ing for him； his hands out； the fingers slightly curled。 He smelled moldy and
wet； like leaves that had been rained on。
〃It was for your own good；〃 Jack said； backing up。 〃I set it ahead for your
own good。 Furthermore； I happen to know you cheated on your Final position。〃
〃I don't cheat 。。。 and I don't stutter。〃
George's hands touched his neck。
Jack turned and ran； ran with the floating； weightless slowness that is so
mon to dreams。
〃You did！ You did cheat！〃 he screamed in fear and anger as he crossed the
darkened bed/sitting room。 〃I'll prove it！〃
George's hands were on his neck again。 Jack's heart swelled with fear until he
was sure it would burst。 And then； at last； his hand curled around the doorknob
and it turned under his hand and he yanked the door open。 He plunged out； not
into the second…floor hallway； but into the basement room beyond the arch。 The
cobwebby light was on。 His campchair； stark and geometrical； stood beneath it。
And all around it was a miniature mountain range of boxes and crates and banded
bundles of records and invoices and God knew what。 Relief surged through him。
〃I'll find it！〃 he heard himself screaming。 He seized a damp and moldering
cardboard box； it split apart in his hands； spilling out a waterfall of yellow
flimsies。 〃It's here somewhere！ I will find it！〃 He plunged his hands deep into
the pile of papers and came up with a dry； papery wasps' nest in one hand and a
timer in the other。 The timer was ticking。 Attached to its back was a length of
electrical cord and attached to the other end of the cord was a bundle of
dynamite。 〃Here！〃 he screamed。 〃Here； take it！〃
His relief became absolute triumph。 He had done more than escape George； he
had conquered。 With these talismanic objects in his hands； George would never
touch him again。 George would flee in terror。
He began to turn so he could confront George； and that was when George's hands
settled around his neck； squeezing； stopping his breath； damming up his
respiration entirely after one final dragging gasp。
〃I don't stutter；〃 whispered George from behind him。
He dropped the wasps' nest and wasps boiled out of it in a furious brown and
yellow wave。 His lungs were on fire。 His wavering sight fell on the timer and
the sense of triumph returned； along with a cresting wave of righteous wrath。
Instead of connecting the timer to dynamite； the cord ran to the gold knob of a
stout black cane； like the one his father had carried after the accident with
the milk truck。
He grasped it and the cord parted。 The cane felt heavy and right in his hands。
He swung it back over his shoulder。 On the way up it glanced against the wire
from which the light bulb depended and the light began to swing back and forth；
making the room's hooded shadows rock monstrously against the floor and walls。
On the way down the cane struck something much harder。 George screamed。 The grip
on Jack's throatloosened。
He tore free of George's grip and whirled。 George was on his knees； his head
drooping； his hands laced together on top of it。 Blood welled through his
fingers。
〃Please；〃 George whispered humbly。 〃Give me a break； Mr。 Torrance；〃
〃Now you'll take your medicine；〃 Jack grunted。 〃Now by God； won't you。 Young
pup。 Young worthless cur。 Now by God； right now。 Every drop。 Every single damn
drop！〃
As the light swayed above him and the shadows danced and flapped； he began to
swing the cane； bringing it down again and again； his arm rising and falling
like a machine。 George's bloody protecting fingers fell away from his head and
Jack brought the cane down again and again； and on his neck and shoulders and
back and arms。 Except that the cane was no longer precisely a cane； it seemed to
be a mallet with some kind of brightly striped handle。 A mallet with a hard side
and soft side。 The business end was clotted with blood and hair。 And the flat；
whacking sound of the mallet against flesh had been replaced with a hollow
booming sound； echoing and reverberating。 His own voice had taken on this same
quality； bellowing； disembodied。 And yet； paradoxically； it sounded weaker；
slurred； petulant 。。。 as if he were drunk。
The figure on its knees slowly raised its head； as if in supplication。 There
was not a face； precisely； but only a mask of blood through which eyes peered。
He brought the mallet back for a final whistling downstroke and it was fully
launched before he saw that the supplicating face below him was not George's but
Danny's。 It was the face of his son。
〃Daddy — 〃
And then the mallet crashed home； striking Danny right between the eyes；
closing them forever。 And something somewhere seemed to be laughing —
（！ No ！）
* * *
He came out of it standing naked over Danny's bed； his hands empty； his body
sheened with sweat。 His final scream had only been in his mind。 He voiced it
again； this time in a whisper。
〃No。 No； Danny。 Never。〃
He went back to bed on legs that had turned to rubber。 Wendy was sleeping
deeply。 The clock on the nightstand said it was quarter to five。 He lay
sleepless until seven； when Danny began to stir awake。 Then he put his legs over
the edge of the bed and began to dress。 It was time to go downstairs and check
the boiler。
》
THE SNOWMOBILE
Sometime after midnight； while they all slept uneasily； the snow had stopped
after dumping a fresh eight inches on the old crust。 The clouds had broken； a
fresh wind had swept them away； and now Jack stood in a dusty ingot of sunlight；
which slanted through the dirty window set into the eastern side of the
equipment shed。
The place was about as long as a freight car； and about as high。 It smelled of
grease and oil and gasoline and — faint； nostalgic smell — sweet grass。 Four power
lawnmowers were ranked like soldiers on review against the south wall； two of
them the riding type that look like small tractors。 To their left were posthole
diggers； round…bladed shovels made for doing surgery on the putting green； a
chain saw； the electric hedge…clippers； and a long thin steel pole with a red
flag at the top。 Caddy； fetch my ball in under ten seconds and there's a quarter
in it for you。 Yes； sir。
Against the eastern wall； where the morning sun slanted in most strongly；
three Ping…Pong tables leaned one against the other like a drunken house of
cards。 Their nets had been removed and flopped down from the shelf above。 In the
corner was a stack of shuffleboard weights and a roque set — the wickets banded
together with twists of wire； the brightly painted balls in an egg…carton sort
of thing （strange hens you have up here； Watson 。。。 yes； and you should see
the animals down on the front lawn； ha…ha）； and the mallets； two sets of them；
standing in their racks。
He walked over to them； stepping over an old eight…cell battery （which had
once sat beneath the hood of the hotel truck； no doubt） and a battery charger
and a pair of J。 C。 Penney jumper cables coiled between them。 He slipped one of