meant him no harm. Where had it come from?
it was me and i am above where you need to be
And where am I now?
Up in the dead apple tree, the crow cocked its head. The man below had heard his message and was slowly computing it, analysing it for meaning. That was well and good – at least it demonstrated that he was in full possession of all his faculties – but speed was a problem. When the final traces of magic dissipated, there would be nothing more sustaining him beneath the earth, and he would have to break free fast.
trust me listen to me you have to move quickly now reach up boy reach up up up up
Up . . .
He understood the concept of "up", and he understood that the voice wanted him to hurry. But this place was too dark, too quiet, and the only thing he could hear apart from the voice was that confused, muffled drumbeat. Oh yes, that was his own heart, wasn't it? Heart . . . I seem to remember someone talking about hearts. Who . . . ? All of a sudden he thought of another voice, definitely human, definitely young and male, explaining excitedly about the heart, how it shrivelled and hardened if you ate too much salt, or was it butter? He heard the voice swearing by God that it would never touch that substance again, whichever it was, and urging everybody to do the same. I knew that voice . . . I'm sure I knew its owner . . .
The first voice cut through his thoughts, sharp and urgent now.
don't think about that now boy think about getting out i told you to reach up come now boy do what i say
All right . . . There seemed no reason not to try. Obediently, obeying both the voice and his own instincts, the man tried to reach up. And could not.
Some mysterious weight trapped his arms by his sides, offering no release and no purchase. Cautiously he tried to move one of his feet. That didn't work either.
Oh no . . .
This was starting to make more sense. He heard his heart begin to beat faster, and felt some strange pain building behind his eyes, between his ears. Whatever it was, it was pressing down on him on all sides and it was cold.
don't boy don't panic just listen to me and everything will be fine
That calm voice again. But how could it be calm? How could it tell him not to panic when he was in the dark and weighed down by an enormous pressure and a substance he did not understand?
WHAT'S HAPPENING TO ME???
The boy had started to panic. The crow suppressed an inward sigh, and peered down urgently. Sometimes it was possible to keep them calm, and they were able to reach up through the earth as easily as if they were merely swimming to the surface of a lake. Obviously this was not one of those cases. Obviously the man was now aware that he was trapped by a natural force.
The crow did not envy the boy his position. But it would have to work fast now, and hope that the boy was calm enough to listen to him.
can you still hear me boy
Then it felt something hit its back. Jumping slightly, the crow watched as more heavy raindrops fell to the ground, then more and more. Oh, wonderful. The clouds had broken yet again. However, this could possibly have its advantages – it made the earth softer, at least.
OH DEAR GOD, WHAT'S THAT????
A new sound, a terrifying sound, completely different to the sound of its heart. It sounded something like a million hearts pumping at once, but there was no rhythm and it seemed to be coming from everywhere, making his entire body tremble.
that is the rain boy and it is good but don't worry about that just listen to me
The man tried, he honestly did. But all of a sudden he was burning all over, burning and trembling, and the tightness in his chest was becoming unbearable. Whatever was happening, he wanted it to stop right now.
Like a man possessed, he began to fight the weight which pinned him down, struggling and churning through the heavy substance he did not understand, not even caring that it was dark and he could see nothing. But despite his struggles, the effort seemed futile, this mass refused to budge. Nonetheless, something in the Voice told him not to give up and he obeyed, continuing to struggle, fight his way towards that abstract idea which was "up".
Trembling with exertion and adrenaline, the crow felt the earth rumble and move beneath its feet. First trying to scrabble for a firm grip on the ground, it then gave up and flapped back to its former branch in the stunted apple tree. There it remained, watching the ground in one particular spot shake about, and listening to a heartbeat and a rasping breath that only it could hear.
come on boy come on come on you can do it i'm right here you can do it
This was one of the most perilous moments of the old, old journey. If the man was not able to make it out of the earth he had been buried in, then he would slip quietly back into death, the power would be wasted, and he and his friend would be as far away from help as ever before.
I hear you, Voice. I hear you but this is so, so hard . . .
For a terrible moment, the man considered giving up. He had forgotten what it was like before he became aware it was dark, and wondered what it would be like to stop struggling and just lie there and relax, and let this dark mass embrace him. A tempting idea. Tempting as a bottle of . . . A bottle of what? What am I thinking about? "Bottle" . . . I remember bottles, receptacles of glass that contain . . . actually I don't remember what, but I am pretty sure it's something good . . .
Now this was taking much too long. The crow shuffled about nervously, eyeing the ground, waiting for the man to break through. It wasn't going to happen. He'd need some extra help.
AAAAARRRRGGGHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!
The man flailed in a panic, fighting the surge of unknown and terrifying strength which was forcing him upwards, pushing him through a barrier that seemed it would brook no puny mortal opposition. Something thick and vile filled his mouth. It was cold and solid, and it hurt. When he tried to spit it out, it only let more in.
can you hear me boy
The voice crackled through his mind.
i'm right here the voice you hear that's me listen to it don't pay attention to anything else do you hear me
Yes, for heaven's sake, don't suddenly realise that you are clawing your way out of a pit dug six feet deep, shoving the bones of those you loved out of your way as you force your way upwards towards a world that you won't want to see and won't want to see you.
WHAT IS HAPPENING?????
focus boy focus focus focus
"I'm trying!"
Words! He'd tried to form words! The crow allowed itself a little ruffle of triumph, this was the ultimate sign that the magic had worked. Squinting through the rain which was now hammering remorselessly down from the sky, the crow kept its dark eyes fixed on that precious piece of earth, watched it shudder about.
There it was! A hand burst out of the earth, amongst the clumps of green grass, fingers coiled and writhing about as it grasped at anything solid. The force the crow had summoned would continue to push the boy upwards until at least his head had surfaced and he could finally breath, but then he would have to finish the job himself.
The hand looked like a strange spider twisting about on the ground, frantically scrabbling. More flesh appeared, pale against the dark ground and green grass . . . a wrist . . . an arm . . . then the other hand appeared . . . oh, now this was going faster, this was better.
you're alright boy nearly there now nearly there
Nearly where?
The man had finally stopped resisting the force pushing him upwards, towards the Voice, but the pressure pinning him from above was hard to fight. One arm reached up above the other, and as soon as it had broken through into emptiness he sensed it. Whatever was above was different. He could feel tiny shards of something falling on his hand, making everything slippery and hard to grip. Rain, of course. I remember rain. I remember looking out a window and watching it fall. I remember –
actually i don't want you to remember right now i want you to concentrate on getting up out here
I'll try . . .
Ah, and here he was. A human head had burst from the ground. Male, the bird understood, and fairly young. The rain had caused his hair to fall slick across his eyes and shrouded his features. But the man threw back his head and opened his mouth and was drinking in precious oxygen. Again with the good signs.
welcome back boy
But this wasn't going to be a cheerful welcome at all.
As soon as his head had broken free, that nameless force pushing upwards abated, just as quickly as it had begun. Something was hammering down into his face, into his eyes – That's rain. I remember now – all right, the rain was hammering into his eyes. That tremendous pressure in his chest had suddenly alleviated and he wondered why that was, until he realised that his mouth was open and he was sucking in . . . Air. That's the word for it. He needed air to live, and he was breathing it and all of a sudden the pressure was gone. Perhaps everything was going to be all right after all.
welcome back boy
That was the Voice. He looked about for its source – yes, sight had returned to him now. The darkness was gone, and even though there was rain he could see. A tree, and a great black bird sitting in the branches looking straight back down at him. That's a crow, isn't it?
yes it's a crow it's me this isn't over yet boy now you have to get out
Now that he could breathe – breathe! What a good word that was – the idea did not seem so impossible. Using his newly-liberated arms, he pressed down against the grass, and slowly and painfully levered himself out of . . . whatever it was. He knew there was grass and dirt which was fast turning into mud, but he still didn't understand what any of it meant. But that didn't matter, all he needed to do was get out.
Actually, this was harder than he had expected. He felt his arms ache and tremble against his weight, and it took many attempts before he was able to slither out of that dark horrible place and stretch out on the cool wet grass, feeling the rain pound down on him, cool and distant, but refreshing too.
God, I'm tired . . .
"Tired", another familiar concept.
I think I'll just . . .
And then nothing once more.
Curling up upon the earth which had just spat him out, the man slipped into sleep. Human sleep, good natural human sleep, aeons shallower than the unconsciousness in which his body had been submerged for the past five years. But what is five years to the dead?
It was raining hard, but the man slept on regardless. The crow hunched its shoulders, letting the droplets slide smoothly off its glossy feathers, and watched him. Let the boy sleep now. He deserves it after his exertions. It watched as the rain turned the soil to mud on the man's skin, and then slipped off him in thin brown rivulets. A pitiful thing, really, the human form. So fragile and vulnerable.
The crow waited.