"Laymon, Richard - The Traveling Vampire Show" - читать интересную книгу автора (Laymon Richard)

First, I felt sort of guilty about trying to kill it. Which made no
sense. The damn thing had attacked Slim--it had hurt her and tried to
rip her

apart. For that, it deserved to die. Clearly. Without a doubt. But
all that aside, I felt rotten about jumping off the roof to murder it.
Part of me was glad it had scooted out of the way.

Second, the dog was sure to attack me if I returned to Janks field on
foot. It would try to maul me and I'd try to kill it again.

But I hope the dog wasn't the reason I decided to keep going. I hope
it wasn't for anything selfish like that.

But you never know about these things.

The real whys.

And even if you could somehow sort out the whys and find the truth,
maybe it's better if you don't.

Better to believe what you want to believe.

If you can.

Anyway, I didn't go back. I kept on running up the gloomy dirt road,
huffing, sweating so hard that my jeans were sticking to my legs.

I met no one else. The road, all the way from Janks Fidd to Route 3,
was empty except for me.

When I came to the highway, I stopped running. I needed to catch my
breath and rest a little, but I also didn't want anyone driving by to
get the wrong idea.

Or the right idea.

With Grandville only a couple of miles away, some of the people in cars
going by were sure to recognize me. They might not pay much attention
if I'm simply strolling along the roadside. But if they see me
running, they'll figure something is wrong. They'll either stop to
offer help or tell everyone what they saw.

Golly, Mavis, I was out on Route 3 this morning 'n who should I see but
Frank and Lacy' boy, Dwight, all by himself over near the Janks Field
turnoff, running like he had the Devil itself chasing after him. Seemed
real strange.

Spose he was up to some sorta mischief.)