Donald Trump is worse than any horror story I've written.

Alone. Yes, that's the key word, the most awful word in the English tongue. Murder doesn't hold a candle to it and hell is only a poor synonym.

But it's really faith that monsters live on, isn't it? I am led irresistibly to this conclusion: food maybe life, but the source of power is faith, not food. And who is more capable of a total act of faith than a child?

The lion on the left had advanced all the way to the fence now; its muzzle was touching the boards. It seemed to be grinning at him. Jack backed up another two steps. His head was thudding crazily and he could feel the dry rasp of his breath in his throat. Now the buffalo had moved, circling to the right, behind and around the rabbit. The head was lowered, the green hedge horns pointing at him. The thing was, you couldn't watch all of them. Not all at once.

The final crushing failure. He has failed as a teacher, a writer, a husband and a father. He had even failed as a drunk.

It's April Fools, and the fool is me

Di a tus amigos que soy el último de una raza agonizante. Único superviviente de un planeta moribundo. He venido a robar a todas las mujeres... a violar a todos los hombres... y a aprender cómo se baila el twist.

The horror had been articulated; it was out; its face had been drawn and could be regarded. Now, even if it could not be changed, it could at least be wept over.

I started after him...and the clown looked back. I saw Its eyes, and all at once I understood who It was.""Who was it, Don?" Harold Gardner asked softly."It was Derry," Don Hagarty said. "It was this town.