could do with all that snow。 She knew exactly where they could put it。
Jack was in the cellar。 He had gone down to check the furnace and boiler — such
checks had bee a ritual with him since the snow had closed them in — and after
satisfying himself that everything was going well he had wandered through the
arch； screwed the lightbulb on； and had seated himself in an old and cobwebby
camp chair he had found。 He was leafing through the old records and papers；
constantly wiping his mouth with his handkerchief as he did so。 Confinement had
leached his skin of its autumn tan； and as he sat hunched over the yellowed；
crackling sheets； his reddish…blond hair tumbling untidily over his forehead； he
looked slightly lunatic。 He had found some odd things tucked in among the
invoices； bills of lading； receipts。 Disquieting things。 A bloody strip of
sheeting。 A dismembered teddy bear that seemed to have been slashed to pieces。 A
crumpled sheet of violet ladies' stationery； a ghost of perfume still clinging
to it beneath the musk of age； a note begun and left unfinished in faded blue
ink： 〃Dearest Tommy； I can't think so well up here as I'd hoped； about us I
mean； of course； who else？ Ha。 Ha。 Things keep getting in the way。 I've had
strange dreams about things going bump in the night； can you believe that and〃
That was all。 The note was dated June 27； 1934。 He found a hand puppet that
seemed to be either a witch or a warlock 。。。 something with long teeth and a
pointy hat； at any rate。 It had been improbably tucked between a bundle of
natural…gas receipts and a bundle of receipts for Vichy water。 And something
that seemed to be a poem； scribbled on the back of a menu in dark pencil：
〃Medoc/are you here？/I've been sleepwalking again； my dear。/The plants are
moving under the rug。〃 No date on the menu； and no name on the poem； if it was a
poem。 Elusive； but fascinating。 It seemed to him that these things were like
pieces in a jigsaw； things that would eventually fit together if he could find
the right linking pieces。 And so he kept looking； jumping and wiping his lips
every time the furnace roared into life behind him。
* * *
Danny was standing outside Room 217 again。
The passkey was in his pocket。 He was staring at the door with a kind of
drugged avidity； and his upper body seemed to twitch and jiggle beneath his
flannel shirt。 He was humming softly and tunelessly。
He hadn't wanted to e here； not after the fire hose。 He was scared to e
here。 He was scared that he had taken the passkey again； disobeying his father。
He had wanted to e here。 Curiosity
（killed the cat； satisfaction brought him back）
was like a constant fishhook in his brain； a kind of nagging siren song that
would not be appeased。 And hadn't Mr。 Hallorann said； 〃I don't think there's
anything here that can hurt you〃？
（You promised。）
（Promises were made to be broken。）
He jumped at that。 It was as if that thought had e from outside； insectile；
buzzing； softly cajoling。
（Promises were made to be broken my dear redrum； to be broken。 splintered。
shattered。 hammered apart。 FORE！）
His nervous humming broke into low； atonal song： 〃Lou； Lou； skip to m' Lou；
skip to m' Lou my daaarlin。。。〃
Hadn't Mr。 Hallorann been right？ Hadn't that been； in the end； the reason why
he had kept silent and allowed the snow to close them in？
Just close your eyes and it will be gone。
What he had seen in the Presidential Sweet had gone away。 And the snake had
only been a fire hose that had fallen onto the rug。 Yes； even the blood in the
Presidential Sweet had been harmless； something old； something that had happened
long before he was born or even thought of； something that was done with。 Like a
movie that only he could see。 There was nothing； really nothing； in this hotel
that could hurt him； and if he had to prove that to himself by going into this
room； shouldn't he do so？
〃Lou； Lou； skip to m'Lou 。。。〃
（Curiosity killed the cat my dear redrum； redrum my dear； satisfaction brought
him back safe and sound； from toes to crown； from head to ground he was safe and
sound。 He knew that those things）
（are like scary pictures； they can't hurt you； but oh my god）
（what big teeth you have grandma and is that a wolf in a BLUEBEARD suit or a
BLUEBEARD in a wolf suit and i'm so）
（glad you asked because curiosity killed that cat and it was the HOPE of
satisfaction that brought him）
up the hall； treading softly over the blue and twisting jungle carpet。 He had
stopped by the fire extinguisher； had put the brass nozzle back in the frame；
and then had poked it repeatedly with his finger； heart thumping； whispering：
〃e on and hurt me。 e on and hurt me； you cheap prick。 Can't do it； can
you？ Huh？ You're nothing but a cheap fire hose。 Can't do nothin but lie there。
e on； e on！〃 He had felt insane with bravado。 And nothing had happened。 It
was only a hose after all； only canvas and brass； you could hack it to pieces
and it would never plain； never twist and jerk and bleed green slime all over
the blue carpet； because it was only a hose； not a nose and not a rose； not
glass buttons or satin bows； not a snake in a sleepy doze 。。。 and he had
hurried on； had hurried on because he was
（〃late； I'm late；〃 said the white rabbit。）
the white rabbit。 Yes。 Now there was a white rabbit out by the playground；
once it had been green but now it was white； as if something had shocked it
repeatedly on the snowy； windy nights and turned it old 。。。
Danny took the passkey from his pocket and slid it into the lock。
〃Lou； Lou 。。。〃
（the white rabbit had been on its way to a croquet party to the Red Queen's
croquet party storks for mallets hedgehogs for balls）
He touched the key； let his fingers wander over it。 His head felt dry and
sick。 He turned the key and the tumblers thumped back smoothly。
（OFF WITH HIS HEAD！ OFF WITH HIS HEAD！ OFF WITH HIS HEAD！）
（this game isn't croquet though the mallets are too short this game is）
（WHACK…BOOM！ Straight through the wicket。）
（OFF WITH HIS HEEEEEAAAAAAAD —）
Danny pushed the door open。 It swung smoothly； without a creak。 He was
standing just outside a large bination bedsitting room； and although the snow
had not reached up this far the highest drifts were still a foot below the
second…floor windows the room was dark because Daddy had closed all the shutters
on the western exposure two weeks ago。
He stood in the doorway； fumbled to his right； and found the switch plate。 Two
bulbs in an overhead cut…glass fixture came on。 Danny stepped further in and
looked around。 The rug was deep and soft； a quiet rose color。 Soothing。 A double
bed with a white coverlet。 A writing desk
（Pray tell me： Why is a raven like a writing desk？）
by the large shuttered window。 During the season the Constant Writer
（having a wonderful time； wish you were fear）
would have a pretty view of the mountains to describe to the folks back home。
He stepped further in。 Nothing here； nothing at a