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houses； all buttoned tightly up against the storm； and then only wind…howling
darkness。 In the black again with no light but the thin spear of the
snowmobile's headlamp； terror closed in on him again； a childlike fear； dismal
and disheartening。 He had never felt so alone。 For several minutes； as the few
lights of Sidewinder dwindled away and disappeared in the rearview； the urge to
turn around and go back was almost insurmountable。 He reflected that for all of
Durkin's concern for Jack Torrance's boy； he had not offered to take the other
snowmobile and e with him。
（That place has got a bad reputation around here。）
Clenching his teeth； he turned the throttle higher and watched the needle on
the speedometer climb past forty and settle at forty…five。 He seemed to be going
horribly fast and yet he was afraid it wasn't fast enough。 At this speed it
would take him almost an hour to get to the Overlook。 But at a higher speed he
might not get there at all。
He kept his eyes glued to the passing guardrails and the dime…sized reflectors
mounted on top of each one。 Many of them were buried under drifts。 Twice he saw
curve signs dangerously late and felt the snowmobile riding up the drifts that
masked the dropoff before turning back onto where the road was in the
summertime。 The odometer counted off the miles at a maddeningly slow clip — five；
ten； finally fifteen。 Even behind the knitted ski mask his face was beginning to
stiffen up and his legs were growing numb。
（Guess I'd give a hundred bucks for a pair of ski pants。）
As each mile turned over； his terror grew — as if the place had a poison
atmosphere that thickened as you neared it。 Had it ever been like this before？
He had never really liked the Overlook； and there had been others who shared his
feeling； but it had never been like this。
He could feel the voice that had almost wrecked him outside of Sidewinder
still trying to get in； to get past his defenses to the soft meat inside。 If it
had been strong twenty…five miles back； how much stronger would it be now？ He
couldn't keep it out entirely。 Some of it was slipping through； flooding his
brain with sinister subliminal images。 More and more he got the image of a badly
hurt woman in a bathroom； holding her hands up uselessly to ward off a blow； and
he felt more and more that the woman must be —
（Jesus； watch out！）
The embankment was looming up ahead of him like a freight train。 Wool…
gathering； he had missed a turn sign。 He jerked the snowmobile's steering gear
hard right and it swung around； tilting as it did so。 From underneath came the
harsh grating sound of the snowtread on rock。 He thought the snowmobile was
going to dump him； and it did totter on the knife…edge of balance before half…
driving； half…skidding back down to the more or less level surface of the snow…
buried road。 Then the dropoff was ahead of him； the headlamp showing an abrupt
end to the snowcover and darkness beyond that。 He turned the snowmobile the
other way； a pulse beating sickly in his throat。
（Keep it on the road Dicky old chum。）
He forced himself to turn the throttle up another notch。 Now the speedometer
needle was pegged just below fifty。 The wind howled and roared。 The headlamp
probed the dark。
An unknown length of time later； he came around a driftbanked curve and saw a
glimmering flash of light ahead。 Just a glimpse； and then it was blotted out by
a rising fold of land。 The glimpse was so brief he was persuading himself it had
been wishful thinking when another turn brought it in view again； slightly
closer； for another few seconds。 There was no question of its reality this time；
he had seen it from just this angle too many times before。 It was the Overlook。
There were lights on the first floor and lobby levels； it looked like。
Some of his terror — the part that had to do with driving off the road or
wrecking the snowmobile on an unseen curve — melted entirely away。 The snowmobile
swept surely into the first half of an S curve that he now remembered
confidently foot for foot； and that was when the headlamp picked out the
（oh dear Jesus god what is it）
in the road ahead of him。 Limned in stark blacks and whites； Hallorann first
thought it was some hideously huge timberwolf that had been driven down from the
high country by the storm。 Then； as he closed on it； he recognized it and horror
closed his throat。
Not a wolf but a lion。 A hedge lion。
Its features were a mask of black shadow and powdered snow； its haunches wound
tight to spring。 And it did spring； snow billowing around its pistoning rear
legs in a silent burst of crystal glitter。
Hallorann screamed and twisted the handlebars hard right； ducking low at the
same time。 Scratching； ripping pain scrawled itself across his face； his neck；
his shoulders。 The ski mask was torn open down the back。 He was hurled from the
snowmobile。 He hit the snow； plowed through it； rolled over。
He could feel it ing for him。 In his nostrils there was a bitter smell of
green leaves and holly。 A huge hedge paw batted him in the small of the back and
he flew ten feet through the air； splayed out like a rag doll。 He saw the
snowmobile； riderless； strike the embankment and rear up； its headlamp searching
the sky。 It fell over with a thump and stalled。
Then the hedge lion was on him。 There was a crackling； rustling sound。
Something raked across the front of the parka； shredding it。 It might have been
stiff twigs； but Hallorann knew it was claws。
〃You're not there！〃 Hallorann screamed at the circling； snarling hedge lion。
〃You're not there at all！〃 He struggled to his feet and made it halfway to the
snowmobile before the lion lunged； batting him across the head with a needle…
tipped paw。 Hallorann saw silent； exploding lights。
〃Not there；〃 he said again； but it was a fading mutter。 His knees unhinged and
dropped him into the snow。 He crawled for the snowmobile； the right side of his
face a scarf of blood。 The lion struck him again； rolling him onto his back like
a turtle。 It roared playfully。
Hallorann struggled to reach the snowmobile。 What he needed was there。 And
then the lion was on him again； ripping and clawing。
》
WENDY AND JACK
Wendy risked another glance over her shoulder。 Jack was on the sixth riser；
clinging to the banister much as she was doing herself。 He was still grinning；
and dark blood oozed slowly through the grin and slipped down the line of his
jaw。 He bared his teeth at her。
〃I'm going to bash your brains in。 Bash them right to fuck in。〃 He struggled
up another riser。
Panic spurred her； and the ache in her side diminished a little。 She pulled
herself up as fast as she could regardless of the pain； yanking convulsively at
the banister。 She reached the top and threw a glance behind her。
He seemed to be gaining strength rather than losing it。 He was only four
risers from the top； measuring the distance with the rogue mallet in his left
hand as he pulled himself up with his right。
〃Right behind you；〃 he panted through his bloody grin； as if reading her mind。
〃Right behind you now； bitch。 With your medicine。〃
She fled stumblingly down the main corridor； hands pressed to her side。
The door to one of the rooms jerked open and a man with a green ghoulmask on
popped out。 〃Great party； isn't it？〃 He screamed into her face； and pulled the
waxed string of a party…favor。 There was an echoing bang and suddenly crepe
streamers were drifting all around her。 The man in the ghoulmask cackled and
slammed back into his room。 She fell forward onto the carpet； full…length。 Her
right side seemed to explode with pain； and she fought off the blackness of
unconsciousness desperately。 Dimly she could hear the elevator running again；
and beneath her splayed fingers she could see that the carpet pattern appeared
to move； swaying and twining sinuously。
The mallet slammed down behind her and she threw herself forward； sobbing。
Over her shoulder she saw Jack stumble forward； overbalance； an