I read Stephen King’s The Mist on a lengthy train ride from Media, Pennsylvania (where I had delivered a trivial lecture on my latest book of poems Arsenic n’ Art,) to my lair in the city of brotherly love: Philadelphia. In short, The Mist really frightened me, as it had first-rate scares galore. It nudged, pinched, and stung my insecurities so that I had night sweats n’ nightmares for hours, days, and weeks to come. This was just a short story, dear fellow foes, you understand? Yet it held me in the grip of trepidation and woe. When it was then announced some 25 years later that award-winning film director Frank Darabont (The Green Mile and Shawshank Redemption) was giving it a go, well, I booked my seat well in advance. I was pleased I did so.

> Read 100% of Nothing: The Kreep’s Korner