wallpaper had been changed since June of 1966； but he knew that window and the
view perfectly well。 It was the western exposure of the Presidential Suite。
Murder came next。 The sitting room wall by the door leading into the bedroom was
splashed with blood and what could only be white flecks of brain matter。 A
blank…faced cop was standing over a corpse hidden by a blanket。 Jack stared；
fascinated； and then his eyes moved up to the headline。
GANGLAND…STYLE SHOOTING AT
COLORADO HOTEL
Reputed Crime Overlord Shot at Mountain Key Club
Two Others Dead
SIDEWINDER； COLO （UPI）…Forty miles from this sleepy Colorado town； a
gangland…style execution has occurred in the heart of the Rocky Mountains。
The Overlook Hotel； purchased three years ago as an exclusive key club by a
Las Vegas firm； was the site of a triple shotgun slaying。 Two of the men
were either the panions or bodyguards of Vittorio Gienelli； also known
as 〃The Chopper〃 for his reputed involvement in a Boston slaying twenty
years ago。
Police were summoned by Robert Norman； manager of the Overlook； who said
he heard shots and that some of the guests reported two men wearing
stockings on their faces and carrying guns had fled down the fire escape
and driven off in a late…model tan convertible。
State Trooper Benjamin Moorer discovered two dead men； later identified
as Victor T。 Boorman and Roger Macassi； both of Las Vegas； outside the door
of the Presidential Suite where two American Presidents have stayed。
Inside； Moorer found the body of Gienelli sprawled on the floor。 Gienelli
was apparently fleeing his attackers when he was cut down。 Moorer said
Gienelli had been shot with heavy…gauge shotguns at close range。
Charles Grondin； the representative of the pany which now owns the
Overlook； could not be reached for。。。
Below the clipping； in heavy strokes of a ball…point pen； someone had written：
They took his balls along with them。 Jack stared at that for a long time；
feeling cold。 Whose book was this？
He turned the page at last； swallowing a click in his throat。 Another column
from Josh Brannigar； this one dated early 1967。 He only read the headline：
NOTORIOUS HOTEL SOLD FOLLOWING MURDER OF UNDERWORLD FIGURE。
The sheets following that clipping were blank。
（They took his balls along with them。）
He flipped back to the beginning； looking for a name or address。 Even a room
number。 Because he felt quite sure that whoever had kept this little book of
memories had stayed at the hotel。 But there was nothing。
He was getting ready to go through all the clippings； more closely this time；
when a voice called down the stairs： 〃Jack？ Hon？〃
Wendy。
He started； almost guiltily； as if he had been drinking secretly and she would
smell the fumes on him。 Ridiculous。 He scrubbed his lips with his hand and
called back； 〃Yeah； babe。 Lookin for rats。〃
She was ing down。 He heard her on the stairs； then crossing the boiler
room。 Quickly； without thinking why he might be doing it； be stuffed the
scrapbook under a pile of bills and invoices。 He stood up as she came through
the arch。
〃What in the world have you been doing down here？ It's almost three o'clock！〃
He smiled。 〃Is it that late？ I got rooting around through all this stuff。
Trying to find out where the bodies are buried； I guess。〃
The words clanged back viciously in his mind。
She came closer； looking at him； and he unconsciously retreated a step； unable
to help himself。 He knew what she was doing。 She was trying to smell liquor on
him。 Probably she wasn't even aware of it herself； but he was； and it made him
feel both guilty and angry。
〃Your mouth is bleeding；〃 she said in a curiously flat tone。
〃Huh？〃 He put his hand to his lips and winced at the thin stinging。 His index
finger came away bloody。 His guilt increased。
〃You've been rubbing your mouth again；〃 she said。
He looked down and shrugged。 〃Yeah； I guess I have。〃
〃It's been hell for you； hasn't it？〃
〃No； not so bad。〃
〃Has it gotten any easier？〃
He looked up at her and made his feet start moving。 Once they were actually in
motion it was easier。 He crossed to his wife and slipped an arm around her
waist。 He brushed aside a sheaf of her blond hair and kissed her neck。 〃Yes；〃 he
said。 〃Where's Danny？〃
〃Oh； he's around somewhere。 It's started to cloud up outside。 Hungry？〃
He slipped a hand over her taut； jeans…clad bottom with counterfeit lechery。
〃Like ze bear； madame。〃
〃Watch out； slugger。 Don't start something you can't finish。〃
〃Fig…fig； madame？〃 he asked； still rubbing。 〃Dirty peeotures？ Unnatural
positions？〃 As they went through the arch； he threw one glance back at the box
where the scrapbook
（whose？）
was hidden。 With the light out it was only a shadow。 He was relieved that he
had gotten Wendy away。 His lust became less acted； more natural； as they
approached the stairs。
〃Maybe；〃 she said。 〃After we get you a sandwich…yeek！〃 She twisted away from
him； giggling。 〃That tickles！〃
〃It teekles nozzing like Jock Torrance would like to teekle you； madame。〃
〃Lay off； Jock。 How about a ham and cheese 。。。 for the first course？〃
They went up the stairs together； and Jack didn't look over his shoulder
again。 But he thought of Watson's words：
Every big hotel has got a ghost。 Why？ Hell； people e and go。。。
Then Wendy shut the basement door behind them； closing it into darkness。
》
OUTSIDE 217
Danny was remembering the words of someone else who had worked at the Overlook
during the season：
Her saying she'd seen something in one of the rooms where 。。。 a bad thing
happened。 That was in Room 217 and I want you to promise me you won't go in
there； Danny 。。。 steer right clear 。。。
It was a perfectly ordinary door； no different from any other door on the
first two floors of the hotel。 It was dark gray； halfway down a corridor that
ran at right angles to the main second…floor hallway。 The numbers on the door
looked no different from the house numbers on the Boulder apartment building
they had lived in。 A 2； a 1； and a 7。 Big deal。 Just below them was a tiny glass
circle； a peephole。 Danny had tried several of them。 From the inside you got a
wide； fish…eye view of the corridor。 From outside you could screw up your eye
seven ways to Sunday and still not see a thing。 A dirty gyp：
（Why are you here？）
After the walk behind the Overlook； he and Mommy had e back and she had
fixed him his favorite lunch； a cheese and bologna sandwich plus Campbell's Bean
Soup。 They ate in Dick's kitchen and talked。 The radio was on； getting thin and
crackly music from the Estes Park station。 The kitchen was his favorite place in
the hotel； and he guessed that Mommy and Daddy must feel the same way； because
after trying their meals in the dining room for three days or so； they had begun
eating in the kitchen by mutual consent； setting up chairs around Dick
Hallorann's butcher block； which was almost as big as their dining room table
back in Stovington； anyway。 The dining room had been too depressing； even with
the lights on and the music playing from the tape cassette system in the office。
You were still just one of three people sitting at a table surrounded by dozens
of other tables； all empty； all covered with those transparent plastic
dustcloths。 Mommy said it was like having dinner in the middle of a Horace
Walpole novel； and Daddy had laughed and agreed。 Danny had no idea who Horace
Walpole was； but he did know that Mommy's cooking had begun to taste better as
soon as they began to eat it in the kitchen。 He kept discovering little flashes
of Dick Hallorann's personality lying around； and they reassured him like a warm
touch。
Mommy had eaten half a sandwich； no soup。 She said Daddy must have gone out
for a walk of his own since both the VW and the hotel truck were in the parking
lot。 She said she was tired and might lie down for an hour or so； if he thought
he could amuse himself and not get into trouble。 Danny told her around a
mouthful of cheese and bologna that he thought he could。
〃Why don't you go out into the playground？〃 she asked him。 〃I thought you'd
love that place； with a sandbox for your trucks and all。〃
He swallowed and the food went down his throat in a lump that was dry and
hard。 〃Maybe I will；〃 he said； turning to the radio and fiddling with it。
〃And all those neat hedge animals；〃 she said； taking his empty plate。 〃Your
father's got to get out and trim them pretty soon。〃
〃Yeah；〃 he said。
（Just nasty things 。。。 once it had to do with those damn hedges clipped to
look like animals 。。。）
〃If you see your father before I do； tell him I'm lying down。〃
〃Sure； Mom。〃
She put the dirty dishes in the sink and came back over to him。 〃Are you happy
here； Danny？〃
He looked at her guilelessly； a milk mustache on his lip。 〃Uh…huh。〃
〃No more bad dreams？〃
〃No。〃 Tony had e to him once； one night while he was lying in bed； calling
his name faintly and from far away。 Danny had squeezed his eyes tightly shut
until Tony had gone。
〃You sure？〃
〃Yes； Mom。〃
She seemed satisfied。 〃How's your hand？〃
He flexed it for her。 〃All better。〃
She nodded。 Jack had taken the nest under the Pyrex bowl； full of frozen
wasps； out to the incinerator in back of the equipment shed and burned it。 They
had seen no more wasps since。 He had written to a lawyer in Boulder； enclosing
the snaps of Danny's hand； and the lawyer had called back two days ago — that had
put Jack in a foul temper all afternoon。 The lawyer doubted if the pany that
had manufactured the bug bomb could be sued successfully because there was only
Jack to testify that he had followed directions printed on the package。 Jack had
asked the lawyer if they couldn't purchase some others and test them for the
same defect。 Yes； the lawyer said； but the results were highly doubtful even if
all the test bombs malfunctioned。 He told Jack of a case that involved an
extension ladder pany and a man who had broken his back。 Wendy had
miserated with Jack； but privately she had just been glad that Danny had
gotten off as cheaply as he had。 It was best to leave lawsuits to people who
understood them； and that did not include the Torrances。 And they had seen no
more wasps since。
〃Go and play； doc。 Have fun。〃
But he hadn't had fun。 He had wandered aimlessly around the hotel； poking into
the maids' closets and the janitor's rooms； looking for something interesting；
not finding it； a small boy padding along a dark blue carpet woven with twisting
black lines。 He had tried a room door from time to time； but of course they were
all locked。 The passkey was hanging down in the office； he knew where； but Daddy
had told him he shouldn't touch that。 And he didn't want to。 Did be？
（Why are you here？）
There was nothing aimless abo