Cycle of the Werewolf

VIP免费

2024-12-23 0 0 1.88MB 82 页 5.9玖币

侵权投诉

CYCLE OF THE

__WEREWOLF__

___STEPHEN KING___

ILLUSTRATIONS BY

BERNI WRIGHTSON

NEW AMERICAN LIBRARY

1985

In memory of Davis Grubb,

And all the voices

Of Glory.

In the stinking darkness under the barn, he raised his shaggy

head. His yellow, stupid eyes gleamed. “I hunger,” he whis-

pered.

Henry Ellender

The Wolf

“Thirty days hath September

April, June, and November,

All the rest but the Second have thirty-one,

Rain and snow and jolly sun,

And the moon grows fat in every one.”

Child’s rime

JANUARY

FEBRUARY

MARCH

APRIL

MAY

JUNE

JULY

AUGUST

SEPTEMBER

OCTOBER

NOVEMBER

DECEMBER

Somewhere, high above, the moon shines down, fat and full-but

here, in Tarker's Mills, a January blizzard has choked the sky with

snow. The wind rams full force down a deserted Center Avenue;

the orange town plows have given up long since.

Arnie Westrum, flagman on the GS&WM Railroad, has been

caught in the small tool-and-signal shack nine miles out of town;

with his small, gasoline-powered rail-rider blocked by drifts, he is

waiting out the storm there, playing Last Man Out solitaire with a

pack of greasy Bicycle cards. Outside the wind rises to a shrill

scream. Westrum raises his head uneasily, and then looks back

down at his game again. It is only the wind, after all...

But the wind doesn't scratch at doors ... and whine to be let in.

He gets up, a tall, lanky man in a wool jacket and railroad

coveralls, a Camel cigarette jutting from one comer of his mouth,

his seamed New England face lit in soft orange tones by the

kerosene lantern which hangs on the wall.

The scratching comes again. Someone's dog, he thinks, lost and

wanting to be let in. That's all it is ... but still, he pauses. It would

be inhuman to leave it out there in the cold, he thinks (not that it

is much warmer in here; in spite of the batterypowered heater, he

can see the cold cloud of his breath)-but still he hesitates. A cold

finger of fear is probing just below his heart. This has been a bad

season in Tarker's Mills; there have been omens of evil on the

land. Arnie has his father's Welsh blood strong in his veins, and

he doesn't like the feel of things.

Before he can decide what to do about his visitor, the lowpitched

whining rises to a snarl. There is a thud as something incredibly

heavy hits the door ... draws back ... hits again. The door trembles

in its frame, and a puff of snow billows in from the top.

Arnie Westrum stares around, looking for something to shore it

up with, but before he can do more than reach for the flimsy chair

he has been sitting in, the snarling thing strikes the door again

with incredible force, splintering it from top to bottom.

It holds for a moment longer, bowed in on a vertical line, and

lodged in it, kicking and lunging, its snout wrinkled back in a

snarl, its yellow eyes blazing, is the biggest wolf Arnie has ever

seen ...

And its snarls sound terribly like human words.

The door splinters, groans, gives. In a moment the thing will be

inside.

In the corner, amongst a welter of tools, a pick leans against the

wall. Arnie lunges for it and seizes it as the wolf thrusts its way

inside and crouches, its yellow eyes gleaming at the cornered

man. Its ears are flattened back, furry triangles. Its tongue lolls.

Behind it, snow gusts in through a door that has been shattered

down the center.

It springs with a snarl, and Arnie Westrum swings the pick.

Once.

Outside, the feeble lamplight shines raggedly on the snow

through the splintered door.

The wind whoops and howls.

The screams begin.

Something inhuman has come to Tarker's Mills, as unseen as the

full moon riding the night sky high above. It is the Werewolf, and

there is no more reason for its coming now than there would be

for the arrival of cancer, or a psychotic with murder on his mind,

or a killer tornado. Its time is now, its place is here, in this little

Maine town where baked bean church suppers are a weekly event,

where small boys and girls still bring apples to their teachers,

where the Nature Outings of the Senior Citizens' Club are

religiously reported in the weekly paper. Next week there will be

news of a darker variety.

Outside, its tracks begin to fill up with snow, and the shriek of the

wind seems savage with pleasure. There is nothing of God or

Light in that heartless sound-it is all black winter and dark ice.

The cycle of the Werewolf has begun.

JANUARY

FEBRUARY

MARCH

APRIL

MAY

JUNE

JULY

AUGUST

SEPTEMBER

OCTOBER

NOVEMBER

DECEMBER

文档加载中……请稍候！
如果长时间未打开，您也可以点击刷新试试。

下载文档到电脑，查找使用更方便

5.9 玖币 0人已下载

立即下载 VIP免费下载

摘要：

CYCLEOFTHE__WEREWOLF__BY___STEPHENKING___ILLUSTRATIONSBYBERNIWRIGHTSONNEWAMERICANLIBRARY1985InmemoryofDavisGrubb,AndallthevoicesOfGlory.Inthestinkingdarknessunderthebarn,heraisedhisshaggyhead.Hisyellow,stupideyesgleamed.“Ihunger,”hewhis-pered.HenryEllenderTheWolf“ThirtydayshathSeptemberApril,June,an...

展开>> 收起<<

Cycle of the Werewolf.pdf

共82页,预览17页

还剩页未读，继续阅读

声明：本站为文档C2C交易模式，即用户上传的文档直接被用户下载，本站只是中间服务平台，本站所有文档下载所得的收益归上传人(含作者)所有。玖贝云文库仅提供信息存储空间，仅对用户上传内容的表现方式做保护处理，对上载内容本身不做任何修改或编辑。若文档所含内容侵犯了您的版权或隐私，请立即通知玖贝云文库，我们立即给予删除！

Cycle of the Werewolf

相关推荐

开通VIP享超值会员特权

作者详情

相关内容

热门标签

举报选择: