The plant - By Stephen King Page 0,64

Greed has made her a stranger to me. A terrible stranger, like one of those female monsters in the Greek fairy-tales. No doubt I am a prig, just as they said, a self-righteous prig, but nothing will change what I saw in their eyes when they didn't know I was seeing them.

Nothing.

More than my book, I find it's the simplicities of work that I long for - Kenton's endless self-analysis and agonizing, Gelb's amusing fixation with the dice, Porter's even more amusing fixation with the seat of Sandra Jackson's office chair. I wouldn't even mind having it off with her again, starring in one of her fantasies. I want the simplicity of my janitor's cubby, where all things are known, normal, unsurprising. I want to see if that pitiful little ivy is maintaining its toehold on life.

Around moonset, the Silver Meteor crossed the Mason-Dixon line. My sisters and my brother are on the other side of that line now, and I'm glad.

I can't wait to get back to New York.

Later/8 A. M.

Slept for almost five hours. My neck is stiff and my back feels like a mule kicked me, but on the whole I feel a little better. At least I was able to eat a little breakfast. I thought the idea I woke with might go away in the dining car, but it has remained clear. The idea - the intuition - is that if I were to go into the office instead of switching trains for Dobbs Ferry, I might feel better yet. I feel drawn there. It's as though I had a dream about the place, one I can't quite remember.

Maybe it's the plant - Zenith the ivy. My subconscious telling me to go in and water the poor little thing before it dies of thirst.

Well... why not?

From the dispatches of Iron-Guts Hecksler

Apr 4 81 0600 hrs Pk Ave So NYC

Zero hour approaching. I plan to make my entry into the Publishing House of Satan across the street in 2-3 hours. "Crazy Guitar Gertie" disguise put away. Respectable businessman in weekend clothes now, HA!

Look out, you Designated Jew. I will be in your office by noon, waiting

On Monday morning your ass is mine.

No more dreams of CARLOS. He may be gone. Good. One less thing to worry about.

from THE SAKRED BOOK OF CARLOS

SAKRED MONTH OFAPRA (Entry #79)

Saturday morning. As soon as I finish this entry, I leave for Zenith House of Kaka-Poop. Have my "special suitcase" with all sakred sacrifice knives. They are "plenty sharp," too! I am dressed nice, like a business-man on his Saturday in the city. I should have no problems penetrating into that house of thiefs and mockers.

Wonder if Kenton got my "little present."

Wonder if he knows what's happening with his girl-friend or should I say ex girlfriend. Too bad he'll be dead before she can give him anymore "pussy." Innocent blood! Innocent blood from her if no other first!

Myself I will die a virgin and I am glad.

I hope and expect to be locked away in Kenton's office by noon today. I have plenty of snacks and two sodas in with my knives and I will be able to "hold out" until Monday just fine.

No more dreams of "The General" and his Designated Juice. That's a load off my mind.

And now for you, John Kenton. Betrayer of my dreams, thief of my book. Why wait for the abbalah to do what I can do myself?

COME DEMETER!

COME GREEN!

AUTHOR'S NOTE

Following next month's installment of this story - next month's very long installment of this story - The Plant will be going back into hibernation so that I can continue work on Black House (the sequel to The Talisman, written in collabo-ration with Peter Straub). I also need to complete work on two new novels (the first, Dreamcatcher, will be available from Scribner's next March) and see if I can't get going on The Dark Tower again. And my agent insists I need to take a breather so that foreign translation and publication of The Plant - also in installments, also on the Net - can catch up with American publication. Yet don't despair. The last time The Plant furled its leaves, the story remained dormant for nineteen years. If it could survive that, I'm sure it can survive a year or two while I work on other projects.

Part 6 is the most logical stopping point. In a traditional print book, it would be the end of the first long section (which I would probably