Louis Sets Fire to Jud's House

After the final, brutal confrontation in Jud Crandall's upstairs hallway, Louis Creed found himself in a house that had become a charnel house. His wife Rachel lay dead, stabbed repeatedly with his own scalpel by the thing that had once been his son, Gage. Jud Crandall, his friend and neighbor, lay dead in his own kitchen, covered by a Thanksgiving tablecloth that now bloomed with dark red stains. The horror was complete, and Louis, his sanity shattered, moved through the aftermath with a cold, methodical purpose. He had to erase this place, to burn away the evidence of what the Micmac burying ground had done.

The Arson

Louis went to Jud's garage and found a five-gallon can of gasoline, the kind kept for the Lawnboy mower. It was more than enough. He began in the kitchen, where Jud's body lay under the white tablecloth. He drenched the old man's remains and the surrounding floor, the amber fuel spreading across the worn linoleum. He then moved through the living room, spraying gasoline over the rug, the sofa, the magazine rack, and the chairs where Jud had kept his fruitless watch. The smell of gas grew strong and rich, filling the house with the promise of annihilation. He continued into the downstairs hall and toward the back bedroom, ensuring the fire would have no escape. On his way out, he found Jud's matches, still sitting by the chair where the old man had waited for him. At the front door, he tossed a lighted match back over his shoulder. The blast of heat was immediate and savage, making the skin on his neck feel too small. He shut the door neatly and stood on the porch for a moment, watching the orange flickers appear behind Norma's curtains. He remembered the beers he and Jud had shared here a million years ago, listening to the soft, gathering roar of the fire within the house. Then he stepped out, leaving the Crandall house to burn.

The Aftermath and the Police

The fire drew a crowd. Steve Masterton, who had come to check on Louis, saw the smoke and arrived to find the house engulfed. The fire department was called, but the house was a total loss. Later that afternoon, the police came to question Louis. They asked questions but voiced no suspicions; the ashes were still too hot to rake. Louis answered them, and they seemed satisfied. He wore a hat to hide his hair, which had turned white from the shock, and gardening gloves to conceal his bloody, ruined hands. The police left, and Louis was alone. He played solitaire that night until long after midnight, waiting. He was just dealing a fresh hand when he heard the back door open. He did not turn around as the slow, gritting footsteps approached. A cold hand fell on his shoulder, and Rachel's voice, grating and full of dirt, said, "Darling."