The Death of Torrance
Chapter one
The Hunt
Eyes wide with horror, she forced her hand to steady. The razor held in her palm now seemed so insignificant. Every deafening crack of the mallet against the door assailed her ears. The razor, it's so small, so small…
"Come on, Wendy. Just a little medicine, that's all. Come out, you little bitch!" The mallet, clotted with hair and coated in blood, rammed into the thin, wooden door. "You can't hide in there forever!" She knew what she'd do. He'll make a hole in the door. She'll cut his hand. He'll drop the mallet. And she'll run. Run to Danny, then run away; run to any place otherthan here. But as this thought flickered through her mind, the mallet appeared. And after it, a hand.
Her hand moves before her mind, and thin streaks of blood seep out of parallel cuts on her husband's hand. "You bitch!" She hears the thud of the mallet as it plummets to the wood floor; and from that moment, Wendy has no control over her body. Her hands are fumbling with the knob, easing the lock open. She rams the door outward, the splintering wood sending shards into the man's face. "Fuck!" Not even thinking, she kicks him in the balls and sprints away to the sound of his moans. Her feet carry her to the kitchen.
"Hello, Mrs. Torrance."
...
The same poem blares over and over in Danny's head, the rhythm too insistent for him to think.
...But not for long
Not for long
The Hotel doesn't take its time
In claiming those it wants
Danny, Danny,
Your dad can help you
He'll have you come meet me
Don't hide from him,
Your father's in here, dying
He's hunting
Looking
Searching for you
Danny, boy,
He's waiting.