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with a long coil of chain。 Hallorann opened the door and shouted： 〃What can I do
to help？〃
〃Stay out of the way； is all；〃 the driver shouted back。 〃This ain't gonna take
a blink；〃
Which was true。 A shudder ran through the Buick's frame as the chain pulled
tight； and a second later it was back on the road； pointed more or less toward
Estes Park。 The plow driver walked up beside the window and knocked on the
safety glass。 Hallorann rolled down the window。
〃Thanks；〃 he said。 〃I'm sorry I shouted at you。〃
〃I been shouted at before；〃 the driver said with a grin。 〃I guess you're sorta
strung up。 You take these。〃 A pair of bulky blue mittens dropped into
Hallorann's lap。 〃You'll need em when you go off the road again； I guess。 Cold
out。 You wear em unless you want to spend the rest of your life pickin your nose
with a crochetin hook。 And you send em back。 My wife knitted em and I'm partial
to em。 Name and address is sewed right into the linin。 I'm Howard Cottrell； by
the way。 You just send em back when you don't need em anymore。 And I don't want
to have to go payin no postage due； mind。〃
〃All right；〃 Hallorann said。 〃Thanks。 One hell of a lot。〃
〃You be careful。 I'd take you myself； but I'm busy as a cat in a mess of
guitar strings。〃
〃That's okay。 Thanks again。〃
He started to roll up the window； but Cottrell stopped him。
〃When you get to Sidewinder — if you get to Sidewinder — you go to Durkin's
Conoco。 It's right next to the li'brey。 Can't miss it。 You ask for Larry Durkin。
Tell him Howie Cottrell sent you and you want to rent one of his snowmobiles。
You mention my name and show those mittens； you'll get the cut rate。〃
〃Thanks again；〃 Hallorann said。
Cottrell nodded。 〃It's funny。 Ain't no way you could know someone's in trouble
up there at the Overlook 。。。 the phone's out； sure as hell。 But I believe you。
Sometimes I get feelins。〃
Hallorann nodded。 〃Sometimes I do； too。〃
〃Yeah。 I know you do。 But you take care。〃
〃I will。〃
Cottrell disappeared into the blowing dimness with a final wave； his engineer
cap still mounted perkily on his head。 Hallorann got going again； the chains
flailing at the snowcover on the road； finally digging in enough to start the
Buick moving。 Behind him； Howard Cottrell gave a final good…luck blast on his
plow's airhorn； although it was really unnecessary； Hallorann could feel him
wishing him good luck。
That's two shines in one day； he thought； and that ought to be some kind of
good omen。 But he distrusted omens； good or bad。 And meeting two people with the
shine in one day （when he usually didn't run across more than four or five in
the course of a year） might not mean anything。 That feeling of finality； a
feeling
（like things are all wrapped up）
he could not pletely define was still very much with him。 It was
The Buick wanted to skid sideways around a tight curve and Hallorann jockeyed
it carefully； hardly daring to breathe。 He turned on the radio again and it was
Aretha； and Aretha was just fine。 He'd share his Hertz Buick with her any day。
Another gust of wind struck the car； making it rock and slip around。 Hallorann
cursed it and hunched more closely over the wheel。 Aretha finished her song and
then the jock was on again； telling him that driving today was a good way to get
killed。
Hallorann snapped the radio off。
* * *
He did make it to Sidewinder； although he was four and a half hours on the
road between Estes Park and there。 By the time he got to the Upland Highway it
was full dark； but the snowstorm showed no sign of abating。 Twice he'd had to
stop in front of drifts that were as high as his car's hood and wait for the
plows to e along and knock holes in them。 At one of the drifts the plow had
e up on his side of the road and there had been another close call。 The
driver had merely swung around his car； not getting out to chew the fat； but he
did deliver one of the two finger gestures that all Americans above the age of
ten recognize； and it was not the peace sign。
It seemed that as he drew closer to the Overlook； his need to hurry became
more and more pulsive。 He found himself glancing at his wristwatch almost
constantly。 The hands seemed to be flying along。
Ten minutes after he had turned onto the Upland； he passed two signs。 The
whooping wind had cleared both of their snow pack so he was able to read them。
SIDEWINDER 10； the first said。 The second： ROAD CLOSED 12 MILES AHEAD DURING
WINTER MONTHS。
〃Larry Durkin；〃 Hallorann muttered to himself。 His dark face was strained and
tense in the muted green glow of the dashboard instruments。 It was ten after
six。 〃The Conoco by the library。 Larry — 〃
And that was when it struck him full…force； the smell of oranges and the
thought…force； heavy and hateful； murderous：
（GET OUT OF HERE YOU DIRTY NIGGER THIS IS NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS YOU
NIGGER TURN AROUND TURN AROUND OR WE'LL KILL YOU HANG YOU UP FROM
A TREE LIMB YOU FUCKING JUNGLE…BUNNY COON AND THEN BURN THE BODY
THAT'S WHAT WE DO WITH NIGGERS SO TURN AROUND NOW）
Hallorann screamed in the close confines of the car。 The message did not e
to him in words but in a series of rebuslike images that were slammed into his
head with terrific force。 He took his hands from the steering wheel to blot the
pictures out。
Then the car smashed broadside into one of the embankments； rebounded； slewed
halfway around； and came to a stop。 The rear wheels spun uselessly。
Hallorann snapped the gearshift into park； and then covered his face with his
hands。 He did not precisely cry； what escaped him was an uneven huh…huh…huh
sound。 His chest heaved。 He knew that if that blast had taken him on a stretch
of road with a dropoff on one side or the other； he might well be dead now。
Maybe that had been the idea。 And it might hit him again； at any time。 He would
have to protect against it。 He was surrounded by a red force of immense power
that might have been memory。 He was drowning in instinct。
He took his hands away from his face and opened his eyes cautiously。 Nothing。
If there was something trying to scare him again； it wasn't getting through。 He
was closed off。
Had that happened to the boy？ Dear God； had that happened to the little boy？
And of all the images； the one that bothered him the roost was that dull
whacking sound； like a hammer splatting into thick cheese。 What did that mean？ 。
（Jesus； not that little boy。 Jesus； please。）
He dropped the gearshift lever into low range and fed the engine gas a little
at a time。 The wheels spun； caught； spun； and caught again。 The Buick began to
move； its headlights cutting weakly through the swirling snow。 He looked at his
watch。 Almost six…thirty now。 And he was beginning to feel that was very late
indeed。
》
REDRUM
Wendy Torrance stood indecisive in the middle of the bedroom； looking at her
son； who had fallen fast asleep。
Half an hour ago the sounds had ceased。 All of them； all at once。 The
elevator； the party； the sound of room doors opening and closing。 Instead of
easing her mind it made the tension that had been building in her even worse； it
was like a malefic hush before the storm's final brutal push。 But Danny had
dozed off almost at once； first into a light； twitching doze； and in the last
ten minutes or so a heavier sleep。 Even looking directly at him she could barely
see the slow rise and fall of his narrow chest。
She wondered when he had last gotten a full night's sleep； one without
tormenting dreams or long periods of dark wakefulness； listening to revels that
had only bee audible — and visible — to her in the last couple of days； as the
Overlook's grip on the three of them tightened。
（Real psychic phenomena or group hypnosis？）
She didn't know； and didn't think it mattered。 What had been happening was
just as deadly either way。 She looked at Danny and thought
（God grant he lie still）
that if he was undisturbed； he might sleep the rest of the night through。
Whatever talent he had； he was still a small boy and he needed his rest。
It was Jack she had begun to worry about。
She grimaced with sudden pain； took her hand away from her mouth； and saw she
had torn off one of her fingernails。 And her nails were one thing she'd always
tried to keep nice。 They weren't long enough to be called hooks； but still
nicely shaped and
（and what are you worrying about your fingernails for？）
She laughed a little； but it was a shaky sound； without amusement。
First Jack had stopped howling and battering at the door。 Then the party had
begun again
（or did it ever stop？ did it sometimes just drift into a slightly different
angle of time where they weren't meant to hear it？）
counterpointed by the crashing； banging elevator。 Then that had stopped。 In
that new silence； as Danny had been falling asleep； she had fancied she heard
low； conspiratorial voices ing from the kitchen almost directly below them。
At first she had dismissed it as the wind； which could mimic many different
human vocal ranges； from a papery deathbed whisper around the doors and window
frames to a full…out scream around the eaves 。。。 the sound of a woman fleeing
a murderer in a cheap melodrama。 Yet； sitting stiffly beside Danny； the idea
that it was indeed voices became more and more convincing。
Jack and someone else； discussing his escape from the pan try。
Discussing the murder of his wife and son。
It would be nothing new inside these walls； murder had been done here before。
She had gone to the heating vent and had placed her ear against it； but at
that exact moment the furnace had e on； and any sound was lost in the rush of
warm air ing up from the basement。 When the furnace had kicked off again；
five minutes ago； the place was pletely silent except for the wind； the
gritty spatter of snow against the building； and the occasional groan of a
board。
She looked down at her ripped fingernail。 Small beads of blood were oozing up
from beneath it。
（Jack's gotten out。）
（Don't talk nonsense。）
（Yes； he's out。 He's gotten a knife from the kitchen or maybe the meat
cleaver。 He's on his way up here right now； walking along the sides of the
risers so the stairs won't creak。）
（！ You're insane ！）
Her lips were trembling； and for a moment it seemed that she must have cried
the words out loud。 But the silence held。
She felt watched。
She whirled around and stared at the night…blackened window； and a hideous
white face with circles of darkness for eyes was gibbering in at her； the face
of a monstrous lunatic that had been hiding in these groaning walls all along…
It was only a pattern of frost on the outside of the glass。
She let her breath out in a long； susurrating whisper of fear； and it seemed
to her that she heard； quite clearly this time； amused titters from somewhere。
（You're jumping at shadows。 It's bad enough without that。 By tomorrow morning；
you'll be ready for the rubber room。）
There was only one way to allay those fears and she knew what it was。
She would have to go down and make sure Jack was still in the pantry。
Very simple。 Go downstairs。 Have a peek。 e back up。 Oh； by the way； stop
and grab the tray on the registration counter。 The omelet would be a washout；
but the soup could be reheated on the hotplate by Jack's typewriter。
（Oh yes and don't get killed if he's down there with a knife。）
She walked to the dresser； trying to shake off the mantle of fear that lay on
her。 Scattered across the dresser's top was a pile of change； a stack of
gasoline chits for the hotel truck； the two pipes Jack brought with him
everywhere but rarely smoked 。。。 and his key ring。
She picked it up； held it in her hand for a moment； and then put it back down。
The idea of locking the bedroom door behind her had occurred； but it just didn't
appeal。 Danny was asleep。 Vague thoughts of fire passed through her mind； and
something else nibbled more strongly； but she let it go。
Wendy crossed the room； stood indecisively by the door for a moment； then took
the knife from the pocket of her robe and curled her right hand around the
wooden haft。
She pulled the door open。
The short corridor leading to their quarters was bare。 The electric wall
flambeaux all shone brightly at their regular intervals； showing off the rug's
blue background and sinuous； weaving pattern。
（See？ No boogies here。）
（No； of course not。 They want you out。 They want you to do something silly and
womanish； and that is exactly what you are doing。）
She hesitated again； miserably caught； not wanting to leave Danny and the
safety of the apartment and at the same time needing badly to reassure herself
that Jack was still 。
safely packed away。
（Of course he is。）
（But the voices）
（There were no voices。 It was your imagination。 It was the wind。）
〃It wasn't the wind。〃
The sound of her own voice made her jump。 But the deadly certainty in it made
her go forward。