Pet Sematary by Stephen king

Sometimes… dead is better.

The house looks great, feels right to Dr. Louis Creed. Rambling, old and comfortable. A place where the family could settle; the children grow and play and explore. The rolling hills and meadows of Maine seem a world away from the fume-choked dangers of the city.

It’s only those big trucks on the road outside which grow out unnerving threats.

Behind the house there is a carefully cleared path up into the woods to a place where generations of local children have walked in processions with the solemn innocence of the young, taking with them their dear departed pets for burial.

A sad place maybe, but safe. Surely a safe place. Not a place to seep into your dreams, to wake you, sweating with fear and foreboding.