Сияние

The Grand Tour

           

           JackandWendyweresoabsorbedintheviewthattheydidn’tlookdownatDanny,whowasstaringnotoutthewindowbutatthered-and-white-stripedsilkwallpapertotheleft,whereadooropenedintoaninteriorbedroom.Andhisgasp,whichhadbeenmingledwiththeirs,hadnothingtodowithbeauty.

           Greatsplashesofdriedblood,fleckedwithtinybitsofgrayish-whitetissue,clottedthewallpaper.ItmadeDannyfeelsick.Itwaslikeacrazypicturedrawninblood,asurrealisticetchingofaman’sfacedrawnbackinterrorandpain,themouthyawningandhalftheheadpulverized-

           (Soifyoushouldseesomething…justlooktheotherwayandwhenyoulookback,it’llbegone.Areyoudigginme?)

           Hedeliberatelylookedoutthewindow,beingcarefultoshownoexpressiononhisface,andwhenhismommy’shandclosedoverhisownhetookit,beingcarefulnottosqueezeitorgiveherasignalofanykind.

           Themanagerwassayingsomethingtohisdaddyaboutmakingsuretoshutterthatbigwindowsoastrongwindwouldn’tblowitin.Jackwasnodding.Dannylookedcautiouslybackatthewall.Thebigdriedbloodstainwasgone.Thoselittlegray-whiteflecksthathadbeenscatteredallthroughit,theyweregone,too.

           ThenUllmanwasleadingthemout.Mommyaskedhimifhethoughtthemountainswerepretty.Dannysaidhedid,althoughhedidn’treallycareforthemountains,onewayortheother.

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