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he might not be dead at all。
Four days following the interment； an elderly woman named Mrs。 Soames … Mrs。 Rainage knew her slightly … had observed something white lying on the ground of the Congregational church's cemetery as she entered it to put flowers on the grave of her husband； who had died the previous winter。 It was much too big to be a flower petal； and she thought it might be a dead bird of some sort。 As she approached she became more and more sure that the white object was not just lying on the ground； but protruding from it。 She came two or three hesitant steps closer yet； and observed a hand reaching from the earth of a fresh grave； the fingers frozen in a hideous gesture of supplication。 Blood…streaked bones protruded from the ends of all the digits save the thumb。
Mrs。 Soames ran shrieking from the cemetery； ran all the way into Storping's high street … a run of nearly a mile and a quarter … and reported her news to the barber； who was also the local constable。 Then she had collapsed in a dead faint。 She took to her bed later that afternoon and did not arise from it for nearly a month。 Nor did anyone in the village blame her in the least。
The body of the unfortunate Miss Evelyn…Hyde had been exhumed； of course； and as Geoffrey Alliburton drew Mary to a halt in front of the gate leading into Little Dunthorpe's C of E churchyard； Mrs。 Ramage found herself wishing fervently that she had not listened to the tales of the exhumation。 They had been dreadful。
Dr。 Billford； shaken to within an inch of sanity himself； diagnosed catalepsy。 The poor woman had apparently fallen into some sort of deathlike trance； much like the sort those Indian fakirs could voluntarily induce in themselves before allowing themselves to be buried alive or to have needles passed through their flesh。 She had remained in this trance for perhaps forty…eight hours； perhaps sixty。 Long enough； at any rate； to have awakened not to find herself on her back lawn where she had been picking flowers； but buried alive in her own coffin。
She had fought grimly for her life； that girl； and Mrs。 Ramage found now； following Geoffrey through the gates and into a thin mist that turned the leaning grave markers into islands； that what should have redeemed with nobility only made it seem all the more horrid。
The girl had been engaged to be married。 In her left hand … not the one frozen above the soil like the hand of a drowned woman … had been her diamond engagement ring。 With it she had slit the satin lining of her coffin and over God knew how many hours she had used it to claw away at the coffin's wooden lid。 In the end； air running out； she had apparently used the ring with her left hand to cut and excavate and her right hand to dig。 It had not been quite enough。 Her plexion had been a deep purple from which her blood…rimmed eyes stared in a bulging expression of terminal horror。
The clock in the church tower began to chime the hour of twelve … the hour when； her mother had told her； the door between life and death sways open a bit and the dead may pass both ways … and it was all Mrs。 Ramage could do to keep herself from shrieking and fleeing in a panic which would not abate but grow stronger with each step； if she began running； she knew； she would simply run until she fell down insensible。
Stupid； fearful woman！ she berated herself； and then amended that to： Stupid； fearful； selfish woman！ It's My Lord ye want to be thinkin〃 of now； and not yer own fears My Lord 。 。 。 and if there is even one chance that My Lady … Ah； but no … it was madness to even think of such a thing。 It had been too long； too long； too long。
Geoffrey had led her to Misery's tombstone； and the two of them stood looking down at it； as if mesmerized。 LADY CALTHORPE； the stone read。 Other than the dates of her birth and death； the only inscription was： LOVED BY MANY。
She looked at Geoffrey and said； like one awakening from a deep daze： 〃Ye've not brought the tools。〃
〃No … not yet；〃 he responded； and threw himself full…length on the ground and placed his ear against the earth； which had already begun to show the first tender shoots of new grass between the rather carelessly replaced sods。
For a moment the only expression she saw there by the lamp she carried was the one Geoffrey had worn since she had first opened her door to him … a look of agonized dread。 Then a new expression began to surface。 This new expression was one of utter horror mingled with an almost demented hope。
He looked up at Mrs。 Ramage； eyes staring； mouth working。 〃I believe she lives；〃 he whispered strengthlessly。 〃Oh； Mrs。 Ramage … 〃 Suddenly he turned over onto his belly and screamed at the ground … under other circumstances it would have been ic。 〃Misery！ MISERY！ WE'RE HERE！ WE KNOW！ HOLD ON！ HOLD ON； MY DARLING！〃 He was on his feet a moment later； sprinting back toward the pony…trap； where the digging tools were； his slippered feet sending the placid groumdmist into excited little roils。
Mrs。 Ramage's knees unlocked and she buckled forward； near to swooning again。 Of its own accord； seemingly； her head slipped to one side so her right ear was pressed against the ground … she had seen children in similar postures by the railway line； listening for trains。
And she heard it … low； painful scraping sounds in the earth … not the sounds of a burrowing animal； these； these were the sounds of fingers scraping helplessly on wood。
She drew in breath in one great convulsive gulp； re…starting her own heart； it seemed。 She shrieked： 〃WERE ING； MY LADY！ PRAISE GOD AND PLEAD SWEET JESUS WE BE IN TIME … WE'RE ING！〃 She began to pull half healed turves out of the ground with her trembling fingers； and although Geoffrey returned in almost no time； she had by then already clawed a hole some eight inches deep。
7
He was already nine pages into Chapter 7 … Geoffrey and Mrs Ramage had managed to get Misery out of her grave in the barest nick of time only to realize that the woman had no idea at all who they were； or who she herself was … when Annie came into the room。 This time Paul heard her。 He stopped typing； sorry to be out of the dream。
She held the first six chapters at the side of her skirt。 It had taken her less than twenty minutes to read his first stab at it； it had been an hour since she had taken this sheaf of twenty…one pages。 He looked at her steadily； observing with faint interest that Annie Wilkes was a bit pale。
〃Well？〃 he asked。 〃Is it fair？〃
〃Yes；〃 she said absently； as if this was a foregone conclusion … and Paul supposed it was。 〃It's fair。 And it's good。 Exciting。 But it's gruesome； too！ It's not like any of the other Misery books。 That poor woman who scraped the ends of her fingers off … 〃 She shook her head and repeated： 〃It's not； like any of the other Misery books。〃 The man who wrote these pages was in a rather gruesome frame of mind； my dear； Paul thought。
〃Shall I go on？〃 he asked。
〃I'll kill you if you don't！〃 she responded； smiling a little。 Paul didn't smile back。 This ment； which would once have struck him as in a league with such banalities as You look so good I could just eat you up now seemed not banal at all。
Yet something in