I am a child of the 80s, and just like whichever decade your teen years were set, that is the era that defined me. Part of that period in my life was where my affinity for the horror genre evolved, with the books of Stephen King maybe the largest single element. Throughout that decade, with no internet to make things easy, I devoured not just his books, but also news of his books. Each time I went into a book shop with the intent of picking up his newest release, I left in a hurry to get home to crack open the cover. I remember calling the US telephone operator from my bedroom in Scotland around 1987 or so and actually getting the number of King’s Bangor mansion, but there was never an answer each time I called. All this is to tell you that I was a big fan of King, to preface the review of 2019’s Pet Sematary.