Table of Contents
I - ANNIE
II - MISERY
Chapter 1 - MISERY’S RETURN
Chapter 6 - MISERY’S RETURN
III - PAUL
IV - GODDESS
Your Number One Fan ...
Paul Sheldon. He’s a bestselling novelist who has finally met his biggest fan. Her name is Annie Wilkes and she is more than a rabid reader—she is Paul’s nurse, tending his shattered body after an automobile accident. But she is also his captor, keeping him prisoner in her isolated house.
Now Annie wants Paul to write his greatest work—just for her. She has a lot of ways to spur him on. One is a needle. Another is an ax. And if they don’t work, she can get really nasty.
“Solid character delineation and terrifying insight. In addition to being able to scare the reader breathless, King says a tremendous amount about writing itself. We delight in his virtuosity.”
THE BACHMAN BOOKS
—Newport News Daily Press
THE DARK HALF
THE DARK TOWER: THE GUNSLINGER
THE DARK TOWER II: THE DRAWING OF THE THREE
THE DARK TOWER III: THE WASTE LANDS
THE DEAD ZONE
—New York Times Book Review
—San Francisco Chronicle
THE EYES OF THE DRAGON
FOUR PAST MIDNIGHT
—Washington Post Book World
—New York Times Book Review
WORKS BY STEPHEN KING
The Dead Zone
THE DARK TOWER I:
Cycle of the Werewolf
(with Peter Straub)
The Eyes of the Dragon
THE DARK TOWER II:
of the Three
THE DARK TOWER III:
The Waste Lands
The Dark Half
The Green Mile
THE DARK TOWER IV:
Wizard and Glass
Bag of Bones
The Girl Who Loved Tom
(with Peter Straub)
From a Buick 8
THE DARK TOWER V:
Wolves of the Calla
THE DARK TOWER VI:
Song of Susannah
THE DARK TOWER VII:
The Dark Tower
AS RICHARD BACHMAN
The Long Walk
The Running Man
Four Past Midnight
Hearts in Atlantis
Storm of the Century
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First Signet Printing, June 1988
First Printing ($4.99 edition). November 2009
Grateful acknowledgment is made to the following for permission to reprint copyrighted material:
“King of the Road,” by Roger Miller. Copyright © Tree Publishing Co., Inc.1964. International copyright secured. All rights reserved. Used by permission of publisher.
“Fifty Ways to Leave Your Lover,” by Paul Simon. Copyright © Paul Simon, 1975. Used by permission.
The Collector, by John Fowles. Copyright © John Fowles Ltd., 1963. By permission of Little, Brown and Company.
“Those Lazy, Hazy, Crazy Days of Summer,” by Hans Carste and Charles Tobias. Copyright © Edition Primus Budde KG Berlin, Germany, 1962; copyright © Comet Music Corp., 1963. All rights for the USA and Canada controlled and administered by April Music Inc. under license from ATV Music (Comet).All rights reserved. International copyright secured. Used by permission.
“Girls Just Want to Have Fun.” Copyright © Heroic Music, 1979. Permission to use lyric granted by Heroic Music (ASCAP), for songwriter, Robert Hazard.
“Santa Claus Is Comin’ to Town,” by Haven Gillespie and J. Fred Coots. Copyright Leo Feist Inc.,1934; copyright © renewed 1962. Rights assigned to SBK Catalogue Partnership. All rights reserved. International copyright secured. Used by permission.
“Chug-a-Lug.” by Roger Miller. Copyright © Tree Publishing Company, Inc., 1964. International copyright secured. All rights reserved. Used by permission of the publisher.
“Disco Inferno,” by Leroy Green and Ron “Have Mercy” Kersey. Copyright © Six Strings Music and Golden Fleece Music. 1977; assigned to Six Strings Music, 1978. All rights reserved.
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This is for Stephanie and Jim Leonard,
who know why.
Boy, do they.
I’d like to gratefully acknowledge the help of three medical people who helped me with the factual material in this book. They are:
Russ Dorr, P.A.
Florence Dorr, R.N.
Janet Ordway, M.D. and Doctor of Psychiatry
As always, they helped with the things you don’t notice. If you see a glaring error, it’s mine.
There is, of course, no such drug as Novril, but there are several codeine-based drugs similar to it, and, unfortunately, hospital pharmacies and medical practice dispensaries are sometimes lax in keeping such drugs under tight lock and close inventory.
The places and characters in this book are fictional.
When you look into the abyss, the abyss also looks into you.
yerrrnnn umber whunnnn
These sounds: even in the haze.
But sometimes the sounds—like the pain—faded, and then there was only the haze. He remembered darkness: solid darkness had come before the haze. Did that mean he was making progress? Let there be light (even of the hazy variety), and the light was good, and so on and so on? Had those sounds existed in the darkness? He didn’t know the answers to any of these questions. Did it make sense to ask them? He didn’t know the answer to that one, either.
The pain was somewhere below the sounds. The pain was east of the sun and south of his ears. That was all he did know.
For some length of time that seemed very long (and so was, since the pain and the stormy haze were the only two things which existed) those sounds were the only outer reality. He had no idea who he was or where he was and cared to know neither. He wished he was dead, but through the pain-soaked haze that filled his mind like a summer storm-cloud, he did not know he wished it.
As time passed, he became aware that there were periods of nonpain, and that these had a cyclic quality. And for the first time since emerging from the total blackness which had prologued the haze, he had a thought which existed apart from whatever his current situation was. This thought was of a broken-off piling which had jutted from the sand at Revere Beach. His mother and father had taken him to Revere Beach often when he was a kid, and he had always insisted that they spread their blanket where he could keep an eye on that piling, which looked to him like the single jutting fang of a buried monster. He liked to sit and watch the water come up until it covered the piling. Then, hours later, after the sandwiches and potato salad had been eaten, after the last few drops of Kool-Aid had been coaxed from his father’s big thermos, just before his mother said it was time to pack up and start home, the top of the rotted piling would begin to show again—just a peek and flash between the incoming waves at first, then more and more. By the time their trash was stashed in the big drum with KEEP YOUR BEACH CLEAN stencilled on the side, Paulie’s beach-toys picked up
(that’s my name Paulie I’m Paulie and tonight ma’ll put Johnson’s Baby Oil on my sunburn he thought inside the thunderhead where he now lived) and the blanket folded again, the piling had almost wholly reappeared, its blackish, slime-smoothed sides surrounded by sudsy scuds of foam. It was the tide, his father had tried to explain, but he had always known it was the piling. The tide came and went; the piling stayed. It was just that sometimes you couldn’t see it. Without the piling, there was no tide.
This memory circled and circled, maddening, like a sluggish fly. He groped for whatever it might mean, b...Présentation de l'éditeur :
Paul Sheldon is Annie Wilkes' favourite writer. She loves all his books about Misery Chastain. When she finds Paul injured after a car crash and takes him home she learns that he has decided to end the series by killing off Misery. Soon Paul's biggest fan turns into his biggest enemy and his nightmare begins???
By the master of horror, Stephen King, this will keep you on the edge of your seat!
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