“All right,” Jack said.

“Shall we go down?” Mr. Ullman asked.

“Fine,” Wendy said.

They went downstairs in the elevator, and now the lobby was wholly deserted except for Watson, who was leaning against the main doors in a rawhide jacket, a toothpick between his lips.

“I would have thought you'd be miles from here by now,” Mr. Ullman said, his voice slightly chill.

“Just stuck around to remind Mr. Torrance here about the boiler,” Watson said, straightening up. “Keep your good weather eye on her, fella, and she'll be fine. Knock the press down a couple of times a day. She creeps.”

She creeps, Danny thought, and the words echoed down a long and silent corridor in his mind, a corridor lined with mirrors where people seldom looked.

“I will,” his daddy said.

“You'll be fine,” Watson said, and offered Jack his hand. Jack shook it. Watson turned to Wendy and inclined his head. “Ma'am,” he said.

“I'm pleased,” Wendy said, and thought it would sound absurd. It didn't. She had come out here from New England, where she had spent her life, and it seemed to her that in a few short sentences this man Watson, with his fluffy fringe of hair, had epitomized what the West was supposed to be all about. And never mind the lecherous wink earlier.

“Young master Torrance,” Watson said gravely, and put out his hand. Danny, who had known all about handshaking for almost a year now, put his own hand out gingerly and felt it swallowed up. “You take good care of em, Dan.”

“Yes, sir.”

Watson let go of Danny's hand and straightened up fully. He looked at Ullman. “Until next year, I guess,” he said, and held his hand out.

Ullman touched it bloodlessly. His pinky ring caught the lobby's electric lights in a baleful sort of wink.

“May twelfth, Watson,” he said. “Not a day earlier or later.”

“Yes, sir,” Watson said, and Jack could almost read the codicil in Watson's mind:… you fucking little faggot.

“Have a good winter, Mr. Ullman.”

“Oh, I doubt it,” Ullman said remotely.

Watson opened one of the two big main doors; the wind whined louder and began to flutter the collar of his jacket. “You folks take care now,” he said.

It was Danny who answered. “Yes, sir, we will.”

Watson, whose not-so-distant ancestor had owned this place, slipped humbly through the door. It closed behind him, muffling the wind. Together they watched him clop down the porch's broad front steps in his battered black cowboy boots. Brittle yellow aspen leaves tumbled around his heels as he crossed the lot to his International Harvester pickup and climbed in. Blue smoke jetted from the rusted exhaust pipe as he started it up. The spell of silence held among them as he backed, then pulled out of the parking lot. His truck disappeared over the brow of the hill and then reappeared, smaller, on the main road, heading west.

For a moment Danny felt more lonely than he ever had in his life.

13. The Front Porch

The Torrance family stood together on the long front porch of the Overlook Hotel as if posing for a family portrait, Danny in the middle, zippered into last year's fall jacket which was now too small and starting to come out at the elbow, Wendy behind him with one hand on his shoulder, and Jack to his left, his own hand resting lightly on his son's head.

Mr. Ullman was a step below them, buttoned into an expensive-looking brown mohair overcoat. The sun was entirely behind the mountains now, edging them with gold fire, making the shadows around things look long and purple. The only three vehicles left in the parking lots were the hotel truck, Ullman's Lincoln Continental, and the battered Torrance VW.

“You've got your keys, then;” Ullman said to Jack, “and you understand fully about the furnace and the boiler?”

Jack nodded, feeling some real sympathy for Ullman. Everything was done for the season, the ball of string was neatly wrapped up until next May 12-not a day earlier or later-and Ullman, who was responsible for all of it and who referred to the hotel in the unmistakable tones of infatuation, could not help looking for loose ends.

“I think everything is well in hand,” Jack said.

“Good. I'll be in touch.” But he still lingered for a moment, as if waiting for the wind to take a hand and perhaps gust him down to his car. He sighed. “All right. Have a good winter, Mr. Torrance, Mrs. Torrance. You too, Danny.”

“Thank you, sir,” Danny said. “I hope you do, too.”

“I doubt it,” Ullman repeated, and he sounded sad. “The place in Florida is a dump, if the out-and-out truth is to be spoken. Busywork. The Overlook is my real job. Take good care of it for me, Mr. Torrance.”

“I think it will be here when you get back next spring,” Jack said, and a thought flashed through Danny's mind

(but will we?)

and was gone.

“Of course. Of course it will”

Ullman looked out toward the playground where the hedge animals were clattering in the wind. Then he nodded once more in a businesslike way.

“Good-by, then.”

He walked quickly and prissily across to his car-a ridiculously big one for such a little man-and tucked himself into it. The Lincoln's motor purred into life and the taillights flashed as he pulled out of his parking stall. As the car moved away, Jack could read the small sign at the head of the stall: RESERVED FOR MR. ULLMAN, MGR.

“Right,” Jack said softly.

They watched until the car was out of sight, headed down the eastern slope. When it was gone, the three of them looked at each other for a silent, almost frightened moment. They were alone. Aspen leaves whirled and skittered in aimless packs across the lawn that was now neatly mowed and tended for no guest's eyes. There was no one to see the autumn leaves steal across the grass but the three of them. It gave Jack a curious shrinking feeling, as if his life force had dwindled to a mere spark while the hotel and the grounds bad suddenly doubled in size and become sinister, dwarfing them with sullen, inanimate power.

Then Wendy said: “Look at you, doc. Your nose is running like a fire hose. Let's get inside.”

And they did, closing the door firmly behind them against the restless whine of the wind.

Part Three. The Wasps' Nest

14. Up On the Roof

“Oh you goddam fucking son of a bitch!”

Jack Torrance cried these words out in both surprise and agony as he slapped his right hand against his blue chambray workshirt, dislodging the big, slowmoving wasp that had stung him. Then he was scrambling up the roof as fast as he could, looking back over his shoulder to see if the wasp's brothers and sisters were rising from the nest he had uncovered to do battle. If they were, it could be bad; the nest was between him and his ladder, and the trapdoor leading down into the attic was locked from the inside. The drop was seventy feet from the roof to the cement patio between the hotel and the lawn.

The clear air above the nest was still and undisturbed.

Jack whistled disgustedly between his teeth, sat straddling the peak of the roof, and examined his right index finger. It was swelling already, and he supposed he would have to try and creep past that nest to his ladder so he could go down and put some ice on it.

It was October 20. Wendy and Danny had gone down to Sidewinder in the hotel truck (an elderly, rattling Dodge that was still more trustworthy than the VW, which was now wheezing gravely and seemed terminal) to get three gallons of milk and do some Christmas shopping. It was early to shop, but there was no telling when the snow would come to stay. There had already been flurries, and in some places the road down from the Overlook was slick with patch ice.