Сияние

Redrum

           

           Nowseventeen,noweighteen,nownineteen.

           (Lobbylevel,madam.Stepoutcarefully.)

           Theballroomdoorswerethrownwide,onlyblacknessspillingout.Fromwithincameasteadyticking,likeabomb.Shestiffened,thenrememberedtheclockonthemantel,theclockunderglass.JackorDannymusthavewoundit…ormaybeithadwounditselfup,likeeverythingelseintheOverlook.

           Sheturnedtowardthereceptiondeskmeaningtogothroughthegateandthemanager’sofficeandintothekitchen.Gleamingdullsilver,shecouldseetheintendedlunchtray.

           Thentheclockbegantostrike,littletinklingnotes.

           Wendystiffened,hertonguerisingtotheroofofhermouth.Thensherelaxed.Itwasstrikingeight,thatwasall.Eighto’clock

           five,six,seven…

           Shecountedthestrokes.Itsuddenlyseemedwrongtomoveagainuntiltheclockhadstilled.

           eight…nine…

           (??Nine??)

           ten…eleven…

           Suddenly,belatedly,itcametoher.Sheturnedbackclumsilyforthestairs,knowingalreadyshewastoolate.Buthowcouldshehaveknown?

           Twelve.

           Allthelightsintheballroomwenton.Therewasahuge,shriekingflourishofbrass.Wendyscreamedaloud,thesoundofhercryinsignificantagainsttheblareissuingfromthosebrazenlungs.

           "Unmask!"thecryechoed.

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