The Shining 原版小说-第94章

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a　hand　appeared；　groping　for　the　bolt。　She　saw　with　horror　that　she　had　left　
Jack's　key　ring　dangling　from　the　lock。　
　　The　hand　yanked　the　bolt　back；　and　as　it　did　so　it　struck　the　bunched　keys。　
They　jingled　merrily。　The　hand　clutched　them　victoriously。　
　　With　a　sob；　she　pushed　her　way　into　the　bathroom　and　slammed　the　door　just　as　
the　bedroom　door　burst　open　and　Jack　charged　through；　bellowing。　
　　Wendy　ran　the　bolt　and　twisted　the　spring　lock；　looking　around　desperately。　
The　bathroom　was　empty。　Danny　wasn't　here；　either。　And　as　she　caught　sight　of　
her　own　bloodsmeared；　horrified　face　in　the　medicine　cabinet　mirror；　she　was　
glad。　She　had　never　believed　that　children　should　be　witness　to　the　little　
quarrels　of　their　parents。　And　perhaps　the　thing　that　was　now　raving　through　the　
bedroom；　overturning　things　and　smashing　them；　would　finally　collapse　before　it　


　
　
could　go　after　her　son。　Perhaps；　she　thought；　it　might　be　possible　for　her　to　
inflict　even　more　damage　on　it　。。。　kill　it；　perhaps。　
　　Her　eyes　skated　quickly　over　the　bathroom's　machine…produced　porcelain　
surfaces；　looking　for　anything　that　might　serve　as　a　weapon。　There　was　a　bar　of　
soap；　but　even　wrapped　in　a　towel　she　didn't　think　it　would　be　lethal　enough。　
Everything　else　was　bolted　down。　God；　was　there　nothing　she　could　do？　
　　Beyond　the　door；　the　animal　sounds　of　destruction　went　on　and　on；　acpanied　
by　thick　shouts　that　they　would　〃take　their　medicine〃　and　〃pay　for　what　they'd　
done　to　him。〃　He　would　〃show　them　who's　boss；〃　They　were　〃worthless　puppies；〃　
the　both　of　them。　
　　There　was　a　thump　as　her　record　player　was　overturned；　a　hollow　crash　as　the　
secondhand　TV's　picture　tube　was　smashed；　the　tinkle　of　windowglass　followed　by　
a　cold　draft　under　the　bathroom　door。　A　dull　thud　as　the　mattresses　were　ripped　
from　the　twin　beds　where　they　had　slept　together；　hip　to　hip。　Boomings　as　Jack　
struck　the　walls　indiscriminately　with　the　mallet。　
　　There　was　nothing　of　the　real　Jack　in　that　howling；　maundering；　petulant　
voice；　though。　It　alternately　whined　in　tones　of　selfpity　and　rose　in　lurid　
screams；　it　reminded　her　chillingly　of　the　screams　that　sometimes　rose　in　the　
geriatrics　ward　of　the　hospital　where　she　had　worked　summers　as　a　high　school　
kid。　Senile　dementia。　Jack　wasn't　out　there　anymore。　She　was　hearing　the　
lunatic；　raving　voice　of　the　Overlook　itself。　
　　The　mallet　smashed　into　the　bathroom　door；　knocking　out　a　huge　chunk　of　the　
thin　paneling。　Half　of　a　crazed　and　working　face　stared　in　at　her。　The　mouth　and　
cheeks　and　throat　were　lathered　in　blood；　the　single　eye　she　could　see　was　tiny　
and　piggish　and　glittering。　
　　〃Nowhere　left　to　run；　you　cunt；〃　it　panted　at　her　through　its　grin。　The　mallet　
descended　again；　knocking　wood　splinters　into　the　tub　and　against　the　reflecting　
surface　of　the　medicine　cabinet　
　　（！！　The　medicine　cabinet　！！）　
　　A　desperate　whining　noise　began　to　escape　her　as　she　whirled；　pain　temporarily　
forgotten；　and　threw　the　mirror　door　of　the　cabinet　back。　She　began　to　paw　
through　its　contents。　Behind　her　that　hoarse　voice　bellowed：　〃Here　I　e　now！　
Here　I　e　now；　you　pig！〃　It　was　demolishing　the　door　in　a　machinelike　frenzy。　
　　Bottles　and　jars　fell　before　her　madly　searching　fingers　—　cough　syrup；　Vaseline；　
Clairol　Herbal　Essence　shampoo；　hydrogen　peroxide；　benzocaine　—　they　fell　into　
the　sink　and　shattered。　
　　Her　hand　closed　over　the　dispenser　of　double…edged　razor　blades　just　as　she　
heard　the　hand　again；　fumbling　for　the　bolt　and　the　spring　lock。　
　　She　slipped　one　of　the　razor　blades　out；　fumbling　at　it；　her　breath　ing　in　
harsh　little　gasps。　She　had　cut　the　ball　of　her　thumb。　She　whirled　around　and　
slashed　at　the　hand；　which　had　turned　the　lock　and　was　now　fumbling　for　the　
bolt。　
　　Jack　screamed。　The　hand　was　jerked　back。　
　　Panting；　holding　the　razor　blade　between　her　thumb　and　index　finger；　she　
waited　for　him　to　try　again。　He　did；　and　she　slashed。　He　screamed　again；　trying　
to　grab　her　hand；　and　she　slashed　at　him　again。　The　razor　blade　turned　in　her　
hand；　cutting　her　again；　and　dropped　to　the　tile　floor　by　the　toilet。　
　　Wendy　slipped　another　blade　out　of　the　dispenser　and　waited。　


　
　
　　Movement　in　the　other　room　—　　
　　（？？　going　away　？？）　
　　And　a　sound　ing　through　the　bedroom　window。　A　motor。　A　high；　insectile　
buzzing　sound。　
　　A　roar　of　anger　from　Jack　and　then　—　yes；　yes；　she　was　sure　of　it　—　he　was　leaving　
the　caretaker's　apartment；　plowing　through　the　wreckage　and　out　into　the　hall。　
　　（？？　Someone　ing　a　ranger　Dick　Hallorann　？？）　
　　〃Oh　God；〃　she　muttered　brokenly　through　a　mouth　that　seemed　filled　with　broken　
sticks　and　old　sawdust。　〃Oh　God；　oh　please。〃　
　　She　had　to　leave　now；　had　to　go　find　her　son　so　they　could　face　the　rest　of　
this　nightmare　side　by　side。　She　reached　out　and　fumbled　at　the　bolt。　Her　arm　
seemed　to　stretch　for　miles。　At　last　she　got　it　to　e　free。　She　pushed　the　
door　open；　staggered　out；　and　was　suddenly　overe　by　the　horrible　certainty　
that　Jack　had　only　pretended　to　leave；　that　he　was　lying　in　wait　for　her：　
　　Wendy　looked　around。　The　room　was　empty；　the　living　room　too。　Jumbled；　broken　
stuff　everywhere。　
　　The　closet？　Empty。　
　　Then　the　soft　shades　of　gray　began　to　wash　over　her　and　she　fell　down　on　the　
mattress　Jack　had　ripped　from　the　bed；　semiconscious。　
　
　
　
　
　　　》　
　
　
HALLORANN　LAID　LOW　
　
　
　　Hallorann　reached　the　overturned　snowmobile　just　as；　a　mile　and　a　half　away；　
Wendy　was　pulling　herself　around　the　corner　and　into　the　short　hallway　leading　
to　the　caretaker's　apartment。　
　　It　wasn't　the　snowmobile　he　wanted　but　the　gascan　held　onto　the　back　by　a　pair　
of　elastic　straps。　His　hands；　still　clad　in　Howard　Cottrell's　blue　mittens；　
seized　the　top　strap　and　pulled　it　free　as　the　hedge　lion　roared　behind　him　—　a　
sound　that　seemed　to　be　more　in　his　head　than　outside　of　it。　A　hard；　brambly　
slap　to　his　left　leg；　making　the　knee　sing　with　pain　as　it　was　driven　in　a　way　
the　joint　had　never　been　expected　to　bend。　A　groan　escaped　Hallorann's　clenched　
teeth。　It　would　e　for　the　kill　any　time　now；　tired　of　playing　with　him。　
　　He　fumbled　for　the　second　strap。　Sticky　blood　ran　in　his　eyes。　
　　（Roar！　Slap！）　
　　That　one　raked　across　his　buttocks；　almost　tumbling　him　over　and　away　from　the　
snowmobile　again。　He　held　on　—　no　exaggeration　—　for　dear　life。　
　　Then　he　had　freed　the　second　strap。　He　clutched　the　gascan　to　him　as　the　lion　
struck　again；　rolling　him　over　on　his　back。　He　saw　it　again；　only　a　shadow　in　
the　darkness　and　falling　snow；　as　nightmarish　as　a　moving　gargoyle。　Hallorann　
twisted　at　the　can's　cap　as　the　moving　shadow　stalked　him；　kicking　up　snowpuffs。　


　
　
As　it　moved　in　again　the　cap　spun　free；　releasing　the　pungent　smell　of　the　
gasoline。　
　　Hallorann　gained　his　knees　and　as　it　came　at　him；　lowslung　and　incredibly　
quick；　he　splashed　it　with　the　gas。　
　　There　was　a　hissing；　spitting　sound　and　it　drew　back。　
　　〃Gas！〃　Hallorann　cried；　his　voice　shrill　and　breaking。　〃Gonna　burn　you；　baby！　
Dig　on　it　awhile！〃　
　　The　lion　came　at　him　again；　still　spitting　angrily。　Hallorann　splashed　it　
again　but　this　time　the　lion　didn't　give。　It　charged　ahead。　Hallorann　sensed　
rather　than　saw　its　head　angling　at　his　face　and　he　threw　himself　backward；　
partially　avoiding　it。　Yet　the　lion　still　hit　his　upper　rib　cage　a　glancing　
blow；　and　a　flare　of　pain　struck　there。　Gas　gurgled　out　of　the　can；　which　he　
still　held；　and　doused　his　right　hand　and　arm；　cold　as　death。　
　　Now　he　lay　on　his　back　in　a　snow　angel；　to　the　right　of　the　snowmobile　by　
about　ten　paces。　The　hissing　lion　was　a　bulking　presence　to　his　left；　closing　in　
again。　Hallorann　thought　he　could　see　its　tail　twitching。　
　　He　yanked　Cottrell's　mitten　off　his　right　hand；　tasting　sodden　wool　and　
gasoline。　He　ripped　up　the　hem　of　the　parka　and　jammed　his　hand　into　his　pants　
pocket。　Down　in　there；　along　with　his　keys　and　his　change；　was　a　very　battered　
old　Zippo　lighter。　He　had　bought　it　in　Germany　in　1954。　Once　the　hinge　had　
broken　and　he　had　returned　it　to　the　Zippo　factory　and　they　had　repaired　it　
without　charge；　just　as　advertised。　
　　A　nightmare　flood　of　thoughts　flooding　through　his　mind　in　a　split　second。　
　　（Dear　Zippo　my　lighter　was　swallowed　by　a　crocodile　dropped　from　an　airplane　
lost　in　the　Pacific　trench　saved　me　from　a　Kraut　bullet　in　the　Battle　of　the　
Bulge　dear　Zippo　if　this　fucker　doesn't　go　that　lion　is　going　to　rip　my　head　
off）　
　　The　lighter　was　out。　He　clicked　the　hood　back。　The　lion；　rushing　at　him；　a　
growl　like　ripping　cloth；　his　finger　flicking　the　striker　wheel；　spark；　flame；　
　　（my　hand）　
　　his　gasoline…soaked　hand　suddenly　ablaze；　the　flames　running　up　the　sleeve　of　
the　parka；　no　pain；　no　pain　yet；　the　lion　shying　from　the　torch　suddenly　blazing　
in　front　of　it；　a　hideous　flickering　hedge　sculpture　with　eyes　and　a　mouth；　
shying　away；　too　late。　
　　Wincing　at　the　pain；　Hallorann　drove　his　blazing　arm　into　its　stiff　and　
scratchy　side。　
　　In　an　instant　the　whole　creature　was　in　flames；　a　prancing；　writhing　pyre　on　
the　snow。　It　bellowed　in　rage　and　pain；　seeming　to　chase　its　flaming　tail　as　it　
zigzagged　away　fr