The end of the world is an intriguing idea. Hell, I like the end of the world. I love it even, and I gain much enjoyment when I read about the end of all this. Stephen King has a few stories about The End. I've read plenty of King in my time, a nasty habit passed on to me by my mother and my aunt, who are diehard fans. My first King read was The Stand when I was thirteen years old. I was rightly frightened of its size; after returning its forty thousand pages to the bookshelf, I was exhausted. I felt like I'd been kicked in the neck. After returning to the art of reading, I needed a shorter work. I asked my aunt, "What you got that's shorter, shorter, shorter than The Stand ? With a devious twinkle in her eyes she said, "Step into my parlour, sir," referring to her linen closet. On the third shelf, beside the guest linen, were stacks of Stephen King novels. There were even a lonely pair of Dean Koontz novels. To this day I'm not sure if there were any o...