by Stephen King
Incomplete novel that King was writing for his son Owen in 1983. King had written several pages of the story inlonghand in a notebook and then transcribed them. While on a trip to California, he wrote about 30 more pages of thestory in the same notebook, which was lost off the back of his motorcycle (somewhere in coastal New Hampshire) on atrip from Boston to Bangor. He mentioned that he could reconstruct what was lost, but had not gotten around to it (asof June, 1983). The only part that still exists today is the 5 typescript pages that had been transcribed. The 5 pages,plus a 3-page cover letter to a senior editor at Viking are now owned by a King collector.
Once upon a time--which is how all the best stories start-- a little boy named Owen was playing outsidehis big red house. He was pretty bored because his big brother and big sister, who could always think ofthings to do, were in school. His daddy was working, and his mom was sleeping upstairs. She asked him He played with his G.I. Joe men for awhile, and then he went around to the back and swung on the
as the ball went around and around the pole. He saw his big sister's softball bat lying in the grass andwished Chris, the big boy who sometimes came to play with him, was there to throw him a few pitches.But Chris was in school too. Owen walked around the house again. He thought he would pick someflowers for his mother. She liked flowers pretty well.
He got around to the front of the house and that was when he saw Springsteen in the grass. Springsteenwas his big sister's new cat. Owen liked most cats, but he didn't like Springsteen much. Hie was big andblack, with deep green eyes that seemed to see everything. Every day owen had to make sure that
Springsteen wasn't trying to eat Butler. Butler was Owen's guinea pig. When Springsteen thought no onewas around, he would jump up on the shelf' where Butler's big glass cage was and stare in through thescreen on top with his hungry green eyes. Springsteen wuld sit there, all crouched down, and hardlymove at all. Springsteen’s tail would wag back and forth a little, and sometimes one of his ears would Whenever Owen saw Springsteen the cat up on Butler’s shelf, he would make him get down.
Sometimes Springsteen put his claws out (although he knew better than to try to put them in Owen) andButler, but nobody believed him.
"Don’t worry, Owen," Daddy said, and went off to work on a novel that’s what he did for work.
for work, too.