“You know something is wrong when the dead won’t stay buried—and the living start to forget what warmth felt like.”
These chapters chilled me more than anything so far. Mike Ryerson returns to town after Ralphie’s funeral… but he’s not the same. There’s something in his eyes. Something missing behind them. Like a man who left the grave with only part of his soul.
King doesn’t rush the horror. He lets it crawl.
Mike’s experience in the Glick house is delivered with such slow, quiet terror. He sees something—he won’t say what. He hears a voice. He feels cold. And suddenly, he’s sick. Weak. Sleepless. Haunted. But the worst part is: he accepts it. That numbness, that surrender, is what makes it all feel so real. It’s not screaming horror—it’s fatigue, confusion, and darkness you can’t shake off.
Then… the moment in the guest bedroom.
That scene left me breathless. Matt Burke, the kind, thoughtful teacher, invites Mike to stay the night—and what unfolds is pure nightmare. The rocking chair. The cold air. The empty, waiting bed. And the slow, unnatural death of a man in front of another’s eyes.
Matt’s reaction is exactly how I felt: This can’t be happening. But it is.
We finally feel the bite of what’s been circling the town. And it’s not just about blood—it’s about possession, about turning people you knew into something… wrong.
These chapters are the gateway. The door is open now. And something hungry is stepping through.
Prompt used:
This oil painting portrays a frail, pale man sitting at the edge of a wooden bed in a somber, dimly lit room. His gaunt face, shadowed and weary, contrasts with the cool, earthy tones of the surrounding dark blues and muted browns, while an empty rocking chair and a simple bed further enhance the room's melancholic atmosphere.
Have you ever had a moment where your body felt present, but your mind knew something was very, very wrong? That kind of fear sticks to the skin. Let’s talk about it.
đź•® Next time: The town begins to change, the sun means less, and night holds its breath.