like that.’
‘Is the next one going to be about vampires?’ Alan asks hopefully.
‘No, I don’t think so. What do you think, Alan?’
‘A haunted hotel, maybe?’
‘No, I did that one, already. Different Seasons, Alan. It’s got a nice ring to it, don’t you think?’
‘It’s got a great ring, Steve,’ Alan says, and sighs. It is the sigh of a good sport who has
just taken his seat in third class on Revolucion Airways’ newest plane – a Lockheed Tri-
Star – and has seen the first cockroach trundling busily over the top of the seat ahead of
him.
‘I hoped you’d like it,’ I say.
‘I don’t suppose,’ Alan says, ‘we could have a horror story in it? Just one? A sort of…
similar season?’
I smile a little – just a little – thinking of Sandra Stansfield and Dr McCarron’s
Breathing Method. ‘I can probably whomp something up.’
‘Great! And about the new novel -‘
‘How about a haunted car?’ I say.
‘My man? Alan cries. I have the feeling that I’m sending him back to his editorial
meeting – or possibly to jury duty in East Rahway – a happy man. I’m happy, too – I love
my haunted car, and 1 think if s going to make a lot of people nervous about crossing
busy streets after dark.
But I’ve been in love with each of these stories, too, and part of me always will be in
love with them, I guess. I hope that you liked them, Reader; that they did for you what
any good story should do – make you forget the real stuff weighing on your mind for a
little while and take you away to a place you’ve never been. It’s the most amiable sort of
magic I know.
Okay. Gotta split. Until we see each other again, keep your head together, read some
good books, be useful, and don’t take any shit from anybody.
Love and good wishes,
Stephen King
January 4th, 1982
Bangor, Maine