Sanford woman hiking a Castle County section of the Appalachian Trail with her two children has reported her daughter, nine-year-old Patricia McFarland, missing and presumably lost in the woods west of TR-90 and the town of Morton."
Trisha's eyes flew wide open and she listened for the next ten minutes to her radio, she was lost in the woods. It was official.
From town girl to cave girl in one easy step.
She was afraid of the dark even when she was at home in her room, she thought that if she had to spend the night out There, she would die of terror.
Part of her wanted to run. She had been following this stream for miles now, run and find people before it got dark.
Now, however, praying was hard. Neither of her parents were churchgoers-her Mom was a lapsed Catholic, and her Dad believed in the Subaudible.
A subaudible tone is audible; however, it is usually at a low level that is not noticeable to the average listener at normal volumes. It is a form of in-band signaling. That sound is always there.
Some kind of insensate force for the good: "The Subaudible."
She cried harder than she had since first realizing for sure that she was lost, but this time she cried in relief. She was lost but would be found. She was sure of it. Tom Gordon had gotten the save and so would she.
Trisha opened the door to her favorite fantasy. She took off her Red Sox cap and looked at the signature written across the brim in broad black felt-tip strokes; this helped get her in the mood. It was Tom Gordon's signature
Tom Gordon was Trisha's and her Dad's favorite Red Sox player. Her Dad admired Gordon because he never seemed to lose his nerve.
And if Tom Gordon got the save, she would get the save.
But a feeling of despair touched her heart. The world had teeth and it could bite you with them anytime it wanted. Trisha McFarland discovered this when she was nine years old. At ten o'clock on a morning in early June she was sitting in the back seat of her mother's Dodge Caravan, wearing her blue Red Sox batting practice jersey (the one with 36 GORDON on the back) and playing with Mona, her doll. At ten thirty she was lost in the woods. By eleven she was trying not to be terrified, trying not to let herself think, This is serious, this is very serious. Trying not to think that sometimes when people got lost in the woods they got seriously hurt. Sometimes they died.
All because I needed to pee, she thought ... except she hadn't needed to pee all that badly, and in any case she could have asked Mom and Pete to wait up the trail a minute while she went behind a tree. She needed a breather, simple as that. She was tired of listening to them argue, tired of trying to sound bright and cheerful, close to screaming at her mother, Let him go, then! If he wants to go back to Malden and live with Dad so much, why don't you just let him?
Even more, she wanted her father. Her father would be able to get her out of here, would take her by the hand and lead her out of here. And if she got tired of walking he would carry her. He had big muscles.
Her heart was thumping hard in her chest and her mind was screaming at her to stop this, to not be such a fool.
The woods were full of everything you didn't like, everything you were afraid of and instinctively loathed, everything that tried to overwhelm you with nasty, no-brain panic.
Why had she ever agreed to come? Not only agreed but agreed cheerfully?
Well, she had learned something today. She had learned to stay on the path. On the path you were safe.
Trisha backed toward the sound of the stream, expecting to see it in the woods, the God of the Lost.
Three priests appeared to her .
She might have dreamed them, or hallucinated them, but she wasn't hallucinating the deer guts or the claw-marks on the alder. She wasn't hallucinating the feel of those eyes, either.
You may never get out of these woods.
"Shut up, shut up, shut up," she hissed,
The one in the black robe had been horrible. Also, there was the fawn. Once the flies did arrive in force, she would hear them buzzing.
It has been watching you, Yes, and was watching again right now. She could feel eyes crawling on her skin.
Help me, I'm lost! Help me, I'm lost!" Now the tears began to come and she could no longer hold them back.
Her voice trembled, became first the wavery voice of a little kid and then almost the shriek of a baby who lies forgotten in her pram, and that sound frightened her more than anything else so far on this awful morning, the only human sound in the woods her weepy, shrieking voice calling for help, calling for help because she was lost.
The bugs were everywhere, crawling and whining and buzzing, trying to drink her blood and sip her sweat. The bugs were driving her crazy. Walk or stay where she was? She didn't know which would be best; she was now too frightened for anything much like rational thought.
She felt headachy and a little whoopsy in her stomach.
Mom would be frightened. The thought of her fright made Trisha feel guilty as well as afraid.
She alternately called and listened, listened and called.
What now? Did she know anything at all about being lost in the woods?
Maybe the best thing would be just to sit here, and wait for someone to come …
I am a great fan of Stephen King and I love him very much and also this time he didn’t disappoint me.
This novel flows like a stream, the stream that Trisha follows.
That stream we don’t know where it will lead her.
We come back to our childhood because we live our ancestral fears a second time.
If you really want to face your journey in order to discover your fears, you need to be responsible of your actions. And Trisha is. During her walking through the woods, she meets all her fears and she deals with them.
No one can do this at her place. And no one can do this at our place as before or after they will always come in front of us.
Every time your fear becomes your biggest obstacle, you feel overwhelmed from something that you can’t explain, from something that distracts yourself and that makes you panic. You become nervous and confused.
In that moment you wouldn’t want to be where you are. Your breath becomes labored and you aren’t able anymore to keep your attention alive, you look around in a frenetic way looking for a solution outside yourself.
In other words you are not present.
Those images distract you and capture your attention.
You feel the absurdity of this situation and you need to find a solution.
You know this. And Trisha knows this too.
Not his best book, but not bad. Non-US readers surely suffer through the continuous parallel with a baseball game and the continuous references to it.
King's recurrent themes are almost all there, combining in another of his quasi-investigative permutations on his matters.
His style is surely awesome here too....Continua
un grande Stephen King (tra romanzi suoi e romanzi consigliati da lui sto vivendo una stagione di narrativa pura). Delizioso romanzo sul coraggio, fatto per essere amato, perché la protagonista è appunto una bambina: ai ragazzini siamo più abituati, in narrativa. E romanzo sul baseball, l'unica religione simpatica degli americani....Continua
Due soli protagonisti: una bambina di nove anni e il bosco in cui si perde. Gli unici dialoghi esistenti sono quelli immaginari della bambina con la sua voce interiore e con il suo mito: il lanciatore dei Red Sox Tom Flash Gordon. La trama è tutta qui: un lungo camminare con Trisha nell'intricata foresta in cui si è persa, nel percorso che sceglie di seguire per tentare di salvarsi, nelle sue elucubrazioni mentali, nelle sue paure. Normalmente starei lontana da una trama così, invece non ci si stacca. Per una volta anche senza paura e senza i sogni demoniaci che ho fatto dopo aver letto Carrie....Continua