Ya - that Stephen King - the horror novelist. We didn't steal the whole house, just part of it, kinda.
I took my daughter to Salem, Massachusetts because she was into the witch trial thing. After a few days there, she wanted to see if she could find Stephen King up in Maine. She liked him a lot at the time. I told her that was just stupid - I had no idea where King lived in Maine, which is a big state. But stupid is as stupid does, so off we went to Maine. Easy peasy - it was only an 8 hour drive to Bangor, Maine! And opposite from home. She knew he lived in Bangor & had another home somewhere else in Maine. Duh.
We pulled into Bangor, which is a cute old New England town. No clues what to do or where to go. I could find my way around easier on the moon. Well, we saw a quaint, old bookstore off the main street. Bookstores attract us naturally anyway. We walked into the bookstore & looked around a bit. Figured maybe the owner could guide us toward Stephen King's place.
We saw a typical full-size wooden coffin standing on end in the store. We looked closer & it was signed by - ta da - Stephen King! We talked to the owner & he said King comes into the store at times & one time he was here he signed the coffin. Like, oh wow. We asked if he had any idea where King lives. Ready for this?
He says sure. Go up one block, take a right, then go 2 blocks - his is the big Victorian. OMG!! OMG!!! Talk about stepping into the effluvia.
Well, we left right away & found the house. It was a very large Victorian on a side street, just one house along the block of houses. It had a black iron fence running around the property. But parts of the fence had built into it bats & spider webs. It was so cool. If I find the pics I'll post them.
My daughter, of course, was excited & wondered if King was home. She walked up the driveway. I started screaming at her, "What, are you nuts? Get back here." (nuts - yeah, like who drove 8 hours to get here?) She reluctantly came back to the sidewalk. Geesh - daughters.
We saw workmen around the house, so we figured maybe King is not here anyway. But out in the street in front of the house was a large dumpster. We looked in to it & it was filled with debris, mostly lengths of old wood, split wood, chunks of wood. The workmen were apparently remodeling something in his house. Well, guess who wanted a souvenir? No, not me. Daughter. So I dutifully hung half inside the dumpster & grabbed a bunch of the wood. There were some old clothes in the dumpster & you know who wanted that too. But no, said I, those could be the work men's clothes.
We took some pictures & then headed toward home, 12 hours away now, before the cops put out an all-points bulletin for us.
And that's how we stole Stephen King's house. Kinda
I took my daughter to Salem, Massachusetts because she was into the witch trial thing. After a few days there, she wanted to see if she could find Stephen King up in Maine. She liked him a lot at the time. I told her that was just stupid - I had no idea where King lived in Maine, which is a big state. But stupid is as stupid does, so off we went to Maine. Easy peasy - it was only an 8 hour drive to Bangor, Maine! And opposite from home. She knew he lived in Bangor & had another home somewhere else in Maine. Duh.
We pulled into Bangor, which is a cute old New England town. No clues what to do or where to go. I could find my way around easier on the moon. Well, we saw a quaint, old bookstore off the main street. Bookstores attract us naturally anyway. We walked into the bookstore & looked around a bit. Figured maybe the owner could guide us toward Stephen King's place.
We saw a typical full-size wooden coffin standing on end in the store. We looked closer & it was signed by - ta da - Stephen King! We talked to the owner & he said King comes into the store at times & one time he was here he signed the coffin. Like, oh wow. We asked if he had any idea where King lives. Ready for this?
He says sure. Go up one block, take a right, then go 2 blocks - his is the big Victorian. OMG!! OMG!!! Talk about stepping into the effluvia.
Well, we left right away & found the house. It was a very large Victorian on a side street, just one house along the block of houses. It had a black iron fence running around the property. But parts of the fence had built into it bats & spider webs. It was so cool. If I find the pics I'll post them.
My daughter, of course, was excited & wondered if King was home. She walked up the driveway. I started screaming at her, "What, are you nuts? Get back here." (nuts - yeah, like who drove 8 hours to get here?) She reluctantly came back to the sidewalk. Geesh - daughters.
We saw workmen around the house, so we figured maybe King is not here anyway. But out in the street in front of the house was a large dumpster. We looked in to it & it was filled with debris, mostly lengths of old wood, split wood, chunks of wood. The workmen were apparently remodeling something in his house. Well, guess who wanted a souvenir? No, not me. Daughter. So I dutifully hung half inside the dumpster & grabbed a bunch of the wood. There were some old clothes in the dumpster & you know who wanted that too. But no, said I, those could be the work men's clothes.
We took some pictures & then headed toward home, 12 hours away now, before the cops put out an all-points bulletin for us.
And that's how we stole Stephen King's house. Kinda
