“God, how we get our fingers in each other’s clay.”

A creative, novella-sized story from a talented writer exploring the experience of a coma patient. Or is it?

The King’s consistent ability to make my skin crawl at least once in a story still stands strong.

I have an overwhelming urgency to tell you not to read this on an airplane, for many reasons.

No matter the page count, he’s a true master.

Frankenstein isn’t even the “wretched monster’s” name. It’s the doctor’s.

This was probably more fun 100 years ago.

This has the usual Stephen King formula for a heeby-jeeby heart-stopper, but just comes up short as a classic for me.

Wow, I read this in like a day.