glare from their many…paned surfaces but he looked anyway。 For the first time he
noticed how much they seemed like eyes。 They reflected away the sun and held
their own darkness within。 It was not Danny they were looking at。 It was him。
In those few seconds he understood everything。 There was a certain black…and…
white picture he remembered seeing as a child； in catechism class。 The nun had
presented it to them on an easel and called it a miracle of God。 The class had
looked at it blankly； seeing nothing but a jumble of whites and blacks；
senseless and patternless Then one of the children in the third row had gasped；
〃It's Jesus！〃 and that child had gone home with a brand…new Testament and also a
calendar because he had been first。 The others stared even harder； Jacky
Torrance among them。 One by one the other kids had given a similar gasp； one
little girl transported in near…ecstasy； crying out shrilly： 〃I see Him！ I see
Him！〃 She had also been rewarded with a Testament。 At last everyone had seen the
face of Jesus in the jumble of blacks and whites except Jacky。 He strained
harder and harder； scared now； part of him cynically thinking that everyone else
was simply putting on to please Sister Beatrice； part of him secretly convinced
that he wasn't seeing it because God had decided he was the worst sinner in the
class。 〃Don't you see it； Jacky？〃 Sister Beatrice had asked him in her sad；
sweet manner。 I see your tits； he had thought in vicious desperation。 He began
to shake his head； then faked excitement and said： 〃Yes； I do！ Wow！ It is Jesus！ 〃
And everyone in class had laughed and applauded him； making him feel
triumphant； ashamed； and scared。 Later； when everyone else had tumbled their way
up from the church basement and out onto the street he had lingered behind；
looking at the meaningless black…and…white jumble that Sister Beatrice had left
on the easel。 He hated it。 They had all made it up the way he had； even Sister
herself。 It was a big fake。 〃Shitfire…hellfire…shitfire；〃 he had whispered under
his breath； and as he turned to go he bad seen the face of Jesus from the corner
of his eye； sad and。 wise。 He turned back； his heart in his throat。 Everything
had suddenly clicked into place and he had stared at the picture with fearful
wonder； unable to believe he had missed it。 The eyes； the zigzag of shadow
across the care…worn brow； the fine nose； the passionate lips。 Looking at
Jack Torrance。 What had only been a meaningless sprawl had suddenly been
transformed into a stark black…and…white etching of the face of Christ Our Lord。
Fearful wonder became terror。 He had cussed in front of a picture of Jesus。 He
would be damned。 He would be in hell with the sinners。 The face of Christ had
been in the picture all along。 All along。
Now； kneeling in the sun and watching his son playing in the shadow of the
hotel； he knew that it was all true。 The hotel wanted Danny； maybe all of them
but Danny for sure。 The hedges had really walked。 There was a dead woman in 217；
a woman that was perhaps only a spirit and harmless under most circumstances；
but a woman who was now an active danger。 Like some malevolent clockwork toy she
had been wound up and set in motion by Danny's own odd mind 。。。 and his own。
Had it been Watson who had told him a man had dropped dead of a stroke one day
on the roque court？ Or had it been Ullman？ It didn't matter。 There had been an
assassination on the third floor。 How many old quarrels； suicides； strokes？ How
many murders？ Was Grady lurking somewhere in the west wing with his ax； just
waiting for Danny to start him up so he could e back out of the woodwork？
The puffed circle of bruises around Danny's neck。
The twinkling； half…seen bottles in the deserted lounge。
The radio。
The dreams。
The scrapbook he had found in the cellar。
（Medoc； are you here？ I've been sleepwalking again； my dear。。。）
He got up suddenly； thrusting the snowshoes back out the door。 He was shaking
all over。 He slammed the door and picked up the box with the battery in it。 It
slipped through his shaking fingers
（oh christ what if i cracked it）
and thumped over on its side。 He pulled the flaps of the carton open and
yanked the battery out； heedless of the acid that might be leaking through the
battery's casing if it had cracked。 But it hadn't。 It was whole。 A little sigh
escaped his lips。
Cradling it； he took it over to the Skidoo and put it on its platform near the
front of the engine。 He found a small adjustable wrench on one of the shelves
and attached the battery cables quickly and with no trouble。 The battery was
live； no need to use the charger on it。 There had been a crackle of electricity
and a small odor of ozone when he slipped the positive cable onto its terminal。
The job done； he stood away； wiping his hands nervously on his faded denim
jacket。 There。 It should work。 No reason why not。 No reason at all except that
it was part of the Overlook and the Overlook really didn't want them out of
here。 Not at all。 The Overlook was having one hell of a good time。 There was a
little boy to terrorize a man and his woman to set one against the other； and if
it played its cards right they could end up flitting through the Overlook's
halls like insubstantial shades in a Shirley Jackson novel； whatever walked in
Hill House walked alone； but you wouldn't be alone in the Overlook； oh no； there
would be plenty of pany here。 But there was really no reason why the
snowmobile shouldn't start。 Except of course
（Except he still didn't really want to go。）
yes； except for that。
He stood looking at the Skidoo； his breath puffing out in frozen little
plumes。 He wanted it to be the way it had been。 When he had e in here he'd
had no doubts。 Going down would be the wrong decision； he had known that then。
Wendy was only scared of the boogeyman summoned up by a single hysterical little
boy。 Now suddenly； he could see her side。 It was like his play； his damnable
play。 He no longer knew which side he was on； or how things should e out。
Once you saw the face of a god in those jumbled blacks and whites； it was
everybody out of the pool — you could never unsee it。 Others might laugh and say
it's nothing； just a lot of splotches with no meaning； give me a good old Craft…
master paint…by…the…numbers any day； but you would always see the face of
Christ…Our…Lord looking out at you。 You had seen it in one gestalt leap； the
conscious and unconscious melding in that one shocking moment of understanding。
You would always see it。 You were damned to always see it。
（I've been sleepwalking again； my dear 。。。）
It had been all right until he had seen Danny playing in the snow。 It was
Danny's fault。 Everything had been Danny's fault。 He was the one with the
shining； or whatever it was。 It wasn't a shining。 It was a curse。 If he and
Wendy had been here alone； they could have passed the winter quite nicely。 No
pain； no strain on the brain。
（Don't want to leave。 ？Can't？）
The Overlook didn't want them to go and he didn't want them to go either。 Not
even Danny。 Maybe he was a part of it； now。 Perhaps the Overlook； large and
rambling Samuel Johnson that it was； had picked him to be its Boswell。 You say
the new caretaker writes？ Very good； sign him on。 Time we told our side。 Let's
get rid of the woman and his snotnosed kid first； however。 We don't want him to
be distracted。 We don't —
He was standing by the snowmobile's cockpit； his head starting to ache again。
What did it e down to？ Go or stay。 Very simple。 Keep it simple。 Shall we go
or shall we stay？
If we go； how long will it be before you find the local hole in Sidewinder？ a
voice inside him asked。 The dark place with the lousy color TV that unshaven and
unemployed men spend the day watching game shows on？ Where the piss in the men's
room smells two thousand years old and there's always a sodden Camel butt
unraveling in the toilet bowl？ Where the beer is thirty cents a glass and you
cut it with salt and the jukebox is loaded with seventy country oldies？
How long？ Oh Christ； he was so afraid it wouldn't be long at all。
〃I can't win；〃 he said； very softly。 That was it。 It was like trying to play
solitaire with one of the aces missing from the deck。
Abruptly he leaned over the Skidoo's motor partment and yanked off the
magneto。 It came off with sickening ease。 He looked at it for a moment； then
went to the equipment shed's back door and opened it。
From here the view of the mountains was unobstructed； picture…postcard
beautiful in the twinkling brightness of morning。 An unbroken field of snow rose
to the first pines about a mile distant。 He flung the magneto as far out into
the snow as he could。 It went much further than it should have。 There was a
light puff of snow when it fell。 The light breeze carried the snow granules away
to fresh resting places。 Disperse there； I say。 There's nothing to see。 It's all
over。 Disperse。
He felt at peace。
He stood in the doorway for a long time； breathing the good mountain air； and
then he closed it firmly and went back out the other door to tell Wendy they
would be staying。 On the way； he stopped and had a snowball fight with Danny。
》
THE HEDGES
It was November 29； three days after Thanksgiving。 The last week had been a
good one； the Thanksgiving dinner the best they'd ever had as a family。 Wendy
had cooked Dick Hallorann's turkey to a turn and they had all eaten to bursting
without even ing close to demolishing the jolly bird。 Jack had groaned that
they would be eating turkey for the rest of the winter — creamed turkey； turkey
sandwiches； turkey and noodles； turkey surprise。
No； Wendy told him with a little smile。 Only until Christmas。 Then we have the
capon。
Jack and Danny groaned together。
The bruises on Danny's neck had faded； and their fears seemed to have faded
with them。 On Thanksgiving afternoon Wendy had been pulling Danny around on his
sled while Jack worked on the play； which was now almost