Mass Market Paperback
English language
Published by New American Library.
In places where fear dwells and blood runs cold, sinister forces and unspeakable things are running the NIGHT SHIFT. From the depths of darkness, where hideous rats defend their empire, to dizzying heights where a beautiful girl hangs by a hair above a hellish fate, this chilling collection of twenty short stories will plunge readers into the subterranean labyrinth of the most spine-tingling, eerie imagination of our time. --back cover
A few of the stories in here I liked more than the others, but every story in this book was fantastic. I'm ready to dig into a novel length story from Stephen King in the near future.
1) "'Come, Mrs. Cloris,' I prompted her. 'You've come this far. Now can you finish what you've begun?'
The strangest expression of terror, pique, and---I would swear to it---religious awe passed over her face. 'Some die not,' she whispered. 'Some live in the twilight shadows Between to serve--Him!'"
2) "So here we were, with the whole human race wiped out, not by atomic weapons or bio-warfare or pollution or anything grand like that. Just the flu. I'd like to put down a huge plaque somewhere, in the Bonneville Salt Flats maybe. Bronze Square. Three miles on a side. And in big raised letters it would say, for the benefit of any landing aliens: JUST THE FLU."
3) "Harold stood helplessly aside and the lawnmower man tromped ahead of him down the hall, through the living room and kitchen, and onto the back porch. Now Harold had placed the man โฆ
1) "'Come, Mrs. Cloris,' I prompted her. 'You've come this far. Now can you finish what you've begun?'
The strangest expression of terror, pique, and---I would swear to it---religious awe passed over her face. 'Some die not,' she whispered. 'Some live in the twilight shadows Between to serve--Him!'"
2) "So here we were, with the whole human race wiped out, not by atomic weapons or bio-warfare or pollution or anything grand like that. Just the flu. I'd like to put down a huge plaque somewhere, in the Bonneville Salt Flats maybe. Bronze Square. Three miles on a side. And in big raised letters it would say, for the benefit of any landing aliens: JUST THE FLU."
3) "Harold stood helplessly aside and the lawnmower man tromped ahead of him down the hall, through the living room and kitchen, and onto the back porch. Now Harold had placed the man and everything was all right. He had seen the type before, working for the sanitation department and the highway repair crews out on the turnpike. Always with a spare minute to lean on their shovels and smoke Lucky Strikes or Camels, looking at you as if they were the salt of the earth, able to hit you for five or sleep with your wife anytime they wanted to. Harold had always been slightly afraid of men like this; they were always tanned dark brown, there were always nets of wrinkles around their eyes, and they always knew what to do."
4) "Maine blizzard---ever been out in one?
The snow comes flying so thick and fine that it looks like sand and sounds like that, beating on the sides of your car or pickup. You don't want to use your high beams because they reflect off the snow and you can't see ten feet in front of you. With the low beams on, you can see maybe fifteen feet. But I can live with the snow. It's the wind I don't like, when it picks up and begins to howl, driving the snow into a hundred weird flying shapes and sounding like all the hate and pain and fear in the world. There's death in the throat of a snowstorm wind, white death---and maybe something beyond death. That's no sound to hear when you're tucked up all cozy in your own bed with the shutters bolted and the doors locked. It's that much worse if you're driving. And we were driving smack into 'Salem's Lot."
