The Institute

by Stephen King

Norbert shuffled his sneakers and gave a grin that exposed what Tim thought of as gone-country teeth. They were there, but looked as if they might be gone soon.

it would eventually come to loading and unloading at the next port of call. Maybe everything did. And everyone.

But a night knocker doesn’t load or unload, Tim thought. He just walks and knocks.

“I don’t know if you call that becomin modesty or low self-esteem, but I don’t much care for the sound of it either way. I know that’s a lot to put out there on short acquaintance, but I’m a man who speaks his mind. I shoot from the lip, some folks say.

Night knocker is an analog job in a digital age. At least in DuPray, it is.”

“You know, Jamieson, this life we think we’re living isn’t real. It’s just a shadow play, and I for one will be glad when the lights go out on it. In the dark, all the shadows disappear.”

Those things make you believe for awhile that all of this is real. That it matters. But it’s not and it doesn’t.”

He read the way free-range cows graze, moving to wherever the grass is greenest.

“You know what they say about the abyss, don’t you?” Herb asked. Luke shook his head, either because it was the rare thing he didn’t know, or because he didn’t want to spoil his father’s punchline. “When you stare into it, it stares back at you.”