Worms
The book opens by situating worms as a defining image. Eight of the novel’s first ninety words are some variation of the word “worms” with the very opening line setting the stage: “They’re like worms.” The “what” of this question is not answered and won’t become clear for some time, but that’s sort of the whole point. The imagery of worms by itself is enough to create a creepy atmosphere for more than just a few readers and when one adds in the fact that it is made clear the imagery isn’t precisely about worms but rather something that like worms, well, by the end of the first page the magic trick has been pulled off. Not thinking about what might be “like worms” is like being told not to think about a pink elephant. The image has been forcibly inserted into your mind and there is pretty much nothing you can do to get your mind off it.
The Stream
Something viral and infectious has made its way into the water of a stream. The stream is a watering hole for animals and people alike. One is not always impacted just because the other is, of course, but there are certain instances where there is no payoff for giving into the fear of accusations of overreacting:
“The stallion’s eyelids were so swollen you couldn’t see his eyes. His lips, nostrils, and his whole mouth were so puffy he looked like a different animal, a monstrosity. He barely had the strength to whinny in pain, and Omar said his heart was pounding like a locomotive…Whatever the horse had drunk my David had drunk too, and if the horse was dying then David didn’t have a chance.”
Transmigration
David does have a chance, however; just one chance and it is not one which relies upon traditional medicine or the arrival of a doctor who may or may not arrive too late. David’s mother takes him to “the woman in the green house” where David’s physical well-being is preserved, but at the cost of losing his soul and opening an unknown spirit into his poisoned body. In other words, David isn’t quite David anymore:
“Then I heard his footsteps, very soft on the wood. Short and uncertain, so different from how my David walked. They stopped after every four or five steps; hers would stop as well while she waited for him. They were almost to the kitchen. His little hand, dirty now with dry mud or dust, fumbled over the wall as he leaned against it. Our eyes met, but I looked away immediately…He was very flushed, and sweating. His feet were wet; the damp prints he’d left behind him were already starting to dry…So this one is my new David. This monster.”
Burying a Duck
One of the eeriest uses of imagery is put to nothing more menacing than the process of burying the body of a dead duck. Taken out of context, the conversation leading to this example of imagery could sound absolutely comical. Within context, however, the preface leading to the description of the burial carries all the “wrongness” of the twin girls first appearing to Danny Torrance in The Shining.
“I knelt down, because he was looking down and I wanted to see his face, I wanted to understand what was happening, not just with the duck, but with him. His face was red, his eyes swollen from so much crying. He was digging up dirt with his plastic shovel. Its broken handle was lying on the ground to one side, and now he was digging with only the spoon part of the shovel, which was only slightly bigger than his hand. The duck lay to one side. Its eyes were open, and stretched out like that on the ground, its neck seemed longer and more flexible than normal…at no point did David look up.”
