by Stephen King
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Pub Date 25 May 2022 | Archive Date 29 Aug 2022
Scribd, Scribd Originals
Meet Finn. From all appearances he’s just a regular Irish kid, living in an Irish city, but he’s exceptional in one way: He’s wildly unlucky. He was dropped at birth and nearly ripped in two by a lightning strike. Never mind the cherry bomb that blew off one of his toes when he was five or that fall from the monkey bars at age seven that left him with a broken arm. His grandmother promises his fortunes will change, that God owes him, but what are the chances of that when the author of his fate is legendary storyteller Stephen King, the undisputed master of the macabre, eerie, and plain terrifying?
King sets the scene: Finn is nineteen, walking home alone at night after necking with his girlfriend. He’s exhilarated and aching with what it means to be young and alive. Then bam: Another kid who’s dressed suspiciously like him, who, in fact, looks a lot like him, runs smack into him. This is weird enough, but moments later, while he’s still rubbing a scraped elbow, a van pulls up and two men jump out and grab him. A hood is thrown over his head, there’s a needle in his arm, and he’s out. He wakes in a cell, the captive of men who think he’s got answers to give them about a briefcase full of plans, about blueprints and some bomb factory, and they are willing to go to great—and painful—lengths to get what they want from him. It’s got to be a case of mistaken identity, or is something far more sinister going on? And far more absurd?
As the young man tries to save his skin, he travels through existential and psychological crises that are a signature of King’s stories. No one knows monsters—imagines monsters—like the creator of It, The Outsider, Pet Sematary, and countless other mind-bending and timeless bestsellers, but in Finn he targets a peculiarly twenty-first-century monster: men so consumed by spy and war games that they twist reality to suit their purposes. As darkly funny as it is deeply unsettling, this latest story from King pokes some serious fun at “the luck of the Irish”—or in fact counting on any kind of luck when the machinations of a few bullies and madmen can so easily and tragically upend the lives of the innocent.