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Everything's Eventual : Five Dark Tales
by Stephen King and Oliver Platt and Judith Ivey

Overview - In this spine-chilling compilation, King takes listeners down a road less traveled (for good reason). With a great cast of narrators (including four stories read by Stephen King himself, these stories will keep you awake until daybreak. Enter a nightmarish mindscape of unrelenting horror and shocking revelations that could only come from the imagination of the greatest storyteller of our time.  Read more...


 

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More About Everything's Eventual by Stephen King; Oliver Platt; Judith Ivey
 
 
 
Overview

In this spine-chilling compilation, King takes listeners down a road less traveled (for good reason). With a great cast of narrators (including four stories read by Stephen King himself, these stories will keep you awake until daybreak. Enter a nightmarish mindscape of unrelenting horror and shocking revelations that could only come from the imagination of the greatest storyteller of our time. The stories included in Everything's Eventual are:

Autopsy Room Four—read by Oliver Platt

The Man in the Black Suit—read by John Cullum

All That You Love Will Be Carried Away—read by Peter Gerety

The Death of Jack Hamilton—read by Arliss Howard

In the Deathroom—read by Stephen King

The Little Sisters of Eluria—read by Boyd Gaines

Everything's Eventual—read by Justin Long

L.T.'s Theory of Pets—read by Stephen King

The Road Virus Heads North—read by Jay O. Sanders

Lunch at the Gotham Café—read by Stephen King

That Feeling, You Can Only Say When It Is in French—read by Becky Ann Baker

1408—read by Stephen King

Riding the Bullet—read by Josh Hamilton

Luckey Quarter—read by Judith Ivey

 
Details
  • Publisher: Simon & Schuster Audio
  • Date: Mar 2002
 
Excerpts

From the book


Chapter One

Louis Creed, who had lost his father at three and who had never known a grandfather, never expected to find a father as he entered his middle age, but that was exactly what happened...although he called this man a friend, as a grown man must do when he finds the man who should have been his father relatively late in life. He met this man on the evening he and his wife and his two children moved into the big white frame house in Ludlow. Winston Churchill moved in with them. Church was his daughter Eileen's cat.

The search committee at the university had moved slowly, the hunt for a house within commuting distance of the university had been hair-raising, and by the time they neared the place where he believed the house to be -- all the landmarks are right...like the astrological signs the night before Caesar was assassinated, Louis thought morbidly -- they were all tired and tense and on edge. Gage was cutting teeth and fussed almost ceaselessly. He would not sleep, no matter how much Rachel sang to him. She offered him the breast even though it was off his schedule. Gage knew his dining schedule as well as she -- better, maybe -- and he promptly bit her with his new teeth. Rachel, still not entirely sure about this move to Maine from Chicago, where she had lived her whole life, burst into tears. Eileen promptly joined her. In the back of the station wagon, Church continued to pace restlessly as he had done for the last three days it had taken them to drive here from Chicago. His yowling from the cat kennel had been bad, but his restless pacing after they finally gave up and set him free in the car had been almost as unnerving.

Louis himself felt a little like crying. A wild but not unattractive idea suddenly came to him: He would suggest that they go back to Bangor for something to eat while they waited for the moving van, and when his three hostages to fortune got out, he would floor the accelerator and drive away without so much as a look back, foot to the mat, the wagon's huge four-barrel carburetor gobbling expensive gasoline. He would drive south, all the way to Orlando, Florida, where he would get a job at Disney World as a medic, under a new name. But before he hit the turnpike -- big old 95 southbound -- he would stop by the side of the road and put the fucking cat out too.

Then they rounded a final curve, and there was the house that only he had seen up until now. He had flown out and looked at each of the seven possibles they had picked from photos once the position at the University of Maine was solidly his, and this was the one he had chosen: a big old New England colonial (but newly sided and insulated; the heating costs, while horrible enough, were not out of line in terms of consumption), three big rooms downstairs, four more up, a long shed that might be converted to more rooms later on -- all of it surrounded by a luxuriant sprawl of lawn, lushly green even in this August heat.

Beyond the house was a large field for the children to play in, and beyond the field were woods that went on damn near forever. The property abutted state lands, the realtor had explained, and there would be no development in the foreseeable future. The remains of the Micmac Indian tribe had laid claim to nearly eight thousand acres in Ludlow and in the towns east of...

 
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