She was getting ready to go into her croon again。 The Wendy Torrance All…
purpose Croon。 Pat。 Pending。
〃Let him finish；〃 Jack said curtly。
〃There isn't any more；〃 Danny said。 〃I passed out。 Either because she was
choking me or just because I was scared。 When I came to； I was dreaming you and
Mommy were fighting over me and you wanted to do the Bad Thing again； Daddy。
Then I knew it wasn't a dream at all 。。。 and I was awake 。。。 and 。。。 I wet
my pants。 I wet my pants like a baby。〃 His head fell back against Wendy's
sweater and he began to cry with horrible weakness； his hands lying limp and
spent in his lap。
Jack got up。 〃Take care of him。〃
〃What are you going to do？〃 Her face was full of dread。
〃I'm going up to that room； what did you think I was going to do？ Have coffee？〃
〃No！ Don't； Jack； please don't！〃
〃Wendy； if there's someone else in the hotel； we have to know。〃
〃Don't you dare leave us alone！〃 she shrieked at him。 Spittle flew from her
lips with the force of her cry。
Jack said： 〃Wendy； that's a remarkable imitation of your mom。〃
She burst into tears then； unable to cover her face because Danny was on her
lap。
〃I'm sorry；〃 Jack said。 〃But I have to； you know。 I'm the goddam caretaker。
It's what I'm paid for。〃
She only cried harder and he left her that way； going out of the kitchen；
rubbing his mouth with his handkerchief as the door swung shut behind him。
〃Don't worry； mommy；〃 Danny said。 〃He'll be all right。 He doesn't shine。
Nothing here can hurt him。〃
Through her tears she said； 〃No； I don't believe that。〃
》
217 REVISITED
He took the elevator up and it was strange； because none of them had used the
elevator since they moved in。 He threw the brass handle over and it wheezed
vibratoriously up the shaft； the brass grate rattling madly。 Wendy had a true
claustrophobe's horror of the elevator； he knew。 She envisioned the three of
them trapped in it between floors while the winter storms raged outside； she
could see them growing thinner and weaker； starving to death。 Or perhaps dining
on each other； the way those Rugby players had。 He remembered a bumper sticker
he had seen in Boulder； RUGBY PLAYERS EAT THEIR OWN DEAD。 He could think of
others。 YOU ARE WHAT YOU EAT。 Or menu items。 Wele to the Overlook Dining
Room； Pride of the Rockies。 Eat in Splendor at the Roof of the World。 Human
Haunch Broiled Over Matches La Specialite de la Maison。 The contemptuous smile
flicked over his features again。 As the number 2 rose on the shaft wall； he
threw the brass handle back to the home position and the elevator car creaked to
a stop。 He took his Excedrin from his pocket； shook three of them into his hand；
and opened the elevator door。 Nothing in the Overlook frightened him。 He felt
that he and it were simpatico。
He walked up the hall flipping his Excedrin into his mouth and chewing them
one by one。 He rounded the corner into the short corridor off the main hall。 The
door to Room 217 was ajar； and the passkey hung from the lock on its white
paddle。
He frowned； feeling a wave of irritation and even real anger。 Whatever had
e of it； the boy had been trespassing。 He had been told； and told bluntly；
that certain areas of the hotel were off limits： the equipment shed； the
basement； and all of the guest rooms。 He would talk to Danny about that just as
soon as the boy was over his fright。 He would talk to him reasonably but
sternly。 There were plenty of fathers who would have done more than just talk。
They would have administered a good shaking； and perhaps that was what Danny
needed。 If the boy had gotten a scare； wasn't that at least his just deserts？
He walked down to the door； removed the passkey； dropped it into his pocket；
and stepped inside。 The overhead light was on。 He glanced at the bed； saw it was
not rumpled； and then walked directly across to the bathroom door。 A curious
certainty had grown in him。 Although Watson had mentioned no names or room
numbers； Jack felt sure that this was the room the lawyer's wife and her stud
had shared； that this was the bathroom where she had been found dead； full of
barbiturates and Colorado Lounge booze。
He pushed the mirror…backed bathroom door open and stepped through。 The light
in here was off。 He turned it on and observed the long； Pullman…car room；
furnished in the distinctive early nineteen…hundreds…remodeled…in…the…twenties
style that seemed mon to all Overlook bathrooms； except for the ones on the
third floor — those were properly Byzantine； as befitted the royalty； politicians；
movie stars； and capos who had stayed there over the years。
The shower curtain； a pallid pastel pink； was drawn protectively around the
long claw…footed tub。
（nevertheless they did move）
And for the first time he felt his new sense of sureness （almost cockiness）
that had e over him when Danny ran to him shouting It was her！ It was her！
deserting him。 A chilled finger pressed gently against the base of his spine；
cooling him off ten degrees。 It was joined by others and they suddenly rippled
all the way up his back to his medulla oblongata； playing his spine like a
jungle instrument。
His anger at Danny evaporated； and as he stepped forward and pushed the shower
curtain back his mouth was dry and he felt only sympathy for his son and terror
for himself。
The tub was dry and empty。
Relief and irritation vented in a sudden 〃Pah！〃 sound that escaped his
pressed lips like a very small explosive。 The tub had been scrubbed clean at
the end of the season； except for the rust stain under the twin faucets； it
sparkled。 There was a faint but definable smell of cleanser； the kind that can
irritate your nose with the smell of its own righteousness for weeks； even
months； after it has been used。
He bent down and ran his fingertips along the bottom of the tub。 Dry as a
bone。 Not even a hint of moisture。 The boy had been either hallucinating or
outright lying。 He felt angry again。 That was when the bathmat on the floor
caught his attention。 He frowned down at it。 What was a bathmat doing in here？
It should be down in the linen cupboard at the end of the wing with the rest of
the sheets and towels and pillow slips。 All the linen was supposed to be there。
Not even the beds were really made up in these guest rooms； the mattresses had
been zipped into clear plastic and then covered with bedspreads。 He supposed
Danny might have gone down and gotten it — the passkey would open the linen
cupboard — but why？ He brushed the tips of his fingers back and forth across it。
The bathmat was bone dry。
He went back to the bathroom door and stood in it。 Everything was all right。
The boy had been dreaming。 There was not a thing out of place。 It was a little
puzzling about the bathmat； granted； but the logical explanation was that some
chambermaid； hurrying like mad on the last day of the season； had just forgotten
to pick it up。 Other than that； everything was —
His nostrils flared a little。 Disinfectant； that self…righteous smell；
cleaner…than…thou。 And —
Soap？
Surely not。 But once the smell had been identified； it was too clear to
dismiss。 Soap。 And not one of those postcard…size bars of Ivory they provide you
with in hotels and motels； either。 This scent was light and perfumed； a lady's
soap。 It had a pink sort of smell。 Camay or Lowila； the brand that Wendy had
always used in Stovington。
（It's nothing。 It's your imagination。）
（yes like the hedges nevertheless they did move）
（They did not move！）
He crossed jerkily to the door which gave on the hall； feeling the irregular
thump of a headache beginning at his temples。 Too much had happened today； too
much by far。 He wouldn't spank the boy or shake him； just talk to him； but by
God； he wasn't going to add Room 217 to his problems。 Not on the basis of a dry
bathmat and a faint smell of Lowila soap。 He —
There was a sudden rattling； metallic sound behind him。 It came just as his
hand closed around the doorknob； and an observer might have thought the brushed
steel of the knob carried an electric charge。 He jerked convulsively； eyes
widening； other facial features drawing in； grimacing。
Then he had control of himself； a little； anyway； and he let go of the
doorknob and turned carefully around。 His joints creaked。 He began to walk back
to the bathroom door； step by leaden step。
The shower curtain； which he had pushed back to look into the tub； was now
drawn。 The metallic rattle； which had sounded to him like a stir of bones in a
crypt； had been the curtain rings on the overhead bar。 Jack stared at the
curtain。 His face felt as if it had been heavily waxed； all dead skin on the
outside； live； hot rivulets of fear on the inside。 The way he had felt on the
playground。
There was something behind the pink plastic shower curtain。 There was
something in the tub。
He could see it； ill defined and obscure through the plastic； a nearly
amorphous shape。 It could have been anything。 A trick of the light。 The shadow
of the shower attachment。 A woman long dead and reclining in her bath； a bar of
Lowila in one stiffening hand as she waited patiently for whatever lover might
e。
Jack told himself to step forward boldly and rake the shower curtain back。 To
expose whatever might be there。 Instead he turned with jerky； marionette
strides； his heart whamming frightfully in his chest； and went back into the
bed/sitting room。
The door to the hall was shut。
He stared at it for a long； immobile second。 He could taste his terror now。 It
was in the back of his throat like a taste of gone…over cherries。
He walked to the door with that same jerky stride and forced his fingers to
curl around the knob。
（It won't open。）
But it did。
He turned off the light with a fumbling gesture； stepped out into the hall；
and pulled the door shut without looking back。 From inside； he seemed to hear an
odd wet thumping sound； far off； dim； as if something had just scrambled
belatedly out of the tub； as if to greet a caller； as if it had realized the
caller was leaving before the social amenities had been pleted and so it was
now rushing to the door； all purple and grinning； to invite the caller back
inside。 Perhaps forever。
Footsteps approaching the door or only the heartbeat in his ears？
He fumbled at the passkey。 It seemed sludgy； unwilling to turn in the lock。 He
attacked the passkey。 The tumblers suddenly fell and he stepped back against the
corridor's far wall； a little groan of relief escaping him。 He closed his eyes
and all the old phrases began to parade through his mind； it seemed there must
be hundreds of them；
（cracking up not playing with a full deck lost ya marbles guy just went loony
tunes he went up and over the high side went bananas lost his football crackers
nuts half a seabag）
all meaning the same thing： losing your mind。
〃No；〃 he whimpered； hardly aware that he had been reduced to this； whimpering
with his eyes shut like a child。 〃Oh no； God。 Plea