Misery: A Novel
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The #1 national bestseller about a famous novelist held hostage by his “number one fan” and suffering a frightening case of writer’s block—that could prove fatal. One of “Stephen King’s best…genuinely scary” (USA TODAY).
Paul Sheldon is a bestselling novelist who has finally met his number one 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 furious that the author has killed off her favorite character in his latest book. Annie becomes his captor, keeping him prisoner in her isolated house.
Annie wants Paul to write a book that brings Misery back to life—just for her. She has a lot of ways to spur him on. One is a needle. Another is an axe. And if they don’t work, she can get really nasty.
“Terrifying” (San Francisco Chronicle), “dazzlingly well-written” (The Indianapolis Star), and “truly gripping” (Publishers Weekly), Misery is “classic Stephen King...full of twists and turns and mounting suspense” (The Boston Globe).
entirely disappear. He remembered where her bookmark had been last night, three-quarters of the way through. She had finished it. She knew all there was to know. She knew that Misery hadn’t been the barren one, after all; it had been Ian. Had she sat there in her as-yet-unseen-by-him parlor with her mouth open and her eyes wide as Misery finally realized the truth and made her decision and sneaked off to Geoffrey? Had her eyes filled with tears when she realized that Misery and Geoffrey, far from
“Oh, but Paul!” she said, turning to him, her eyes dancing animatedly in her flushed face. “I don’t think, I know! You’re going to use this typewriter to write a new novel! Your best novel! Misery’s Return!” 24 Misery’s Return. He felt nothing at all. He supposed a man who had just cut his hand off in a power saw might feel this same species of nothing as he stood regarding his spouting wrist with dull surprise. “Yes!” Her face shone like a searchlight. Her powerful hands were clasped
terrible ... terrible!” she said in a faint, fluttery voice. Holding onto the table, she managed to pull herself to her feet. She stood, swaying, little straggles of hair hanging around her face among the muskrattails of her cap. “Are you well enough?” he asked, more kindly. “If not, then I must try to carry on as best I can by myself.” She drew a deep, shuddering breath and let it out. The side-to-side sway stopped. She turned and walked toward the pantry. “There’s a pair of spades in the shed
should try and say something which would at least temporarily defuse her, but his mouth seemed numb and useless. “They’re out to get me, all of them! Do you think they would have listened if I tried to tell them how it was? Do you? Do you? Oh no! They’d probably say something crazy like I made a pass at him and he laughed at me and so I killed him! They’d probably say something like that!” And you know what, Annie? You know what? I think that just might be a little closer to the truth. “The
He remembered a telephone call which had come at three in the morning—this was when he was in college. Sleepy fourth-floor dorm proctor hammering on his door, telling him to come on and answer the fucking phone. His mother. Come home as quick as you can, Paulie. Your father has had a bad stroke. He’s sinking. And he had come as fast as he could, pushing his old Ford wagon to seventy in spite of the front-end shimmy that developed at speeds over fifty, but in the end it had all been for nothing.