Later

by Stephen King

Even a little kid knows certain basic things if he’s not soft in the attic. You said please, you said thank you, you didn’t flap your weenie around in public or chew with your mouth open, and you didn’t talk to dead folks when they were standing next to living folks who were just starting to miss them.

Well educated

I only want to say, in my own defense, that when I saw her I didn’t know she was dead. Later on I got better at telling the difference, but back then I was just learning. It was her nightgown I could see through, not her. Dead people look just like living people, except they’re always wearing the clothes they died in.

Wait mrs burkett is dead!?!?

She stared at me for a long time, seemed like she was going to say something, then just buckled my seatbelt. “I think maybe we should skip the party. How does that sound to you?” “Good,” I said. “I don’t like Lily anyway. She sneaky-pinches me during Story Time.”

have tha fo pinching ma boy

I still had Lily’s present. It was a little doll in a sailor suit. When I gave it to Lily the next week, instead of sneaky-pinching me, she gave me a kiss right on the mouth. I got teased about that and never minded a bit.

Oh my bad lils

hot helping of good old S-E-X. I learned more about the true meaning of sixty-nine in that book than a kid of eight should probably know.

Ay yoo

“The book could save us. The book, the whole book, and nothing but the book.” She gave a wild laugh that scared me even more.

Lmao. Shes losing it

At the end of Mr. Thomas’s summary, the big secret came out, and it was a dilly. I’m not going to tell you what it was. Read the book and find out for yourself. If you haven’t read it already, that is.

How dare you

There was a piece of paper pinned to his shirt. The suicide note was on it. The note was always on it and the blood spattered across it was always fresh. “Your mother has cancer, Champ. From the cigarettes. She’ll be dead in six months.” I was frozen in place with my mouth hanging open.

Wtffffffff mannnn

“She’s going to miss you, Uncle Harry.” No reply, and I didn’t expect one because it wasn’t a question. I did have one, though. He probably didn’t know the answer, but there’s an old saying that goes if you never ask, you never get. “Do you know who my father is?” “Yes.” “Who? Who is it?” “I am,” Uncle Harry said.

WHAT