I'm going to admit to something that may cause you to lose any respect you may have had for me (provided you had any to begin with): I love the novels of  Stephen King. Yep. Go ahead. Call me names. Leave the room. Label me an uneducated fool. To quote Pat Benatar - hit me with your best shot. I'm not apologizing. I like a good story, and King story's with the best of them.  For me, he's got the most most addictive imagination since Poe, and last time I checked, people thought he was pretty okay.

I've always been a bit befuddled by the hatred. Is it because he is popular? Is it because he is successful? Is it because he could publish an ink blot, and it would still race to the top of the NY Time Bestsellers List? I honestly don't know. I'm sure there will be plenty of people who will be more than happy to tell me why they think he is a hack who fell ass-backwards into success. Go ahead. Do your best. But be warned: it's not going to change a damned thing. 

Of course, like most writers, some of his books have been hit and miss for me. I find "The Tommyknockers" to be fairly dull, and I have never been able to make it through "The Talisman", his first collaboration with Peter Straub, even though I have several friends who love that one. But, if I have to put up with a misfire like "The Dark Half" in order to get a "Pet Semitary" or "The Dead Zone", so be it. When I was in high school, my parents gave me a copy of "Christine" for Christmas. I plowed through all 500 pages in one sitting, a fact that pissed my dad off to no end. "If he can read that much in one day," he said to my mom, "why the hell is he getting C's in school?" Looking back, that was actually a pretty reasonable question. I guess the best answer is they didn't offer too many zombies and exploding heads in Social Studies.  

My Aunt Linda is the one who introduced me to Maine's scariest son. We were visiting my grandma, and my aunt, who lived with her, had a copy of "Firestarter" on her shelf. I happened to pick it up and just started flipping through. "Oh, that's a good one," she said. "You definitely need to read that." So, I started. I didn't get to finish by the time we were ready to leave, and Linda kindly told me to take it with me. I did, and I was impressed. However, it was the second book of his that hooked me.

I picked up a paperback copy of "The Shining" at the local B. Dalton, that cornerstone of Midwestern malls everywhere. The cover was metallic silver, just the outline of a male head with dark hair. No eyes, no mouth, no face. Just a head. I had heard of this book, but knew nothing about it. I hadn't seen the Kubrick film at that point, so I truly went in blind. My eyes were soon opened. Hedges that moved, evil masked ghosts, bloody croquet mallets. I was done for. I was a fan.

Flash-forward 20-some years. I was living in Chicago, working as an actor, and carrying on a long-distance relationship. It finally got to the point where someone was going to have move if it was ever going to work. I had been in Chicago for 14 years, and quite frankly, was a little burned out and ready for a new adventure. I packed everything up, left the city I loved (and still do, by the way), and headed west for the Colorado Rockies. After taking the first few days to unpack and decompress, my girlfriend was anxious to find something to do that would introduce me to my new home.

I was (and continue to be) a member of Netflix for several years. I was putting a few movies on my queue when something caught my eye. Netflix was teaming up with the Alamo Drafthouse, a movie theatre in Austin, and hitting the road with a traveling roadshow. This would entail showing site-specific movies. For example, this particular year, they would be showing "Jaws" on the beach at Martha's Vineyard, "The Posideon Adventure" onboard the Queen Mary, and "The Warriors" at Coney Island. A really cool idea, I thought. Then I saw this:

"8/16/06 - 'The Shining' at the Stanley Hotel - Estes Park, CO"

I ran to my girlfriend, and told her what I wanted to do. Lucky for me, she is usually up for anything, so we made our plans to head up to the Stanley to be creeped out by Kubrick. For those that don't know, the Stanley is a glorious old hotel high up in the mountains that was completed in 1909. A hotel that is said to be haunted. It is also the place where a young writer named Stephen King started writing his story "The Shining". The Stanley was the basis for the Overlook, so what better place to see the movie?

We arrived early and staked our claim on the front yard of this historic haunted palace. Before us, a huge inflatable screen where the film would be projected once the sun went down. I found out that before the movie started, they would be having a short-story writing contest. I went to sign up, found out that I had missed the deadline, but was allowed to be put on the alternates list. The sun started to go down a bit, and the festivities began. The MC was Lisa Loeb (remember her from the 90's? Yeah, I have no idea why whe was hosting this thing either) and she announced that they would be calling names down to the front to begin the writing contest. The list was read, and then I heard my name. Someone didn't show, so I got to take their place. I made my way through the throngs of people to the front, and took my place on the ground, paper and pen in my hand.

They explained the rules: Since we were at the Stanley to see "The Shining", we had to write a short horror story in the style of Stephen King. How short? We had EIGHT minutes. Eight minutes is not a lot of time for anything, much less writing a story. And of course, there was a catch. In order to make sure that no one walked in with their story already constructed, suggestions from the audience would be taken and those suggestions had to be incorporated into our work. Suggestions were thrown out by the crowd, and the following were chosen: a duck, an elephant (oh yes, you actually had to make the sound of an elephant), a plumber named Stanley (of course), and the very last line had to be "And he only had one finger, and it was green". They said, "GO!" and off we went.

As I sat there, sweat starting to stain the brim of my beloved Chicago Cubs baseball cap, I thought of an idea. I scribbled away, and came up with what I could. In a blink of an eye, our eight minutes were up. It was then explained that we would read our stories out loud, and the winner would be determined by audience response. This was when I realized I might have a problem. I have no trouble speaking in public, so stage-fright wasn't an issue. I realized that I was a very liberal democrat in a state that was notoriously red. I looked at my piece. Oh boy. I haven't been here a week, and already, I may be pissing off a couple thousand of  people. Not a good way to start a new life. My name was called. It was my turn. I approached the mic, adjusted it to my height, and read:

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HAIL TO THE CHIEF

The president from Texas had been reelected for a 3rd straight term. His vice president had staged a virtual coup of Congress, dismissed the Constitution, and gave the president absolute authority. He was sitting in the Oval Office when his secretary announced he had a visitor.

"Mr. President, Stanley the plumber is here to see you," she said.

"Send him in," the President said.

Stanley entered. His face was long, much like a duck and when he spoke, he blared like an elephant.

(Sound) "Missster President, I'm here to check the pipes," he said.

"Well, go right ahead," the President said.

Stanley moved around the desk and began to dance while he fiddled with the pipework.

"Pipes look good, Mister President," Stanley said. "Time to check the ductwork."

He danced some more as he climbed a ladder and checked the ductwork.

"Ducts look good, Mr. President," Stanley said. "Time to check the brainworks."

"Excuse me?" the President asked.

"Time to check the brainwork," Stanley replied, as he closed in on the smiling man from Texas. Stanley would find that the brainpan was virtually empty, but it didn't matter. He dug in, a big smile on his face and he only had one finger, and it was green.

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Okay, so it's not Faulkner. I had eight minutes  and as far as I know, he never had to do it in front of a crowd of 2,000 people - cut me some slack.  I read the first line: "The President from Texas had been reelected for a 3rd straight term." The boos began. Oh sweet Jebus I'm in trouble, I thought. I continued on. I heard some laughs, then more, then cheers. I then realized: they weren't booing me. They were booing the President from Texas. Had I found the one liberal spot in the state? Had they all converged here on the front lawn of the Stanley? Might I just escape with my body parts all intact? I pressed on, doing my best befuddled Bush impression. I finished the last line, and the lawn erupted in cheers. The poll was taken, and I was declared the winner. My prize: I got to open the curtain that would start the movie, a year's free subscription to Netflix, a boxed set of King's "Dark Tower" novels, and a check for $1,000. Not bad for eight minutes of work.

It was an eerie feeling, sitting there in our make-shift drive-in. As we all jumped at every scare, hooting and hollering in the dark Colorado night, you felt the eyes of the Stanley peering down on you. Waiting. Wanting. Opening the door to room 217 with invisible fingers, and calling your name.

Somewhere, Stephen King was laughing.