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The Monkey Stephen King: The Monkey ELECTRONIC VERSION 1.0 (Apr 04 00). If you find and correct errors in the text, please update the version number by 0.1 and redistribute. When Hal Shelburn saw it, when his son Dennis pulled it out of a moulderlng Ralston-Purina carton that had been pushed far back under one attic eave, such a feeling of horror and dismay rose in him that for one moment he thought he would scream. He put one fist to his mouth, as if to cram it back ... and then merely coughed into his fist. Neither Terry nor Dennis noticed, but Petey looked around, momentarily curious. "Hey, neat," Dennis said respectfully. It was a tone Hal rarely got from the boy anymore himself. Dennis was twelve. "What is it'?" Peter asked. He glanced at his father again before his eyes were dragged back to the thing his big brother had found. "What is it, Daddy?" "It's a monkey, fartbrains," Dennis said. "Haven't you ever seen a monkey before'?" "Don't call your brother fartbrains," Terry said automatically, and began to examine a box of curtains. The curtains were slimy with mildew and she dropped them quickly. "Uck." "Can I have it, Daddy'?" Petey asked. He was nine. "What do you mean?" Dennis cried. "I found it!" "Boys, please," Terry said. "I'm getting a headache." Hal barely heard them. The monkey glimmered up at him from his older son's hands, gnnning its old familiar grin. The same grin that
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