Characters in The Shining

Named Aileen?” Wendy looked at him, surprised. “Yes, I did. She was killed outside our home in Somersworth, New Hampshire, when she was six and I was ten. She chased a ball into the street and was struck by a delivery van.” “Does Danny know that?” “I don’t know.

It read simply STAFF in small gold letters. “I’ll be perfectly frank with you, Mr. Torrance. Albert Shockley is a powerful man with a large interest in the Overlook, which showed a profit this season for the first time in its history.

“What about you?” “I guess I do,” he said finally. “Nobody much to play with around here.” “You miss your friends, don’t you?” “Sometimes I miss Scott and Andy. That’s about all.” She went back to him and kissed him, rumpled his light-colored hair that was just losing its baby-fineness.

Then both of them ganged up on old Archer Houghton, which is the county coroner, and got him to change the verdict to accidental death. Heart attack. Now ole Archer’s driving a Chrysler. I don’t begrudge him.

Faintly he could hear the electronic boops and beeps of his connection sniffing its way eastward. Al’s father had been Arthur Longley Shockley, the steel baron. He had left his only son, Albert, a fortune and a huge range of investments and directorships and chairs on various boards.

It was a small order today, he could have sent Baedecker after it, but Baedecker had been chafing for his chance to buy the meat, and besides, Hallorann never missed a chance to bang it back and forth with Frank Masterton if he could help it.

“Runt of the litter,” he would say, and then cuff Jack lovingly and laugh. There had been two other brothers, both taller than their father, and Becky, who at five-ten had only been two inches shorter than Jack and taller than he for most of their childhood.

State Trooper Benjamin Moorer discovered two dead men, later identified as Victor T. Boorman and Roger Macassi, both of Las Vegas, outside the door of the Presidential Suite where two American Presidents have stayed. Inside, Moorer found the body of Gienelli sprawled on the floor.

“Would you come over here, please?” Jack walked over, nodding to Wendy and Danny that they were to come too. The clerk, who had gone into the back, now came out again wearing an overcoat. “Have a pleasant winter, Mr. Ullman.” “I doubt it,” Ullman said distantly. “May twelfth, Braddock.

And when you turned it on, some colors would flash but not all. And you had to count the colors and if you pushed the right button, you could turn it off. Brent couldn’t use that.” “That’s because bright flashing lights sometimes cause an epileptic seizure.”

If should be came to must be, his father could pull some strings. George’s own athletic ability would open still other doors. But Brian Hatfield thought his son should get on the debate team. It was good practice, and it was something that law school admissions boards always looked for.

That morning he had called Bruckner, the department head, and told him to please post his classes. He had the flu. Bruckner agreed, with less good grace than was common. Jack Torrance had been extremely susceptible to the flu in the last year. Wendy made him scrambled eggs and coffee.

Then it seemed like I got a little closer to whatever it was and I saw a railroad car off the tracks and laying on its side with Georgia and South Carolina Railroad written on it, and I knew like a flash that my brother Carl was on that train …

It has been said that in recent years Gienelli has become a power in the organization’s western operation, which is centered in Las Vegas. Carl “Jimmy-Ricks” Prashkin, a San Francisco investor, reputed to be the heir apparent of the power Gienelli now wields.

They were both looking for a man named Carlton Vecker, the only passenger on TWA’s Flight 196 from Miami to Denver who hadn’t checked in. “Okay,” the clerk said, and issued Hallorann a blue first-class boarding pass. “You lucked out. You can board, sir.”

Charles “Baby Charlie” Battaglia, a 60-year-old Vegas impresario (controlling interests in The Greenback and The Lucky Bones on the Strip). Battaglia is a close personal friend of Grondin. His arrest record stretches back to 1932, when he was tried and acquitted in the gangland-style murder of Jack “Dutchy” Morgan.

The buyer was a California group of investors headed by Charles Grondin, a former director of the California Land Development Corporation. While Derwent refused to discuss price, informed sources ... He had sold out everything, lock, stock, and barrel. It wasn’t just the Overlook.

“You have him, all the same,” Edmonds said dryly. “At any rate, he retires into a fantasy world from time to time. Nothing unusual about that; lots of kids do. As I recall, I had my own invisible friend when I was Danny’s age, a talking rooster named Chug-Chug.

When the Overlook opens officially (there was a gigantic and hugely successful party there some time ago when the actual work was finished), the newly painted, papered, and decorated rooms will be occupied by a stellar guest list, ranging from Chic designer Corbat Stani to ... Smiling bemusedly, Jack turned …

The smell of hope had turned to the smell of old leather in Crommert’s office, the whole thing like some scene from his own play: the old prints of previous Stovington headmasters on the walls, steel engravings of the school as it had been in 1879, when it was first …

“Excuse me, sweetness,” she said. “There’s someone I just must ... Darla! Darla, you dear girl, where have you been?” She wove her way into the eating, drinking throng and he gazed after her stupidly, wondering how they had happened to be dancing together in the first place.

POSH MOUNTAIN RESORT REOPENS WITH STELLAR GUEST REGISTER Derwent Says Overlook Will Be “Showplace of the World” By David Felton, Features Editor The Overlook Hotel has been opened and reopened in its thirty-eight-year history, but rarely with such style and dash as that promised by Horace Derwent, the mysterious California …

During the winter of 1970–71, after we had refurbished the Overlook but before our first season, I hired this ... this unfortunate named Delbert Grady. He moved into the quarters you and your wife and son will be sharing. He had a wife and two daughters.

Out came the bandanna. Honk. Peek. Out of sight. “So what happens? About a week later this stupid cunt of a chambermaid, Delores Vickery by name, she gives out with a helluva shriek while she’s makin up the room where those two stayed, and she faints dead away.

He had been roadblocked on the crucial scene between Denker, the sadistic headmaster, and Gary Benson, his young hero, during the last unhappy six months at Stovington, months when the craving for a drink had been so bad that he could barely concentrate on his in-class lectures, let alone his …

State Representative Dick Bows of Golden has called for a complete investigation into ... That clipping was dated July 27, 1964. The next was a column from a Sunday paper that September. The byline belonged to Josh Brannigar, a muck-raking investigator of the Jack Anderson breed.

“S-S-So I th-th-think we have to say that the fuh-fuh-facts in the c-case Mr. D-D-D-Dorsky cities are ren-ren-rendered obsolete by the ruh-recent duh-duh-decision handed down in-in-in ...” The buzzer would go off and George would whirl around to stare furiously at Jack, who sat beside it.

Danny rolled his eyes to get a better look at it. “Don’t let it scare you, guy,” Bill Edmonds said. “It’s an electroencephalograph, and it doesn’t hurt.” “Electro—” “We call it EEG for short.

The woman—her name was Elaine—would at last be reduced to tears and to repeating over and over again: “Don’t, Tom. Please don’t. Please don’t.” And he would shout at her. Once they had even awakened Danny, and Danny slept like a corpse.

It was a small order today, he could have sent Baedecker after it, but Baedecker had been chafing for his chance to buy the meat, and besides, Hallorann never missed a chance to bang it back and forth with Frank Masterton if he could help it.

A large stockholder in Scarne’s Fun Time company, he also has known interests in four Las Vegas casinos. Vittorio Gienelli, also known as “Vito the Chopper,” tried twice for gangland-style murders, one of them the ax-murder of Boston vice overlord Frank Scoffy.

He had been roadblocked on the crucial scene between Denker, the sadistic headmaster, and Gary Benson, his young hero, during the last unhappy six months at Stovington, months when the craving for a drink had been so bad that he could barely concentrate on his in-class lectures, let alone his …

Fragments of his dream (it was all jumbled now, fading) recurred, something about George Hatfield and his father’s cane, just enough to make him uneasy and, absurdly enough, a trifle guilty about holding a plain old garden-variety roque mallet.

This man’s name had been Grimmer. Grimmer had known that Monkey DeLong was exhibiting deviant symptoms, but he had written the good, hopeful report and had let him go anyway. Jack liked and sympathized with Grimmer, too.

You blew that one for yourself. I got you this hotel thing, a nice quiet place for you to get yourself together, finish your play, and wait it out until Harry Effinger and I could convince the rest of those guys that they made a big mistake.

Derwent hired a keen businessman and raging sex maniac named Henry Finkel to run Top Mark, and in the two years before Pearl Harbor the studio ground out sixty movies, fifty-five of which glided right into the face of the Hayes Office and spit on its large blue nose.

You wear em unless you want to spend the rest of your life pickin your nose with a crochetin hook. And you send em back. My wife knitted em and I’m partial to em. Name and address is sewed right into the linin. I’m Howard Cottrell, by the way.

His arrest record stretches back to 1932, when he was tried and acquitted in the gangland-style murder of Jack “Dutchy” Morgan. Federal authorities suspect his involvement in the drug traffic, prostitution, and murder for hire, but “Baby Charlie” has only been behind bars once, for income tax evasion in 1955–56.

“Hunting accident?” “No, sir,” Hallorann said, and let his voice drop to a lower, huskier note. “Jana, she’s been livin with this truck driver. A white man. He shot my boy. He’s in a hospital in Denver, Colorado. Critical condition.” “How in hell did you find out?

The byline belonged to Josh Brannigar, a muck-raking investigator of the Jack Anderson breed. Jack vaguely recalled that Brannigar had died in 1968 or ’69. MAFIA FREE-ZONE COLORADO? By Josh Brannigar It now seems possible that the newest r&r spot of Organization overlords in the U.S.

… CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE HALLORANN ARRIVES Larry Durkin was a tall and skinny man with a morose face overtopped with a luxuriant mane of red hair. Hallorann had caught him just as he was leaving the Conoco station, the morose face buried deeply inside an Army-issue parka. He was reluctant to do …

Finally an association with the nascent western gambling interests. Probably Derwent’s most famous investment was the purchase of the foundering Top Mark Studios, which had not had a hit since their child star, Little Margery Morris, had died of a heroin overdose in 1934. She was fourteen.

The stone read Mark Anthony Torrance, Loving Father. To that Jack would have added one line: He Knew How to Play Elevator.

There was a lawyer up there now (the dentist who had been there last year had apparently gone broke), a young black fellow named McIver. Hallorann had stepped in and told this McIver that he wanted to make a will, and could McIver help him out?

But he wasn’t sure of that. The last thing he remembered was George holding up the knife and saying: “You better not come any closer—” And the next thing was Miss Strong, the French teacher, holding Jack’s arms, crying, screaming: “Stop it, Jack! Stop it! You’re going to kill him!”

Ullman nodded. “Simple but adequate. During the season, this suite quarters the cook and his wife, or the cook and his apprentice.” “Mr. Hallorann lived here?” Danny broke in. Mr. Ullman inclined his head to Danny condescendingly. “Quite so. He and Mr. Nevers.” He turned back to Jack and Wendy.

the perky female voice asked. “I’d like to speak with the manager, please.” “Do you mean Mr. Trent or—” “I mean Mr. Ullman.” “I believe Mr. Ullman is busy, but if you would like me to check—” “I would. Tell him it’s Jack Torrance calling from Colorado.” “One moment, please.”

… been a piece called “The Monkey Is Here, Paul DeLong.” It had been about a child molester about to commit suicide in his furnished room. The child molester’s name had been Paul DeLong, Monkey to his friends. Jack had liked Monkey very much. He sympathized with Monkey’s bizarre needs, knowing …

He has done time for assault with a deadly weapon (1940), carrying a concealed weapon (1948), and conspiracy to commit tax fraud (1961). Peter Zeiss, a Miami-based importer, now nearing 70. For the last five years Zeiss has been fighting deportation as an undesirable person.

He had an agent in New York, a tough red-headed woman named Phyllis Sandler who smoked Herbert Tareytons, drank Jim Beam from a paper cup, and thought the literary sun rose and set on Sean O’Casey. She had marketed three of Jack’s short stories, including the Esquire piece.

The manager was a man named Queems, and when Hallorann came in Queems was conversing with his bookie. He wanted the four-horse at Rockaway. No, no parlay, no quinella, no exacta, no goddam futura. Just the little old four, six hundred dollars on the nose. And the Jets on Sunday.

Federal authorities suspect his involvement in the drug traffic, prostitution, and murder for hire, but “Baby Charlie” has only been behind bars once, for income tax evasion in 1955–56. Richard Scarne, the principal stockholder of Fun Time Automatic Machines.

Police were summoned by Robert Norman, manager of the Overlook, who said he heard shots and that some of the guests reported two men wearing stockings on their faces and carrying guns had fled down the fire escape and driven off in a late-model tan convertible.

LAS VEGAS GROUP BUYS FAMED COLORADO HOTEL Scenic Overlook to Become Key Club Robert T. Leffing, spokesman for a group of investors going under the name of High Country Investments, announced today in Las Vegas that High Country has negotiated a deal for the famous Overlook Hotel, a resort located …

The closest town is Sidewinder, forty miles east of here over roads that are closed from sometime in late October or November until sometime in April. A man named Robert Townley Watson built it, the grandfather of our present maintenance man.

Once, at nursery school, his friend Scott had pointed out a boy named Robin Stenger, who was moping around the swings with a face almost long enough to step on. Robin’s father taught arithmetic at Daddy’s school, and Scott’s daddy taught history there.

Then, in a clipping marked February 1, 1952: MILLIONAIRE EXEC TO SELL COLORADO INVESTMENTS Deal Made with California Investors on Overlook, Other Investments, Derwent Reveals By Rodney Conklin, Financial Editor In a terse communique yesterday from the Chicago offices of the monolithic Derwent Enterprises, it was revealed that millionaire (perhaps …

A knot of people had gathered, laughing. In front of Derwent and the girl in the sarong, Roger capered grotesquely on all fours, his tail dragging limply behind him. He was barking. “Speak, boy, speak!” Harry Derwent cried. “Rowf! Rowf!” Roger responded. Everyone clapped; a few of the men whistled.

State Trooper Benjamin Moorer discovered two dead men, later identified as Victor T. Boorman and Roger Macassi, both of Las Vegas, outside the door of the Presidential Suite where two American Presidents have stayed. Inside, Moorer found the body of Gienelli sprawled on the floor.

Just lie still. Almost done.” The machine hummed and scratched for another five minutes and then Dr. Edmonds shut it off. “All done, guy,” Edmonds said briskly. “Let Sally get those electrodes off you and then come into the next room. I want to have a little talk with you.

Jack was looking around for Ullman, but he wasn’t in the lobby. A young maid with her ash-blond hair pinned up on her neck came over. “Your luggage is out on the porch, Dick.” “Thank you, Sally.” He gave her a peck on the forehead.

Danny knew perfectly well what the Bad Thing was since Scotty Aaronson, who was six months older, had explained it to him. Scotty knew because his daddy did the Bad Thing, too. Once, Scotty told him, his daddy had punched his mom right in the eye and knocked her down.

… bed, early to rise ... oh, was that Sheila? ... the monk? ... isn’t that witty, Sheila coming as a monk? ... yes, good night ... good) Thump. Gears clashed. The motor engaged. The car began to whine back down. “Jack,” she whispered. “What is it? What’s wrong with it?”

He strained harder and harder, scared now, part of him cynically thinking that everyone else was simply putting on to please Sister Beatrice, part of him secretly convinced that he wasn’t seeing it because God had decided he was the worst sinner in the class. “Don’t you see it, Jacky?”

There had been avalanches in the area and the notorious KGB agent Slobbo had killed his girlfriend with a poison dart, but somewhere near was the Russian antigravity machine. Perhaps at the end of this very tunnel.

Then he lit a cigarette. Al’s voice then, strong in his ear: “Jacky-boy, what in the name of God are you up to?” “Hi, Al.” He snuffed the cigarette and groped for the Excedrin bottle. “What’s going on, Jack? I got this weird phone call from Stuart Ullman this afternoon.

Two more quick shuffles, now you see it and now you don’t, and then the Overlook is suddenly owned by a private citizen, a woman named Sylvia Hunter ... who just happened to be Sylvia Hunter Derwent from 1942 to 1948.” “Your three minutes are up,” the operator said.

It scared her. The guy up there was Tom, and after the bars had closed and they had returned home, the fights would start in earnest—the rest of the week was just a prelim in comparison. The Friday Night Fights, Jack called them, but it wasn’t funny.

“What’s your name, fellow?” “Tom Staunton, sir.” “Well, Tom, I know. Now I’ll be just as straight with you as I can be. There’s bad trouble up there. Maybe killin bad, do you dig what I’m sayin?” “Mr. Hall, I really have to know how you—” “Look,” Hallorann had said.

A crumpled sheet of violet ladies’ stationery, a ghost of perfume still clinging to it beneath the musk of age, a note begun and left unfinished in faded blue ink: “Dearest Tommy, I can’t think so well up here as I’d hoped, about us I mean, of course, who else?

“Why not? She’d still be the same lady. Wouldn’t everyone know that?” “Yes, but—” She looked at Jack helplessly. “Truman Capote once stayed in this room,” Ullman interrupted impatiently. He opened the door. “That was in my time. An awfully nice man. Continental manners.”

… that belonged in a padded room, acting the way Wally Hollis said Vic Stenger had been before the men in the white coats had to come and take him away? (But I never put a hand on him! Goddammit, I didn’t!) “Jack?” The voice was timid, hesitant. He was so …

State Trooper Benjamin Moorer discovered two dead men, later identified as Victor T. Boorman and Roger Macassi, both of Las Vegas, outside the door of the Presidential Suite where two American Presidents have stayed. Inside, Moorer found the body of Gienelli sprawled on the floor.

A large stockholder in Scarne’s Fun Time company, he also has known interests in four Las Vegas casinos. Vittorio Gienelli, also known as “Vito the Chopper,” tried twice for gangland-style murders, one of them the ax-murder of Boston vice overlord Frank Scoffy.

What was he doing, sitting here and talking to himself like a sulky teenager when his son was upstairs someplace, acting like something that belonged in a padded room, acting the way Wally Hollis said Vic Stenger had been before the men in the white coats had to come and …

Zack Tunney was in the habit of picking up a full keg of beer on Saturday afternoon, plonking it in a backyard snowbank overnight, and then killing damn near all of it on Sunday watching football games and old movies.