The Shining

“It's a slang term for the claustrophobic reaction that can occur when people are shut in together over long periods of time. The feeling of claustrophobia is externalized as dislike for the people you happen to be shut in with. In extreme cases it can result in hallucinations and violence-murder has been done over such minor things as a burned meal or an argument about whose turn it is to do the dishes.”

Ullman looked rather nonplussed, which did Jack a world of good. He decided to press a little further, but silently promised Wendy he would stay cool.

“I suspect you did make a mistake at that. Did he hurt them?”

“He killed them, Mr. Torrance, and then committed suicide. He murdered the little girls with a hatchet, his wife with a shotgun, and himself the same way. His leg was broken. Undoubtedly so drunk he fell downstairs.”

Ullman spread his hands and looked at Jack self-righteously.

“Was he a high school graduate?”

“As a matter of fact, he wasn't,” Ullman said a little stiffly. “I thought a, shall we say, less imaginative individual would be less susceptible to the rigors, the loneliness-”

“That was your mistake,” Jack said. “A stupid man is more prone to cabin fever just as he's more prone to shoot someone over a card game or commit a spur-ofthe-moment robbery. He gets bored. When the snow comes, there's nothing to do but watch TV or play solitaire and cheat when he can't get all the aces out. Nothing to do but bitch at his wife and nag at the kids and drink. It gets hard to sleep because there's nothing to hear. So he drinks himself to sleep and wakes up with a hangover. He gets edgy. And maybe the telephone goes out and the TV aerial blows down and there's nothing to do but think and cheat at solitaire and get edgier and edgier. Finally… boom, boom, boom.”

“Whereas a more educated man, such as yourself?”

“My wife and I both like to read. I have a play to work on, as Al Shockley probably told you. Da

“In that you would be quite correct,” Ullman said. “But as long as the three of you are up here, the potential for problems is multiplied. I have told Mr. Shockley this, and he told me he would take the responsibility. Now I've told you, and apparently you are also willing to take the responsibility-”

“I am.”

“All right. I'll accept that, since I have little choice. But I would still rather have an unattached college boy taking a year off. Well, perhaps you'll do. Now I'll turn you over to Mr. Watson, who will take you through the basement and around the grounds. Unless you have further questions?”

“No. None at all.”

Ullman stood. “I hope there are no hard feelings, Mr. Torrance. There is nothing personal in the things I have said to you. I only want what's best for the Overlook. It is a great hotel. I want it to stay that way.”

“No. No hard feelings.” Jack flashed the PR grin again, but he was glad Ullman didn't offer to shake hands. There were hard feelings. All kinds of them.

2. Boulder

She looked out the kitchen window and saw him just sitting there on the curb, not playing with his trucks or the wagon or even the balsa glider that had pleased him so much all the last week since Jack had brought it home. He was just sitting there, watching for their shopworn VW, his elbows planted on his thighs and his chin propped in his hands, a five-yearold kid waiting for his daddy.

Wendy suddenly felt bad, almost crying bad.

She hung the dish towel over the bar by the sink and went downstairs, buttoning the top two buttons of her house dress. Jack and his pride! Hey no, Al, I don't need an advance. I'm okay for a while. The hallway walls were gouged and marked with crayons, grease pencil, spray paint. The stairs were steep and splintery. The whole building smelled of sour age, and what sort of place was this for Da

Her sense of grief washed over her again but she was on the walk now and she smothered it. Sweeping her dress under her and sitting down on the curb beside him, she said: “What's up, doc?”

He smiled at her but it was perfunctory. “Hi, Mom.”

The glider was between his sneakered feet, and she saw that one of the wings had started to splinter.

“Want me to see what I can do with that, honey?”

Da

“Your daddy may not be back until suppertime, doc. It's a long drive up into those mountains.”

“Do you think the bug will break down?”

“No, I don't think so.” But he had just given her something new to worry about. Thanks, Da

“Dad said it might,” Da

“Don't say that, Da

“Fuel pump?” he asked her with honest surprise.

She sighed. “No, `All shot to shit. ' Don't say that.”

“Why?”

“It's vulgar.”

“What's vulgar, Mom?”

“Like when you pick your nose at the table or pee with the bathroom door open. Or saying things like `All shot to shit. ' Shit is a vulgar word. Nice people don't say it.”

“Dad says it. When he was looking at the bugmotor be said, `Christ this fuel pump's all shot to sbit. ' Isn't Dad nice?”

How do you get into these things, Wi

“He's nice, but he's also a grown-up. And he's very careful not to say things like that in front of people who wouldn't understand.”

“You mean like Uncle AI?”

“Yes, that's right.”

“Can I say it when I'm grown-up?”

“I suppose you will, whether I like it or not.”

“How old?”

“How does twenty sound, doc?”

“That's a long time to have to wait.”

“I guess it is, but will you try?”

“Hokay.”

He went back to staring up the street. He flexed a little, as if to rise, but the beetle coming was much newer, and much brighter red. He relaxed again. She wondered just how hard this move to Colorado had been on Da