My wife and I have been engaged in an ongoing game of Stephen King for about fifteen years.
The game began when we moved into our first home, back in 1996. The real estate agent described the house as pre-Colonial, and it was primitive. We wrote an offer for the house on a sunny day. We moved in during a three-day thunder storm. The previous owners left behind a sort of housewarming gift: Two shopping bags filled with Stephen King paperbacks. There was at least one copy of each of his books, and multiple copies of his really popular titles, like Carrie, Cujo, and The Shining. The bags even contained his pseudonymous books, written under the names Richard Bachman, John Swithen, and Cleo Birdwell.
My wife didn’t want to throw the books away, so she put them in the basement. I thought it would be funny to place the books on the dining room table one evening and deny that I had put them there. Then I thought it would be funny if I put the bags of Stephen King novels in the refrigerator a