The Other Side of The Fog By Stephen King

An Pete Jacob’s stepped out, the fog immediately swallowed up his house and he could see nothing but the white blanket all around him. It gave him the weird feeling of being the last man in the world.

Suddenly Pete felt dizzy. Hie stomach did a flip-flop. He felt like a person in a falling elevator. Then it passed and he walked on. The fog began to clear and Pete's eyes opened wide with fright, awe and wonder.

He was in the middle of the city.

But the nearest city was forty miles away!

But what a city! Pete had never seen anything like it.

Graceful buildings with high spires seemed to reach to the sky. People walked along on moving conveyer belts.

The cornerstone on a skyscraper read April, 17, 2007. Pete had walked into the future. But how?

Suddenly Pete was frightened. Horribly, terribly, frightened.

He didn’t belong here. He couldn’t stay. He ran after the receding fog.

A policeman in a strange uniform called angrily. Strange cars that rode six inches or so off the ground narrowly missed hitting him. But Pete succeeded. He ran back into the fog and soon everything was blanked out.

Then the feeling came again. That weird feeling of falling … then the fog began to clear.

It looked like home …

Suddenly there was an earsplitting screech. He turned to see a huge prehistoric brontasaurus lumbering toward him. The desire to kill was in his small beady eyes.

Terrified, he ran into the fog again …

The next time the fog closes in on you and you hear hurried footsteps running through the whiteness … call out.

That would be Pete Jacobs, trying to find his side of the Fog …

Help the poor guy.

Hotel at The end of The Road By Stephen King

"Faster !" Tommy Riviere said. "Faster !"

"I’m hitting 85 now," Kelso Black said.

"The cops are right behind us,"Riviera said. "Put it up to 90." He leaned out the window. Behind the fleeing car was a police car, with siren wailling and red light flashing.

"I’m hitting the side road ahead," Black grunted. He turned the wheel and the car turned into the winding roadspraying gravel.

The uniformed policeman scratched his head. "Where did they go ?".

His partner frowned. "I don’t know. They just - disapeared ."

"Look," Black said. "Lights ahead."

"It’s a hotel," Riviera said wonderingly. "Out on this wagon track, a hotel ! If that don’t beat all ! The police’ll never look for us there."

Black, unheeding of the car’s tires, stamped on the brake. Riviera reached into the back seat and got a black bag. They walked in.

The hotel looked just like a scene out of the early 1900s.

Riviera rang the bell impatiently. An old man shuffled out. "We want a room," Black said.

The man stared at them silently.

"A room," Black repeated.

The man turned around to go back into his office.

"Look, old man," Tommy Riviera said. "I don’t take that from anybody." He pulled out his thirty-eight. "Now you give us a room."

The man looked ready to keep going, but at last he said : "Room five. End of the hall."

He gave them no register to sign, so they went up. The room was barren except for an iron double bed, a cracked mirror, and soiled wallpaper.

"Aah, what a crummy joint," Black said in disgust. "I’ll bet there’s enough cockroaches here to fill a five-gallon can."

The next morning when Riviera woke up, he couldn’t get out of bed. He couldn’t move a muscle. He was paralyzed. Just then the old man came into view. He had a needle wich he put into Black’s arms.

"So you’re awake," he said. "My, my, you two are the first additions to my museum in twenty-five years. But you’ll be well preserved. And you won’t die.

"You’ll go with the rest of my collection of living museum. Nice specimens."

Tommy Riviera couldn’t even express his horror.