The Shining

(blood)

(Did Mr. Hallora

(I don't think those things can hurt you.)

There was an iron scream behind his lips, but he would not let it out. His mommy and daddy could not see such things; they never had. He would keep quiet. His mommy and daddy were loving each other, and that was a real thing. The other things were just like pictures in a book. Some pictures were scary, but they couldn't hurt you. They… couldn't… hurt you.

Mr. Ullman showed them some other rooms on the third floor, leading them through corridors that twisted and turned like a maze. They were all sweets up here, Mr. Ullman said, although Da

“Mommy?”

“What, honey?”

“If they were married, why did they have different names? You and Daddy have the same names.”

“Yes, but we're not famous, Da

“Bread and butter,” Da

“What Daddy means is that people used to like to go to the movies and see Marilyn Monroe,” Wendy said, “but they might not like to go to see Marilyn Miller.”

“Why not? She'd still be the same lady. Wouldn't everyone know that?”

“Yes, but-” She looked at Jack helplessly.

“Truman Capote once stayed in this room,” Ullman interrupted impatiently. He opened the door. “That was in my time. An awfully nice man. Continental ma

There was nothing remarkable in any of these rooms (except for the absence of sweets, which Mr. Ullman kept calling them), nothing that Da

It was an old-fashioned extinguisher, a flat hose folded back a dozen times upon itself, one end attached to a large red valve, the other ending in a brass nozzle. The folds of the hose were secured with a red steel slat on a hinge. In case of a fire you could knock the steel slat up and out of the way with one hard push and the hose was yours. Da

This fire extinguisher was a little older than others he had seen-the one in the nursery school, for instance-but that was not so unusual. Nonetheless it filled him with faint unease, curled up there against the light blue wallpaper like a sleeping snake. And he was glad when it was out of sight around the corner.

“Of course all the windows have to be shuttered,” Mr. Ullman said as they stepped back into the elevator. Once again the car sank queasily beneath their feet. “But I'm particularly concerned about the one in the Presidential Suite. The original bill on that window was four hundred and twenty dollars, and that was over thirty years ago. It would cost eight times that to replace today.”

“I'll shutter it,” Jack said.

They went down to the second floor where there were more rooms and even more twists and turns in the corridor. The light from the windows had begun to fade appreciably now as the sun went behind the mountains. Mr. Ullman showed them one or two rooms and that was all. He walked past 217, the one Dick Hallora

Then down to the first floor. Mr. Ullman didn't show them into any rooms here until they had almost reached the thickly carpeted staircase that led down into the lobby again. “Here are your quarters,” he said. “I think you'll find them adequate.”

They went in. Da

Wendy Torrance felt a strong surge of relief. The Presidential Suite, with its cold elegance, had made her feel awkward and clumsy-it was all very well to visit some restored historical building with a bedroom plaque that a

“It's very pleasant,” she said to Ullman, and heard the gratitude in her voice.

Ullman nodded. “Simple but adequate. During the season, this suite quarters the cook and his wife, or the cook and his apprentice.”

“Mr. Hallora

Mr. Ullman inclined his head to Da

There were several chairs that looked comfortable but not expensive, a coffee table that had once been expensive but now had a long chip gone from the side, two bookcases (stuffed full of Reader's Digest Condensed Books and Detective Book Club trilogies from the forties, Wendy saw with some amusement), and an anonymous hotel TV that looked much less elegant than the buffed wood consoles in the rooms.

“No kitchen, of course,” Ullman said, “but there is a dumb-waiter. This apartment is directly over the kitchen.” He slid aside a square of paneling and disclosed a wide, squarer tray. He gave it a push and it disappeared, trailing rope behind it.

“It's a secret passage!” Da

Mr. Ullman frowned but Wendy smiled indulgently. Da

“This way, please.”

He opened the door on the far side of the living room. It gave on the bedroom, which was spacious and airy. There were twin beds. Wendy looked at her husband, smiled, shrugged.

“No problem,” Jack said. “We'll push them together.”

Mr. Ullman looked over his shoulder, honestly puzzled. “Beg pardon?”

“The beds,” Jack said pleasantly. “We can push them together.”

“Oh, quite,” Ullman said, momentarily confused. Then his face cleared and a red flush began to creep up from the collar of his shirt. “Whatever you like.”

He led them back into the sitting room, where a second door opened on a second bedroom, this one equipped with bunk beds. A radiator clanked in one corner, and the rug on the floor was a hideous embroidery of western sage and cactus-Da

“Think you can stand it in here, doc?” Jack asked.

“Sure I can. I'm going to sleep in the top bunk. Okay?”

“If that's what you want.”

“I like the rug, too. Mr. Ullman, why don't you have all the rugs like that?”

Mr. Ullman looked for a moment as if he had sunk his teeth into a lemon. Then he smiled and patted Da