Danny took another step； and another。 His breath was dry and harsh in his
throat。 Panic was close now。 He began to wish the hose would move； then at last
he would know； he would be sure。 He took another step and now he was within
striking distance。 But it's not going to strike at you； he thought hysterically。
How can it strike at you； bite at you； when it's just a hose？
Maybe it's full of wasps。
His internal temperature plummeted to ten below zero。 He stared at the black
bore in the center of the nozzle； nearly hypnotized。 Maybe it was full of wasps；
secret wasps； their brown bodies bloated with poison； so full of autumn poison
that it dripped from their stingers in clear drops of fluid。
Suddenly he knew that he was nearly frozen with terror； if he did not make his
feet go now； they would bee locked to the carpet and he would stay here；
staring at the black hole in the center of the brass nozzle like a bird staring
at a snake； he would stay here until his daddy found him and then what would
happen？
With a high moan； he made himself run。 As he reached the hose； some trick of
the light made the nozzle seem to move； to revolve as if to strike； and he
leaped high in the air above it； in his panicky state it seemed that his legs
pushed him nearly all the way to the ceiling； that he could feel the stiff back
hairs that formed his cowlick brushing the hallway's plaster ceiling； although
later he knew that couldn't have been so。
He came down on the other side of the hose and ran； and suddenly he heard it
behind him； ing for him； the soft dry whicker of that brass snake's head as
it slithered rapidly along the carpet after him like a rattlesnake moving
swiftly through a dry field of grass。 It was ing for him； and suddenly the
stairs seemed very far away； they seemed to retreat a running step into the
distance for each running step he took toward them。
Daddy！ he tried to scream； but his closed throat would not allow a word to
pass。 He was on his own。 Behind him the sound grew louder； the dry sliding sound
of the snake； slipping swiftly over the carpet's dry hackles。 At his heels now；
perhaps rising up with the clear poison dribbling from its brass snout。
Danny reached the stairs and had to pinwheel his arms crazily for balance。 For
one moment it seemed sure that he would cartwheel over and go head…for…heels to
the bottom。
He threw a glance back over his shoulder。
The hose had not moved。 It lay as it had lain； one loop off the frame； the
brass nozzle on the hall floor； the nozzle pointing disinterestedly away from
him。 You see； stupid？ he berated himself。 You made it all up； scaredy…cat。 It
was all your imagination； scaredy…cat； scaredy…cat。
He clung to the stairway railing； his legs trembling in reaction。
（It never chased you）
his mind told him； and seized on that thought； and played it back。
（never chased you； never chased you； never did； never did）
It was nothing to be afraid of。 Why； he could go back and put that hose right
into its frame； if he wanted to。 He could； but he didn't think he would。 Because
what if it had chased him and had gone back when it saw that it couldn't 。。。
quite 。。。 catch him？
The hose lay on the carpet； almost seeming to ask him if he would like to e
back and try again。
Panting； Danny ran downstairs。
》
TALKING TO MR。 ULLMAN
The Sidewinder Public Library was a small； retiring building one block down
from the town's business area。 It was a modest； vine…covered building； and the
wide concrete walk up to the door was lined with the corpses of last summer's
flowers。 On the lawn was a large bronze statue of a Civil War general Jack had
never heard of； although he had been something of a Civil War buff in his
teenage years。
The newspaper files were kept downstairs。 They consisted of the Sidewinder
Gazette that had gone bust in 1963； the Estes Park daily； and the Boulder
Camera。 No Denver papers at all。
Sighing； Jack settled for the Camera。
When the files reached 1965； the actual newspapers were replaced by spools of
microfilm （〃A federal grant；〃 the librarian told him brightly。 〃We hope to do
1958 to '64 when the next check es through； but they're so slow； aren't they？
You will be careful； won't you？ I just know you will。 Call if you need me。〃）。
The only reading machine had a lens that had somehow gotten warped； and by the
time Wendy put her hand on his shoulder some forty…five minutes after he had
switched from the actual papers； he had a juicy thumper of a headache。
〃Danny's in the park；〃 she said； 〃but I don't want him outside too long。 How
much longer do you think you'll be？〃
〃Ten minutes；〃 he said。 Actually he had traced down the last of the Overlook's
fascinating history ˉ the years between the gangland shooting and the takeover by
Stuart Ullman & Co。 But he felt the same reticence about telling Wendy。
〃What are you up to； anyway？〃 she asked。 She ruffed his hair as she said it；
but her voice was only half…teasing。
〃Looking up some old Overlook history；〃 he said。
〃Any particular reason？〃
〃No；
（and why the hell are you so interested anyway？）
just curiosity。〃
〃Find anything interesting？〃
〃Not much；〃 he said； having to strive to keep his voice pleasant now。 She was
prying； just the way she had always pried and poked at him when they had been at
Stovington and Danny was still a crib…infant。 Where are you going； Jack？ When
will you be back？ How much money do you have with you？ Are you going to take the
car？ Is Al going to be with you？ Will one of you stay sober？ On and on。 She had；
pardon the expression； driven him to drink。 Maybe that hadn't been the only
reason； but by Christ let's tell the truth here and admit it was one of them。
Nag and nag and nag until you wanted to clout her one just to shut her up and
stop the
（Where？ When？ How？ Are you？ Will you？）
endless flow of questions。 It could give you a real
（headache？ hangover？）
headache。 The reader。 The damned reader with its distorted print。 That was why
he had such a cunt of a headache。
〃Jack； are you all right？ You look pale — 〃
He snapped his head away from her fingers。 〃I am fine！〃
She recoiled from his hot eyes and tried on a smile that was a size too small。
〃Well 。。。 if you are 。。。 I'll just go and wait in the park with Danny 。。。〃
She was starting away now； her smile dissolving into a bewildered expression of
hurt。
He called to her： 〃Wendy？〃
She looked back from the foot of the stairs。 〃What； Jack？〃
He got up and went over to her。 〃I'm sorry； babe。 I guess I'm really not all
right。 That machine 。。。 the lens is distorted。 I've got a really bad headache。
Got any aspirin？〃
〃Sure。〃 She pawed in her purse and came up with a tin of Anacin。 〃You keep
them。〃
He took the tin。 〃No Excedrin？〃 He saw the small recoil on her face and
understood。 It had been a bitter sort of joke between them at first； before the
drinking had gotten too bad for jokes。 He had claimed that Excedrin was the only
nonprescription drug ever invented that could stop a hangover dead in its
tracks。 Absolutely the only one。 He had begun to think of his morning…after
thumpers as Excedrin Headache Number Vat 69。
〃No Excedrin；〃 she said。 〃Sorry。〃
〃That's okay；〃 he said； 〃these'll do just fine。〃 But of course they wouldn't；
and she should have known it； too。 At times she could be the stupidest bitch 。。。
〃Want some water？〃 she asked brightly。
（No I just want you to GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE！） 。
〃I'll get some at the drinking fountain when I go up。 Thanks。〃
〃Okay。〃 She started up the stairs； good legs moving gracefully under a short
tan wool skirt。 〃We'll be in the park。〃
〃Right。〃 He slipped the tin of Anacin absently into his pocket； went back to
the reader； and turned it off。 When he was sure she was gone； he went upstairs
himself。 God； but it was a lousy headache。 If you were going to have a vise…
gripper like this one； you ought to at least be allowed the pleasure of a few
drinks to balance it off。
He tried to put the thought from his mind； more ill tempered than ever。 He
went to the main desk； fingering a matchbook cover with a telephone number on
it。
〃Ma'am； do you have a pay telephone？〃
〃No； sir； but you can use mine if it's local。〃
〃It's long…distance； sorry。〃
〃Well then； I guess the drugstore would be your best bet。 They have a booth。〃
〃Thanks。〃
He went out and down the walk； past the anonymous Civil War general。 He began
to walk toward the business block； hands stuffed in his pockets； head thudding
like a leaden bell。 The sky was also leaden； it was November 7； and with the new
month the weather had bee threatening。 There had been a number of snow
flurries。 There had been snow in October too； but that had melted。 The new
flurries had stayed； a light frosting over everything it sparkled in the
sunlight like fine crystal。 But there had been no sunlight today； and even as he
reached the drugstore it began to spit snow again。
The phone booth was at the back of the building； and he was halfway down an
aisle of patent medicines； jingling his change in his pocket； when his eyes fell
on the white boxes with their green print。 He took one of them to the cashier；
paid； and went back to the telephone booth。 He pulled the door closed； put his
change and matchbook cover on the counter； and dialed O。
〃Your call； please？〃
〃Fort Lauderdale； Florida； operator。〃 He gave her the number there and the
number in the booth。 When she told him it would be a dollar ninety for the first
three minutes； he dropped eight quarters into the slot； wincing each time the
bell bonged in his ear。
Then； left in limbo with only the faraway clickings and gabblings of
connection…making； he took the green…bottle of Excedrin out of its box； pried up
the white cap； and dropped the wad of cotton batting to the floor of the booth。
Cradling the phone receiver between his ear and shoulder； he shook out three of
the white tablets and lined them up on the counte