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With a miserable, rising scream, he turned away from the clock, his hands outstretched, his feet stumbling against one another like wooden blocks as he begged them to stop, to take him, Danny, Wendy, to take the whole world if they wanted it,
The ballroom was empty.
he still felt drunk,
The place was empty…but the bar was fully stocked.
(This is what it’s like to stick your whole hand into the nest.)
Leaving it unforgivably ambiguous whether there’s real liquor there or not. The “manager” can fuck with Jack’s head either way, but still ....
Haha
How did she know his name?
Haha - cheap horror thrill
“Something that will improve the general situation in some small way, I hope.”
“They say it’s the worst storm since 1969,” she answered brightly. “Do you have far to drive, sir?” “Farther than I’d like.”
(shine)
the sick throb of a hangover.
The attendant symptoms were there,
Living by your wits is always knowing where the wasps are.
He could begin to sympathize with his father.
the fate of McTeague the dentist at the end of Frank Norris’s great novel: handcuffed to a dead man in the wasteland.
https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/McTeague
opted for the poisonously active task of trying to destroy his last and best chance: to become a member of the Overlook’s staff, and possibly to rise…all the way to the position of manager, in time.
She was trying to deny him Danny, and Danny was his ticket of admission.
There was a flat snap as the bolt was drawn back.
Standing on top of it was a martini glass, a fifth of gin, and a plastic dish filled with olives. Leaning against it was one of the roque mallets from the equipment shed.
a voice, much deeper and much more powerful than Grady’s, spoke from somewhere, everywhere…from inside him.
He walked to the chopping block and put his hand on the handle of the mallet. He hefted it. Swung it. It hissed viciously through the air.
series of rebuslike images
He was surrounded by a red force of immense power that might have been memory. He was drowning in instinct.
The elevator, the party, the sound of room doors opening and closing.
a malefic hush before the storm’s final brutal push.
listening to revels that had only become audible—and visible—to her in the last couple of days, as the Overlook’s grip on the three of them tightened.
(Real psychic phenomena or group hypnosis?)
Then the party had begun again
(or did it ever stop? did it sometimes just drift into a slightly different angle of time where they weren’t meant to hear it?)
the wind, which could mimic many different human vocal ranges, from a papery deathbed whisper around the doors and window frames to a full-out scream around the eaves…the sound of a woman fleeing a murderer in a cheap melodrama.
Yet, sitting stiffly beside Danny, the idea that it was indeed voices became more and more convincing.
Jack and someone else, discussing his escape from the pantry. Discussing the murder of his wife and son.
She’s now picking up on what Danny hears or knows - see next page: Jack’s gotten out.
(Jack’s gotten out.)
the face of a monstrous lunatic that had been hiding in these groaning walls all along—
a long, susurrating whisper of fear,
Why?
Simile
The inside of the car had been draped with pink and white crepe streamers.
Suddenly, belatedly, it came to her.
Question??
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!”
she screamed to the Overlook’s shadowy lobby,
it was as if the very boards and windows and doors of the hotel had screamed.
“You bitch. You killed me.”
The ticking of the domed clock in the ballroom seemed to fill her ears,
Larry Durkin
Among people who had spent most of their lives in the little town of Sidewinder, the hotel had a smelly reputation.
Howard Cottrell’s
Not a wolf but a lion. A hedge lion.
