The girl who loved Tom Gordon by Stephen King

Author:Stephen King
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Divorce & Separation, Appalachian Trail, Psychological fiction, Children of divorced parents - Fiction, Fiction - Horror, Fiction, Determination (Personality trait) in children, Modern fiction, Horror, Stephen - Prose & Criticism, Pitchers (Baseball), Horror & Ghost Stories, Adventure, Thriller, King, Missing children, Appalachian Region, Family & Relationships, Horror - General, Adventure stories, Pitchers (Baseball) - Fiction, Thrillers, Children of divorced parents, General, Psychological, Suspense, Appalachian Trail - Fiction, Imagination in children, Mountain life, Horror tales - gsafd
ISBN: 9780684867625
Publisher: Simon and Schuster
Published: 1999-04-05T16:00:00+00:00

The trip to the bottom was short and jolting. Trisha whammed into one jutting rock with her right hip, and another struck her laced-together fingers hard enough to numb them. If she hadn't put her hands over the top of her head, that second rock might have torn open her scalp, she thought later. Or worse. "Don't break your fool neck" was another grownup saying she knew, this one a favorite of Gramma McFarland.

She hit bottom with a bonecrunching thud, and suddenly her sneakers were full of freezing cold water. She pulled them out, turned around, flopped onto her belly, and drank until a spike drove into her forehead the way it sometimes did when she was hot and hungry and gobbled ice cream too fast. Trisha pulled her dripping, mudstreaked face out of the stream's cold boiling course and looked up at the darkening sky, gasping and grinning blissfully. Had she ever tasted water this good? No. Had she ever tasted anything this good? Absolutely not. This was in a class by itself She plunged her face back in and drank again. At last she got up on her knees, uttered a vast watery belch, and then laughed shakily. Her stomach felt swollen, tight as a drum. For the time being, at least, she wasn't even hungry.

The flume was too steep and too slippery to re-climb; she might get halfway or even most of the way up only to slide all the way back to the bottom again. The going looked fairly easy on the other side of the brook, however-steep and tree-covered but not too brushy-and there were plenty of rocks to use as stepping-stones. She could go a little way before it got too dark to see. Why not? Now that she had filled her belly with water she felt strong again, wonderfully strong. And confident. The bog was behind her and she had found another stream. A good stream.

Yes, but what about the special thing? the cold voice asked. Trisha was frightened by that voice all over again. The stuff it said was bad; that she should have discovered such a dark girl hiding inside her was even worse. Did you forget about the special thing?

"If there ever was a special thing," Trisha said, "it's gone now. Back with the deer, maybe."

It was true, or seemed to be true. That sensation of being watched, perhaps stalked, was gone. The cold voice knew it and made no reply. Trisha found she could visualize its owner, a tough little sneery-mouthed tootsie who looked only slightly, coincidentally, like Trisha herself (the resemblance of a second cousin, perhaps). Now she was stalking away with her shoulders held stiffly high and her fists clenched, the very picture of resentment.

"Yeah, go away and stay away," Trisha said. "You don't scare me." And after a pause: "Fuck you!" There it came out of her mouth again, what Pepsi called The Terrible Effword, and Trisha wasn't sorry. She could even imagine saying it to

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