Just After Sunset (Collector's Set)

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Sealed in protective acid-free plastic for complete protection. OVERVIEW: This short story collection was released in this collector's set. This set features an original cover, a ... DVD that contains 25 episodes of the complete animated story of "N" one of the stories collected in this volume. Also a personal note from Stephen King on the DVD envelope is featured. All items are packed very well for delivery. Read more Show Less

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Overview

In Just After Sunset Stephen King delivers an astonishing collection of short stories, his first since Everything's Eventual six years ago. One of the longer stories in this book, "N.," recently broke ground when it was adapted as a graphic digital entertainment and brought to vibrant life through a series of twenty-five video episodes. Introduced by the author, those episodes are presented on the DVD included in this Collector's Set. A trailer for the video episodes and a special "Behind the Scenes" segment complete the DVD package available only in this special edition of the book.

Who but Stephen King would turn a Port-O-San into a slimy birth canal, ...

See more details below

Overview

In Just After Sunset Stephen King delivers an astonishing collection of short stories, his first since Everything's Eventual six years ago. One of the longer stories in this book, "N.," recently broke ground when it was adapted as a graphic digital entertainment and brought to vibrant life through a series of twenty-five video episodes. Introduced by the author, those episodes are presented on the DVD included in this Collector's Set. A trailer for the video episodes and a special "Behind the Scenes" segment complete the DVD package available only in this special edition of the book.

Who but Stephen King would turn a Port-O-San into a slimy birth canal, or a roadside honky-tonk into a place for endless love? A book salesman with a grievance might pick up a mute hitchhiker, not knowing the silent man in the passenger seat listens altogether too well. Or an exercise routine on a stationary bicycle, begun to reduce bad cholesterol, might take its rider on a captivating -- and then terrifying -- journey. Set on a remote key in Florida, "The Gingerbread Girl" is a riveting tale featuring a young woman as vulnerable -- and resourceful -- as Audrey Hepburn's character in Wait Until Dark. In "Ayana," a blind girl works a miracle with a kiss and the touch of her hand. For King, the line between the living and the dead is often blurry, and the seams that hold our reality intact might tear apart at any moment. "N." tells the story of a psychiatrist who falls victim to the same deadly obsession as his patient-an obsession that just might save the world!

Just After Sunset -- call it dusk, call it twilight, it's a time when human intercourse takes on an unnaturalcast, when nothing is quite as it appears, when the imagination begins to reach for shadows as they dissipate to darkness and living daylight can be scared right out of you. It's the perfect time for Stephen King.

  • Stephen King's "N." Episode 1
    Stephen King's "N." Episode 1

Editorial Reviews

From Barnes & Noble
We've always been strong supporters of the Best American Short Stories series, but our respect for this wonderful annual rose even higher when we learned that Stephen King credited his recent renewed interest in short stories to his tenure as a guest editor of the 2007 number. Spending a year reading and rereading hundreds of these stories, he says, inspired him to return to the genre with renewed purpose. This hefty, 384-page volume represents that harvest. Just After Sunset is the essence of vintage King: intense situations of vulnerability rendered at close range. Ideal for reading "just after sunset."
Janet Maslin
…[a] succinct, fast-moving collection…This collection's most successful stories start unprepossessingly but then head for unknown territory, off in the far reaches of Mr. King's imagination.
—The New York Times
From The Critics

In the introduction to his first collection of short fiction since Everything's Eventual(2002), King credits editing Best American Short Stories(2007) with reigniting his interest in the short form and inducing some of this volume's contents. Most of these 13 tales show him at the top of his game, molding the themes and set pieces of horror and suspense fiction into richly nuanced blends of fantasy and psychological realism. "The Things They Left Behind," a powerful study of survivor guilt, is one of several supernatural disaster stories that evoke the horrors of 9/11. Like the crime thrillers "The Gingerbread Girl" and "A Very Tight Place," both of which feature protagonists struggling with apparently insuperable threats to life, it is laced with moving ruminations on mortality that King attributes to his own well-publicized near-death experience. Even the smattering of genre-oriented works shows King trying out provocative new vehicles for his trademark thrills, notably "N.," a creepy character study of an obsessive-compulsive that subtly blossoms into a tale of cosmic terror in the tradition of Arthur Machen and H.P. Lovecraft. Culled almost entirely from leading mainstream periodicals, these stories are a testament to the literary merits of the well-told macabre tale. (Nov.)

Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.

Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9781439115305
  • Publisher: Scribner
  • Publication date: 11/11/2008
  • Edition description: Collector's Set Edition - Book w/ DVD
  • Pages: 384
  • Product dimensions: 6.50 (w) x 9.30 (h) x 1.50 (d)

Meet the Author

Stephen King
Stephen King
Few authors have tapped into our secret fears as adeptly as Stephen King, Master of the Macabre and one of the most widely read novelists writing today. With his trademark blend of fantasy, horror, and psychological suspense, this prolific and immensely popular contemporary writer continues to remind us that evil is still a potent force in the world.

Biography

Fiction powerhouse Stephen Edwin King was born in Portland, Maine, in 1947. As a student at the University of Maine at Orono, he wrote a weekly column for the school newspaper, became active in political causes, and met his wife, the former Tabitha Spruce. In the early years of his marriage, King augmented his meager teacher's salary by selling short stories to men's magazines. Then, in 1973 he hit pay dirt: his novel Carrie was accepted for publication, and a major paperback deal provided the means for him to leave teaching and concentrate full-time on writing. Since then, the prolific author has never looked back.

Dubbed the Master of the Macabre for his domination of the horror genre, King has also written bestselling thrillers, mysteries, fantasies, novellas, and short stories, many of which have been turned into blockbuster films and miniseries (A partial list includes Carrie, The Shining, The Stand,, Misery, It, The Shawshank Redemption, The Langoliers, Stand by Me, and The Green Mile). He also has two works of nonfiction to his credit: a gorgeously crafted memoir/scribbler's how-to (On Writing) and Faithful, a chronicle of the Boston Red Sox' stellar 2004 season, cowritten with Stewart O'Nan. In 2003, he received the National Book Foundation Medal for Distinguished Contribution to American Letters.

In between books, the indefatigable King performs in the Rock Bottom Remainders, a rock band that includes among its rotating personnel fellow authors Dave Barry and Amy Tan; attends as many Boston Red Sox games as is humanly possible; and contributes with his wife, Tabitha, to many local and national charities.

Good To Know

Don't believe everything you read about Stephen King. Among the gossip circulating about the scribe is the rumor that he is going blind. King assures his fans that while he is genetically predisposed to a disease called macular degeneration, which could result in blindness, he is not actually going blind.

King is probably one of the most easily recognizable authors alive, and it's not just because of his string of bestsellers. King has appeared in a number of films based on his work, including Pet Semetary, Thinner, and The Stand.

If you've ever wondered why Stephen King has written several books under the pseudonym Richard Bachman, there is actually a very simple explanation: King is so prolific that he felt it necessary to create an alter-ego so that he could publish more than one book a year. The name was a hastily hobbled together combination of writer Richard Stark (ironically, a pseudonym for Donald Westlake) and Randy Bachman of rock group Bachman-Turner Overdrive.

    1. Also Known As:
      Stephen A. King
      Stephen Edwin King
      Richard Bachman
    2. Hometown:
      Bangor, Maine
    1. Date of Birth:
      September 21, 1947
    2. Place of Birth:
      Portland, Maine
    1. Education:
      B.S., University of Maine at Orono, 1970
    2. Website:

Read an Excerpt


Just After Sunset

Collector's Set Stories


By Stephen King
Scribner
Copyright © 2008

Stephen King
All right reserved.



ISBN: 978-1-4391-1530-5



Chapter One Not a very nice man.

One afternoon not long after July became August, Deke Hollis told her she had company on the island. He called it the island, never the key.

Deke was a weathered fifty, or maybe seventy. He was tall and rangy and wore a battered old straw hat that looked like an inverted soup bowl. From seven in the morning until seven at night, he ran the drawbridge between Vermillion and the mainland. This was Monday to Friday. On weekends, "the kid" took over (said kid being about thirty). Some days when Em ran up to the drawbridge and saw the kid instead of Deke in the old cane chair outside the gatehouse, reading Maxim or Popular Mechanics rather than The New York Times, she was startled to realize that Saturday had come around again.

This afternoon, though, it was Deke. The channel between Vermillion and the mainland - which Deke called the thrut (throat, she assumed) - was deserted and dark under a dark sky. A heron stood on the drawbridge's Gulf-side rail, either meditating or looking for fish.

"Company?" Em said. "I don't have any company."

"I didn't mean it that way. Pickering's back. At 366? Brought one of his 'nieces.'" The punctuation for nieces was provided by a roll of Deke's eyes, of a blue so faded they were nearly colorless.

"I didn't see anyone," Em said.

"No," he agreed. "Crossed over in that big red M'cedes of his about an hour ago, while you were probably still lacin' up your tennies." He leaned forward over his newspaper; it crackled against his flat belly. She saw he had the crossword about half completed. "Different niece every summer. Always young." He paused. "Sometimes two nieces, one in August and one in September."

"I don't know him," Em said. "And I didn't see any red Mercedes." Nor did she know which house belonged to 366. She noticed the houses themselves, but rarely paid attention to the mailboxes. Except, of course, for 219. That was the one with the little line of carved birds on top of it. (The house behind it was, of course, Birdland.)

"Just as well," Deke said. This time instead of rolling his eyes, he twitched down the corners of his mouth, as if he had something bad tasting in there. "He brings 'em down in the M'cedes, then takes 'em back to St. Petersburg in his boat. Big white yacht. The Playpen. Went through this morning." The corners of his mouth did that thing again. In the far distance, thunder mumbled. "So the nieces get a tour of the house, then a nice little cruise up the coast, and we don't see Pickering again until January, when it gets cold up in Chicagoland."

Em thought she might have seen a moored white pleasure craft on her morning beach run but wasn't sure.

"Day or two from now - maybe a week - he'll send out a couple of fellas, and one will drive the M'cedes back to wherever he keeps it stored away. Near the private airport in Naples, I imagine."

"He must be very rich," Em said. This was the longest conversation she'd ever had with Deke, and it was interesting, but she started jogging in place just the same. Partly because she didn't want to stiffen up, mostly because her body was calling on her to run.

"Rich as Scrooge McDuck, but I got an idea Pickering actually spends his. Probably in ways Uncle Scrooge never imagined. Made it off some kind of computer thing, I heard." The eye roll. "Don't they all?"

"I guess," she said, still jogging in place. The thunder cleared its throat with a little more authority this time.

"I know you're anxious to be off, but I'm talking to you for a reason," Deke said. He folded up his newspaper, put it beside the old cane chair, and stuck his coffee cup on top of it as a paperweight. "I don't ordinarily talk out of school about folks on the island - a lot of 'em's rich and I wouldn't last long if I did - but I like you, Emmy. You keep yourself to yourself, but you ain't a bit snooty. Also, I like your father. Him and me's lifted a beer, time to time."

"Thanks," she said. She was touched. And as a thought occurred to her, she smiled. "Did my dad ask you to keep an eye on me?"

Deke shook his head. "Never did. Never would. Not R. J.'s style. He'd tell you the same as I am, though - Jim Pickering's not a very nice man. I'd steer clear of him. If he invites you in for a drink or even just a cup of coffee with him and his new 'niece,' I'd say no. And if he were to ask you to go cruising with him, I would definitely say no."

"I have no interest in cruising anywhere," she said. What she was interested in was finishing her work on Vermillion Key. She felt it was almost done. "And I better get back before the rain starts."

"Don't think it's coming until five, at least," Deke said. "Although if I'm wrong, I think you'll still be okay."

She smiled again. "Me too. Contrary to popular opinion, women don't melt in the rain. I'll tell my dad you said hello."

"You do that." He bent down to get his paper, then paused, looking at her from beneath that ridiculous hat. "How're you doing, anyway?"

"Better," she said. "Better every day." She turned and began her road run back to the Little Grass Shack. She raised her hand as she went, and as she did, the heron that had been perched on the drawbridge rail flapped past her with a fish in its long bill.

Three sixty-six turned out to be the Pillbox, and for the first time since she'd come to Vermillion, the gate was standing ajar. Or had it been ajar when she ran past it toward the bridge? She couldn't remember - but of course she had taken up wearing a watch, a clunky thing with a big digital readout, so she could time herself. She had probably been looking at that when she went by.

She almost passed without slowing - the thunder was closer now - but she wasn't exactly wearing a thousand-dollar suede skirt from Jill Anderson, only an ensemble from the Athletic Attic: shorts and a T-shirt with the Nike swoosh on it. Besides, what had she said to Deke? Women don't melt in the rain. So she slowed, swerved, and had a peek. It was simple curiosity.

She thought the Mercedes parked in the courtyard was a 450 SL, because her father had one like it, although his was pretty old now and this one looked brand-new. It was candy-apple red, its body brilliant even under the darkening sky. The trunk was open. A sheaf of long blond hair hung from it. There was blood in the hair.

Had Deke said the girl with Pickering was a blond? That was her first question, and she was so shocked, so fucking amazed, that there was no surprise in it. It seemed like a perfectly reasonable question, and the answer was Deke hadn't said. Only that she was young. And a niece. With the eye roll.

Thunder rumbled. Almost directly overhead now. The courtyard was empty except for the car (and the blond in the trunk, there was her). The house looked deserted, too: buttoned up and more like a pillbox than ever. Even the palms swaying around it couldn't soften it. It was too big, too stark, too gray. It was an ugly house.

Em thought she heard a moan. She ran through the gate and across the yard to the open trunk without even thinking about it. She looked in. The girl in the trunk hadn't moaned. Her eyes were open, but she had been stabbed in what looked like dozens of places, and her throat was cut ear to ear.

Em stood looking in, too shocked to move, too shocked to even breathe. Then it occurred to her that this was a fake dead girl, a movie prop. Even as her rational mind was telling her that was bullshit, the part of her that specialized in rationalization was nodding frantically. Even making up a story to backstop the idea. Deke didn't like Pickering, and Pickering's choice of female companionship? Well guess what, Pickering didn't like Deke, either! This was nothing but an elaborate practical joke. Pickering would go back across the bridge with the trunk deliberately ajar, that fake blond hair fluttering, and -

But there were smells rising out of the trunk now. They were the smells of shit and blood. Em reached forward and touched the cheek below one of those staring eyes. It was cold, but it was skin. Oh God, it was human skin.

There was a sound behind her. A footstep. She started to turn, and something came down on her head. There was no pain, but brilliant white seemed to leap across the world. Then the world went dark.

(Continues...)




Excerpted from Just After Sunset by Stephen King Copyright © 2008 by Stephen King. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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