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odd　wet　thumping　sound；　far　off；　dim；　as　if　something　had　just　scrambled　
belatedly　out　of　the　tub；　as　if　to　greet　a　caller；　as　if　it　had　realized　the　
caller　was　leaving　before　the　social　amenities　had　been　pleted　and　so　it　was　
now　rushing　to　the　door；　all　purple　and　grinning；　to　invite　the　caller　back　
inside。　Perhaps　forever。　
　　Footsteps　approaching　the　door　or　only　the　heartbeat　in　his　ears？　
　　He　fumbled　at　the　passkey。　It　seemed　sludgy；　unwilling　to　turn　in　the　lock。　He　
attacked　the　passkey。　The　tumblers　suddenly　fell　and　he　stepped　back　against　the　
corridor's　far　wall；　a　little　groan　of　relief　escaping　him。　He　closed　his　eyes　
and　all　the　old　phrases　began　to　parade　through　his　mind；　it　seemed　there　must　
be　hundreds　of　them；　
　　（cracking　up　not　playing　with　a　full　deck　lost　ya　marbles　guy　just　went　loony　
tunes　he　went　up　and　over　the　high　side　went　bananas　lost　his　football　crackers　
nuts　half　a　seabag）　
　　all　meaning　the　same　thing：　losing　your　mind。　
　　〃No；〃　he　whimpered；　hardly　aware　that　he　had　been　reduced　to　this；　whimpering　
with　his　eyes　shut　like　a　child。　〃Oh　no；　God。　Please；　God；　no。〃　


　
　
　　But　below　the　tumble　of　his　chaotic　thoughts；　below　the　triphammer　beat　of　his　
heart；　he　could　hear　the　soft　and　futile　sound　of　the　doorknob　being　turned　to　
and　fro　as　something　locked　in　tried　helplessly　to　get　out；　something　that　
wanted　to　meet　him；　something　that　would　like　to　be　introduced　to　his　family　as　
the　storm　shrieked　around　them　and　white　daylight　became　black　night。　If　he　
opened　his　eyes　and　saw　that　doorknob　moving　he　would　go　mad。　So　he　kept　them　
shut；　and　after　an　unknowable　time；　there　was　stillness。　
　　Jack　forced　himself　to　open　his　eyes；　half…convinced　that　when　he　did；　she　
would　be　standing　before　him。　But　the　hall　was　empty。　
　　He　felt　watched　just　the　same。　
　　He　looked　at　the　peephole　in　the　center　of　the　door　and　wondered　what　would　
happen　if　he　approached　it；　stared　into　it。　What　would　he　be　eyeball　to　eyeball　
with？　
　　His　feet　were　moving　
　　（feets　don't　fail　me　now）　
　　before　he　realized　it。　He　turned　them　away　from　the　door　and　walked　down　to　
the　main　hall；　his　feet　whispering　on　the　blue…black　jungle　carpet。　He　stopped　
halfway　to　the　stairs　and　looked　at　the　fire　extinguisher。　He　thought　that　the　
folds　of　canvas　were　arranged　in　a　slightly　different　manner。　And　he　was　quite　
sure　that　the　brass　nozzle　had　been　pointing　toward　the　elevator　when　he　came　up　
the　hall。　Now　it　was　pointing　the　other　way。　
　　〃I　didn't　see　that　at　all；〃　Jack　Torrance　said　quite　clearly。　His　face　was　
white　and　haggard　and　his　mouth　kept　trying　to　grin。　
　　But　he　didn't　take　the　elevator　back　down。　It　was　too　much　like　an　open　mouth。　
Too　much　by　half。　He　took　the　stairs。　
　
　
　
　
　　　》　
　
　
　　THE　VERDICT　
　
　
　　He　stepped　into　the　kitchen　and　looked　at　them；　bouncing　the　passkey　a　few　
inches　up　off　his　left　hand；　making　the　chain　on　the　white　metal　tongue　jingle；　
then　catching　it　again。　Danny　was　pallid　and　worn　out。　Wendy　had　been　crying；　he　
saw；　her　eyes　were　red　and　darkly　circled。　He　felt　a　sudden　burst　of　gladness　at　
this。　He　wasn't　suffering　alone；　that　was　sure。　
　　They　looked　at　him　without　speaking。　
　　〃Nothing　there；〃　he　said；　astounded　by　the　heartiness　of　his　voice。　〃Not　a　
thing。〃　
　　He　bounced　the　passkey　up　and　down；　up　and　down；　smiling　reassuringly　at　them；　
watching　the　relief　spread　over　their　faces；　and　thought　he　had　never　in　his　
life　wanted　a　drink　so　badly　as　he　did　right　now。　
　


　
　
　
　
　
　　　》　
　
　
　　THE　BEDROOM　
　
　
　　Late　that　afternoon　Jack　got　a　cot　from　the　first…floor　storage　room　and　put　
it　in　the　corner　of　their　bedroom。　Wendy　had　expected　that　the　boy　would　be　half　
the　night　getting　to　sleep；　but　Danny　was　nodding　before　〃The　Waltons〃　was　half　
over；　and　fifteen　minutes　after　they　had　tucked　him　in　he　was　far　down　in　
sleep；　moveless；　one　hand　tucked　under　his　cheek。　Wendy　sat　watching　him；　
holding　her　place　in　a　fat　paperback　copy　of　Cashelmara　with　one　finger。　Jack　
sat　at　his　desk；　looking　at　his　play。　
　　〃Oh　shit；〃　Jack　said。　
　　Wendy　looked　up　from　her　contemplation　of　Danny。　〃What？〃　
　　〃Nothing。〃　
　　He　looked　down　at　the　play　with　smoldering　ill…temper。　How　could　he　have　
thought　it　was　good？　It　was　puerile。　It　had　been　done　a　thousand　times。　Worse；　
he　had　no　idea　how　to　finish　it。　Once　it　had　seemed　simple　enough。　Denker；　in　a　
fit　of　rage；　seizes　the　poker　from　beside　the　fireplace　and　beats　saintly　Gary　
to　death。　Then；　standing　spread…legged　over　the　body；　the　bloody　poker　in　one　
hand；　he　screams　at　the　audience：　〃It's　here　somewhere　and　I　will　find　it！〃　
Then；　as　the　lights　dim　and　the　curtain　is　slowly　drawn；　the　audience　sees　
Gary's　body　face　down　on　the　forestage　as　Denker　strides　to　the　upstage　bookcase　
and　feverishly　begins　pulling　books　from　the　shelves；　looking　at　them；　throwing　
them　aside。　He　had　thought　it　was　something　old　enough　to　be　new；　a　play　whose　
novelty　alone　might　be　enough　to　see　it　through　a　successful　Broadway　run：　a　
tragedy　in　five　acts。　
　　But；　in　addition　to　his　sudden　diversion　of　interest　to　the　Overlooks　
history；　something　else　had　happened。　He　had　developed　opposing　feelings　about　
his　characters。　This　was　something　quite　new。　Ordinarily　he　liked　all　of　his　
characters；　the　good　and　the　bad。　He　was　glad　he　did。　It　allowed　him　to　try　to　
see　all　of　their　sides　and　understand　their　motivations　more　clearly。　His　
favorite　story；　sold　to　a　small　southern　Maine　magazine　called　Contraband　for　
copies；　had　been　a　piece　called　〃The　Monkey　Is　Here；　Paul　DeLong。〃　It　had　been　
about　a　child　molester　about　to　mit　suicide　in　his　furnished　room。　The　child　
molester's　name　had　been　Paul　DeLong；　Monkey　to　his　friends。　Jack　had　liked　
Monkey　very　much。　He　sympathized　with　Monkey's　bizarre　needs；　knowing　that　
Monkey　was　not　the　only　one　to　blame　for　the　three　rape…murders　in　his　past。　
There　had　been　bad　parents；　the　father　a　beater　as　his　own　father　had　been；　the　
mother　a　limp　and　silent　dishrag　as　his　mother　had　been。　A　homosexual　experience　
in　grammar　school。　Public　humiliation。　Worse　experiences　in　high　school　and　
college。　He　had　been　arrested　and　sent　to　an　institution　after　exposing　himself　
to　a　pair　of　little　girls　getting　off　a　school　bus。　Worst　of　all；　he　had　been　


　
　
dismissed　from　the　institution；　let　back　out　onto　the　streets；　because　the　man　
in　charge　had　decided　he　was　all　right。　This　man's　name　had　been　Grimmer。　
Grimmer　had　known　that　Monkey　DeLong　was　exhibiting　deviant　symptoms；　but　he　had　
written　the　good；　hopeful　report　and　had　let　him　go　anyway。　Jack　liked　and　
sympathized　with　Grimmer；　too。　Grimmer　had　to　run　an　understaffed　and　
underfunded　institution　and　try　to　keep　the　whole　thing　together　with　spit；　
baling　wire；　and　nickle…and…dime　appropriations　from　a　state　legislature　who　had　
to　go　back　and　face　the　voters。　Grimmer　knew　that　Monkey　could　interact　with　
other　people；　that　he　did　not　soil　his　pants　or　try　to　stab　his　fellow　inmates　
with　the　scissors。　He　did　not　think　he　was　Napoleon。　The　staff　psychiatrist　in　
charge　of　Monkey's　case　thought　there　was　a　better…than…even　chance　that　Monkey　
could　make　it　on　the　street；　and　they　both　knew　that　the　longer　a　man　is　in　an　
institution　the　more　he　es　to　need　that　closed　environment；　like　a　junkie　
with　his　smack。　And　meanwhile；　people　were　knocking　down　the　doors。　Paranoids；　
schizoids；　cycloids；　semicatatonics；　men　who　claimed　to　have　gone　to　heaven　in　
flying　saucers；　women　who　had　burned　their　children's　sex　organs　off　with　Bic　
lighters；　alcoholics；　pyromaniacs；　kleptomaniacs；　manic…depressives；　suicidals。　
Tough　old　world；　baby。　If　you're　not　bolted　together　tightly；　you're　gonna　
shake；　rattle；　and　roll　before　you　turn　thirty。　Jack　could　sympathize　with　
Grimmer's　problem。　He　could　sympathize　with　the　parents　of　the　murder　victims。　
With　the　murdered　children　themselves；　of　course。　And　with　Monkey　DeLong。　Let　
the　reader　lay　blame。　In　those　days　he　hadn't　wanted　to　judge。　The　cloak　of　the　
moralist　sat　badly　on　his　shoulders。　
　　He　had　started　The　Little　School　in　the　same　optimistic　vein。　But　lately　he　
had　begun　to　choose　up　sides；　and　worse　still；　he　had　e　to　loathe　his　hero；　
Gary　Benson。　Originally　conceived　as　a　bright　boy　more　cursed　with　money　than　
blessed　with　it；　a　boy　who　wanted　more　than　anything　to　pile　a　good　record　so　
he　could　go　to　a　good　university　because　he　had　earned　admission　and　not　because　
his　father　had　pulled　strings；　he　had　bee　to　Jack　a　kind　of　simpering　Goody　
Two…shoes；　a　postulant　before　the　altar　of　knowledge　rather　than　a　sincere　
acolyte；　an　outward　paragon　of　Boy　Scout　virtues；　inwardly　cynical；　filled　not　
with　real　brilliance　（as　he　had　first　been　conceived）　but　only　with　sly　animal　
cunning。　All　through　the　play　he　unfailingly　addressed　Denker　as　〃sir；〃　just　as　
Jack　had　taught　his　own　son　to　address　those　older　and　those　in　authority　as　
〃sir。〃　He　thought　that　Danny　used　the　word　quite　sincerely；　and　Gary　Benson　as　
originally　conceived　had　too；　but　as　he　had　begun　Act　V；　it　had　e　more　and　
more　strongly　to　him　that　Gary　was　using　the　word　satirically；　outwardly　
straight…faced　while　the　Gary　Benson　inside　was　mugging　and　leering　at　Denker。　
Denker；　who　had　never　had　any　of　the　things　Gary　had。　Denker；　who　had　had　to　
work　all　his　life　just　to　bee　head　of　a　single　little　school。　Who　was　now　
faced　with　ruin　over　this　handsome；　innocent…seeming　rich　boy　who　had　cheated　on　
his　Final　position　and　had　then　cunningly　covered　his　tracks。　Jack　had　seen　
Denker　the　teacher　as　not　much　different　from　the　strutting　South　American　
little　Caesars　in　their　banana　kingdoms；　standing　dissidents　up　against　the　wall　
of　the　handiest　squash　or　handball　court；　a　super…zealot　in　a　paratively　
small　puddle；　a　man　whose　every　whim　bees　a　crusade。　In　the　beginning　he　had　
wanted　to　use　his　play　as　a　microcosm　to　say　something　about　the　abuse　of　power。　
Now　he　tended　more　and　more　to　see　Denker　as　a　Mr。　Chips　figure；　and　the　tragedy　


　
　
was　not　the　intellectual　racking　of　Gary　Benson　but　rather　the　destruction　of　a　
kindly　old　teacher　and　headmaster　unable　to　see　through　the　cynical　wiles　of　
this　monster　masquerading　as　a　boy。　
　　He　hadn't　been　able　to　finish　the　play。　
　　Now　he　sat　looking　down　at　it；　scowling；　wondering　if　there　was　any　way　he　
could　salvage　the　situation。　He　didn't　really　think　there　was。　He　bad　begun　with　
one　play　and　it　had　somehow　turned　into　another；　presto…chango。　Well；　what　the　
hell。　Either　way　it　had　been　done　before。　Either　way　it　was　a　load　of　shit。　And　
why　was　he　driving　himself　crazy　about　it　tonight　anyway？　After　the　day　just　
gone　by　it　was　no　wonder　he　couldn't　think　straight。　
　　〃　—　get　him　down？〃　
　　He　looked　up；　trying　to　blink　the　cobwebs　away。　〃Huh？〃　
　　〃I　said；　how　are　we　going　to　get　him　down？　We've　got　to　get　him　out　of　here；　
Jack。〃　
　　For　a　moment　his　wits　were　so　scattered　that　he　wasn't　even　sure　what　she　was　
talking　about。　Then　he　realized　and　uttered　a　short；　barking　laugh。　
　　〃You　say　that　as　if　it　were　so　easy。〃　
　　〃I　didn't　mean　—　〃　
　　〃No　problem；　Wendy。　I'll　just　change　clothes　in　that　telephone　booth　down　in　
the　lobby　and　fly　him　to　Denver　on　my　back。　Superman　Jack　Torrance；　they　called　
me　in　my　salad　days。〃　
　　Her　face　registered　slow　hurt。　
　　〃I　understand　the　problem；　Jack。　The　radio　is　broken。　The　snow　。。。　but　you　
have　to　understand　Danny's　problem。　My　God；　don't　you？　He　was　nearly　catatonic；　
Jack！　What　if　he　hadn't　e　out　of　that？〃　
　　〃But　he　did；〃　Jack　said；　a　trifle　shortly。　He　had　been　frightened　at　Danny's　
blank…eyed；　slack…faced　state　too；　of　course　he　had。　At　first。　But　the　more　he　
thought　about　it；　the　more　he　wondered　if　it　hadn't　been　a　piece　of　play…acting　
put　on　to　escape　his　punishment。　He　had；　after　all；　been　trespassing。　
　　〃All　the　same；〃　she　said。　She　came　to　him　and　sat　on　the　end　of　the　bed　by　his　
desk。　Her　face　was　both　surprised　and　worried。　〃Jack；　the　bruises　on　his　neck！　
Something　got　at　him！　And　I　want　him　away　from　it！〃　
　　〃Don't　shout；〃　he　said。　〃My　head　aches；　Wendy。　I'm　as　worried　about　this　as　
you　are；　so　please　。。