Hail to the King

Once upon a time, when I was just eight years old, destiny whispered its name into my eager ears. I found myself in an uncomfortable situation, seated on a hard plastic chair, my wrists confined by a cold metal chain on the table. Officer Dougher, the man in charge, seemed restless and irritated, urging me to recount a recent incident that involved a mysterious bloody object outside someone's home.

Despite his impatience, I insisted on starting from the beginning. Shifting uncomfortably in my seat, the metal chain digging into my wrists, I began to weave the tale for Officer Dougher. I took him back to my childhood, to a small island called Cliff Island off the coast of Maine. Memories of a summer day flooded back, a day filled with exploration alongside my friend Ella and an older, seemingly wiser boy.

As we sought refuge from a storm in Ella's cabin, huddled together on a lumpy couch, we stumbled upon a peculiar movie titled "Tommyknockers." Little did I know that this was a creation of Stephen King, the renowned author, and thus marked the beginning of my fascination with his works.

Fast forwarding to the present, Officer Dougher, armed with his old-fashioned pen and yellow-lined notebook, urged me to get to the point. I continued my story, revealing how my infatuation with Stephen King's writing had led me to discover other authors and shaped my love for the written word. However, countless rejection letters had come my way, threatening to extinguish my passion, until one fateful day when fate crossed my path with Stephen King himself at a Walgreens store in Bridgton.

This encounter added an unexpected twist to the narrative. I confessed to Officer Dougher that meeting King had been both exhilarating and disheartening. He had told me, in his own way, that not everyone had what it took to be frightening, leaving me inspired rather than wounded.

But how did all this lead me to find myself standing outside King's grand mansion, holding a broken drone stained with blood? This is where the story takes a darker turn. I hinted at a confrontation with King, emphasizing the influence his novel "Misery" had on me. The astute officer seemed to grasp the connection, linking my obsession with King's work to the events at hand.

As the room hung in suspense, Officer Dougher probed me for details about the previous night's events. I glanced at the evidence bag containing the shattered drone, contemplating whether to stick to the unembellished truth or weave a more dramatic tale.

In the end, I chose the latter, spinning a web of intrigue and suspense surrounding my late-night visit to Stephen King's mansion at precisely 12:36 AM. The room held its breath as I masterfully painted a vivid picture, adding my own creative flair to the unfolding events.

And so, the tale unfurled—a tapestry woven from reality and imagination, leaving Officer Dougher with more questions and myself with a deep sense of satisfaction in my storytelling prowess. The drama of pen and paper continued, reminiscent of a bygone era, while the watchful camera recorded every nuance in the room.

As the story progressed, I delved deeper into the events of that fateful night outside Stephen King's mansion. With each word, I carefully crafted a narrative that captivated Officer Dougher and left him yearning for more.

I described how the moon hung high in the sky, casting an eerie glow over the sprawling estate. My heart pounded in my chest as I approached the imposing gates, my footsteps echoing in the silence of the night. The air was thick with anticipation, almost as if the very atmosphere held its breath, aware of the audacity of my mission.

With a steady hand, I reached into my pocket and retrieved a small drone—a symbol of modern technology meeting the realm of a literary legend. Its propellers hummed softly as I released it into the air, maneuvering it skillfully towards the mansion's windows.

As the drone soared closer to the house, I caught glimpses of flickering lights and shadows dancing behind the curtains. My imagination ran wild, conjuring images of secret passages, hidden treasures, and perhaps even a glimpse of the master storyteller himself. The thrill of the unknown coursed through my veins, fueling my determination to uncover the mysteries concealed within those sacred walls.

But as fate would have it, my daring adventure took an unexpected turn. A sudden gust of wind, fierce and unforgiving, sent the drone spiraling out of control. It crashed against a window, shattering the glass and leaving behind a trail of crimson. Blood mingled with broken shards, a testament to the collision of dreams and reality.

My heart sank as I watched the broken drone tumble to the ground, its once vibrant lights extinguished. Panic washed over me, and I knew I had to flee before my presence was discovered. With a heavy heart, I retreated into the night, leaving behind a shattered piece of technology and a trail of unanswered questions.

Back in the interrogation room, Officer Dougher listened intently to my tale, his eyes filled with a mixture of skepticism and intrigue. He probed for more information, seeking to unravel the truth hidden within the layers of my narrative. But with each passing moment, it became increasingly clear that the lines between fact and fiction had blurred.

In the end, Officer Dougher was left with an enigma—an unsolved puzzle with no clear resolution. And I, the storyteller, reveled in the power of weaving words, of creating a world where reality and imagination intertwined seamlessly.

The room fell into a hushed silence, the weight of the unfinished story lingering in the air. Officer Dougher closed his notebook, his expression a mix of frustration and fascination. Though he may never uncover the complete truth, the tale had left an indelible mark on his mind—a testament to the captivating power of storytelling.

And as I left the room, my wrists finally freed from the confines of the metal chain, I couldn't help but smile. For in that moment, I knew that the story I had shared had transcended the boundaries of the interrogation room, taking on a life of its own—a testament to the timeless allure of mystery, imagination, and the written word.