Stephen Edwin King was born the second son of Donald and Nellie Ruth Pillsbury King. After his father left them when Stephen was two, he and his older brother, David, were raised by his mother. Parts of his childhood were spent in Fort Wayne, Indiana, where his father's family was at the time, and in Stratford, Connecticut. When Stephen was eleven, his mother brought her children back to Durham, Maine, for good. Her parents, Guy and Nellie Pillsbury, had become incapacitated with old age, and Ruth King was persuaded by her sisters to take over the physical care of them. Other family members provided a small house in Durham and financial support. After Stephen's grandparents passed away, Mrs. King found work in the kitchens of Pineland, a nearby residential facility for the mentally challenged.
Stephen attended the grammar school in Durham and Lisbon Falls High School, graduating in 1966. From his sophomore year at the University of Maine at Orono, he wrote a weekly column for the school newspaper, THE MAINE CAMPUS. He was also active in student politics, serving as a member of the Student Senate. He came to support the anti-war movement on the Orono campus, arriving at his stance from a conservative view that the war in Vietnam was unconstitutional. He graduated in 1970, with a B.A. in English and qualified to teach on the high school level. A draft board examination immediately post-graduation found him 4-F on grounds of high blood pressure, limited vision, flat feet, and punctured eardrums.
He met Tabitha Spruce in the stacks of the Fogler Library at the University, where they both worked as students; they married in January of 1971. As Stephen was unable to find placement as a teacher immediately, the Kings lived on his earnings as a laborer at an industrial laundry, and her student loan and savings, with an occasional boost from a short story sale to men's magazines.
Stephen made his first professional short story sale ("The Glass Floor") to Startling Mystery Stories in 1967. Throughout the early years of his marriage, he continued to sell stories to men's magazines. Many were gathered into the Night Shift collection or appeared in other anthologies.
In the fall of 1971, Stephen began teaching English at Hampden Academy, the public high school in Hampden, Maine. Writing in the evenings and on the weekends, he continued to produce short stories and to work on novels.
Kelso Black (we know that character from the story 'The Stranger') is on the run. With his partner in crime he checks into an old hotel, 1900 style. A creepy old doorman is giving room number 5 to them. They don't have to sign into the registry book. Is there a reason for that? The story comes up with a sinister twist at the end. The whole story could be an episode from 'Tales From The Crypt'. I almost thought I hear the cryptkeeper do his naughty laugh at the end of the story. Recommended!
In six extremely short and compact scenes, and with a magnificient sense for detail and atmosphere, twelve year old King gives us the story about two criminals who escape the cops, gravel spraying, and hit upon a mysterious hotel in the middle of nowhere. On the inside it looks like a scen from the 1900s. An old man gives them a room, but no register to sign. Their room is barren and crummy, with soiled wallpaper and only an iron double bed and a cracked mirror. The next morning the main character, Keslo Black, wakes up and finds he is unable to move. The old man standing over him with a needle i his hand praising the latest items in his collection. The two criminal reach the end of the road in their criminal careers and in their lives, but since this is a horror story it is an end worse than death. They will continue to live, indefinitely, in the old man calls his "living museum".
This is just 2 pages and two bad pages at that. Is this the one who is not the real SK but the guy who has the same name but can't write ut earns money because people do not know this?
This is as close to Flash Fiction that Stephen King had ever gotten. It's a fun story even tho it felt like he wrote it while waiting for his food in a fast food drive thru. I'd be cool with reading more of his ideas in flash fiction format.
A short story written in his early carrier. I think they call stories this short flash fiction now, but to me a story is a story. It may lack the refined descriptions of his latter work, but the idea itself held merit. I liked it in part, I only wish it was better fleshed out.