Sad ghostie.
I feel like going to an actual haunted house.
And spend the night. And get scared out of my frickin' gourd.
Just one of those moods.
I was about 8 or 9 when I was introduced to Stephen King. A copy of Night Shift was on a neighbour's sofa and the cover intrigued me: a bandaged hand with eyes peering from every finger. I decided to pick it up and started reading. I liked several stories, but one particular story sticks with me even to this day - the story of Lester Billings and the mystery of his three children's untimely deaths. Each death followed by a closet door slightly ajar... I still can't stand to have doors that are just slightly ajar. And I still don't like dangling my feet over the edge of the bed. Mr. King, I salute you! You did your job well! 30 years of nightmares! and I love each and every one of 'em!
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