ponderously open, shedding plaster like a dead skin.
Wharton stared into the shimmering quicksilver pool.
It seemed to glow with a light of its own in the darkness, ethereal
and fairy-like. Wharton stepped in, half-expecting to sink into
warm, pliant fluid.
But the floor was solid.
His own reflection hung suspended below him, attached only by
the feet, seeming to stand on its head in thin air. It made him dizzy
just to look at it.
Slowly his gaze shifted around the room. The ladder was still
there, stretching up into the glimmering depths of the mirror. The
room was high, he saw. High enough for a fall to he winced - to
kill.
It was ringed with empty bookcases, all seeming to lean over him
on the very threshold of imbalance. They added to the room's
strange, distorting effect.
He went over to the ladder and stared down at the feet. They were
rubbershod, as Reynard had said, and seemed solid enough. But if
the ladder had not slid, how had Janine fallen?
Somehow he found himself staring through the floor again. No, he
corrected himself. Not through the floor. At the mirror; into the
mirror . . .
He wasn't standing on the floor at all he fancied. He Was poised in
thin air halfway between the identical ceiling and floor, held up
only by the stupid idea that he was on the floor. That was silly, as
anyone could see, for there was the floor, way down there.. . .
Snap out of it!' he yelled at himself suddenly. He was on the floor,
and that was nothing but a harmless reflection of the ceiling. It
would only be the floor if I was standing on my head, and I'm not;
the other me is the one standing on his head... .
He began to feel vertigo, and a sudden lump of nausea rose in his
throat. He tried to look away from the glittering quicksilver depths
of the mirror, but he couldn't.
The door.. where was the door? He suddenly wanted out very
badly.
Wharton turned around clumsily, but there were only crazily-tilted
bookcases and the jutting ladder and the horrible chasm beneath
his feet.
"Reynard!" He screamed. "I'm falling! "
Reynard came running, the sickness already a gray lesion on his
heart. It was done; it had happened again.
He stopped at the door's threshold, Staring in at the Siamese twins
staring at each other in the middle of the two-roofed, no-floored
room.
"Louise," he croaked around the dry ball of sickness in his throat.
"Bring the pole."
Louise came shuffling out of the darkness and handed the hook-
ended pole to Reynard. He slid it out across the shining quicksilver
pond and caught the body sprawled on the glass. He dragged it
slowly toward the door, and when he could reach it, he pulled it
out. He stared down into the contorted face and gently shut the
staring eyes.
"I'll want the plaster," he said quietly.
"Yes, sir."
She turned to go, and Reynard stared somberly into the room. Not
for the first time he wondered if there was really a mirror there at
all. In the room, a small pool of blood showed on the floor and
ceiling, seeming to meet in the center, blood which hung there
quietly and one could wait forever for it to drip.
The King Family &
The Wicked Witch
STEPHEN KING
Illustrated by King's children
Flint Magazine
EDITOR'S NOTE:
Stephen King and I went to college together. No, we were not the
best of friends, but we did share a few brews together at University
Motor Inn. We did work for the school newspaper at the same
time. No, Steve and I are not best friends. But I sure am glad he
made it. He worked hard and believed in himself. After eight
million book sales, it's hard to remember him as a typically broke
student. We all knew he'd make it through.
Last January I wrote of a visit with Steve over the holiday
vacation. We talked about his books, Carrie - Salems Lot. The
Shinning. and the soon to be released, The Stand. We talked about
how Stanley Kubrick wants to do the film versions of his new
books. We didn't talk about the past much though. We talked of the
future - his kids, FLINT ...
He gave me a copy of a story he had written for his children. We
almost ran it then, but there was much concern on the staff as to
how it would be received by our readers. We didn't run it. Well,
we've debated long enough. It's too cute for you not to read it. We
made the final decision after spending in evening watching TV last
week. There were at least 57 more offensive things said, not to
mention all the murders, rapes, and wars...we decided to let you be
the judge. If some of you parents might be offended by the word
'fart', you'd better not read it - but don't stop your kids, they'll love
it!
On the Secret Road in the town of Bridgton, there lived a wicked
witch. Her name was Witch Hazel.
How wicked was Witch Hazel? Well, once she had changed a
Prince from the Kingdom of New Hampshire into a woodchuck.
She turned a little kid's favorite kitty into whipped cream. And she
liked to turn mommies' baby carriages into big piles of horse-turds
while the mommies and their babies were shopping.
She was a mean old witch.
The King family lived by Long Lake In Bridgton, Maine. They
were nice people.
There was a daddy who wrote books. There was a mommy who
wrote poems and cooked food. There was a girl named Naomi who
was six years old. She went to school. She was tall and straight and
brown. There was a boy named Joe who was four years old. He
went to school too, although he only went two days a week. He
was short and blonde with hazel eyes.
And Witch Hazel hated the Kings more than anyone else In
Bridgton. Witch Hazel especially hated the Kings because they
were the happiest family In Bridgton. She would peer out at their
bright red Cadillac when it passed her dirty, falling down haunted
house with mean hateful eyes. Witch Hazel hated bright colors.
She would see the mommy reading Joe a story on the bench
outside the drug store and her bony fingers would itch to cast a
spell. She would see the daddy talking to Naomi on their way
home from school in the red Cadillac or the blue truck, and she
would want to reach out her awful arms and catch them and pop
into her witches cauldron.
And finally, she cast her spell.
One day Witch Hazel put on a nice dress. She went to the Bridgton
Beauty Parlor and had her hair permed. She put on a pair of
Rockers from Fayva (an East Coast shoe store chain). She looked
almost pretty.
She bought some of daddy's books at the Bridgton Pharmacy. Then
she drove out to the Kings' house and pretended she wanted daddy
to sign his books. She drove in a car. She could have ridden her
broom, but she didn't want the Kings to know she was a witch.
And in her handbag were four magic cookies. Four evil. magic
cookies.
Four cookies! Four cookies full of black magic!
The banana cookie, the milk bottle cookie, and worst of all, two
crying cookies. Don't let her in Kings!' Oh please don't let her in!
But she looked so nice. . . and she was smiling. . . and she had the
daddy's books. soooo....they let her in. Daddy signed her book,
mommy offered her tea. Naomi asked if she would like to see her
room.
Joe asked if she would like to see him write his name. Witch Hazel
smiled and smiled. It almost broke her face to smile.
"You have been so nice to me that I would like to be nice to you."
said Witch Hazel. "I have baked four cookies. A cookie for each