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“They are.”
“And the hotel was haunted?”
The ghostie people, Dan thought. “Yes.”
Then John said something that surprised Dan and temporarily brought him back from the edge of
sleep. Dave had been right—the easiest things to miss were the ones right in front of you. “It makes
sense, I suppose . . . once you accept the idea there could be supernatural beings among us and feeding
on us. An evil place would call evil creatures. They’d feel right at home there. Do you suppose this
Knot has other places like that, in other parts of the country? Other . . . I don’t know . . . cold spots?”
“I’m sure they do.” Dan put an arm over his eyes. His body ached and his head was pounding.
“Johnny, I’d love to do the boys-having-a-sleepover thing with you, but I have to get some shuteye.”
“Okay, but . . .” John got up on one elbow. “All things being equal, you would have gone right
from the hospital, like Lucy wanted. Because you care almost as much about Abra as they do. You
think she’s safe, but you could be wrong.”
“I’m not.” Hoping that was the truth. He had to hope so, because the simple fact was that he
couldn’t go, not now. If it had only been to New York, maybe. But it wasn’t, and he had to sleep. His
whole body cried for it.
“What’s wrong with you, Dan? Because you look terrible.”
“Nothing. Just tired.”
Then he was gone, first into darkness and then into a confused nightmare of running down endless
halls while some Shape followed him, swinging a mallet from side to side, splitting wallpaper and
driving up puffs of plaster dust. Come out, you little shit! the Shape yelled. Come out, you worthless pup,
and take your medicine!
Then Abra was with him. They were sitting on the bench in front of the Anniston Public Library,
in the late-summer sun. She was holding his hand. It’s all right, Uncle Dan. It’s all right. Before he died,
your father turned that Shape out. You don’t have to—
The library door banged open and a woman stepped into the sunlight. Great clouds of dark hair
billowed around her head, yet her jauntily cocked tophat stayed on. It stayed on like magic.
“Oh, look,” she said. “It’s Dan Torrance, the man who stole a woman’s money while she was
sleeping one off and then left her kid to be beaten to death.”
She smiled at Abra, revealing a single tooth. It looked as long and sharp as a bayonet.
“What will he do to you, little sweetie? What will he do to you?”
10
Lucy woke him promptly at three thirty, but shook her head when Dan moved to wake John. “Let him
sleep a bit longer. And my husband is snoring on the couch.” She actually smiled. “It makes me think
of the Garden of Gethsemane, you know. Jesus reproaching Peter, saying, ‘So you could not watch with
me even one hour?’ Or something like that. But I have no reason to reproach David, I guess—he saw
it, too. Come on. I’ve made scrambled eggs. You look like you could use some. You’re skinny as a
rail.” She paused and added: “Brother.”
Dan wasn’t particularly hungry, but he followed her into the kitchen. “Saw what, too?”
“I was going through Momo’s papers—anything to keep my hands busy and pass the time—and I
heard a clunk from the kitchen.”
She took his hand and led him to the counter between the stove and the fridge. There was a row of
old-fashioned apothecary jars here, and the one containing sugar had been overturned. A message had
been written in the spill.