She came around him； sat down on one of the stair risers； and saw that his
lower lip had swelled to twice its size and that there was dried blood on his
chin。 Her heart took a frightened leap in her chest； but she managed to speak
neutrally。
〃What happened； doc？〃 she asked； although she was sure she knew。 Jack had hit
him。 Well； of course。 That came next； didn't it？ The wheels of progress； sooner
or later they took you back to where you started from。
〃I called Tony；〃 Danny said。 〃In the ballroom。 I guess I fell off the chair。
It doesn't hurt anymore。 Just feels 。。。 like my lip's too big。〃
〃Is that what really happened？〃 she asked； looking at him； troubled。
〃Daddy didn't do it；〃 he answered。 〃Not today。〃
She gazed at him； feeling eerie。 The ball traveled from one band to the other。
He had read her mind。 Her son had read her mind。
〃What 。。。 what did Tony tell you； Danny？〃
〃It doesn't matter。〃 His face was calm； his voice chillingly indifferent。
〃Danny — 〃 She gripped his shoulder； harder than she had intended。 But he
didn't wince； or even try to shake her off。
（Oh we are wrecking this boy。 It's not just Jack； it's me too； and maybe it's
not even just us； Jack's father； my mother； are they here too？ Sure； why not？
The place is lousy with ghosts anyway； why not a couple more？ Oh Lord in heaven
he's like one of those suitcases they show on TV； run over； dropped from planes；
going through factory crushers。 Or a Timex watch。 Takes a licking and keeps on
ticking。 Oh Danny I'm so sorry）
〃It doesn't matter；〃 he said again。 The ball went from hand to hand。 〃Tony
can't e anymore。 They won't let him。 He's licked。〃
〃Who won't？〃
〃The people in the hotel；〃 he said。 He looked at her then； and his eyes
weren't indifferent at all。 They were deep and scared。 〃And the 。。。 the things
in the hotel。 There's all kinds of them。 The hotel is stuffed with them。〃
〃You can see — 〃
〃I don't want to see；〃 he said low； and then looked back at the rubber ball；
arcing from hand to hand。 〃But I can hear them sometimes； late at night。 They're
like the wind； all sighing together。 In the attic。 The basement。 The rooms。 All
over。 I thought it was my fault； because of the way I am。 The key。 The little
silver key。〃
〃Danny； don't 。。。 don't upset yourself this way。〃
〃But it's him too；〃 Danny said。 〃It's Daddy。 And it's you。 It wants all of us。
It's tricking Daddy； it's fooling him； trying to make him think it wants him the
most。 It wants me the most； but it will take all of us。〃
〃If only that snowmobile — 〃
〃They wouldn't let him；〃 Danny said in that same low voice。 〃They made him
throw part of it away into the snow。 Far away。 I dreamed it。 And he knows that
woman really is in 217。〃 He looked at her with his dark； frightened eyes。 〃It
doesn't matter whether you believe me or not。〃
She slipped an arm around him。
〃I believe you； Danny； tell me the truth。 Is Jack 。。。 is he going to try to
hurt us？〃
〃They'll try to make him；〃 Danny said。 〃I've been calling for Mr。 Hallorann。
He said if I ever needed him to just call。 And I have been。 But it's awful hard。
It makes me tired。 And the worst part is I don't know if he's hearing me or not。
I don't think he can call back because it's too far for him。 And I don't know if
it's too far for me or not。 Tomorrow — 〃
〃What about tomorrow？〃
He shook his head。 〃Nothing。〃
〃Where is he now？〃 she asked。 〃Your daddy？〃
〃He's in the basement。 I don't think he'll be up tonight。〃
She stood up suddenly。 〃Wait right here for me。 Five minutes。〃
* * *
The kitchen was cold and deserted under the overhead fluorescent bars。 She
went to the rack where the carving knives hung from their magnetized strips。 She
took the longest and sharpest； wrapped it in a dish towel； and left the kitchen；
turning off the lights as she went。
* * *
Danny sat on the stairs； his eyes following the course of his red rubber ball
from hand to hand。 He sang： 〃She lives on the twentieth floor uptown； the
elevator is broken down。 So I walk one…two flight three flight four。 。 ：'
（ — Lou； Lou； skip to m' Lou — ）
His singing broke off。 He listened。
（ — Skip to m' Lou my darlin' — ）
The voice was in his head； so much a part of him； so frighteningly close that
it might have been a part of his own thoughts。 It was soft and infinitely sly。
Mocking him。 Seeming to say：
（Oh yes； you'll like it here。 Try it； you'll like it。 Try it； you'll liiiiike
it — ）
Now his ears were open and he could hear them again； the gathering； ghosts or
spirits or maybe the hotel itself； a dreadful funhouse where all the sideshows
ended in death； where all the specially painted boogies were really alive； where
hedges walked； where a small silver key could start the obscenity。 Soft and
sighing； rustling like the endless winter wind that played under the eaves at
night； the deadly lulling wind the summer tourists never heard。 It was like the
somnolent hum of summer wasps in a ground nest； sleepy； deadly； beginning to
wake up。 They were ten thousand feet high。
（Why is a raven like a writing desk？ The higher the fewer； of course！ Have
another cup of tea！）
It was a living sound； but not voices； not breath。 A man of a philosophical
bent might have called it the sound of souls。 Dick Hallorann's Nana； who had
grown up on southern roads in the years before the turn of the century； would
have called it ha'ants。 A psychic investigator might have had a long name for
it — psychic echo； psychokinesis； a telesmic sport。 But to Danny it was only the
sound of the hotel； the old monster； creaking steadily and ever more closely
around them： halls that now stretched back through time as well as distance；
hungry shadows； unquiet guests who did not rest easy。
In the darkened ballroom the clock under glass struck seven…thirty with a
single musical note。
A hoarse voice； made brutal with drink； shouted： 〃Unmask and let's fuck！〃
Wendy； halfway across the lobby； jerked to a standstill。
She looked at Danny on the stairs； still tossing the ball from hand to hand。
〃Did you hear something？〃
Danny only looked at her and continued to toss the ball from hand to hand。
There would be little sleep for them that night； although they slept together
behind a locked door。
And in the dark； his eyes open； Danny thought：
（He wants to be one of them and live forever。 That's what he wants。）
Wendy thought：
（If I have to； I'll take him further up。 If we're going to die I'd rather do
it in the mountains。）
She had left the butcher knife； still wrapped in the towel； under the bed。 She
kept her hand close to it。 They dozed off and on。 The hotel creaked around them。
Outside snow had begun to spit down from the sky like lead。
》
IN THE BASEMENT
（！！！ The boiler the goddam boiler ！！！）
The thought came into Jack Torrance's mind full…blown； edged in bright；
warning red。 On its heels； the voice of Watson：
（If you forget it'll just creep an creep and like as not you an your fambly
wilt end up on the fuckin moon 。。。 she's rated for two…fifty but she'd blow
long before that now 。。。 I'd be scared to e down and stand next to her at a
hundred and eighty。）
He'd been down here all night； poring over the boxes of old records； possessed
by a frantic feeling that time was getting short and he would have to hurry。
Still the vital clues； the connections that would make everything clear； eluded
him。 His fingers were yellow and grimy with crumbling old paper。 And he'd bee
so absorbed he hadn't checked the boiler once。 He'd dumped it the previous
evening around six o'clock； when he first came down。 It was now。。。
He looked at his watch and jumped up； kicking over e stack of old invoices。
Christ； it was quarter of five in the morning。
Behind him； the furnace kicked on。 The boiler was making a groaning； whistling
sound。
He ran to it。 His face； which had bee thinner in the last month or so； was
now heavily shadowed with beardstubble and he had a hollow concentration…camp
look。
The boiler pressure gauge stood at two hundred and ten pounds per square inch。
He fancied he could almost see the sides of the old patched and welded boiler
heaving out with the lethal strain。
（She creeps 。。。 I'd be scared to e down and stand next to her at a
hundred and eighty 。。。）
Suddenly a cold and tempting inner voice spoke to him。
（Let it go。 Go get Wendy and Danny and get the fuck out of here。 Let it blow
sky…high。）
He could visualize the explosion。 A double thunderclap that would first rip
the heart from this place； then the soul。 The boiler would go with an orange…
violet flash that would rain hot and burning shrapnel all over the cellar。 In
his mind he could see the redhot trinkets of metal careening from floor to walls
to ceiling like strange billiard balls； whistling jagged death through the air。
Some of them； surely； would whizz right through that stone arch； light on the
old papers on the other side； and they would burn merry hell。 Destroy the
secrets； burn the clues； it's a mystery no living hand will ever solve。 Then the
gas explosion； a great rumbling crackle of flame； a giant pilot light that would
turn the whole center of the hotel into a broiler。 Stairs and hallways and
ceilings and rooms aflame like the castle in the last reel of a Frankenstein
movie。 The flame spreading into the wings； hurrying up the black…and…blue…twined
carpets like eager guests。 The silk wallpaper charring and curling。 There were
no sprinklers； only those outmoded hoses and no one to use them。 And there
wasn't a fire engine in the world that could get here before late March。 Burn；
baby； burn。 In twelve hours there would be nothing left but the bare bones。
The needle on the gauge had moved up to two…twelve。 The boiler was creaking
and groaning like an old woman trying to get out of bed。 Hissing jets of steam
had begun to play around the edges of old patches； beads of solder had begun to
sizzle。
He didn't see； he didn't hear。 Frozen with his hand on the valve that would
dump off the pressure and damp the fire； Jack's eyes glittered from their
sockets like sapphires。
（It's my last chance。）
The only thing not cashed in now was the life…insurance policy he had taken
out jointly with Wendy in the summer between his first and second years at
Stovington。 Forty…thousand…dollar death benefit； double indemnity if he or she
died in a train crash； a plane crash； or a fire。 Seven…e…eleven； die the
secret death and win a hundred dollars。
（A fire 。。。 eighty thousand dollars。）
They would have time to get out。 Even if they were sleeping； they would have
time to get out。 He believed that。 And he didn't think the hedges or anything
else would try to hold them back if the Overlook was going up in flames。
（Flames。）
The needle inside the greasy； almost opaque dial had danced up to two hundred
and fifteen pounds per square i