Full Dark, No Stars

“1922” was inspired by a nonfiction book cal ed Wisconsin Death Trip (1973), written by Michael Lesy and featuring photographs taken in the smal city of Black River Fal s, Wisconsin. I was impressed by the rural isolation of these photographs, and the harshness and deprivation in the faces of many of the subjects. I wanted to get that feeling in my story.

In 2007, while traveling on Interstate 84 to an autographing in western Massachusetts, I stopped at a rest area for a typical Steve King Health Meal: a soda and a candybar. When I came out of the

refreshment shack, I saw a woman with a flat tire talking earnestly to a long-haul trucker parked in the next slot. He smiled at her and got out of his rig.

“Need any help?” I asked.

“No, no, I got this,” the trucker said.

The lady got her tire changed, I’m sure. I got a Three Musketeers and the story idea that eventual y became “Big Driver.”

In Bangor, where I live, a thoroughfare cal ed the Hammond Street Extension skirts the airport. I walk three or four miles a day, and if I’m in town, I often go out that way. There’s a gravel patch beside the airport fence about halfway along the Extension, and there any number of roadside vendors have set up shop over the years. My favorite is known local y as Golf Bal Guy, and he always appears in the spring. Golf Bal Guy goes up to the Bangor Municipal Golf Course when the weather turns warm, and scavenges up hundreds of used golf bal s that have been abandoned under the snow. He throws

away the real y bad ones and sel s the rest at the little spot out on the Extension (the windshield of his car is lined with golf bal s—a nice touch). One day when I spied him, the idea for “Fair Extension”

came into my mind. Of course I set it in Derry, home of the late and unlamented clown Pennywise, because Derry is just Bangor masquerading under a different name.

The last story in this book came to my mind after reading an article about Dennis Rader, the infamous BTK (bind, torture, and kil ) murderer who took the lives of ten people—mostly women, but two of

his victims were children—over a period of roughly sixteen years. In many cases, he mailed pieces of his victims’ identification to the police. Paula Rader was married to this monster for thirty-four years, and many in the Wichita area, where Rader claimed his victims, refuse to believe that she could live with him and not know what he was doing. I did believe—I do believe—and I wrote this story to explore what might happen in such a case if the wife suddenly found out about her husband’s awful hobby. I also wrote it to explore the idea that it’s impossible to ful y know anyone, even those we love the most.

Al right, I think we’ve been down here in the dark long enough. There’s a whole other world upstairs. Take my hand, Constant Reader, and I’l be happy to lead you back into the sunshine. I’m happy to

go there, because I believe most people are essential y good. I know that I am.

It’s you I’m not entirely sure of.

Bangor, Maine

December 23, 2009

Table of Contents

Cover Page

Title Page

Copyright Page

Dedication

Contents

1922

Big Driver

Fair Extension

A Good Marriage

Afterword