July 30, 1943

On July 30, 1943, Jud Crandall, then a young railroad worker, joined postmaster George Anderson, second selectman Hannibal Benson, and fire chief Alan Purinton in a grim delegation to the Baterman house. The town had been in turmoil for days: Timmy Baterman, a local boy killed in Italy and buried with full military honors, had been seen walking the Pedersen Road, and the War Department had begun to receive anonymous letters about the walking corpse. The four men went to confront Bill Baterman, knowing that he had taken his son's body to the Micmac burying ground beyond the Pet Sematary.

The Confrontation

When they arrived, Bill Baterman sat on his back stoop drinking beer, while Timmy stood at the back of the yard staring at the setting sun. Jud later recalled that Bill looked damned—his eyes had sunk into their sockets, his mouth twitched, and he had lost forty pounds. Timmy's face was orange in the red light, as if he had been flayed alive. When the men tried to reason with Bill, he insisted his son was merely shell-shocked and would come around. Timmy then walked over to them, moving like an old, old man, his hands dangling, and the stench of the grave emanating from him.

The Revelation of Secrets

Timmy began to speak in a low, gravelly voice, revealing the darkest secrets of each man present. He told Alan Purinton that his wife was having an affair with a man from the drugstore. He told George Anderson that his grandson was only waiting for him to die to inherit his money, mocking him as "Old wooden-leg." He spoke of Hannibal Benson's misappropriation of town funds, and he revealed Jud's visits to a Bangor whorehouse—a secret Jud had kept from Norma for decades. The men were horrified, not only by the accuracy of the accusations but by the malice with which they were delivered. Timmy's voice changed, becoming mean and raving, and he laughed and screeched as the men fled the property.

The Aftermath

Two nights later, the Baterman house burned to the ground. Bill Baterman had shot Timmy twice in the chest with an old Colt pistol, laid him on the bed, doused the house with range oil, and then sat down in his easy chair, lit a match, and shot himself. The county medical examiner determined that Timmy Baterman had been dead for two or three weeks before the fire. Jud carried the memory of that night for the rest of his life, and when he later told Louis Creed the story, he emphasized that the resurrected thing had known only the bad in people—it had no interest in their goodness. The event became the definitive warning against using the Micmac burying ground for human resurrection, a warning that Louis ultimately failed to heed.