The house looked right, felt right to Dr Louis Creed. Rambling, old, unsmart and comfortable. A place where the family could settle; the children grow and play and explore.
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 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.
‘King can make the flesh creep half a world away’ – The Times
‘So beautifully paced that you cannot help but be pulled in’ – Guardian
‘The most frightening novel Stephen King has ever written’ – Publisher’s Weekly
‘Wild, powerful, disturbing’ – Washington Post Book Review