The Bazaar of Bad Dreams: Stories
Stephen King
Language: English
Pages: 704
ISBN: 150112787X
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
Now in a mass-market paperback premium edition—the instant #1 New York Times bestseller! Stephen King delivers an “outstanding” (USA TODAY) collection of stories, featuring revelatory autobiographical comments on when, why, and how he came to write (or rewrite) each story.
“I’ve made some things for you, Constant Reader. …Feel free to examine them, but please be careful. The best of them have teeth.”
Since Nightshift, published thirty-five years ago, Stephen King has dazzled an entire generation of readers with his genius as a prominent writer of short fiction. Now in his latest collection, he once again assembles a generous array of unforgettable, tantalizing tales—including those that, until recently, have never been published in a book (such as the story “Cookie Jar,” which is exclusive to this edition). There are thrilling connections between these works—themes of mortality, the afterlife, guilt, and what we would do differently if we could see into the future or correct the mistakes of the past. Magnificent, eerie, and utterly compelling, The Bazaar of Bad Dreams is one of Stephen King’s finest gifts to readers everywhere—a master storyteller at his very best.
doesn’t work, you’re right about that, and it’s got to, because it’ll be the basis of the TV and ’Net ads. So play with it. Make it work. Just remember the key word . . .” Suddenly, just like that, I know where the rest of that damn dream came from. It snaps into place. “Brad?” “The key word is hard,” I say. “Because a man . . . when something’s not working—his prick, his plan, his life—he takes it hard. He doesn’t want to give up. He remembers how it was, and he wants it that way again.”
us chickens, did you do anything to Anderson? Tell me the truth.” “No.” Not a bit of hesitation. “I didn’t do anything to Anderson. That’s the truth.” “Okay,” Joe said, and stood up. “Always nice to shoot the shit after a game, but I think I’ll go on home and fuck my wife on the sofa. Winning on Opening Day always makes my pecker stand up.” He clapped our new catcher on the shoulder. “Kid, you played the game the way it’s supposed to be played. Good for you.” He left. The kid cinched his towel
got it done.” The Doo was the first one to grab him in the dugout and danced him right into the bat rack. Helped him pick up the spilled lumber, too, which was nothing like Danny Dusen, who usually thought he was above such things. After beating Boston twice and pissing off Pinky Higgins, we went down to Washington and won three straight. The kid hit safe in all three, including his second home run, but Griffith Stadium was a depressing place to play, brother; you could have machine-gunned a
don’t you think, ‘Oh, now I have to deal with this lazy slug of a thing again’? Haven’t you—who once fell from a tree and broke your arm, for the Lord’s sake—become more and more disgusted when they beg to be put back into bed and be given more morphine or whatever?” “That’s so unfair,” Kat said . . . but now her voice was little more than a whisper. “Once upon a time, when you were new at this, you knew agony when you saw it,” Rideout said. “Once upon a time you would have believed in what you
straight-ahead traffic are red, but the one handling traffic in the left-turn lane is showing a green arrow. “That gal had tits like pillows. She was the best loving I ever had.” Yes, they hurt you. Sanderson knows this not just from his own experience but from talking to others who have relatives in the Manor. Mostly they don’t mean to, but they do. What memories remain to them are all in a jumble—like the pilfered puzzle pieces José found in the cigar box under Pop’s bed—and there’s no