Pet Sematary. Стівен Кінг

The rolling hills and meadows of Maine seemed a world away from the fume-choked dangers of Chicago. Only the occasional big truck out on the two-lane highway, grinding up through the gears, hammering down the long gradients, growled out an intrusive threat. But behind the house and far away from the road: that was safe.   Just a carefully cleared path up into the woods where generations of local children have processed with the solemn innocence of the young, taking with them their dear de