Сияние

Inside 217

           Boltingthroughthebathroomdoor,hiseyesstartingfromtheirsockets,hishaironendlikethehairofahedgehogabouttobeturnedintoasacrificial

           (croquet?orrogue?)

           ball,hismouthopenandsoundless.Heranfull-tiltintotheoutsidedoorof217,whichwasnowclosed.Hebeganhammeringonit,farbeyondrealizingthatitwasunlocked,andhehadonlytoturntheknobtolethimselfout.Hismouthpealedforthdeafeningscreamsthatwerebeyondhumanauditoryrange.Hecouldonlyhammeronthedoorandhearthedeadwomancomingforhim,bloatedbelly,dryhair,outstretchedhands-somethingthathadlainslaininthattubforperhapsyears,embalmedthereinmagic.

           Thedoorwouldnotopen,wouldnot,wouldnot,wouldnot.

           AndthenthevoiceofDickHalloranncametohim,sosuddenandunexpected,socalm,thathislockedvocalcordsopenedandhebegantocryweakly-notwithfearbutwithblessedrelief.

           (Idon’tthinktheycanhurtyou…they’relikepicturesinabook…closeyoureyesandthey’llhegone.)

           Hiseyelidssnappeddown.Hishandscurledintoballs.Hisshouldershunchedwiththeeffortofhisconcentration:

           (NothingtherenothingtherenotthereatallNOTHINGTHERETHEREISNOTHING!)

           Timepassed

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