So many stories flashed in front of my eyes as I finished The Jaunt. The White Christmas (Black Mirror), Dark Matter by Blake Crouch, certain episodes of Doctor Who. I agree with the people who are categorizing this story as Existential Horror. This is one of those stories that goes plain and smooth and then leaves you with a dark aftertaste that lingers for days.

The only issue I have, not just with this story, but with most of Stephen King's writing, is his inability to describe women (and girls) without mentioning their 'bosoms'. What kind of father thinks of his daughter's growing breasts when he laments over the passage of time? And why would a writer pass that as something normal?