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talking…to； and perhaps a bit more。 My own girls； sir； didn't care for the
Overlook at first。 One of them actually stole a pack of my matches and tried to
burn it down。 I corrected them。 I corrected them most harshly。 And when my wife
tried to stop me from doing my duty； I corrected her。〃 He offered Jack a bland；
meaningless smile。 〃I find it a sad but true fact that women rarely understand a
father's responsibility to his children。 Husbands and fathers do have certain
responsibilities； don't they； sir？〃
〃Yes；〃 Jack said。
〃They didn't love the Overlook as I did；〃 Grady said； beginning to make him
another drink。 Silver bubbles rose in the upended gin bottle。 〃Just as your son
and wife don't love it。 Not at present； anyway。 But they will e to love it。
You must show them the error of their ways； Mr。 Torrance。 Do you agree？〃
〃Yes。 I do。〃
He did see。 He had been too easy with them。 Husbands and fathers did have
certain responsibilities。 Father Knows Best。 They did not understand。 That in
itself was no crime； but they were willfully not understanding。 He was not
ordinarily a harsh man。 But he did believe in punishment。 And if his son and his
wife had willfully set themselves against his wishes； against the things he knew
were best for them； then didn't he have a certain duty — ？
〃A thankless child is sharper than a serpent's tooth；〃 Grady said； handing him
his drink。 〃I do believe that the manager could bring your son into line。 And
your wife would shortly follow。 Do you agree； sir？〃
He was suddenly uncertain。 〃I 。。。 but 。。。 if they could just leave 。。。 I
mean； after all； it's me the manager wants； isn't it？ It must be。 Because — 〃
Because why？ He should know but suddenly he didn't。 Oh； his poor brain was
swimming。
〃Bad dog！〃 Derwent was saying loudly； to a counterpoint of laughter。 〃Bad dog
to piddle on the floor。〃
〃Of course you know；〃 Grady said； leaning confidentially over the cart； 〃your
son is attempting to bring an outside party into it。 Your son has a very great
talent； one that the manager could use to even further improve the Overlook； to
further 。。。 enrich it； shall we say？ But your son is attempting to use that
very talent against us。 He is willful； Mr。 Torrance； Sir。 Willful。〃
〃Outside party？〃 Jack asked stupidly。
Grady nodded。
〃Who？〃
〃A nigger；〃 Grady said。 〃A nigger cook。〃
〃Hallorann？〃
〃I believe that is his name； sir； yes。〃
Another burst of laughter from behind them was followed by Roger saying
something in a whining； protesting voice。
〃Yes！ Yes！ Yes！〃 Derwent began to chant。 The others around him took it up； but
before Jack could hear what they wanted Roger to do now； the band began to play
again — the tune was 〃Tuxedo Junction；〃 with a lot of mellow sax in it but not
much soul。
（Soul？ Soul hasn't even been invented yet。 Or has it？）
（A nigger 。。。 a nigger cook。）
He opened his mouth to speak； not knowing what might e out。 What did was：
〃I was told you hadn't finished high school。 But you don't talk like an
uneducated man。〃
〃It's true that I left organized education very early； sir。 But the manager
takes care of his help。 He finds that it pays。 Education always pays； don't you
agree； sir？〃
〃Yes；〃 Jack said dazedly。
〃For instance； you show a great interest in learning more about the Overlook
Hotel。 Very wise of you； sir。 Very noble。 A certain scrapbook was left in the
basement for you to find — 〃
〃By whom？〃 Jack asked eagerly。
〃By the manager； of course。 Certain other materials could be put at your
disposal； if you wished them 。。。 〃
〃I do。 Very much。〃 He tried to control the eagerness in his voice and failed
miserably。
〃You're a true scholar；〃 Grady said。 〃Pursue the topic to the end。 Exhaust all
sources。〃 He dipped his low…browed head； pulled out the lapel of his white mess
jacket； and buffed his knuckles at a spot of dirt that was invisible to Jack。
〃And the manager puts no strings on his largess；〃 Grady went on。 〃Not at all。
Look at me； a tenth…grade dropout。 Think how much further you yourself could go
in the Overlook's organizational structure。 Perhaps 。。。 in time 。。。 to the
very top。〃
〃Really？〃 Jack whispered。
〃But that's really up to your son to decide； isn't it？〃 Grady asked； raising
his eyebrows。 The delicate gesture went oddly with the brows themselves； which
were bushy and somehow savage。
〃Up to Danny？〃 Jack frowned at Grady。 〃No； of course not。 I wouldn't allow my
son to make decisions concerning my career。 Not at all。 What do you take me for？ 〃
〃A dedicated man；〃 Grady said warmly。 〃Perhaps I put it badly； sir。 Let us say
that your future here is contingent upon how you decide to deal with your son's
waywardness。〃
〃I make my own decisions；〃 Jack whispered。
〃But you must deal with him。〃
〃I will。〃
〃Firmly 〃
〃I will。〃
〃A man who cannot control his own family holds very little interest for our
manager。 A man who cannot guide the courses of his own wife and son can hardly
be expected to guide himself； let alone assume a position of responsibility in
an operation of this magnitude。 He — 〃
〃I said I'll handle him！〃 Jack shouted suddenly； enraged。
〃Tuxedo Junction〃 had just concluded and a new tune hadn't begun。 His shout
fell perfectly into the gap； and conversation suddenly ceased behind him。 His
skin suddenly felt hot all over。 He became fixedly positive that everyone was
staring at him。 They had finished with Roger and would now mence with him。
Roll over。 Sit up。 Play dead。 If you play the game with us； we'll play the game
with you。 Position of responsibility。 They wanted him to sacrifice his son。
（ — Now he follows Harry everywhere； wagging his little tail behind him — ）
（Roll over。 Play dead。 Chastise your son。）
〃Right this way； sir；〃 Grady was saying。 〃Something that might interest you。〃
The conversation had begun again； lifting and dropping in its own rhythm；
weaving in and out of the band music； now doing a swing version of Lennon and
McCartney's 〃Ticket to Ride。〃
（I've heard better over supermarket loudspeakers。）
He giggled foolishly。 He looked down at his left hand and saw there was
another drink in it； half…full。 He emptied it at a gulp。
Now he was standing in front of the mantelpiece； the heat from the crackling
fire that had been laid in the hearth warming his legs。
（a fire？ 。。。 in August？ 。。。 yes 。。。 and no 。。。 all times are one）
There was a clock under a glass dome； flanked by two carved ivory elephants。
Its hands stood at a minute to midnight。 He gazed at it blearily。 Had this been
what Grady wanted him to see？ He turned around to ask； but Grady had left him。
Halfway through 〃Ticket to Ride；〃 the band wound up in a brassy flourish。
〃The hour is at hand！〃 Horace Derwent proclaimed。 〃Midnight！ Unmask！ Unmask！〃
He tried to turn again； to see what famous faces were hidden beneath the
glitter and paint and masks； but he was frozen now； unable to look away from the
clock — its hands had e together and pointed straight up。
〃Unmask！ Unmask！〃 the chant went up。
The clock began to chime delicately。 Along the steel runner below the
clockface； from the left and right； two figures advanced。 Jack watched；
fascinated； the unmasking forgotten。 Clockwork whirred。 Cogs turned and meshed；
brass warmly glowing。 The balance wheel rocked back and forth precisely。
One of the figures was a man standing on tiptoe； with what looked like a tiny
club clasped in his hands。 The other was a small boy wearing a dunce cap。 The
clockwork figures glittered； fantastically precise。 Across the front of the
boy's dunce cap he could read the engraved word FOOLE。
The two figures slipped onto the opposing ends of a steel axis bar。 Somewhere；
tinkling on and on； were the strains of a Strauss waltz。 An insane mercial
jingle began to run through his mind to the tune： Buy dog food； rowf…rowf； rowf…
rowf； buy dog food 。。。
The steel mallet in the clockwork daddy's hands came down on the boy's head。
The clockwork son crumpled forward。 The mallet rose and fell； rose and fell。 The
boy's upstretched； protesting hands began to falter。 The boy sagged from his
crouch to a prone position。 And still the hammer rose and fell to the light；
tinkling air of the Strauss melody； and it seemed that he could see the man's
face； working and knotting and constricting； could see the clockwork daddy's
mouth opening and closing as he berated the unconscious； bludgeoned figure of
the son。
A spot of red flew up against the inside of the glass dome。
Another followed。 Two more splattered beside it。
Now the red liquid was spraying up like an obscene rain shower； striking the
glass sides of the dome and running； obscuring what was going on inside； and
flecked through the scarlet were tiny gray ribbons of tissue； fragments of bone
and brain。 And still he could see the hammer rising and falling as the clockwork
continued to turn and the cogs continued to mesh the gears and teeth of this
cunningly made machine。
〃Unmask！ Unmask！〃 Derwent was shrieking behind him； and somewhere a dog was
howling in human tones。
（But clockwork can't bleed clockwork can't bleed）
The entire dome was splashed with blood； he could see clotted bits of hair but
nothing else thank God he could see nothing else； and still he thought he would
be sick because he could hear the hammerblows still falling； could hear them
through the glass just as he could hear the phrases of 〃The Blue Danube。〃 But
the sounds were no longer the mechanical tink…tink…tink noises of a mechanical
hammer striking a mechanical head； but the soft and squashy thudding sounds of a
real hammer slicing down and whacking into a spongy； muddy ruin。 A ruin that
once had been —
〃UNMASK！〃
（ — the Red Death held sway over all！）
With a miserable； rising scream； he turned away from the clock； his hands
outstretched； his feet stumbling against one another like wooden blocks as he
begged them to stop； to take him； Danny； Wendy； to take the whole world if they
wanted it； but only to stop and leave him a little sanity； a little light。
The ballroom was empty。
The chairs with their spindly legs were upended on tables covered with plastic
dust drops。 The red rug with its golden tracings was back on the dance floor；
protecting the polished hardwood surface。 The bandstand was deserted except for
a disassembled microphone stand and a dusty guitar leaning stringless against
the wall。 Cold morning light； winterlight； fell languidly through the high
windows。
His head was still reeling； he still felt drunk； but when he turned back to
the mantelpiece； his drink was gone。 There were only the ivory elephants 。。。
and the clock。
He stumbled back across the cold； shadowy lobby and through the dining room。
His foot hooked around a table leg and he fell full…length； upsetting the table
with a clatter。 He struck his nose hard on the floor and it began to bleed。 He
got up； snufing back blood and wiping his nose with the back of his hand。 He
crossed to the Colorado Lounge and shoved through the batwing doors； making them
fly back and bang into the walls。
The place was empty 。。。 but the bar was fully stocked： God be praised！
Glass and the silver edging on labels glowed warmly in the dark。
Once； he remembered； a very long time ago； he had been angry that there was no
backbar mirror。 Now he was glad。 Looking into it he would have seen just another
drunk fresh off the wagon： bloody nose； untucked shirt； hair rumpled； cheeks
stubbly。
（This is what it's like to stick your whole hand into the nest。）
Loneliness surged over him suddenly and pletely。 He cried out with sudden
wretchedness and honestly wished he were dead。 His wife and son were upstairs
with the door locked against him。 The others bad all left。 The party was over。
He lurched forward again； reaching the bar。
〃Lloyd； where the fuck are you？〃 he screamed。
There was no answer。 In this well…padded
（cell）
room； his words did not even echo back to give the illusion of pany。
〃Grady！〃
No answer。 Only the bottles； standing stiffly at attention。
（Roll over。 Play dead。 Fetch。 Play dead。 Sit up。 Play dead。）
〃Never mind； I'll do it myself； goddammit。〃
Halfway over the bar he lost his balance and pitched forward； hitting his head
a muffled blow on the floor。 He got up on his hands and knees； his eyeballs
moving disjointed from side to side； fuzzy muttering sounds ing from his
mouth。 Then he collapsed； his face turned to one side； breathing in harsh
snores。
Outside； the wind whooped louder； driving the thickening snow before it。 It
was 8：30 A。M。
》
STAPLETON AIRPORT；
DENVER
At 8：31 A。M。； MST； a woman on TWA's Flight 196 burst into tears and began to
bugle her own opinion； which was perhaps not unshared among some of the other
passengers （or even the crew； for that matter）； that the plane was going to
crash。
The sharp…faced woman next to Hallorann looked up from her book and