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（e out here； you little son of a bitch！）
If he could get to the stairs going down； if he could get off this third
floor； he might be all right。 Even the elevator。 If he could remember what had
been forgotten。 But it was dark and in his terror he had lost his orientation。
He had turned down one corridor and then another； his heart leaping into his
mouth like a hot lump of ice； fearing that each turn would bring him face to
face with the human tiger in these halls。
The booming was right behind him now； the awful hoarse shouting。
The whistle the head of the mallet made cutting through the air
（roque 。。。 stroke 。。。 roque 。。。 stroke 。。。 REDRUM）
before it crashed into the wall。 The soft whisper of feet on the jungle
carpet。 Panic squirting in his mouth like bitter juice。
（You will remember what was forgotten 。。。 but would he？ What was it？）
He fled around another corner and saw with creeping； utter horror that he was
in a cul…de…sac。 Locked doors frowned down at him from three sides。 The west
wing。 He was in the west wing and outside he could hear the storm whooping and
screaming； seeming to choke on its own dark throat filled with snow。
He backed up against the wall； weeping with terror now； his heart racing like
the heart of a rabbit caught in a snare。 When his back was against the light
blue silk wallpaper with the embossed pattern of wavy lines； his legs gave way
and he collapsed to the carpet； hands splayed on the jungle of woven vines and
creepers； the breath whistling in and out of his throat。
Louder。 Louder。
There was a tiger in the hall； and now the tiger was just around the corner；
still crying out in that shrill and petulant and lunatic rage； the roque mallet
slamming； because this tiger walked on two legs and it was —
He woke with a sudden indrawn gasp； sitting bolt upright in bed； eyes wide and
staring into the darkness； hands crossed in front of his face。
Something on one hand。 Crawling。
Wasps。 Three of them。
They stung him then； seeming to needle all at once； and that was when all the
images broke apart and fell on him in a dark flood and he began to shriek into
the dark； the wasps clinging to his left hand； stinging again and again。
The lights went on and Daddy was standing there in his shorts； his eyes
glaring。 Mommy behind him； sleepy and scared。
〃Get them off me！〃 Danny screamed。
〃Oh my God；〃 Jack said。 He saw。
〃Jack； what's wrong with him？ What's wrong？〃
He didn't answer her。 He ran to the bed； scooped up Danny's pillow； and
slapped Danny's thrashing left hand with it。 Again。 Again。 Wendy saw lumbering；
insectile forms rise into the air； droning。
〃Get a magazine！〃 he yelled over his shoulder。 〃Kill them！〃
〃Wasps？〃 she said； and for a moment she was inside herself； almost detached in
her realization。 Then her mind crosspatched； and knowledge was connected to
emotion。 〃Wasps； oh Jesus； Jack； you said — 〃
〃Shut the fuck up and kill them！〃 he roared。 〃Will you do what I say！〃
One of them had landed on Danny's reading desk。 She took a coloring book off
his worktable and slammed it down on the wasp。 It left a viscous brown smear。
〃There's another one on the curtain；〃 he said； and ran out past her with Danny
in his arms。
He took the boy into their bedroom and put him on Wendy's side of the
makeshift double。 〃Lie right there； Danny。 Don't e back until I tell you。
Understand？〃
His face puffed and streaked with tears； Danny nodded。
〃That's my brave boy。〃
Jack ran back down the hall to the stairs。 Behind him he heard the coloring
book slap twice； and then his wife screamed in pain。 He didn't slow but went
down the stairs two by two into the darkened lobby。 He went through Ullman's
office into the kitchen； slamming the heavy part of his thigh into the corner of
Ullman's oak desk； barely feeling it。 He slapped on the kitchen overheads and
crossed to the sink。 The washed dishes from supper were still heaped up in the
drainer； where Wendy had left them to drip…dry。 He snatched the big Pyrex bowl
off the top。 A dish fell to the floor and exploded。 Ignoring it； he turned and
ran back through the office and up the stairs。
Wendy was standing outside Danny's door； breathing hard。 Her face was the
color of table linen。 Her eyes were shiny and flat； her hair hung damply against
her neck。 〃I got all of them；〃 she said dully； 〃but one stung me。 Jack； you said
they were all dead。〃 She began to cry。
He slipped past her without answering and carried the Pyrex bowl over to the
nest by Danny's bed。 It was still。 Nothing there。 On the outside； anyway。 He
slammed the bowl down over the nest。
〃There；〃 he said。 〃e on。〃
They went back into their bedroom。
〃Where did it get you？〃 he asked her。
〃My 。。。 on my wrist。〃
〃Let's see。〃
She showed it to him。 Just above the bracelet of lines between wrist and palm；
there was a small circular hole。 The flesh around it was puffing up。
〃Are you allergic to stings？〃 he asked。 〃Think hard！ If you are； Danny might
be。 The fucking little bastards got him five or six times。〃
〃No；〃 she said； more calmly。 〃I 。。。 I just hate them； that's all。 Hate
them。〃
Danny was sitting on the foot of the bed； holding his left hand and looking at
them。 His eyes； circled with the white of shock； looked at Jack reproachfully。
〃Daddy； you said you killed them all。 My hand 。。。 it really hurts。〃
〃Let's see it； doc 。。。 no； I'm not going to touch it。 That would make it
hurt even more。 Just hold it out。〃
He did and Wendy moaned。 〃Oh Danny 。。。 oh； your poor hand！〃
Later the doctor would count eleven separate stings。 Now all they saw was a
dotting of small holes； as if his palm and fingers had been sprinkled with
grains of red pepper。 The swelling was bad。 His hand had begun to look like one
of those cartoon images where Bugs Bunny or Daffy Duck had just slammed himself
with a hammer。
〃Wendy； go get that spray stuff in the bathroom；〃 he said。
She went after it； and he sat down next to Danny and slipped an arm around his
shoulders。
〃After we spray your hand； I want to take some Polaroids of it； doc。 Then you
sleep the rest of the night with us； Tay？〃
〃Sure；〃 Danny said。 〃But why are you going to take pictures？〃
〃So maybe we can sue the ass out of some people。〃
Wendy came back with a spray tube in the shape of a chemical fire
extinguisher。
〃This won't hurt； honey；〃 she said； taking off the cap。
Danny held out his hand and she sprayed both sides until it gleamed。 He let
out a long； shuddery sigh。
〃Does it smart？〃 she asked。
〃No。 Feels better。〃
〃Now these。 Crunch them up。〃 She held out five orangeflavored baby aspirin。
Danny took them and popped them into his mouth one by one。
〃Isn't that a lot of aspirin？〃 Jack asked。
〃It's a lot of stings；〃 she snapped at him angrily。 〃You go and get rid of
that nest； John Torrance。 Right now。〃
〃Just a minute。〃
He went to the dresser and took his Polaroid Square Shooter out of the top
drawer。 He rummaged deeper and found some flashcubes。
〃Jack； what are you doing？〃 she asked； a little hysterically。
〃He's gonna take some pictures of my hand；〃 Danny said gravely； 〃and then
we're gonna sue the ass out of some people。 Right； Dad？〃
〃Right；〃 Jack said grimly。 He had found the flash attachment； and he jabbed it
onto the camera。 〃Hold it out； son。 I figure about five thousand dollars a
sting。〃
〃What are you talking about？〃 Wendy nearly screamed。
〃I'll tell you what；〃 he said。 〃I followed the directions on that fucking bug
bomb。 We're going to sue them。 The damn thing was defective。 Had to have been。
How else can you explain this？〃
〃Oh；〃 she said in a small voice。
He took four pictures； pulling out each covered print for Wendy to time on the
small locket watch she wore around her neck。 Danny； fascinated with the idea
that his stung hand might be worth thousands and thousands of dollars； began to
lose some of his fright and take an active interest。 The hand throbbed dully；
and he had a small headache。
When Jack had put the camera away and spread the prints out on top of the
dresser to dry； Wendy said： 〃Should we take him to the doctor tonight？〃
〃Not unless he's really in pain；〃 Jack said。 〃If a person has a strong allergy
to wasp venom； it hits within thirty seconds。〃
〃Hits？ What do you — 〃
〃A a。 Or convulsions。〃
〃Oh。 Oh my Jesus。〃 She cupped her hands over her elbows and hugged herself；
looking pale and wan。
〃How do you feel； son？ Think you could sleep？〃
Danny blinked at them。 The nightmare had faded to a dull； featureless
background in his mind； but he was still frightened。
〃If I can sleep with you。〃
〃Of course；〃 Wendy said。 〃Oh honey； I'm so sorry。〃
〃It's okay； Mommy。〃
She began to cry again； and Jack put his hands on her shoulders。 〃Wendy； I
swear to you that I followed the directions。〃
〃Will you get rid of it in the morning？ Please？〃
〃Of course I will。〃
The three of them got in bed together； and Jack was about to snap off the
light over the bed when he paused and pushed the covers back instead。 〃Want a
picture of the nest； too。〃
〃e right back。〃
〃I will。〃
He went to the dresser； got the camera and the last flashcube； and gave Danny
a closed thumb…and…forefinger circle。 Danny smiled and gave it back with his
good hand。
Quite a kid he thought as he walked down to Danny's room。 All of that and then
some。
The overhead was still on。 Jack crossed to the bunk setup； and as he glanced
at the table beside it； his skin crawled into goose flesh。 The short hairs on
his neck prickled and tried to stand erect。
He could hardly see the nest through the clear Pyrex bowl。 The inside of the
glass was crawling with wasps。 It was hard to tell how many。 Fifty at least。
Maybe a hundred。
His heart thudding slowly in his chest； he took his pictures and then set the
camera down to wait for them to develop。 He wiped his lips with the palm of his
hand。 One thought played over and over in his mind； echoing with
（You lost your temper。 You lost your temper。 You lost your temper。）
an almost superstitious dread。 They had e back。 He had killed the wasps but
they had e back。
In his mind he heard himself screaming into his frightened； crying son's face：
Don't stutter！
He wiped his lips again。
He went to Danny's worktable； rummaged in its drawers； and came up with a big
jigsaw puzzle with a fiberboard backing。 He took it over to the bedtable and
carefully slid the bowl and the nest onto it。 The wasps buzzed angrily inside
their prison。 Then； putting his hand firmly on top of the bowl so it wouldn't
slip； he went out into the hall。
〃ing to bed； Jack？〃 Wendy asked。
〃ing to bed； Daddy？〃
〃Have to go downstairs for a minute；〃 he said； making his voice light。
How had it happened？ How in God's name？
The bomb sure hadn't been a dud。 He had seen the thick white smoke start to
puff out of it when he had pulled the ring。 And when he had gone up two hours
later； he had shaken a drift of small dead bodies out of the hole in the top。
Then how？ Spontaneous regeneration？
That was crazy。 Seventeenth…century bullshit。 Insects didn't regenerate。 And
even if wasp eggs could mature full…grown insects in twelve hours； this wasn't
the season in which the queen laid。 That happened in April or May。 Fall was
their dying time。
A living contradiction； the wasps buzzed furiously under the bowl。
He took them downstairs and through the kitchen。 In back there was a door
which gave on the outside。 A cold night wind blew against his nearly naked body；
and his feet went numb almost instantly against the cold concrete of the
platform he was standing on； the platform where milk deliveries were made during
the hotel's operating season。 He put the puzzle and the bowl down carefully； and
when he stood up he looked at the thermometer nailed outside the door。 FRESH UP
WITH 7…up； the thermometer said； and the mercury stood at an even twenty…five
degrees。 The cold would kill them by morning。 He went in and shut the door
firmly。 After a moment's thought he locked it； too。
He crossed the kitchen again and shut off the lights。 He stood in the darkness
for a moment； thinking； wanting a drink。 Suddenly the hotel seemed full of a
thousand stealthy sounds： creakings and groans and the sly sniff of the wind
under the eaves where more wasps' nests might be hanging like deadly fruit。
They had e back。
And suddenly he found that he didn't like the Overlook so well anymore； as if
it wasn't wasps that had stung his son； wasps that had miraculously lived
through the bug bomb assault； but the hotel itself。
His last thought before going upstairs to his wife and son
（from now on you will hold your temper。 No Mattes What。）
was firm and hard and sure。
As he went down the hall to them he wiped his lips with the back of his hand。
》
THE DOCTOR'S OFFICE
Stripped to his underpants； lying on the examination table； Danny Torrance
looked ver