Tuesday, April 06, 2010
Does Stephen King scare you? Delight you? The man can WRITE!
It was a Motel 6 on I-80 just west of Licoln, Nebraska. The snow that began at midafternoon had faded the sign's virulent yellow to a kinder pastel shade as the light ran out of January dusk. The wind was closing in on that quality of empty amplification one encounters only in the country's flat midsection, usually in wintertime. That meant nothing but discomfort now, but if big snow came tonight--the weather forecasters couldn't seem to make up their mnds--then the interstate would be shut down by morning. That was nothing to Alfie Zimmer.
Alfie drove around the corner and parked with the nose of his Chevrolet pointed at the white expanse of some farmer's field, swimming deep into the gray of day's end. At the farthest limit of vision he could see the spark lights of a farm. In there, they would be hunkered down. Out here, the wind blew hard enough to rock the car. Snow skated past, obliterating the farm lights for a few moments.