yed　like

ancient　cracked　punching　bags。　There　was　the　minute　sound　of　breaking　ice

shards。　She　was　not　breathing。　She　was　a　corpse；　and　dead　long　years。

Danny　turned　and　ran。　Bolting　through　the　bathroom　door；　his　eyes　starting

from　their　sockets；　his　hair　on　end　like　the　hair　of　a　hedgehog　about　to　be

turned　into　a　sacrificial

（croquet？　or　roque？）

ball；　his　mouth　open　and　soundless。　He　ran　full…tilt　into　the　outside　door　of

217；　which　was　now　closed。　He　began　hammering　on　it；　far　beyond　realizing　that

it　was　unlocked；　and　he　had　only　to　turn　the　knob　to　let　himself　out。　His　mouth

pealed　forth　deafening　screams　that　were　beyond　human　auditory　range。　He　could

only　hammer　on　the　door　and　hear　the　dead　woman　ing　for　him；　bloated　belly；

dry　hair；　outstretched　hands　　something　that　had　lain　slain　in　that　tub　for

perhaps　years；　embalmed　there　in　magic。

The　door　would　not　open；　would　not；　would　not；　would　not。

And　then　the　voice　of　Dick　Hallorann　came　to　him；　so　sudden　and　unexpected；　so

calm；　that　his　locked　vocal　cords　opened　and　he　began　to　cry　weakly　　not　with

fear　but　with　blessed　relief。

（I　don't　think　they　can　hurt　you　。。。　they're　like　pictures　in　a　book　。。。

close　your　eyes　and　they'll　be　gone。）

His　eyelids　snapped　down。　His　hands　curled　into　balls。　His　shoulders　hunched

with　the　effort　of　his　concentration：

（Nothing　there　nothing　there　not　there　at　all　NOTHING

THERE　THERE　IS　NOTHING！）

Time　passed。　And　he　was　just　beginning　to　relax；　just　beginning　to　realize

that　the　door　must　be　unlocked　and　he　could　go；　when　the　years…damp；　bloated；

fish…smelling　hands　closed　softly　around　his　throat　an