In the Tall Grass

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Nothing for a long time—long enough for his heart to abandon his chest and rise into his throat. Then, incredibly distant: “Here! Cal, what should we do? We’re lost!” What?” Faint. Jesus Christ, what was the kid doing? Lighting out for Nebraska? “Are you coming? You have to keep coming! I can’t find you!” Cuando tocas la roca (o la abrazas, da igual), puedes ver. Sabes un montón de cosas más. Pero también te da más hambre. A dog—it looked like it had been a golden retriever—was on its side in the mire. Limp brownish-red fur glittered beneath a shifting mat of bluebottles. Its bloated tongue lolled between its gums, and the cloudy marbles of its eyes strained from its head. The rusting tag of its collar gleamed deep in its fur. Cal looked again at the tongue. It was coated a greenish-white. Cal didn’t want to think why. The dog’s dirty, wet, fly-blown coat looked like a filthy golden carpet tossed on a heap of bones. Some of that fur drifted—little fluffs of it—on the warm breeze. It is a good idea,” she said. “It’s going on for five thirty, and I bet they’re really hungry. Who’s going to stay and set up the barbecue?”

Without giving too much away the story itself is chilling and bloody in equal measure, the tension building to an almost inevitably bloody conclusion that ends on a suitably downbeat note. In The Tall Grass is an engaging and absorbing read that exhibits the best of both its authors, drawing the reader in before delivering a swift blow to the gut that will leave them reeling.No,” Cal said. “I don’t think it is. I’d rather stay lost.” Maybe it was just his imagination, but the buzzing seemed to be getting louder. Another. Another. Each match made a fat little puff of smoke as soon as it touched the wet green. One didn’t even make it into the grass, but was huffed out by the gentle breeze as soon as it was lit. His foot caught on something, and he went down knee-first into an inch of swampy water. Hot water—not lukewarm, hot, as hot as bathwater—splashed up onto the crotch of his shorts, providing him with the sensation of having just pissed himself.

What caused him to rise at last was the faraway sound of a car alarm going off. But not just any car alarm, no. This one didn’t go wah-wah-wah, like most of them; this one went WHEEK-honk, WHEEK-honk, WHEEK-honk. So far as he knew, only old Mazdas wheek-honked like that when they were violated, flashing their headlights in time. Cal was screaming her name from very far away. If he had been in Manitoba before, now he was down a mineshaft in Manitoba. Also included in the eBook edition of the story are the opening chapter of Doctor Sleep, King’s sequel to The Shining and the beginning of Hill’s forthcoming book NOS4R2. The opening of Doctor Sleep features Wendy and Danny Torrance living in Florida three years after the events at the Overlook Hotel. Whilst Wendy is physically disfigured by the explosive end to proceedings, Danny is suffering below the surface. The chapter features the terrifying woman from Room 217 and hints at much larger dangers to come for poor young Danny. The chapter fits almost seamlessly into the narrative from The Shining and almost fits as an epilogue. It is well known that Doctor Sleep will feature an older Danny Torrance and it will be fascinating to see how King builds such a damaged little boy into a fully grown adult. He reached to the side and lifted up a bundle wrapped in someone else’s T-shirt. She saw a little snub of bluish nose protruding from the shroud. No; not a shroud. Shrouds were for dead bodies. It was swaddling. She had delivered a child here, out in the high grass, and hadn’t even needed the shelter of a manger. He took another step forward—he couldn’t help himself—leaning in to see. His palms were raised before him, in a kind of go-no-further gesture, but he could not feel them beginning to blister from whatever was radiating from the stone.

Imagine being a fly on the wall for the father/son conversation such a collaboration requires. There are a few things that happen in the story where I was like: "Okay, whose idea was that?! Fess up!" I guess part of the fun is in trying to guess, and perhaps never knowing. These guys work good together though, and I'm looking forward to many more collaborations (fingers crossed).

Cal said, “Tobin, did you lure us in here? Tell me. I won’t be mad. Your father made you do it, I bet.” She wanted to drive her knee into his balls, but it was all too much effort. The best she could do was lift her foot a few inches and then gently set it down again. Lift the foot and set it down. Lift and set. She seemed to be stamping her heel in slow motion, like a horse ready to be let out of a stall. He had crossed a few dozen feet of the dirt parking lot and then hesitated by what looked like a first-generation Prius. It was filmed with a pale coat of road dust, almost completely obscuring the windshield. Cal hunched slightly, shielded his eyes with one hand, and squinted through the side window at something in the passenger seat. Frowning to himself for a moment, and then flinching, as if from a horsefly. He visualized a river of burning grass, sparks and shreds of toasted weed drifting into the air. It was such a strong mental image, he could close his eyes and almost smell it, the somehow wholesome late-summer reek of burning green. You need to eat,” he said, and put a string of something cold and salty in her mouth. His fingers had blood on them.En la hierba alta, es una historia de horror (creí que era de terror, pero efectivamente es de horror), que produce desde angustia en el inicio, hasta una repulsión tremenda por el desenlace de la misma. Desde el inicio, como lector sabes que los personajes no tienen que meterse en la hierba porque pasará algo horrible, por lo que sentirás esa angustia por evitar descubrir la verdad. Sin embargo, a medida que avanzan las páginas y se va aclarando la situación, ese sentimiento será reemplazado por la intriga de conocer si se van a morir los personajes o si por el contrario saldrán vivos de su percance. Lo mejor sin ninguna duda es el final, del cual obviamente no diré nada al respecto; lo único que mencionaré es que es impactante debido a la crueldad presentada. Ma Cool hadn’t owned a watch in years, but was good at telling time by the sun. She squinted at it now, measuring the distance between the reddening ball and the field of grass, which seemed to stretch to the horizon. I bet all of Kansas looked that way before the people came and spoiled it all, she thought. There was an old farmer from Leeds,” the boy sang, and put his hands to his mouth to stifle his giggles. His fingers were red. At first she didn’t know where she was going. It was hard to think past the pain in her abdomen, which came in waves. Sometimes it was a dull throb, the soreness of overworked muscles; other times it would intensify without warning into a sharp, somehow watery pain that lanced her through the bowels, and burned in her crotch. Her face was hot and feverish and even driving with the windows down didn’t cool her off. Cal, as always, spoke as if he had a direct line to her private thoughts. “Aren’t you the little Mother Mary? Wonder when the wise men will show up! Wonder what gifts they’ll have for us!”

He wanted quiet for a while instead of the radio, so you could say what happened was his fault. She wanted fresh air instead of the AC for a while, so you could say it was hers.” Aquí dentro es más fácil encontrar las cosas cuando están muertas. El prado no mueve por ahí las cosas muertas. —Sus ojos brillaron en la oscuridad y miró el cuervo destrozado que sostenía Cal—. Creo que la mayoría de los pájaros se mantienen alejados de la hierba. Creo que lo saben y se lo cuentan entre ellos. Pero algunos no hacen caso. Los cuervos son los que menos caso hacen, supongo, porque aquí dentro hay bastantes de ellos muertos" Cal’s head jerked around. A little boy in mud-spattered clothes was standing there. His face was pinched and filthy. In one hand he held a dead crow by one yellow leg. The others took it up. Pa looked at Ma in the rearview. When she shrugged and nodded, he pulled FURTHUR into the lot and parked beside a dusty Mazda with New Hampshire license plates.There is no morning or night here, Cal thought, only eternal afternoon. But even as this idea occurred to him, he saw that the blue of the sky was deepening and the squelchy ground beneath his sodden feet was growing dim.