Man, do I love horror movies. When I was 14 I got a job at Out of Town News in Harvard Square. I cut papers (unloading) and sold them on street corners around the square. I worked in the back room mostly. I was 14, so they weren't psyched about me handling money all the time.
I went home every day and read books en route, usually something by Stephen King. I would get off a stop past my house so I could go to the video store and rent a few horror movies. My day started and ended early, so I had lots of time to take in every cult classic and every piece of garbage horror flick I could get my hands on. Have you seen all the Howling movies? You shouldn't, but I enjoyed every one.
On a rare day where I was working the outside register a man walks up and holy shnikeys did this guy look like my favorite author, Stephen King. He bought a NYT Book Review, a Harpers, and something else. Shy as I was, I managed to squeak out "Hey, you look a lot like Stephen King," to which he replied, "I am Stephen King." He was gracious enough to give me an autograph, and since I had nothing to write on, I pulled out a dollar from the reg and he signed that. That dollar is now framed in my basement along with a news clipping from the next week's Boston Globe where Mr King stated clearly that he just doesn't autographs at all, not for anyone.
Man, do I love horror movies.