The Mist by Stephen King Page A

he responded. “Yours will be head on the list, you…you bohemian. ”
    â€œMr. David Drayton has got something to tell you,” Ollie said, “and I think you had better all listen up, in case you were planning on going home.”
    So I told them what had happened, pretty much as I told Norton. There was some laughter at first, then a deepening uneasiness as I finished.
    â€œIt’s a lie, you know,” Norton said. His voice tried for hard emphasis and overshot into stridency. This was the man I’d told first, hoping to enlist his credibility. What a balls-up.
    â€œOf course it’s a lie,” Brown agreed. “It’s lunacy. Where do you suppose those tentacles came from, Mr. Drayton?”
    â€œI don’t know, and at this point, that’s not even a very important question. They’re here. There’s—”
    â€œI suspect they came out of a few of those beer cans. That’s what I suspect.” This got some appreciative laughter. It was silenced by the strong, rusty-hinge voice of Mrs. Carmody.
    â€œDeath!” she cried, and those who had been laughing quickly sobered.
    She marched into the center of the rough circle that had formed, her canary pants seeming to give off a light of their own, her huge purse swinging against one elephantine thigh. Her black eyes glanced arrogantly around, as sharp and balefully sparkling as a magpie’s. Two good-looking girls of about sixteen with CAMP WOODLANDS written on the back of their white rayon shirts shrank away from her.
    â€œYou listen but you don’t hear! You hear but you don’t believe! Which one of you wants to go outside and see for himself?” Her eyes swept them, and then fell on me. “And just what do you propose to do about it, Mr. David Drayton? What do you think you can do about it?”
    She grinned, skull-like above her canary outfit.
    â€œIt’s the end, I tell you. The end of everything. It’s the Last Times. The moving finger has writ, not in fire, but in lines of mist. The earth has opened and spewed forth its abominations—”
    â€œCan’t you make her shut up?” one of the teenage girls burst out. She was beginning to cry. “She’s scaring me!”
    â€œAre you scared, dearie?” Mrs. Carmody asked, and turned on her. “You aren’t scared now, no. But when the foul creatures the Imp has loosed upon the face of the earth come for you—”
    â€œThat’s enough now, Mrs. Carmody,” Ollie said, taking her arm. “That’s just fine.”
    â€œYou let go of me! It’s the end, I tell you! It’s death! Death!”
    â€œIt’s a pile of shit,” a man in a fishing hat and glasses said disgustedly.
    â€œNo, sir,” Myron spoke up. “I know it sounds like something out of a dope-dream, but it’s the flat-out truth. I saw it myself.”
    â€œI did, too,” Jim said.
    â€œAnd me,” Ollie chipped in. He had succeeded in quieting Mrs. Carmody, at least for the time being. But she stood close by, clutching her big purse and grinning her crazy grin. No one wanted to stand too close to her—they muttered among themselves, not liking the corroboration. Several of them looked back at the big plate-glass windows in an uneasy, speculative way. I was glad to see it.
    â€œLies,” Norton said. “You people all lie each other up. That’s all.”
    â€œWhat you’re suggesting is totally beyond belief,” Brown said.
    â€œWe don’t have to stand here chewing it over,” I told him. “Come back into the storage area with me. Take a look. And a listen.”
    â€œCustomers are not allowed in the—”
    â€œBud,” Ollie said, “go with him. Let’s settle this.”
    â€œAll right,” Brown said. “Mr. Drayton? Let’s get this foolishness over with.”
    We pushed through the double doors into the darkness.
    The