#henry devlin

The presence was preferable to the nightmares, even as it refused to shake the pesky habit of manifesting itself far too close. Henry had chalked up that first time—the steady breaths against the back of his neck, the proximity, the warmth—to confusion and surprise. The excuse became flimsy by the third time. Frankly laughable by the tenth. Once or twice the hallucination did show up sitting at the foot of his bed or leaned against the doorway at least, but most of the time it just wouldn’t keep the distance; coming into being under the covers with him, holding him close, solid and impossibly real. Sometimes, Henry even managed to work up enough concern to protest. It felt about as honest as lying to Jonesy about not missing being normal; still, he felt that he had to try. Owen, buddy. Personal space. I’m dead. Instantaneous. Perfectly deadpan. Henry almost laughed. Yeah, I don’t want a dead guy in my bed.

My sister: Butt monsters? Like, from Taco Bell?

Twenty-five years after saving a Down’s-syndrome kid from bullies, Beav, Henry, Pete, and Jonesy -- now men with separate lives and separate problems -- reunite in the woods of Maine for their annual hunting trip. But when a stranger stumbles into their camp, disoriented and mumbling something about lights in the sky, chaos erupts. Soon, the four friends are plunged into a horrifying struggle with a creature from another world where their only chance of survival is locked in their shared past — and in the Dreamcatcher

Get cracking, fruitcakes!

Father Callahan, 'Salem's Lot & The Dark Tower series

dreamcatcher (2001), by stephen king