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The sound of her own voice made her jump。 But the deadly certainty in it made
her go forward。 The knife swung by her side； catching angles of light and
throwing them on the silk wallpaper。 Her slippers whispered against the carpet's
nap。 Her nerves were singing like wires。
She reached the corner of the main corridor and peered around； her mind
stiffened for whatever she might see there。
There was nothing to see。
After a moment's hesitation she rounded the corner and began down the main
corridor。 Each step toward the shadowy stairwell increased her dread and made
her aware that she was leaving her sleeping son behind； alone and unprotected。
The sound of her slippers against the carpet seemed louder and louder in her
ears； twice she looked back over her shoulder to convince herself that someone
wasn't creeping up behind her。
She reached the stairwell and put her hand on the cold newel post at the top
of the railing。 There were nineteen wide steps down to the lobby。 She had
counted them enough times to know。 Nineteen carpeted stair risers； and nary a
Jack crouching on any one of them。 Of course not。 Jack was locked in the pantry
behind a hefty steel bolt and a thick wooden door。
But the lobby was dark and oh so full of shadows。
Her pulse thudded steadily and deeply in her throat。
Ahead and slightly to the left； the brass yaw of the elevator stood mockingly
open； inviting her to step in and take the ride of her life。
（No thank you）
The inside of the car had been draped with pink and white crepe streamers。
Confetti had burst from two tubular party favors。 Lying in the rear left corner
was an empty bottle of champagne。
She sensed movement above her and wheeled to look up the nineteen steps
leading to the dark second…floor landing and saw nothing； yet there was a
disturbing corner…of…the…eye sensation that things
（things）
had leaped back into the deeper darkness of the hallway up there just before
her eyes could register them。
She looked down the stairs again。
Her right hand was sweating against the wooden handle of the knife； she
switched it to her left； wiped her right palm against the pink terrycloth of her
robe； and switched the knife back。 Almost unaware that her mind had given her
body the mand to go forward； she began down the stairs； left foot then right；
left foot then right； her free hand trailing lightly on the banister。
（Where's the party？ Don't let me scare you away； you bunch of moldy sheets！
Not one scared woman with a knife！ Let's have a little music around here！ Let's
have a little life！）
Ten steps down； a dozen； a baker's dozen。
The light from the first…floor hall filtered a dull yellow down here； and she
remembered that she would have to turn on the lobby lights either beside the
entrance to the dining room or inside the manager's office。
Yet there was light ing from somewhere else； white and muted。
The fluorescents； of course。 In the kitchen。
She paused on the thirteenth step； trying to remember if she had turned them
off or left them on when she and Danny left。 She simply couldn't remember。
Below her； in the lobby； highbacked chairs hulked in pools of shadow。 The
glass in the lobby doors was pressed white with a uniform blanket of drifted
snow。 Brass studs in the sofa cushions gleamed faintly like cat's eyes。 There
were a hundred places to hide。
Her legs stilted with fear； she continued down。
Now seventeen； now eighteen； now nineteen。
（Lobby level； madam。 Step out carefully。）
The ballroom doors were thrown wide； only blackness spilling out。 From within
came a steady ticking； like a bomb。 She stiffened； then remembered the clock on
the mantel； the clock under glass。 Jack or Danny must have wound it 。。。 or
maybe it had wound itself up； like everything else in the Overlook。
She turned toward the reception desk meaning to go through the gate and the
manager's office and into the kitchen。 Gleaming dull silver； she could see the
intended lunch tray。
Then the clock began to strike； little tinkling notes。
Wendy stiffened； her tongue rising to the roof of her mouth。 Then she relaxed。
It was striking eight； that was all。 Eight o'clock
。。。 five； six； seven 。。。
She counted the strokes。 It suddenly seemed wrong to move again until the
clock had stilled 。。。
。。。 eight 。。。 nine 。。。
（？？ Nine ？？）
。。。 ten 。。。 eleven 。。。
Suddenly； belatedly； it came to her。 She turned back clumsily for the stairs；
knowing already she was too late。 But how could she have known？
Twelve。
All the lights in the ballroom went on。 There was a huge； shrieking flourish
of brass。 Wendy screamed aloud； the sound of her cry insignificant against the
blare issuing from those brazen lungs。
〃Unmask！〃 the cry echoed。 〃Unmask！ Unmask！〃
Then they faded； as if down a long corridor of time； leaving her alone again。
No； not alone。
She turned and he was ing for her。
It was Jack and yet not Jack。 His eyes were lit with a vacant； murderous glow；
his familiar mouth now wore a quivering； joyless grin。
He had the roque mallet in one hand。
〃Thought you'd lock me in？ Is that what you thought you'd do？〃
The mallet whistled through the air。 She stepped backward； tripped over a
hassock； fell to the lobby rug。
〃Jack — 〃
〃You bitch；〃 he whispered。 〃I know what you are。〃
The mallet came down again with whistling； deadly velocity and buried itself
in her soft stomach。 She screamed； suddenly submerged in an ocean of pain。 Dimly
she saw the mallet rebound。 It came to her with sudden numbing reality that he
meant to beat her to death with the mallet he held in his hands。
She tried to cry out to him again； to beg him to stop for Danny's sake； but
her breath had been knocked loose。 She could only force out a weak whimper；
hardly a sound at all。
〃Now。 Now； by Christ；〃 he said； grinning。 He kicked the hassock out of his
way。 〃I guess you'll take your medicine now。〃
The mallet whickered down。 Wendy rolled to her left； her robe tangling above
her knees。 Jack's hold on the mallet was jarred loose when it hit the floor。 He
had to stoop and pick it up； and while he did she ran for the stairs； the breath
at last sobbing back into her。 Her stomach was a bruise of throbbing pain。
〃Bitch；〃 he said through his grin； and began to e after her。 〃You stinking
bitch； I guess you'll get what's ing to you。 I guess you will。〃
She heard the mallet whistle through the air and then agony exploded on her
right side as the mallet…head took her just below the line of her breasts；
breaking two ribs。 She fell forward on the steps and new agony ripped her as she
struck on the wounded side。 Yet instinct made her roll over； roll away； and the
mallet whizzed past the side of her face； missing by a naked inch。 It struck the
deep pile of the stair carpeting with a muffled thud。 That was when she saw the
knife； which had been jarred out of her hand by her fall。 It lay glittering on
the fourth stair riser。
〃Bitch；〃 he repeated。 The mallet came down。 She shoved herself upward and it
landed just below her kneecap。 Her lower leg was suddenly on fire。 Blood began
to trickle down her calf。 And then the mallet was ing down again。 She jerked
her head away from it and it smashed into the stair riser in the hollow between
her neck and shoulder； scraping away the flesh from her ear。
He brought the mallet down again and this time she rolled toward him； down the
stairs； inside the arc of his swing。 A shriek escaped her as her broken ribs
thumped and grated。 She struck his shins with her body while he was offbalance
and he fell backward with a yell of anger and surprise； his feet jigging to keep
their purchase on the stair riser。 Then he thumped to the floor； the mallet
flying from his hand。 He sat up； staring at her for a moment with shocked eyes。
〃I'll kill you for that；〃 he said。
He rolled over and stretched out for the handle of the mallet。 Wendy forced
herself to her feet。 Her left leg sent bolt after bolt of pain all the way up to
her hip。 Her face was ashy pale but set。 She leaped onto his back as his hand
closed over the shaft of the roque mallet。
〃Oh dear God！〃 she screamed to the Overlook's shadowy lobby； and buried the
kitchen knife in his lower back up to the handle。
He stiffened beneath her and then shrieked。 She thought she had never heard
such an awful sound in her whole life； it was as if the very boards and windows
and doors of the hotel had screamed。 It seemed to go on and on while he remained
board…stiff beneath her weight。 They were like a parlor charade of horse and
rider。 Except that the back of his red…and…black…checked flannel shirt was
growing darker； sodden； with spreading blood。
Then he collapsed forward on his face； bucking her off on her hurt side；
making her groan。
She lay breathing harshly for a time； unable to move。 She was an excruciating
throb of pain from one end to the other。 Every time she inhaled； something
stabbed viciously at her； and her neck was wet with blood from her grazed ear。
There was only the sound of her struggle to breathe； the wind； and the ticking
clock in the ballroom。
At last she forced herself to her feet and hobbled across to the stairway。
When she got there she clung to the newel post； head down； waves of faintness
washing over her。 When it had passed a little； she began to climb； using her
unhurt leg and pulling with her arms on the banister。 Once she looked up；
expecting to see Danny there； but the stairway was empty。
（Thank God he slept through it thank God thank God）
Six steps up she had to rest； her head down； her blond hair coiled on and over
the banister。 Air whistled painfully through her throat； as if it had grown
barbs。 Her right side was a swollen； hot mass。
（e on Wendy e on old girl get a locked door behind you and then look at
the damage thirteen more to go not so bad。 And when you get to the upstairs
corridor you can crawl。 I give my permission。）
She drew in as much breath as her broken ribs would allow and half…pulled；
half…fell up another riser。 And another。
She was on the ninth； almost halfway up； when Jack's voice came from behind
and below her。 He said thickly： 〃You bitch。 You killed me。〃
Terror as black as midnight swept through her。 She looked over her shoulder
and saw Jack getting slowly to his feet。
His back was bowed over； and she could see the handle of the kitchen knife
sticking out of it。 His eyes seemed to have contracted； almost to have lost
themselves in the pale； sagging folds of the skin around them。 He was grasping
the roque mallet loosely in his left hand。 The end of it was bloody。 A scrap of
her pink terrycloth robe stuck almost in the center。
〃I'll give you your medicine；〃 he whispered； and began to stagger toward the
stairs。
Whimpering with fear； she began to pull herself upward again。 Ten steps； a
dozen； a baker's dozen。 But still the first…floor hallway looked as far above
her as an unattainable mountain peak。 She was panting now； her side shrieking in
protest。 Her hair swung wildly back and forth in front of her face。 Sweat stung
her eyes。 The ticking of the domed clock in the ballroom seemed to fill her
cars； and counterpointing it； Jack's panting； agonized gasps as he began to
mount the stairs。
》
HALLORANN ARRIVES
Larry Durkin was a tall and skinny man with a morose face overtopped with a
luxuriant mane of red hair。 Hallorann had caught him just as he was leaving the
Conoco station； the morose face buried deeply inside an army…issue parka。 He was
reluctant to do any more business that stormy day no matter how far Hallorann
had e； and even more reluctant to rent one of his two snowmobiles out to this
wild…eyed black man who insisted on going up to the old Overlook。 Among people
who had spent most of their lives in the little town of Sidewinder； the hotel
had a smelly reputation。 Murder had been done up there。 A bunch of hoods had run
the place for a while； and cutthroat businessmen had run it for a while； too。
And things had been done up at the old Overlook that never made the papers；
because money has a way of talking。 But the people in Sidewinder had a pretty
good idea。 Most of the hotel's chambermaids came from here； and chambermaids see
a lot。
But when Hallorann mentioned Howard Cottrell's name and showed Durkin the tag
inside one of the blue mittens； the gas station owner thawed。
〃Sent you here； did he？〃 Durkin asked； unlocking one of the garage bays and
leading Hallorann inside。 〃Good to know the old rip's got some sense left。 I
thought he was plumb out of it。〃 He flicked a switch and a bank of very old and
very dirty fluorescents buzzed wearily into life。 〃Now what in the tarnal
creation would you want up at that place； fella？〃
Hallorann's nerve had begun to crack。 The last few miles into Sidewinder had
been very bad。 Once a gust of wind that must have been tooling along at better
than sixty miles an hour had floated the Buick all the way aro