So she shook Hallorann, and then began to slap the unbruised side of his face lightly.

“Wake up,” she said. “Mr. Hallorann, you've got to wake up. Please… please…”

From overhead, the restless booming sounds of the mallet as Jack Torrance looked for his son.

Danny stood with his back against the door, looking at the right angle where the hallways joined. The steady, irregular booming sound of the mallet against the walls grew louder. The thing that was after him screamed and howled and cursed. Dream and reality had joined together without a seam.

It came around the corner.

In a way, what Danny felt was relief. It was not his father. The mask of face and body had been ripped and shredded and made into a bad joke. It was not his daddy, not this Saturday Night Shock Show horror with its rolling eyes and hunched and hulking shoulders and blood-drenched shirt. It was not his daddy.

“Now, by God,” it breathed. It wiped its lips with a shaking hand. “Now you'll find out who is the boss around here. You'll see. It's not you they want. It's me. Me. Me!”

It slashed out with the scarred hammer, its double head now shapeless and splintered with countless impacts. It struck the wall, cutting a circle in the silk paper. Plaster dust puffed out. It began to grin.

“Let's see you pull any of your fancy tricks now,” it muttered. “I wasn't born yesterday, you know. Didn't just fall off the hay truck, by God. I'm going to do my fatherly duty by you, boy.”

Danny said: “You're not my daddy.”

It stopped. For a moment it actually looked uncertain, as if not sure who or what it was. Then it began to walk again. The hammer whistled out, struck a door panel and made it boom hollowly.

“You're a liar,” it said. “Who else would I be? I have the two birthmarks, I have the cupped navel, even the pecker, my boy. Ask your mother.”

“You're a mask,” Danny said. “Just a false face. The only reason the hotel needs to use you is that you aren't as dead as the others. But when it's done with you, you won't be anything at all. You don't scare me.”

“I'll scare you!” it howled. The mallet whistled fiercely down, smashing into the rug between Danny's feet. Danny didn't flinch. “You lied about me! You connived with her! You plotted against me! And you cheated! You copied that final exam!” The eyes glared out at him from beneath the furred brows. There was an expression of lunatic cunning in them. “I'll find it, too. It's down in the basement somewhere. I'll find it. They promised me I could look all I want.” It raised the mallet again.

“Yes, they promise,” Danny said, “but they lie.” The mallet hesitated at the top of its swing.

Hallorann had begun to come around, but Wendy had stopped patting his cheeks. A moment ago the words You cheated! You copied that final exam! had floated down through the elevator shaft, dim, barely audible over the wind. From somewhere deep in the west wing. She was nearly convinced they were on the third floor and that Jack-whatever had taken possession of Jack-had found Danny. There was nothing she or Hallorann could do now.

“Oh doc,” she murmured. Tears blurred her eyes.

“Son of a bitch broke my jaw,” Hallorann muttered thickly, “and my head…” He worked to sit up. His right eye was purpling rapidly and swelling shut. Still, he saw Wendy.

“Missus Torrance-”

“Shhhh,” she said.

“Where is the boy, Missus Torrance?”

“On the third floor,” she said. “With his father.”

“They lie,” Danny said again. Something had gone through his mind, flashing like a meteor, too quick, too bright to catch and hold. Only the tail of the thought remained.

(it's down in the basement somewhere)

(you will remember what your father forgot)

“You… you shouldn't speak that way to your father,” it said hoarsely. The mallet trembled, came down. “You'll only make things worse for yourself. Your… your punishment. Worse.” It staggered drunkenly and stared at him with maudlin selfpity that began to turn to hate. The mallet began to rise again.

“You're not my daddy,” Danny told it again. “And if there's a little bit of my daddy left inside you, he knows they lie here. Everything is a lie and a cheat. Like the loaded dice my daddy got for my Christmas stocking last Christmas, like the presents they put in the store windows and my daddy says there's nothing in them, no presents, they're just empty boxes. Just for show, my daddy says. You're it, not my daddy. You're the hotel. And when you get what you want, you won't give my daddy anything because you're selfish. And my daddy knows that. You had to make him drink the Bad Stuff. That's the only way you could get him, you lying false face.”

“Liar! Liar!” The words came in a thin shriek. The mallet wavered wildly in the air.

“Go on and hit me. But you'll never get what you want from me.”

The face in front of him changed. It was hard to say how; there was no melting or merging of the features. The body trembled slightly, and then the bloody hands opened like broken claws. The mallet fell from them and thumped to the rug. That was all. But suddenly his daddy was there, looking at him in mortal agony, and a sorrow so great that Danny's heart flamed within his chest. The mouth drew down in a quivering bow.

“Doc,” Jack Torrance said. “Run away. Quick. And remember how much I love you.”

“No,” Danny said.

“Oh Danny, for God's sake-”

“No,” Danny said. He took one of his father's bloody hands and kissed it. “It's almost over.”

Hallorann got to his feet by propping his back against the wall and pushing himself up. He and Wendy stared at each other like nightmare survivors from a bombed hospital.

“We got to get up there,” he said. “We have to help him.”

Her haunted eyes stared into his from her chalk-pale face., “It's too late,” Wendy said. “Now he can only help himself.”

A minute passed, then two. Three. And they heard it above them, screaming, not in anger or triumph now, but in mortal terror.

“Dear God,” Hallorann whispered. “What's happening?”

“I don't know,” she said.

“Has it killed him?”

“I don't know.”

The elevator clashed into life and began to descend with the screaming, raving thing penned up inside.

Danny stood without moving. There was no place he could run where the Overlook was not. He recognized it suddenly, fully, painlessly. For the first time in his life he had an adult thought, an adult feeling, the essence of his experience in this bad place-a sorrowful distillation:

(Mommy and Daddy can't help me and I'm alone.)

“Go away,” he said to the bloody stranger in front of him. “Go on. Get out of here.”

It bent over, exposing the knife handle in its back. Its hands closed around the mallet again, but instead of aiming at Danny, it reversed the handle, aiming the hard side of the roque mallet at its own face.

Understanding rushed through Danny.

Then the mallet began to rise and descend, destroying the last of Jack Torrance's image. The thing in the hall danced an eerie, shuffling polka, the beat counterpointed by the hideous sound of the mallet head striking again and again. Blood splattered across the wallpaper. Shards of bone leaped into the air like broken piano keys. It was impossible to say just how long it went on. But when it turned its attention back to Danny, his father was gone forever. What remained of the face became a strange, shifting composite, many faces mixed imperfectly into one. Danny saw the woman in 217; the dogman; the hungry boything that had been in the concrete ring.