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THE SHINING BOOK PDF

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My editor on this book, as on the previous two, was Mr. William G. Thompson, And surely the Overlook-this shining, glowing Overlook on the invitation he. THE SHINING BY STEPHEN KING This is for Joe Hill King, who shines on. — — — — — — — My editor on this book, as on. Read The Shining (The Shining #1) online free from your iPhone, iPad, android, Pc, Mobile. The Shining is a Horror novel by Stephen King.


The Shining Book Pdf

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Jack Torrance's new job at the Overlook Hotel is the perfect chance for a fresh start. As the off-season caretaker at the atmospheric old hotel. We want your feedback! Click here. cover image of The Shining. Read A Sample. The Shining. The Shining Series, Book 1 · The Shining. by Stephen King. Apr 13, Stephen King The Shining Book Pdf Download.

He was glad to have his papers and his "PLAY" but it wouldn't be worth it to him, he said, if Danny fell down the stairs and broke his. Danny told his father earnestly that he hadn't been down in the cellar. That door was always locked. And Mommy agreed. Danny never went down in the back hall, she said, because it was damp and dark and spidery. And he didn't tell lies. This had happened before, from time to time. Because it was frightening, they swept it quickly from their minds.

But be knew they worried about Tony, Mommy especially, and he was careful about thinking the way that could make Tony come where she might see. But now he thought she was lying down, not moving about in the kitchen yet, and so he concentrated hard to see if he could understand what Daddy was thinking about. His brow furrowed and his slightly grimy hands clenched into tight fists on his jeans.

He did not close his eyes-that wasn't necessary-but he squinched them down to slits and imagined Daddy's voice, Jack's voice, John Daniel Torrance's voice, deep and steady, sometimes quirking up with amusement or deepening even more with anger or just staying steady because he was thinking.

Thinking of. Thinking about. He was fully conscious; he saw the street and the girl and boy walking up the sidewalk on the other side, holding hands because they were? He saw autumn leaves blowing along the gutter, yellow cartwheels of irregular shape.

He saw the house they were passing and noticed how the roof was covered with shingles. So that's what he was thinking about. He had gotten the job and was thinking about shingles. Danny didn't know who Watson was, but everything else seemed clear enough. And he might get to see a wasps' nest. Just as sure as his name was "Danny. Danny, as always, felt a warm burst of pleasure at seeing his old friend, but this time he seemed to feel a prick of fear, too, as if Tony had come with some darkness hidden behind his back.

A jar-of wasps which when released would sting deeply. But there was no question of not going. He slumped further down on the curb, his hands sliding laxly from his thighs and dangling below the fork of his crotch. His chin sank onto his chest.

Then there was a dim, painless tug as part of him got up and ran after Tony into funneling darkness. A coughing, whooping sound and bending, tortured shadows that resolved themselves into fir trees at night, being pushed by a screaming gale. Snow swirled and danced. Snow everywhere. Huge and rectangular. A sloping roof. Whiteness that was blurred in the stormy darkness. Many windows.

A long building with a shingled roof. Some of the shingles were greener, newer. His daddy put them on. With nails from the Sidewinder hardware store. Now the snow was covering the shingles. It was covering everything. A green witchlight glowed into being on the front of the building, flickered, and became a giant, grinning skull over two crossed bones: He understood none of them completely--he couldn't read!

They faded. Now he was in a room filled with strange furniture, a room that was dark. Snow spattered against the windows like thrown sand. His mouth was dry, his eyes like hot marbles, his heart triphammering in his chest.

Outside there was a hollow booming noise, like a dreadful door being thrown wide. Across the room was a mirror, and deep down in its silver bubble a single word appeared in green fire and that word was: The room faded. Another room.

He knew would know this one. An overturned chair. A broken window with snow swirling in; already it had frosted the edge of the rug. The drapes had been pulled free and hung on their broken rod at an angle. A low cabinet lying on its face. More hollow booming noises, steady, rhythmic, horrible. Smashing glass. Approaching destruction. A hoarse voice, the voice of a madman, made the more terrible by its familiarity: Come out! Came out, you little shit! Take your medicine!

Splintering wood. A bellow of rage and satisfaction. Drifting across the room. Pictures torn off the walls. A record player? Mommy's record player'! Broken into jagged black pie wedges. In the darkness the booming noises grew louder, louder still, echoing, file: And now he was crouched in a dark hallway, crouched on a blue rug with a riot of twisting black shapes woven into its pile, listening to the booming noises approach, and now a Shape turned the corner and began to come toward him, lurching, smelling of blood and doom.

It had a mallet in one hand and it was swinging it REDRUM from side to side in vicious arcs, slamming it into the walls, cutting the silk wallpaper and knocking out ghostly bursts of plasterdust: Come on and take your medicine! Take it like a man! The Shape advancing on him, reeking of that sweet-sour odor, gigantic, the mallet head cutting across the air with a wicked hissing whisper, then the great hollow boom as it crashed into the wall, sending the dust out in a puff you could smell, dry and itchy.

Tiny red eyes glowed in the dark. The monster was upon him, it had discovered him, cowering here with a blank wall at his back. And the trapdoor in the ceiling was locked. In his ears he could still hear that huge, contrapuntal booming sound and smell his own urine as he voided himself in the extremity of his terror.

He could see that limp hand dangling over the edge of the tub with blood running down one finger, the third, and that inexplicable word so much more horrible than any of the others: And now sunshine.

Real things. Except for Tony, now six blocks up, only a speck, standing on the corner, his voice faint and high and sweet. Danny was off the curb in a second, waving, jiving from one foot to the other, yelling: Hey, Dad! Danny ran toward him and then froze, his eyes widening. His heart crawled up into the middle of his throat and froze solid. Beside his daddy, in the other front seat, was a short-handled mallet, its head clotted with blood and hair.

Then it was just a bag of groceries. I'm okay. Jack hugged him back, slightly bewildered. You're drippin sweat. I love you, Daddy. I been waiting. I brought home some stuff. Think you're big enough to carry it upstairs? They were glad to see each other. Love came out of them the way love had come out of the boy and girl walking up the street and holding hands. Danny was glad. The bag of groceries--just a bag of groceries--crackled in his arms.

Everything was all right. Daddy was home. Mommy was loving him. There were no bad things. And not everything Tony showed him always happened.

But fear had settled around his heart, deep and dreadful, around his heart and around that indecipherable word he had seen in his spirit's mirror. He wondered again if he shouldn't go ahead and get the fuel pump replaced, and told himself again that they couldn't afford it. If the little car could keep running until November, it could retire with full honors anyway. By November the snow up there in the mountains would be higher than the beetle's roof.

I'll bring you a candy bar. It's private stuff. She had argued that with a small child--especially a boy like Danny, who sometimes suffered from fainting spells--they couldn't afford not to have one.

So Jack had forked over the thirty-dollar installation fee, bad enough, and a ninety-dollar security deposit, which really hurt. And so far the phone had been mute except for two wrong numbers. You sit still and don't play with the gearshift, right?

I'll look at the maps. He loved road maps, loved to trace where the roads went with his finger. As far as he was concerned, new maps were the best part of moving West. Jack went to the drugstore counter, got Danny's candy bar, and newspaper, and a copy of the October Writer's Digest. He gave the girl a five and asked for his change in quarters.

With the silver in his hand he walked over to the telephone booth by the keymaking machine and slipped inside. From here he could see Danny in the bug through three sets of glass. The boy's head was bent studiously over his maps. Jack felt a wave of nearly desperate love for the boy. The emotion showed on his face as a stony grimness. He supposed he could have made his obligatory thank-you call to Al from home; he certainly wasn't going to say anything Wendy would object to.

It was his pride that said no. These days he almost always listened to what his pride told him to do, because along with his wife and son, six hundred dollars in a checking account, and one weary Volkswagen, his pride was all that was left. The only thing that was his. Even the checking account was joint. A year ago he had been teaching English in one of the finest prep schools in New England.

There had been friends--although not exactly the same ones he'd had before going on the wagon--some laughs, fellow faculty members who admired his deft touch in the classroom and his private dedication to writing. Things had been very good six months ago. All at once there was enough money left over at the end of each two-week pay period to start a little savings account.

In his drinking days there had never been a penny left over, even though Al Shockley had stood a great many of the rounds.

He and Wendy had begun to talk cautiously about finding a house and making a down payment in a year or so. A farmhouse in the country, take six or eight years to renovate it completely, what the hell, they were young, they had time. Then he had lost his temper. George Hatfield. The smell of hope had turned to the smell of old leather in Crommert's office, the whole thing like some scene from his own play: April ivy had been rustling outside Crommert's slit window and the drowsy sound of steam heat came from the radiator.

It was no set, he remembered thinking. It was real. His life. How could he have fucked it up so badly? Terribly serious.

The Shining : Stephen King Download Free Ebook

The Board has asked me to convey its decision to you. Under file: What had followed that interview in Crommert's office had been the darkest, most dreadful night of his life. The wanting, the needing to get drunk had never been so bad. His hands shook. He knocked things over. And he kept wanting to take it out on Wendy and Danny. His temper was like a vicious animal on a frayed leash. He had left the house in terror that he might strike them. Had ended up outside a bar, and the only thing that had kept him from going in was the knowledge that if he did, Wendy would leave him at last, and take Danny with her.

He would be dead from the day they left. Instead of going into the bar, where dark shadows sat sampling the tasty waters of oblivion, he had gone to Al Shockley's house. The Board's vote had been six to one. Al had been the one. Now he dialed the operator and she told him that for a dollar eighty-five he could be put in touch with Al two thousand miles away for three minutes.

Time is relative, baby, he thought, and stuck in eight quarters. Faintly he could hear the electronic boops and beeps of his connection sniffing its way eastward. Al's father had been Arthur Longley Shockley, the steel baron. He had left his only son, Albert, a fortune and a huge range of investments and directorships and chairs on various boards.

One of these had been on the Board of Directors for Stovington Preparatory Academy, the old man's favorite charity. Both Arthur and Albert Shockley were alumni and Al lived in Barre, close enough to take a personal interest in the school's affairs. For several years Al had been Stovington's tennis coach. Jack and Al had become friends in a completely natural and uncoincidental way: Shockley was separated from his wife, and Jack's own marriage was skidding slowly downhill, although he still loved Wendy and had promised sincerely and frequently to reform, for her sake and for baby Danny's.

The two of them went on from many faculty parties, hitting the bars until they closed, then stopping at some mom 'n' pot store for a case of beer they would drink parked at the end of some back road.

There were mornings when Jack would stumble into their leased house with dawn seeping into the sky and find Wendy and the baby asleep on the couch, Danny always on the inside, a tiny fist curled under the shelf of Wendy's jaw.

He would look at them and the self-loathing would back up his throat in a bitter wave, even stronger than the taste of beer and cigarettes and martinis--martians, as Al called them. Those were the times that his mind would turn thoughtfully and sanely to the gun or the rope or the razor blade. If the bender had occurred on a weeknight, he would sleep for three hours, get up, dress, chew four Excedrins, and go off to teach his nine o'clock American Poets still drunk.

Good morning, kids, today the Red-Eyed Wonder is going to tell you about how Longfellow lost his wife in the big fire. The classes he had missed or taught unshaven, still reeking of last night's martians. Not me, I can stop anytime. The nights he and Wendy had passed in separate beds. Listen, I'm fine. Mashed fenders. Sure I'm okay to drive.

The tears she always shed in the bathroom. Cautious looks from his colleagues at any party where alcohol was served, even wine. The slowly dawning realization that he was being talked about. The knowledge that he was producing nothing at his Underwood but balls of mostly blank paper that ended up in the wastebasket. He had been something of a catch for Stovington, a slowly blooming American writer perhaps, and certainly a man well qualified to teach that great mystery, creative writing.

He had published two dozen short stories. He was working on a play, and thought there might be a novel incubating in some mental back room. But now he was not producing and his teaching had become erratic. It had finally ended one night less than a month after Jack had broken his son's arm.

That, it seemed to him, had ended his marriage. All that remained was for Wendy to gather her will. It was over. It had been a little past midnight. Jack and Al were coming into Barre on U. They were both very drunk; the martians had landed that night in force. They came around the last curve before the bridge at seventy, and there was a kid's bike in the road, and then the sharp, hurt squealing as rubber shredded from the Jag's tires, and Jack remembered seeing Al's face looming over the steering wheel like a round white moon.

Then the jingling crashing sound as they hit the bike at forty, and it had flown up like a bent and twisted bird, the handlebars striking the windshield, and then it was in the air again, leaving the starred safety glass in front of Jack's bulging eyes. A moment later he heard the final dreadful smash as it landed on the road behind them. Something thumped underneath them as the tires passed over it. The Jag drifted around broadside, Al still jockeying the wheel, and from far away Jack heard himself saying: We ran him down.

I felt it. Come on, Al. Be home. Let me get this over with. Al had brought the car to a smoking halt not more than three feet from a bridge stanchion. Two of the Jag's tires were flat. They had left zigzagging loops of burned rubber for a hundred and thirty feet. They looked at each other for a moment and then ran back in the cold darkness.

The bike was completely ruined. One wheel was gone, and looking back over his shoulder Al had seen it lying in the middle of the road, half a dozen spokes sticking up like piano wire. Al had said hesitantly: It had all happened with such crazy speed. Coming around the corner. The bike looming in the Jag's headlights. Al yelling something. Then the collision and the long skid. They moved the bike to one shoulder of the road. Al went back to the Jag and put on its four-way flashers.

For the next two hours they searched the sides of the road, using a powerful four-cell flashlight. Although it was late, several cars passed the beached Jaguar and the two men with the bobbing flashlight. None of them stopped. Jack thought later that some queer providence, bent on giving them both a last chance, had kept the cops away, had kept any of the passersby from calling them.

At quarter past two they returned to the Jag, sober but queasy. Do you mind? Come on, Al! Al had hiked across the bridge to the nearest pay phone, called a bachelor friend and told him it would be worth fifty dollars if the friend would get the Jag's snow tires out of the garage and bring them down to the Highway 31 bridge outside of Barre.

The friend showed up twenty minutes later, wearing a pair of jeans and his pajama top. He surveyed the scene. Al was already jacking up the back of the car and Jack was loosening lug nuts.

Pay me in the morning. The two of them had gotten the tires on without incident, and together they drove back to AI Shockley's house.

Al put the Jag in the garage and killed the motor. In the dark quiet he said: It's all over. I've slain my last martian. He had driven back to his own house in the VW with the radio turned up, and some disco group chanted over and over again, talismanic in the house before dawn: Do it anyway.

No matter how loud he heard the squealing tires, the crash. When he blinked his eyes shut, he saw that single crushed wheel with its broken spokes pointing at the sky. When he got in, Wendy was asleep on the couch. He looked in Danny's room and file: In the softly filtered glow from the streetlight outside he could see the dark lines on its plastered whiteness where all the doctors and nurses in pediatrics had signed it.

It was an accident. He fell down the stairs. It didn't matter that Al had been driving. There had been other nights when he had been driving. He pulled the covers up over Danny, went into their bedroom, and took the Spanish Llama. It was in a shoe box. He sat on the bed with it for nearly an hour, looking at it, fascinated by its deadly shine.

It was dawn when he put it back in the box and put the box back in the closet. That morning he had called Bruckner, the department head, and told him to please post his classes.

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He had the flu. Bruckner agreed, with less good grace than was common. Jack Torrance had been extremely susceptible to the flu in the last year. Wendy made him scrambled eggs and coffee. They ate in silence. The only sound came from the back yard, where Danny was gleefully running his trucks across the sand pile with his good hand. She went to do the dishes. Her back to him, she said: I've been thinking. No hangover this morning, oddly enough. Only the shakes. He blinked. In the instant's darkness the bike flew up against the windshield, starring the glass.

The tires shrieked. The flashlight bobbed. For you too, maybe. I don't know. We should have talked about it before, I guess. He looked at her back. If you still want to.. You just go right on with--" She stopped, looking in his eyes, fascinated, suddenly uncertain. His voice had lost all its strength and dropped to a whisper. I'm not promising anything. If you still want to talk then, file: About anything you want.

God, he needed a drink. Just a little pick-me-up to put things in their true perspective-"Danny said he dreamed you had a car accident," she said abruptly. He said it this morning, when I got him dressed. Did you, Jack? Did you have an accident? He went to Al's. Al looked horrible.

You look like Lon Chaney in Phantom of the Opera. They didn't drink. A week passed. He and Wendy didn't speak much. But he knew she was watching, not believing. He drank coffee black and endless cans of Coca-Cola. One night he drank a whole six-pack of Coke and then ran into the bathroom and vomited it up. The level of the bottles in the liquor cabinet did not go down.

After his classes he went over to Al Shockley's-she hated Al Shockley worse than she had ever hated anyone-and when he came home she would swear she smelled scotch or gin on his breath, but he would talk lucidly to her before supper, drink coffee, play with Danny after supper, sharing a Coke with him, read him a bedtime story, then sit and correct themes with cup after cup of black coffee by his hand, and she would have to admit to herself that she had been wrong.

Weeks passed and the unspoken word retreated further from the back of her lips. Jack sensed its retirement but knew it would never retire completely.

Things began to get a little easier. Then George Hatfield. He had lost his temper again, this time stone sober. I just called to say thanks. I got the job. It's perfect. If I can't finish that goddam play snowed in all winter, I'll never finish it. But I don't know how you stayed dry after that Hatfield thing, Jack. That was above and beyond. I'll have the Board around by spring. Effinger's already saying they might have been too hasty. And if that play comes to something--" "Yes.

Listen, my boy's out in the car, Al. He looks like he might be getting restless--" "Sure. You have a good winter up there, Jack. Glad to help. There had been a squib in the paper the next day, no more than a space-filler really, but the owner had not been named. Why it had been out there in the night would always be a mystery to them, and perhaps that was as it should be. He went back out to the car and gave Danny his slightly melted Baby Ruth.

Do you remember? When I fell asleep? Daddy's mind was someplace else, not with him. Thinking about the Bad Thing again. I dreamed that you hurt me, Daddy "What was the dream, doc? He put the maps back into the glove compartment. Her man. She smiled a little in the darkness, his seed still trickling with slow warmth from between her slightly parted thighs, and her smile was both rueful and pleased, because the phrase her man summoned up a hundred feelings.

Each feeling file: Together, in this darkness floating to sleep, they were like a distant blues tune heard in an almost deserted night club, melancholy but pleasing. Lovin' you baby, is just like rollin' off a log, But if I can't be your woman, I sure ain't goin' to be your dog. Had that been Billie Holiday? Or someone more prosaic like Peggy Lee? Didn't matter. It was low and torchy, and in the silence of her head it played mellowly, as if issuing from one of those old-fashioned jukeboxes, a Wurlitzer, perhaps, half an hour before closing.

Now, moving away from her consciousness, she wondered how many beds she had slept in with this man beside her. Wendy suddenly felt bad, almost crying bad. She hung the dish towel over the bar by the sink and went downstairs, buttoning the top two buttons of her house dress. Jack and his pride!

Hey no, Al, I don't need an advance. I'm okay for a while. The hallway walls were gouged and marked with crayons, grease pencil, spray paint. The stairs were steep and splintery. The whole building smelled of sour age, and what sort of place was this for Danny after the small neat brick house in Stovington? The people living above them on the third floor weren't married, and while that didn't bother her, their constant, rancorous fighting did.

It scared her. The guy up there was Tom, and after the bars had closed and they had returned home, the fights would start in earnest--the rest of the week was just a prelim in comparison. The Friday Night Fights, Jack called them, but it wasn't funny. The woman--her name was Elaine--would at last be reduced to tears and to repeating over and over again: "Don't, Tom.

Please don't. Once they had even awakened Danny, and Danny slept like a corpse. The next morning Jack caught Tom going out and had spoken to him on the sidewalk at some length. Tom started to bluster and Jack had said something else to him, too quietly for Wendy to hear, and Tom had only shaken his head sullenly and walked away. That had been a week ago and for a few days things had been better, but since the weekend things had been working back to normal--excuse me, abnormal.

It was bad for the boy. Her sense of grief washed over her again but she was on the walk now and she smothered it. Sweeping her dress under her and sitting down on the curb beside him, she said: "What's up, doc? Dad will fix it. It's a long drive up into those mountains. Thanks, Danny. I needed that. She sighed. Nice people don't say it. Do you practice? And he's very careful not to say things like that in front of people who wouldn't understand.

He flexed a little, as if to rise, but the beetle coming was much newer, and much brighter red. He relaxed again. She wondered just how hard this move to Colorado had been on Danny.

He was closemouthed about it, but it bothered her to see him spending so much time by himself. In Vermont three of Jack's fellow faculty members had had children about Danny's age--and there bad been the preschool--but in this neighborhood there was no one for him to play with. Most of the apartments were occupied by students attending CU, and of the few married couples here on Arapahoe Street, only a tiny percentage had children.

She had spotted perhaps a dozen of high school or junior high school age, three infants, and that was all. She and Jack had discussed ways they might handle just such a question from Danny, ways that had varied from evasion to the plain truth with no varnish on it. But Danny had never asked. Yet he was looking at her, maybe reading the confusion on her face and forming his own ideas about that.

She thought that to children adult motives and actions must seem as bulking and ominous as dangerous animals seen in the shadows of a dark forest. They were jerked about like puppets, having only the vaguest notions why. The thought brought her dangerously close to tears again, and while she fought them off she leaned over, picked up the disabled glider, and turned it over in her hands. Do you remember that? That means he wasn't as good as some of the others.

George said your daddy cut him because he didn't like him and not because he wasn't good enough. Then George did a bad thing. I think you know about that. It was after school and your daddy caught him doing it. Sometimes he doesn't think the way he should. That doesn't happen very often, but sometimes it does.

Wendy blinked her eyes savagely hard, driving her tears all the way back. Your daddy hit George to make him stop cutting the tires and George hit his head. Then the men who are in charge of the school said that George couldn't go there anymore and your daddy couldn't teach there anymore. Apparently the subject was closed. If only it could be closed that easily for her-She stood up. Want a couple of cookies and a glass of milk? The way she had felt yesterday or last night or this morning?

They were all different, they crossed the spectrum from rosy pink to dead black. She said: "If it's what your father wants, it's what I want. That's about all. He was such a solemn little boy, and sometimes she wondered just how he was supposed to survive with her and Jack for parents.

The high hopes they had begun with came down to this unpleasant apartment building in a city they didn't know. The image of Danny in his cast rose up before her again. Somebody in the Divine Placement Service had made a mistake, one she sometimes feared could never be corrected and which only the most innocent bystander could pay for.

She put on the teapot and laid a couple of Oreos on a plate for Danny in case he decided to come up while she was lying down. Sitting at the table with her big pottery cup in front of her, she looked out the window at him, still sitting on the curb in his bluejeans and his over-sized dark green Stovington Prep sweatshirt, the glider now lying beside him. The tears which had threatened all day now came in a cloudburst and she leaned into the fragrant, curling steam of the tea and wept.

In grief and loss for the past, and terror of the future. He was a beefy man with fluffy popcorn hair, white shirt, and dark green chinos. He swung open a small square grating in the furnace's belly and he and Jack peered in together. Lost your temper. Danny, are you all right? The furnace filled the entire room, by far the biggest and oldest Jack had ever seen. If the heat falls below a certain point, it sets off a buzzer in your quarters.

Boiler's on the other side of the wall. I'll take you around. The iron radiated a stuporous heat at them, and for some reason Jack thought of a large, dozing cat. Watson jingled his keys and whistled. Lost your- When he went back into his study and saw Danny standing there, wearing nothing but his training pants and a grin, a slow, red cloud of rage had eclipsed Jack's reason.

It had seemed slow subjectively, inside his head, but it must have all happened in less than a minute. It only seemed slow the way some dreams seem slow. The bad ones. Every door and drawer in his study seemed to have been ransacked in the time he had been gone. Closet, cupboards, the sliding bookcase. Every desk drawer yanked out to the stop. His manuscript, the threeact play he had been slowly developing from a novelette he had written seven years ago as an under-graduate, was scattered all over the floor.

He had been drinking a beer and doing the Act II corrections when Wendy said the phone was for him, and Danny had poured the can of beer all over the pages. Probably to see it foam. See it foam, see it foam, the words played over and over in his mind like a single sick chord on an out-of-tune piano, completing the circuit of his rage.

He stepped deliberately toward his threeyear-old son, who was looking up at him with that pleased grin, his pleasure at the job of work so successfully and recently completed in Daddy's study; Danny began to say something and that was when he had grabbed Danny's hand and bent it to make him drop the typewriter eraser and the mechanical pencil he was clenching in it.

Danny had cried out a little. It was all hard to remember through the fog of anger, the sick single thump of that one Spike Jones chord. Wendy somewhere, asking what was wrong. Her voice faint, damped by the inner mist. This was between the two of them. He had whirled Danny around to spank him, his big adult fingers digging into the scant meat of the boy's forearm, meeting around it in a closed fist, and the snap of the breaking bone had not been loud, not loud but it had been very loud, HUGE, but not loud.

Just enough of a sound to slit through the red fog like an arrow-but instead of letting in sunlight, that sound let in the dark clouds of shame and remorse, the terror, the agonizing convulsion of the spirit. A moment of utter silence on the other side, in respect to the beginning future maybe, all the rest of his life. Seeing Danny's face drain of color until it was like cheese, seeing his eyes, always large, grow larger still, and glassy, Jack sure the boy was going to faint dead away into the puddle of beer and papers; his own voice, weak and drunk, slurry, trying to take it all back, to find a way around that not too loud sound of bone cracking and into the past--is there a status quo in the house?

Danny's answering shriek, then Wendy's shocked gasp as she came around them and saw the peculiar angle Danny's forearm had to his elbow; no arm was meant to hang quite that way in a world of normal families.

Her own scream as she swept him into her arms, and a nonsense babble: Oh God Danny oh dear God oh sweet God your poor sweet arm; and Jack was standing there, stunned and stupid, trying to understand how a thing like this could have happened.

He was standing there and his eyes met the eyes of his wife and he saw that Wendy hated him. It did not occur to him what the hate might mean in practical terms; it was only later that he realized she might have left him that night, gone to a motel, gotten a divorce lawyer in the morning; or called the police. He saw only that his wife hated him and he felt staggered by it, all alone. He felt awful. This was what oncoming death felt like.

Then she fled for the telephone and dialed the hospital with their screaming boy wedged in the crook of her arm and Jack did not go after her, he only stood in the ruins of his office, smelling beer and thinking-- You lost your temper. He rubbed his hand harshly across his lips and followed Watson into the boiler room.

It was humid in here, but it was more than the humidity that brought the sick and slimy sweat onto his brow and stomach and legs. The remembering did that, it was a total thing that made that night two years ago seem like two hours ago. There was no lag. It brought the shame and revulsion back, the sense of having no worth at all, and that feeling always made him want to have a drink, and the wanting of a drink brought still blacker despair--would he ever have an hour, not a week or even a day, mind you, but just one waking hour when the craving for a drink wouldn't surprise him like this?

He pulled a red and blue bandanna from his back pocket, blew his nose with a decisive honk, and thrust it back out of sight after a short peek into it to see if he had gotten anything interesting.

The boiler stood on four cement blocks, a long and cylindrical metal tank, copper-jacketed and often patched. It squatted beneath a confusion of pipes and ducts which zigzagged upward into the high, cobweb-festooned basement ceiling. To Jack's right, two large heating pipes came through the wall from the furnace in the adjoining room. I guess you'd know that.

I got her up to a hundred now, and the rooms get a little chilly at night. Few guests complain, what the fuck. Besides, this is an old baby. Got more patches on her than a pair of welfare overalls. A honk. A peek. Back it went. I be tinkering down here with this old whore, then I be out cuttin the grass or rakin that rogue court. Get a chill and catch a cold, my old mum used to say.

God bless her, she been dead six year. The cancer got her. Once the cancer gets you, you might as well make your will. Ullman, be says to heat the west wing one day, central wing the next, east wing the day after that.

Ain't he a crazyman? I hate that little fucker. Yap-yap-yap all the livelong day, he's just like one a those little dogs that bites you on the ankle then run around an pee all over the rug. If brains was black powder he couldn't blow his own nose. It's a pity the things you see when you ain't got a gun. You open an close these ducks by pullin these rings. I got em all marked for you.

The blue tags all go to the rooms in the east wing. Red tags is the middle. Yellow is the west wing. When you go to heat the west wing, you got to remember that's the side of the hotel that really catches the weather. When it whoops, those rooms get as cold as a frigid woman with an ice cube up her works. You can run your press all the way to eighty on west wing days. I would, anyway. Watson shook his bead vehemently, making his fluffy hair bounce on his skull. They're just there for show. Some of these people from California, they don't think things is right unless they got it hot enough to grow a palm tree in their fuckin bedroom.

All the heat comes from down here. Got to watch the press, though. See her creep? Jack felt a sudden shiver cross his back in a hurry and thought: The goose just walked over my grave. Then Watson gave the pressure wheel a spin and dumped the boiler off: There was a great hissing, and the needle dropped back to ninety-one. Watson twisted the valve shut and the hissing died reluctantly. I tell you, this whole place is gonna go sky-high someday, and I just hope that fat fuck's here to ride the rocket.

God, I wish I could be as charitable as my mother was.

She could see the good in everyone. Me, I'm just as mean as a snake with the shingles. What the fuck, a man can't help his nature. You got to check the press. You just dump her off a little and you'll have no trouble. You couldn't get me to come down an stand next to her when that dial was up to one hundred and eighty.

This was built before such things were required. Federal government's into everything these days, ain't it? Wasn't that a sorry sight? An remember to switch those ducks around like he wants. Won't none of the rooms get much above forty-five unless we have an amazin warm winter. And you'll have your own apartment just as warm as you like it.

Over here through this arch. Watson pulled a cord and a single seventyfive-watt bulb cast a sickish, swinging glow over the area they were standing in. Straight ahead was the bottom of the elevator shaft, heavy greased cables descending to pulleys twenty feet in diameter and a huge, grease-clogged motor.

Newspapers were everywhere, bundled and banded and boxed. Some of the cartons were falling apart, spilling yellow flimsy sheets that might have been twenty years old out onto the floor. Jack stared around, fascinated. The Overlook's entire history might be here, buried in these rotting cartons. Watson pointed to a cobwebby shelf beside the utility shaft. There were a number of greasy rags on it, and a looseleaf binder. Only way to stop that is to run the faucets a little bit durin the nights, but there's over four hundred taps in this fuckin palace.

That fat fairy upstairs would scream all the way to Denver when he saw the water bill. Ain't that right? Talk just like a book. Lots of em are. You know who stirred up all those college riots a few years ago? The hommasexshuls, that's who. They get frustrated an have to cut loose. Comin out of the closet, they call it. Holy shit, I don't know what the world's comin to.

No heat, you see. If it happens, use this. Get it? But what if a pipe freezes outside the utility core? You can't get to the other pipes anyway.

Don't you fret about it. You'll have no trouble. Beastly place down here. Gives me the horrors, it does. He was a bad actor, I knew that the minute I saw him. Always grinnin like an egg-suck dog. That was when they were just startin out here and that fat fuck Ullman, he woulda hired the Boston Strangler if he'd've worked for minimum wage.

Was a ranger from the National Park that found em; the phone was out. All of em up in the west wing on the third floor, froze solid. Too bad about the little girls. Eight and six, they was. Cute as cut-buttons.

Oh, that was a hell of a mess. That Ullman, he manages some honky-tonky resort place down in Florida in the off-season, and he caught a plane up to Denver and hired a sleigh to take him up here from Sidewinder because the roads were closed--a sleigh, can you believe that? He about split a gut tryin to keep it out of the papers. Did pretty well, I got to give him that. There was an item in the Denver Post, and of course the bituary in that pissant little rag they have down in Estes Park, but that was just about all.

Pretty good, considerin the reputation this place has got. I expected some reporter would dig it all up again and just sorta put Grady in it as an excuse to rake over the scandals.

Hell, people come and go. Sometimes one of em will pop off in his room, heart attack or stroke or something like that. Hotels are superstitious places. No thirteenth floor or room thirteen, no mirrors on the back of the door you come in through, stuff like that.

Why, we lost a lady just this last July. Ullman had to take care of that, and you can bet your ass he did. That's what they pay him twenty-two thousand bucks a season for, and as much as I dislike the little prick, he earns it. It's like some people just come here to throw up and they hire a guy like Ullman to clean up the messes. Here's this woman, must be sixty fuckin years old--my age!

And she's got this kid with her, he can't be no more than seventeen, with hair down to his asshole and his crotch bulgin 'like he stuffed it with the funnypages. So they're here a week, ten days maybe, and every night it's the same drill.

Down in the Colorado Lounge from five to seven, her suckin up singapore slings like they're gonna outlaw em tomorrow and him with just the one bottle of Olympia, suckin it, makin it last.

Stephen King - The Shining

And she'd be makin jokes and sayin all these witty things, and every time she said one he'd grin just like a fuckin ape, like she had strings tied to the corners of his mouth. Only after a few days you could see it was gettin harder an harder for him to grin, and God knows what he had to think about to get his pump primed by bedtime. Well, they'd go in for dinner, him walkin and her staggerin, drunk as a coot, you know, and he'd be pinchin the waitresses and grinnin at em when she wasn't lookin.

Hell, we even had bets on how long he'd last. So off he goes in the little Porsche they come in, and that's the last we see of him.

Next morning she comes down and tries to put on this big act, but all day she's gettin paler an paler, and Mr. Ullman asks her, sorta diplomatic-like, would she like him to notify the state cops, just in case maybe he had a little accident or something. She's on him like a cat. No-no-no, he's a fine driver, she isn't worried, everything's under control, he'll be back for dinner.

So that afternoon she steps into the Colorado around three and never has no dinner at all. She goes up to her room around tenthirty, and that's the last time anybody saw her alive. Her husband showed up the next day, some big-shot lawyer from New York. He gave old Ullman four different shades of holy hell. I'll sue this an I'll sue that an when I'm through you won't even be able to find a clean pair of underwear, stuff like that.

But Ullman's good, the sucker. Ullman got him quieted down. After playing hide-the-salami with a kid young enough to be her grandson. Then both of them ganged up on old Archer Houghton, which is the county coroner, and got him to change the verdict to accidental death.

Heart attack. Now ole Archer's driving a Chrysler. I don't begrudge him. A man's got to take it where he finds it, especially when he starts gettin along in years. Out of sight. About a week later this stupid cunt of a chambermaid, Delores Vickery by name, she gives out with a helluva shriek while she's makin up the room where those two stayed, and she faints dead away.

When she comes to she says she seen the dead woman in the bathroom, layin naked in the tub. I figure there's maybe forty-fifty people died in this hotel since my grandfather opened it for business in Heart attack or stroke, while they're bangin the lady they're with.

That's what these resorts get a lot of, old types that want one last fling. They come up here to the mountains to pretend they're twenty again. Sometimes somethin gives, and not all the guys who ran this place was as good as Ullman is at keepin it out of the papers.

So the Overlook's got a reputation, yeah. I'll bet the fuckin Biltmore in New York City has got a reputation, if you ask the right people. Torrance, I've worked here all my life. I played here when I was a kid no older'n your boy in that wallet snapshot you showed me. I never seen a ghost yet. You want to come out back with me, I'll show you the equipment shed.

Seems like they go back a thousand years. Newspapers and old invoices and bills of lading and Christ knows what else. My dad used to keep up with them pretty good when we had the old wood-burning furnace, but now they've got all out of hand. Some year I got to get a boy to haul them down to Sidewinder and burn em. If Ullman will stand the expense. I got the traps and the poison Mr. Ullman wants you to use up in the attic and down here.

You keep a good eye on your boy, Mr. You wouldn't want nothing to happen to him. They went to the stairs and paused there for a moment while Watson blew his nose again.

And there's the shingles. Grady may say this line You are the caretaker, you have always been the caretaker indicating all the caretakers are the same entity; Jack.

But he and Charles Grady were obviously both alive at the same time and this cant be debated or changed no matter what your opinion is. You cant be a reincarnation of someone who is alive at the same time you are. This perplexing picture is the final vision in a movie thats full of visions. Its by someone who has the exact same ability to Shine and see visions as The Overlooks previous guests, the Torrences and Dick Hallorann who we know in the end are all either dead or like Elvis have "left the building.

The hotel is now empty except for us, the audience. Just think of how brilliantly this was put across in Stanley Kubricks script by Dick Hallorann, the only expert on Shining we know of; But there are other folks, though mostly they don't know it, or don't believe it.

That may be you he's talking about, think about it; you are the other folks that don't know it, or don't believe it.

What an unbelievable twist! The power of this one image. The unbelief of realizing that it might not be what it seems. It turns out in the end Stanley Kubrick has taken Stephen Kings story about a little boy who possesses the power to Shine and in the end reverses that power by giving it to the audience. Now, in this last perplexing shot as John Lennon sang in the song that inspired the novel We all Shine on!

Dialectics From Apocalypse Now, "Do you know what the man is saying? Do you? This is dialectics. It's very simple dialectics. One through nine, no maybes, no supposes, no fractions -- you can't travel in space, you can't go out into space, you know, without, like, you know, with fractions -what are you going to land on, one quarter, three-eighths -- what are you going to do when you go from here to Venus or something -- that's dialectic physics, OK?

Dialectic logic is there's only love and hate, you either love somebody or you hate them. Dialectic logic is there's only truth and lies, you either believe somebody or you don't believe them. In the movie Stanley Kubrick hides the racism very well. If Grady is a figment of Jack's imagination, then it's Jack and not the "ghosts" inside the Overlook where the racism now lies. Someone else on another website noticed this and it doesn't belong in this movie; I would never know what this toy was as I'd never heard of or seen aGollywog before.

But you have to believe that Stanley Kubrick added this little touch in Danny's toys to indicate that one of his parents might be a racist, as they were the ones that probably gave it to him. It might have something to do with Dick Hallorann's death but I don't believe it because Stanley Kubrick is a perfectionist and the Gollywog isn't even close to the spot where he is killed.

The rabit on the tryke is but not the Gollywog. You'll have to be the judge but it is an interesting little visual tidbit that's been added to the film. Hidden very subtly just like everything else I've discussed. A vision is similar to a hallucination or an illusion, and a ghost is an actual presence that becomes manifest to the living. Its very interesting that Stanley Kubrick doesnt use either word, ghost or vision, when he has Dick Hallorann explain Shining, and what he might be seeing inside the hotel, to Danny.

Well, you know Doc, when something happens it can leave a trace of itself behind. Say like if someone burns toast. Well, maybe things that happened leave other kind of traces behind. Not things that anyone can notice, but things that people who 'shine' can see.

Hes talking about Dannys ability to see past events that have happened inside The Overlook, and he doesnt say a word about ghosts or that The Overlook is haunted.

Hes describing visions to Danny here not ghosts, and he would have indicated so if he was. In Stephen Kings novel he doesnt know about ghosts either.

The spirits are aroused because Danny is in the hotel and they want his power. In Stanley Kubrick's Overlook its Jack that arouses the "ghosts" after he opens the scrapbook we see sitting on his desk throughout the film. Jack is the only cast member that knows what The Overlook's previous guests all look like; Dick Hallorann doesn't! In the movie Dick Hallorann doesnt mention The Overlook being haunted, or that there are ghosts there, because hes never perceived any of this himself and if he did know of these things he would have told Danny so exactly like he explained his ability to Shine.

What the Torrances are perceiving in The Overlook only happens after Jack arrives. To a screen audience a vision or a ghost would both appear the same. But if you look closely at the script Stanley Kubrick puts proof that characters can project these visions into each others minds. It appears that both Danny and Dick Hallorann experience the exact same vision of Jack entering room Danny is in his room and Dick Hallorann is several thousand miles away yet they see the exact same thing.

If it happens once it can happen many other times like when Jack kills Dick Hallorann, Danny sees it and screams while hiding inside the cabinet on the other side of the hotel. The visions that characters in the movie experience are interesting and important to look at and Ive listed each of them.

Jack is at the Overlook during every vision that Danny Dick or Wendy have, and we know from the dialogue the exact spot where he has the opportunity to peer into the Overlooks scrapbook into the movie, Id like you to take him around the place soon as were through Visions begin appearing to the characters right after that.

Stanley Kubrick tells us in the dialogue that these visions aren't real, Remember what Mr. Hallorann said. It's just like pictures in a book, Danny. It isn't real. In the movie the Torrance's see 21 separate visions. After Jack has the opportunity to open the scrapbook he knows exactly what all of The Overlooks most notorious guests look like. The ones that didnt make it onto the hotels walls, the ones that arent, all the best people that Mr. Ullman speaks about during their tour. The exact same guests that appear in their visions.

If The Overlook was haunted Mr. Ullman would have been proud of it and told Jack that fact during the interview, after all he did tell him about the murders. Stanley Kubrick got an idea for using certain colors from Stephen Kings novel where Dick Hallorann smelled oranges when he Shined.

Being that smell can not yet be adequately brought across to a theater audience Stanley Kubrick made the brilliant decision to use the two pigments a painter mixes together to make the color orange, then use those as a visual device to indicate Shining.

Heres my list of the visions and I've indicated where the color red, yellow, or the color produced if you mix them together orange is present in each. Danny sees 9 visions the audience only sees 8 of them and they are in dark red. Jack sees 8 visions and they are in dark violet. Wendy sees 4 visions and they are in dark green. With the final vision seen only by the audience.

Danny sees the bloody elevators, the women in room , and Redrum all twice, and he sees the Grady twins four times. Lloyd and Grady both talk to Jack twice. And Wendys visions appear to her only once each. Jack arrives at the hotel and is taken on his first tour by Bill Watson where he has an opportunity to look into the scrapbook. The elevator doors and the blood are red. Danny is throwing red darts. Jack is throwing the yellow ball and both Wendy and Danny are wearing red.

Red shirt and red trike wheels changed from white in the beginning of the film. Wendys red coat and Dannys red boots. Danny is wearing a red sweater. X Danny is strangled by his father but has a vision of being strangled by a woman This is the only vision that Stanley Kubrick doesn't let the audience see.

A red room key is in the door of room Both Lloyd and Jack are wearing red. The middle of the film where Jack becomes totally possessed by evil If you look closely at the time code, the shot where we hear Jack gulp down his first drink is exactly 66 minutes and 6 seconds into the movie.

Dick Hallorann's room is orange and he has a large red picture behind his head. Danny is wearing red. Jack is wearing red. Danny and Jack are both wearing red. The other set of red elevators are seen. Both Lloyd and Jack again are wearing red. Grady spills yellow advacot on Jack and they have a conversation in a red bathroom. Redrum is written in red on a yellow door.

Jack is wearing red and is surrounded by red Calumet cans and red Golden Rey boxes; all of which mysteriously move between shots without being touched. The final chase after Wendy looks into another important book on Jack's desk, "All Work and No Play Makes Jack a Dull Boy", and she begins to see visions for the first time in the film.

Dogmans face is yellow. Wendy passes the red couch that disappears in the last shot of the movie. The three mirrors in the shot also disappear. The hallway and elevators are both red. Jack is dead and everyone is gone. One last vision is seen by the audience who also have the ability to "Shine" and see visions that are like, "pictures in a book".

The conspicuous red couch under the pictures and the mirrors have also disappeared. Does Delbert Grady ever tell the truth in the story? Its amazing how in The Shining Stanly Kubrick is able to manipulate the audience into believing that lies are the truth and that the truth is a lie. And this may be what the final picture in the movie is actually all about. Why do we believe what we believe? What Im going to show you now has flown right over the heads of most viewers. Its quite incredible when you think about it though.

As you viewed The Shining have you ever thought about what Delbert Gradys character is actually saying? Is he telling the truth? Of course he is everyone knows that Jacks been in The Overlook before because Delbert Grady says so; no one ever asks this question about his truthfulness because weve been manipulated. Grady is an honest God fearing ghost. He may have had some problems with his family in the past but he corrected them.

He even tries to convince Jack to kill his family but if you put all these shortcomings aside he has stellar credibility. As far as ghosts go hes the top of the heap; honest and true. But it never dawns on us that something is tremendously wrong here. Dick Hallorann never lies in the movie and what he says is not believed yet Grady has no credibility at all and what he says is believed wholeheartedly.

If you actually thought about it what seems right is where the truth ends up being; in the movie Grady lies about everything and Dick Hallorann never lies its so obvious. But when you finally realize this its gonna make your head spin because it will change everything about how you perceive this movie.

And remember that I believe that Jack is talking to his imaginary friend his version of Danny's friend Tony as he looks into the mirrors, not a ghost: Grady: Grady, sir. Delbert Grady That's right, sir.

Jack: Delbert Grady? At first this seems to be just one more of those enigmatic things that Stanley Kubrick placed in The Shining. Just a perplexing mystery with no real answer.

But he doesnt tell Jack his real name; its a lie as we know from the dialogue where Mr. Ullman tells us that his real name is Charles Grady, not Delbert Grady. In the novel there is no Delbert Grady, just Charles Grady. The name Delbert Grady is a lie. Jack: Ah, Mr. Grady: Why no, sir. I don't believe so. This is another lie as in the dialogue Jack tells us later on that he's seen his picture in the scrapbook we see opened on his desk and Grady would definitely know about the scrapbook.

Jack: Eh Another lie as Charles Grady as we know from the dialogue where Mr. Ullman tells us was the caretaker of The Overlook in Jack: Youre a married man, are you, Mr. Grady: Yes, sir. I have a wife and eh two daughters, sir. Jack: And, ah Grady: Oh, they're somewhere around. I'm not quite sure at the moment, sir. Another lie as Mr. Ullman tells us in the dialogue that Grady actually did hack them to death. Jack: Mr. Grady, you were the caretaker here.

I recognize you. You ah Grady: That's strange, sir. I don't have any recollection of that at all. Ullman tells us that all this actually happened. We also now know that the "ghost" Jack is imagining looks exactly the same as the real Charles Grady. Grady: I'm sorry to differ with you, sir, but you are the caretaker. I've always been here.

Another lie because if Delbert Grady had, always been in The Overlook his face would be in the picture at the July 4th ball in along with Jack at the end of the movie.

They were both caretakers and he must be in that picture and must like Jack look exactly the same. Grady: Did you know, Mr. Torrance, that your son Did you know that? If you find this hard to believe remember that Dick Hallorann knows something is wrong only when Jack walks into room and not when Danny is strangled, which happened earlier.

This is very important; as Jack meets the old woman he is Shining that image of room into Dick Halloranns head. Danny never telepathically calls Dick Hallorann when he's attacked, in fact there is no place in the dialogue or on the screen that proves that he ever calls on him at all. Grady: Your son has a very great talent. I don't think you are aware how great it is, but he is attempting to use that very talent against your will.

This is an obvious lie as Danny never does anything except ride around The Overlook, play with his toys, watch cartoons, and escape from his crazy ax wielding father.

Stanley Kubrick hides this extremely well but we hardly ever see Danny use his special ability in the movie. If you find this hard to believe, think about this. At the end of the movie as he's running for his life Danny uses his wits rather than his "very great talent" to outsmart his father.

Its an amazing example of manipulation were witnessing here and it has obvious parallels in human society. Because of the way the characters are presented the natural instinct after viewing The Shining is to believe all the things that the putative ghost Delbert Grady says and to ignore what the totally truthful Dick Hallorann says.

Its really unbelievable when you stop and think about it. Dick Hallorann never lies yet people dont believe the obvious explanations he gives us about whether the ghostsin the hotel are real or not, Remember what Mr.

It "isn't real yet everyone believes that Jack has been in The Overlook before because Delbert Grady says, You have always been the caretaker, I should know, sir. This ends up being a study in mass manipulation on the highest level and has everything to do with the final picture in the movie which is also not what it appears.

Ask yourself this question; why do you believe what you believe? If you truly want to understand Stanley Kubricks Shining you have to be able to decipher whether what the characters are telling you is the truth or a lie. One thing I never expected when writing this blog was that anyone would question the truthfulness of Dick Halloranns dialogue. For me its part of the explanation of this enigmatic movie and the meanings that Stanley Kubrick concealed in the script like the pictures taken from the movie and the alterations he made to Stephen Kings novel cant be changed.

Viewers will attempt to interpret things in their own ways but the words Stanley Kubrick placed in his finished film can't be altered. They are what they are. Its like when Stanley Kubrick added this easy to miss statement in the dialogue as Dick Hallorann's explanation of why he returns to The Overlook, Ullman phoned me last night, and I'm supposed to go up there and find out if they have to be replaced. Its not a mistake to take his explanation along with the other things Dick Hallorann says in the film as the truth.

I believe the statement for two reasons. Whether people like it or not; his boss ordered him back to The Overlook. It's all about character, and Dick Hallorann has character.

He's the hero of this story. In the novel Dick Hallorann lies several times about why he's going back to The Overlook. He tells variations of his story about his son being shot to the park rangers, to his boss, to the cop that pulls him over, and to Larry Durkin at the garage. They all ask him flat out the same question but he doesn't tell 29 them the real reason for his return.

He doesn't tell any of them that Danny uses the "Shine" to call him in Florida. But in the film Stanley Kubrick cleverly alters all this, his "Shining" is different from Stephen King's. If you can find any spot in the dialogue of this film where Danny calls on anyone for help please go back to my main blog and post it.

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You may feel in your bones that Danny is calling for help in the room scene but he isn't. He doesn't call or ask for help when he's being strangled, at the end of the film when he's being chased by his father with an ax or at any other point in the story. This simply never happens in the film. In his movie Stanley Kubrick cleverly reverses what's happening and Dick Hallorann now only gives one reason for his return and it's either true or false.

There's nowhere in the movie where Dick Hallorann lies, cheats, dumbs down, exaggerates, misleads or tells any falsehood to anyone at all.

Any attempt at un-explaining this explicit statement that he makes to his friend Larry Durkin about why hes returning to The Overlook and who sends him there is pure speculation and a fabrication from the mind of someone that has another agenda, someone who doesnt want his statement to be true.

But what Stanley Kubrick has him say is very explicit and we dont have enough information to make a wild guess that contradicts what Dick Hallorann plainly states.

In the end, as in life, we either believe what he says because of the type of person he is or we dont. There's no other information to go by in the film. But whats even more important is; his statement is either true or it isnt as Stanley Kubrick gives us no other explanation in the movie as to why he returns to the hotel.

If its true, the implications of the sentence on how we view this movie are immense. His statement totally changes everything about what's actually going on under the surface of this movie because the phones are out and the only way his boss could know something is wrong at the hotel is if he sees the exact same vision of Jack walking into room as Dick and Danny see.

There is no other way he could know and the only information were given 30 from Stanley Kubrick about this is contained in that sentence.Pay me in the morning. For you too, maybe. Ullman tells us in the dialogue that Grady actually did hack them to death.

The room faded. I brought home some stuff. The man was a drunk. Another room. There had been a squib in the paper the next day, no more than a space-filler really, but the owner had not been named. Tiny red eyes glowed in the dark. As Jack pursues Danny through the Overlook and corners him on the hotel's top floor, he briefly gains control of himself and implores Danny to run away after Danny stands his ground and denounces Jack as a mask and false face worn by the hotel.