The book. Read it.

I was introduced to Stephen King at 10 years old, by way of an old dusty copy of Salem’s Lot that I had found in my grandfather’s basement. Having been purchased nearly 20 years prior, it was in fairly bad shape but readable none the less, albeit a little yellowed and wrinkled. I took it upstairs and asked my mom where it came from, and she had told me that someone had bought it for her but she hadn’t been able to finish it. She was never a fan of anything scary; even to this day she closes her eyes at scary movie previews. She told me to see what I thought. That night I started reading, in the dark with a little light on overhead, and what followed was one of the most frightening reading experiences I’ve ever had.

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