Only an amateur sets a spooky story at midnight. To demonstrate your writerly expertise, let the action unfold on a sunny summer morning—in a suburban kitchen in Connecticut, no less. That’s the strategy deployed by Stephen King in “Harvey’s Dream,” an unsettling domestic vignette from 2003.

 Only an amateur sets a spooky story at midnight. To demonstrate your writerly expertise, let the action unfold on a sunny summer morning—in a suburban kitchen in Connecticut, no less. That’s the strategy deployed by Stephen King in “Harvey’s Dream,” an unsettling domestic vignette from 2003. For Janet, a wife and mother of three adult daughters, fear these days takes the form of “Alzheimer’s tales,” gossip about “who can no longer recognize his wife, who can no longer remember the names of her children.” Janet is startled when her 60-year-old husband, the titular Harvey, suddenly appears at the table for breakfast, and her anxiety slowly intensifies as he recalls a vision from the night before. Is Harvey’s memory actually a premonition? Is Janet experiencing déja vù? And what’s going on with the dent in the neighbor’s car? King’s story will haunt you, ever so pleasurably, as you gear up for Halloween.

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