by Stephen King
"Well, you'll eat it up here until oleo seems a treat," Hallorann said, and laughed. "Over in this bin you got your bread--thirty loaves of white, twenty of dark. We try to keep racial balance at the Overlook, don't you know. Now I know fifty loaves won't take you through, but there's plenty of makings and fresh is better than frozen any day of the week.
"Down here you got your fish. Brain food, right, doc?"
"Is it, Mom?"
"If Mr. Hallorann says so, honey." She smiled.
Danny wrinkled his nose. "I don't like fish."
"You're dead wrong," Hallorann said. "You just never had any fish that liked you. This fish here will like you fine. Five pounds of rainbow trout, ten pounds of turbot, fifteen cans of tuna fish--"
"Oh yeah, I like tuna."
"--and five pounds of the sweetest-tasting sole that ever swam in the sea. My boy, when next spring rolls around, you're gonna thank old ..." He snapped his fingers as if he had forgotten something. "What's my name, now? I guess it just slipped my mind."
"Mr. Hallorann," Danny said, grinning. "Dick, to your friends."
"That's right! And you bein a friend, you make it Dick."
As he led them into the far corner, Jack and Wendy exchanged a puzzled glance, both of them trying to remember if Hallorann had told them his first name.
"And this here I put in special," Hallorann said. "Hope you folks enjoy it."
"Oh really, you shouldn't have," Wendy said, touched. It was a twenty-pound turkey wrapped in a wide scarlet ribbon with a bow on top.
"You got to have your turkey on Thanksgiving, Wendy," Hallorann said gravely. "I believe there's a capon back here somewhere for Christmas. Doubtless you'll stumble on it. Let's come on out of here now before we all catch the pee-numonia. Right, doc?"
"Right!"
There were more wonders in the cold-pantry. A hundred boxes of dried milk (Hallorann advised her gravely to buy fresh milk for the boy in Sidewinder as long as it was feasible), five twelve-pound bags of sugar, a gallon jug of blackstrap molasses, cereals, glass jugs of rice, macaroni, spaghetti; ranked cans of fruit and fruit salad; a bushel of fresh apples that scented the whole room with autumn; dried raisins, prunes, and apricots ("You got to be regular if you want to be happy," Hallorann said, and pealed laughter at the cold-pantry ceiling, where one old-fashioned light globe hung down on an iron chain); a deep bin filled with potatoes; and smaller caches of tomatoes, onions, turnips, squashes, and cabbages.
"My word," Wendy said as they came out. But seeing all that fresh food after her thirty-dollar-a-week grocery budget so stunned her that she was unable to say just what her word was.
"I'm runnin a bit late," Hallorann said, checking his watch, "so I'll just let you go through the cabinets and the fridges as you get settled in. There's cheeses, canned milk, sweetened condensed milk, yeast, bakin soda, a whole bagful of those Table Talk pies, a few bunches of bananas that ain't even near to ripe yet--"
"Stop," she said, holding up a hand and laughing. "I'll never remember it all. It's super. And I promise to leave the place clean."
"That's all I ask." He turned to Jack. "Did Mr. Ullman give you the rundown on the rats in his belfry?"
Jack grinned. "He said there were possibly some in the attic, and Mr. Watson said there might be some more down in the basement. There must be two tons of paper down there, but I didn't see any shredded, as if they'd been using it to make nests."
"That Watson," Hallorann said, shaking his head in mock sorrow. "Ain't he the foulest-talking man you ever ran on?"
"He's quite a character," Jack agreed. His own father had been the foulest-talking man Jack had ever run on.
"It's sort of a pity," Hallorann said, leading them back toward the wide swinging doors that gave on the Overlook Dining Room. "There was money in that family, long ago. It was Watson's granddad or great-granddad--I can't remember which--that built this place."
"So I was told," Jack said.
"What happened?" Wendy asked.
"Well, they couldn't make it go," Hallorann said. "Watson will tell you the whole story--twice a day, if you let him. The old man got a bee in his bonnet about the place. He let it drag him down, I guess. He had two boys and one of them was killed in a riding accident on the grounds while the hotel was still a-building. That would have been 1908 or '09. The old man's wife died of the flu, and then it was just the old man and his youngest son. They ended up getting took on as caretakers in the same hotel the old man had built."
"It is sort of a pity," Wendy said.
"What happened to him? The old man?" Jack asked.
"He plugged his finger into a light socket by mistake and that was the end of him," Hallorann said. "Sometime in the early thirties before the Depression closed this place down for ten years.
"Anyway, Jack, I'd appreciate it if you and your wife would keep an eye out for rats in the kitchen as well. If you should see them ... traps, not poison."
Jack blinked. "Of course. Who'd want to put rat poison in the kitchen?"
Hallorann laughed derisively. "Mr. Ullman, that's who. That was his bright idea last fall. I put it to him, I said: 'What if we all get up here next May, Mr. Ullman, and I serve the traditional opening night dinner'--which just happens to be salmon in a very nice sauce--'and everybody gits sick and the doctor comes and says to you, "Ullman, what have you been doing up here? You've got eighty of the richest folks in America suffering from rat poisoning!" ' "
Jack threw his head back and bellowed laughter. "What did Ullman say?"
Hallorann tucked his tongue into his cheek as if feeling for a bit of food in there. "He said: 'Get some traps, Hallorann.' "
This time they all laughed, even Danny, although he was not completely sure what the joke was, except it had something to do with Mr. Ullman, who didn't know everything after all.
The four of them passed through the dining room, empty and silent now, with its fabulous western exposure on the snow-dusted peaks. Each of the white linen tablecloths had been covered with a sheet of tough clear plastic. The rug, now rolled up for the season, stood in one corner like a sentinel on guard duty.
Across the wide room was a double set of batwing doors, and over them an old-fashioned sign lettered in gilt script: The Colorado Lounge.
Following his gaze, Hallorann said, "If you're a drinkin man, I hope you brought your own supplies. That place is picked clean. Employees' party last night, you know. Every maid and bellhop in the place is goin around with a headache today, me included."
"I don't drink," Jack said shortly. They went back to the lobby.
It had cleared greatly during the half hour they'd spent in the kitchen. The long main room was beginning to take on the quiet, deserted look that Jack supposed they would become familiar with soon enough. The high-backed chairs were empty. The nuns who had been sitting by the fire were gone, and the fire itself was down to a bed of comfortably glowing coals. Wendy glanced out into the parking lot and saw that all but a dozen cars had disappeared.
She found herself wishing they could get back in the VW and go back to Boulder ... or anywhere else.
Jack was looking around for Ullman, but he wasn't in the lobby.
A young maid with her ash-blond hair pinned up on her neck came over. "Your luggage is out on the porch, Dick."
"Thank you, Sally." He gave her a peck on the forehead. "You have yourself a good winter. Getting married, I hear."
He turned to the Torrances as she strolled away, backside twitching pertly. "I've got to hurry along if I'm going to make that plane. I want to wish you all the best. Know you'll have it."
"Thanks," Jack said. "You've been very kind."
"I'll take good care of your kitchen," Wendy promised again. "Enjoy Florida."
"I always do," Hallorann said. He put his hands on his knees and bent down to Danny. "Last chance, guy. Want to come to Florida?"
"I guess not," Danny said, smiling.
"Okay. Like to give me a hand out to my car with my bags?"
"If my mommy says I can."
"You can," Wendy said, "but you'll have to have that jacket buttoned." She leaned forward to do it but Hallorann was ahead of her, his large brown fingers moving with smooth dexterity.
"I'll send him right back in," Hallorann said.
"Fine," Wendy said, and followed them to the door. Jack was still looking around for Ullman. The last of the Overlook's guests were checking out at the desk.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THE SHINING
There were four bags in a pile just outside the door. Three of them were giant, battered old suitcases covered with black imitation alligator hide. The last was an oversized zipper bag with a faded tartan skin.
"Guess you can handle that one, can't you?" Hallorann asked him. He picked up two of the big cases in one hand and hoisted the other under his arm.
"Sure," Danny said. He got a grip on it with both hands and followed the cook down the porch steps, trying manfully not to grunt and give away how heavy it was.
A sharp and cutting fall wind had come up since they had arrived; it whistled across the parking lot, making Danny wince his eyes down to slits as he carried the zipper bag in front of him, bumping on his knees. A few errant aspen leaves rattled and turned across the now mostly deserted asphalt, making Danny think momentarily of that night last week when he had wakened out of his nightmare and had heard--or thought he heard, at least--Tony telling him not to go.
Hallorann set his bags down by the trunk of a beige Plymouth Fury. "This ain't much car," he confided to Danny, "just a rental job. My Bessie's on the other end. She's a car. 1950 Cadillac, and does she run sweet? I'll tell the world. I keep her in Florida because she's too old for all this mountain climbing. You need a hand with that?"
"No, sir," Danny said. He managed to carry it the last ten or twelve steps without grunting and set it down with a large sigh of relief.
"Good boy," Hallorann said. He produced a large key ring from the pocket of his blue serge jacket and unlocked the trunk. As he lifted the bags in he said: "You shine on, boy. Harder than anyone I ever met in my life. And I'm sixty years old this January."
"Huh?"
"You got a knack," Hallorann said, turning to him. "Me, I've always called it shining. That's what my grandmother called it, too. She had it. We used to sit in the kitchen when I was a boy no older than you and have long talks without even openin our mouths."
"Really?"
Hallorann smiled at Danny's openmouthed, almost hungry expression and said, "Come on up and sit in the car with me for a few minutes. Want to talk to you." He slammed the trunk.
In the lobby of the Overlook, Wendy Torrance saw her son get into the passenger side of Hallorann's car as the big black cook slid in behind the wheel. A sharp pang of fear struck her and she opened her mouth to tell Jack that Hallorann had not been lying about taking their son to Florida--there was a kidnaping afoot. But they were only sitting there. She could barely see the small silhouette of her son's head, turned attentively toward Hallorann's big one. Even at this distance that small head had a set to it that she recognized--it was the way her son looked when there was something on the TV that particularly fascinated him, or when he and his father were playing old maid or idiot cribbage. Jack, who was still looking around for Ullman, hadn't noticed. Wendy kept silent, watching Hallorann's car nervously, wondering what they could possibly be talking about that would make Danny cock his head that way.
In the car Hallorann was saying: "Get you kinda lonely, thinkin you were the only one?"
Danny, who had been frightened as well as lonely sometimes, nodded. "Am I the only one you ever met?" he asked.
Hallorann laughed and shook his head. "No, child, no. But you shine the hardest."
"Are there lots, then?"
"No," Hallorann said, "but you do run across them. A lot of folks, they got a little bit of shine to them. They don't even know it. But they always seem to show up with flowers when their wives are feelin blue with the monthlies, they do good on school tests they don't even study for, they got a good idea how people are feelin as soon as they walk into a room. I come across fifty or sixty like that. But maybe only a dozen, countin my gram, that knew they was shinin."
"Wow," Danny said, and thought about it. Then: "Do you know Mrs. Brant?"
"Her?" Hallorann asked scornfully. "She don't shine. Just sends her supper back two-three times every night."
"I know she doesn't," Danny said earnestly. "But do you know the man in the gray uniform that gets the cars?"
"Mike? Sure, I know Mike. What about him?"
"Mr. Hallorann, why would she want his pants?"
"What are you talking about, boy?"
"Well, when she was watching him, she was thinking she would sure like to get into his pants and I just wondered why--"
But he got no further. Hallorann had thrown his head back, and rich, dark laughter issued from his chest, rolling around in the car like cannonfire. The seat shook with the force of it. Danny smiled, puzzled, and at last the storm subsided by fits and starts. Hallorann produced a large silk handkerchief from his breast pocket like a white flag of surrender and wiped his streaming eyes.
"Boy," he said, still snorting a little, "you are gonna know everything there is to know about the human condition before you make ten. I dunno if to envy you or not."
"But Mrs. Brant--"
"You never mind her," he said. "And don't go askin your mom, either. You'd only upset her, dig what I'm sayin?"
"Yes, sir," Danny said. He dug it perfectly well. He had upset his mother that way in the past.
"That Mrs. Brant is just a dirty old woman with an itch, that's all you have to know." He looked at Danny speculatively. "How hard can you hit, doc?"
"Huh?"
"Give me a blast. Think at me. I want to know if you got as much as I think you do."
"What do you want me to think?"
"Anything. Just think it hard."
"Okay," Danny said. He considered it for a moment, then gathered his concentration and flung it out at Hallorann. He had never done anything precisely like this before, and at the last instant some instinctive part of him rose up and blunted some of the thought's raw force--he didn't want to hurt Mr. Hallorann. Still the thought arrowed out of him with a force he never would have believed. It went like a Nolan Ryan fastball with a little extra on it.
(Gee I hope I don't hurt him)
And the thought was:
(!!! HI, DICK!!!)
Hallorann winced and jerked backward on the seat. His teeth came together with a hard click, drawing blood from his lower lip in a thin trickle. His hands flew up involuntarily from his lap to the level of his chest and then settled back again. For a moment his eyelids fluttered limply, with no conscious control, and Danny was frightened.
"Mr. Hallorann? Dick? Are you okay?"
"I don't know," Hallorann said, and laughed weakly. "I honest to God don't. My God, boy, you're a pistol."
"I'm sorry," Danny said, more alarmed. "Should I get my daddy? I'll run and get him."
"No, here I come. I'm okay, Danny. You just sit right there. I feel a little scrambled, that's all."
"I didn't go as hard as I could," Danny confessed. "I was scared to, at the last minute."
"Probably my good luck you did ... my brains would be leakin out my ears." He saw the alarm on Danny's face and smiled. "No harm done. What did it feel like to you?"
"Like I was Nolan Ryan throwing a fastball," he replied promptly.
"You like baseball, do you?" Hallorann was rubbing his temples gingerly.
"Daddy and me like the Angels," Danny said. "The Red Sox in the American League East and the Angels in the West. We saw the Red Sox against Cincinnati in the World Series. I was a lot littler then. And Daddy was ..." Danny's face went dark and troubled.
"Was what, Dan?"
"I forget," Danny said. He started to put his thumb in his mouth to suck it, but that was a baby trick. He put his hand back in hi
s lap.
"Can you tell what your mom and dad are thinking, Danny?" Hallorann was watching him closely.
"Most times, if I want to. But usually I don't try."
"Why not?"
"Well ..." He paused a moment, troubled. "It would be like peeking into the bedroom and watching while they're doing the thing that makes babies. Do you know that thing?"
"I have had acquaintance with it," Hallorann said gravely.
"They wouldn't like that. And they wouldn't like me peeking at their thinks. It would be dirty."
"I see."
"But I know how they're feeling," Danny said. "I can't help that. I know how you're feeling, too. I hurt you. I'm sorry."
"It's just a headache. I've had hangovers that were worse. Can you read other people, Danny?"
"I can't read yet at all," Danny said, "except a few words. But Daddy's going to teach me this winter. My daddy used to teach reading and writing in a big school. Mostly writing, but he knows reading, too."
"I mean, can you tell what anybody is thinking?"
Danny thought about it.
"I can if it's loud," he said finally. "Like Mrs. Brant and the pants. Or like once, when me and Mommy were in this big store to get me some shoes, there was this big kid looking at radios, and he was thinking about taking one without buying it. Then he'd think, what if I get caught? Then he'd think, I really want it. Then he'd think about getting caught again. He was making himself sick about it, and he was making me sick. Mommy was talking to the man who sells the shoes so I went over and said, 'Kid, don't take that radio. Go away.' And he got really scared. He went away fast."
Hallorann was grinning broadly. "I bet he did. Can you do anything else, Danny? Is it only thoughts and feelings, or is there more?"
Cautiously: "Is there more for you?"
"Sometimes," Hallorann said. "Not often. Sometimes ... sometimes there are dreams. Do you dream, Danny?"
"Sometimes," Danny said, "I dream when I'm awake. After Tony comes." His thumb wanted to go into his mouth again. He had never told anyone but Mommy and Daddy about Tony. He made his thumb-sucking hand go back into his lap.
"Who's Tony?"
And suddenly Danny had one of those flashes of understanding that frightened him most of all; it was like a sudden glimpse of some incomprehensible machine that might be safe or might be deadly dangerous. He was too young to know which. He was too young to understand.
