of the snake； slipping swiftly over the carpet's dry hackles。 At his heels now；
perhaps rising up with the clear poison dribbling from its brass snout。
Danny reached the stairs and had to pinwheel his arms crazily for balance。 For
one moment it seemed sure that he would cartwheel over and go head…for…heels to
the bottom。
He threw a glance back over his shoulder。
The hose had not moved。 It lay as it had lain； one loop off the frame； the
brass nozzle on the hall floor； the nozzle pointing disinterestedly away from
him。 You see； stupid？ he berated himself。 You made it all up； scaredy…cat。 It
was all your imagination； scaredy…cat； scaredy…cat。
He clung to the stairway railing； his legs trembling in reaction。
（It never chased you）
his mind told him； and seized on that thought； and played it back。
（never chased you； never chased you； never did； never did）
It was nothing to be afraid of。 Why； he could go back and put that hose right
into its frame； if he wanted to。 He could； but he didn't think he would。 Because
what if it had chased him and had gone back when it saw that it couldn't 。。。
quite 。。。 catch him？
The hose lay on the carpet； almost seeming to ask him if he would like to e
back and try again。
Panting； Danny ran downstairs。
》
TALKING TO MR。 ULLMAN
The Sidewinder Public Library was a small； retiring building one block down
from the town's business area。 It was a modest； vine…covered building； and the
wide concrete walk up to the door was lined with the corpses of last summer's
flowers。 On the lawn was a large bronze statue of a Civil War general Jack had
never heard of； although he had been something of a Civil War buff in his
teenage years。
The newspaper files were kept downstairs。 They consisted of the Sidewinder
Gazette that had gone bust in 1963； the Estes Park daily； and the Boulder
Camera。 No Denver papers at all。
Sighing； Jack settled for the Camera。
When the files reached 1965； the actual newspapers were replaced by spools of
microfilm （〃A federal grant；〃 the librarian told him brightly。 〃We hope to do
1958 to '64 when the next check es through； but they're so slow； aren't they？
You will be careful； won't you？ I just know you will。 Call if you need me。〃）。
The only reading machine had a lens that had somehow gotten warped； and by the
time Wendy put her hand on his shoulder some forty…five minutes after he had
switched from the actual papers； he had a juicy thumper of a headache。
〃Danny's in the park；〃 she said； 〃but I don't want him outside too long。 How
much longer do you think you'll be？〃
〃Ten minutes；〃 he said。 Actually he had traced down the last of the Overlook's
fascinating history ˉ the years between the gangland shooting and the takeover by
Stuart Ullman & Co。 But he felt the same reticence about telling Wendy。
〃What are you up to； anyway？〃 she asked。 She ruffed his hair as she said it；
but her voice was only half…teasing。
〃Looking up some old Overlook history；〃 he said。
〃Any particular reason？〃
〃No；
（and why the hell are you so interested anyway？）
just curiosity。〃
〃Find anything interesting？〃
〃Not much；〃 he said； having to strive to keep his voice pleasant now。 She was
prying； just the way she had always pried and poked at him when they had been at
Stovington and Danny was still a crib…infant。 Where are you going； Jack？ When
will you be back？ How much money do you have with you？ Are you going to take the
car？ Is Al going to be with you？ Will one of you stay sober？ On and on。 She had；
pardon the expression； driven him to drink。 Maybe that hadn't been the only
reason； but by Christ let's tell the truth here and admit it was one of them。
Nag and nag and nag until you wanted to clout her one just to shut her up and
stop the
（Where？ When？ How？ Are you？ Will you？）
endless flow of questions。 It could give you a real
（headache？ hangover？）
headache。 The reader。 The damned reader with its distorted print。 That was why
he had such a cunt of a headache。
〃Jack； are you all right？ You look pale — 〃
He snapped his head away from her fingers。 〃I am fine！〃
She recoiled from his hot eyes and tried on a smile that was a size too small。
〃Well 。。。 if you are 。。。 I'll just go and wait in the park with Danny 。。。〃
She was starting away now； her smile dissolving into a bewildered expression of
hurt。
He called to her： 〃Wendy？〃
She looked back from the foot of the stairs。 〃What； Jack？〃
He got up and went over to her。 〃I'm sorry； babe。 I guess I'm really not all
right。 That machine 。。。 the lens is distorted。 I've got a really bad headache。
Got any aspirin？〃
〃Sure。〃 She pawed in her purse and came up with a tin of Anacin。 〃You keep
them。〃
He took the tin。 〃No Excedrin？〃 He saw the small recoil on her face and
understood。 It had been a bitter sort of joke between them at first； before the
drinking had gotten too bad for jokes。 He had claimed that Excedrin was the only
nonprescription drug ever invented that could stop a hangover dead in its
tracks。 Absolutely the only one。 He had begun to think of his morning…after
thumpers as Excedrin Headache Number Vat 69。
〃No Excedrin；〃 she said。 〃Sorry。〃
〃That's okay；〃 he said； 〃these'll do just fine。〃 But of course they wouldn't；
and she should have known it； too。 At times she could be the stupidest bitch 。。。
〃Want some water？〃 she asked brightly。
（No I just want you to GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE！） 。
〃I'll get some at the drinking fountain when I go up。 Thanks。〃
〃Okay。〃 She started up the stairs； good legs moving gracefully under a short
tan wool skirt。 〃We'll be in the park。〃
〃Right。〃 He slipped the tin of Anacin absently into his pocket； went back to
the reader； and turned it off。 When he was sure she was gone； he went upstairs
himself。 God； but it was a lousy headache。 If you were going to have a vise…
gripper like this one； you ought to at least be allowed the pleasure of a few
drinks to balance it off。
He tried to put the thought from his mind； more ill tempered than ever。 He
went to the main desk； fingering a matchbook cover with a telephone number on
it。
〃Ma'am； do you have a pay telephone？〃
〃No； sir； but you can use mine if it's local。〃
〃It's long…distance； sorry。〃
〃Well then； I guess the drugstore would be your best bet。 They have a booth。〃
〃Thanks。〃
He went out and down the walk； past the anonymous Civil War general。 He began
to walk toward the business block； hands stuffed in his pockets； head thudding
like a leaden bell。 The sky was also leaden； it was November 7； and with the new
month the weather had bee threatening。 There had been a number of snow
flurries。 There had been snow in October too； but that had melted。 The new
flurries had stayed； a light frosting over everything it sparkled in the
sunlight like fine crystal。 But there had been no sunlight today； and even as he
reached the drugstore it began to spit snow again。
The phone booth was at the back of the building； and he was halfway down an
aisle of patent medicines； jingling his change in his pocket； when his eyes fell
on the white boxes with their green print。 He took one of them to the cashier；
paid； and went back to the telephone booth。 He pulled the door closed； put his
change and matchbook cover on the counter； and dialed O。
〃Your call； please？〃
〃Fort Lauderdale； Florida； operator。〃 He gave her the number there and the
number in the booth。 When she told him it would be a dollar ninety for the first
three minutes； he dropped eight quarters into the slot； wincing each time the
bell bonged in his ear。
Then； left in limbo with only the faraway clickings and gabblings of
connection…making； he took the green…bottle of Excedrin out of its box； pried up
the white cap； and dropped the wad of cotton batting to the floor of the booth。
Cradling the phone receiver between his ear and shoulder； he shook out three of
the white tablets and lined them up on the counter beside his remaining change。
He recapped the bottle and put it in his pocket。
At the other end； the phone was picked up on the first ring。
〃Surf…Sand Resort； how may we help you？〃 the perky female voice asked。
〃I'd like to speak with the manager； please。〃
〃Do you mean Mr。 Trent or — 〃
〃I mean Mr。 Ullman。〃
〃I believe Mr。 Ullman is busy； but if you would like me to check — 〃
〃I would。 Tell him it's Jack Torrance calling from Colorado。〃
〃One moment； please。〃 She put him on hold。
Jack's dislike for that cheap； self…important little prick Ullman came
flooding back。 He took one of the Excedrins from the counter； regarded it for a
moment； then put it into his mouth and began to chew it； slowly and with relish。
The taste flooded back like memory； making his saliva squirt in mingled pleasure
and unhappiness。 A dry； bitter taste； but a pelling one。 He swallowed with a
grimace。 Chewing aspirin had been a habit with him in his drinking days； he
hadn't done it at all since then。 But when your headache was bad enough； a
hangover headache or one like this one； chewing them seemed to make them get to
work quicker。 He had read somewhere that chewing aspirin could bee addictive。
Where had he read that； anyway？ Frowning； he tried to think。 And then Ullman
came on the line。
〃Torrance？ What's the trouble？〃
〃No trouble；〃 he said。 〃The boiler's okay and I haven't even gotten around to
murdering my wife yet。 I'm saving that until after the holidays； when things get
dull。〃
〃Very funny。 Why are you calling？ I'm a busy — 〃
〃Busy man； yes； I understand that。 I'm calling about some things that you
didn't tell me during your history of the Overlooks great and honorable past。
Like how Horace Derwent sold it to a bunch of Las Vegas sharpies who dealt it
through so many dummy corporations that not even the IRS knew who really owned
it。 About how they waited until the time was right and then turned it into a
playground for Mafia bigwigs； and about how it had to be shut down in 1966 when
one of them got a little bit dead。 Along with his bodyguards； who were standing
outside the door to the Presidential Suite。 Great place； the Overlook's
Presidential Suite。 Wilson； Harding； Roosevelt； Nixon； and Vito the Chopper；
right？〃
There was a moment of surprised silence on the other end of the line； and then
Ullman said quietly： 〃I don't see how that can have any bearing on your job； Mr。
Torrance。 It 〃
〃The best part happened after Gienelli was shot； though； don't you think？ Two
more quick shuffles； now you see it and now you don't； and then the Overlook is
suddenly owned by a private citizen； a woman named Sylvia Hunter 。。。 who just
happened to be Sylvia Hunter Derwent from 1942 to 1948。〃
〃Your three minutes are up；〃 the operator said。 〃Signal when through。〃
〃My dear Mr。 Torrance； all of this is public knowledge 。。。 and ancient
history。〃
〃It formed no part of my knowledge；〃 Jack said。 〃I doubt if many other people
know it； either。 Not all of it。 They remember the Gienel