or me or not。 Tomorrow — 〃
〃What about tomorrow？〃
He shook his head。 〃Nothing。〃
〃Where is he now？〃 she asked。 〃Your daddy？〃
〃He's in the basement。 I don't think he'll be up tonight。〃
She stood up suddenly。 〃Wait right here for me。 Five minutes。〃
* * *
The kitchen was cold and deserted under the overhead fluorescent bars。 She
went to the rack where the carving knives hung from their magnetized strips。 She
took the longest and sharpest； wrapped it in a dish towel； and left the kitchen；
turning off the lights as she went。
* * *
Danny sat on the stairs； his eyes following the course of his red rubber ball
from hand to hand。 He sang： 〃She lives on the twentieth floor uptown； the
elevator is broken down。 So I walk one…two flight three flight four。 。 ：'
（ — Lou； Lou； skip to m' Lou — ）
His singing broke off。 He listened。
（ — Skip to m' Lou my darlin' — ）
The voice was in his head； so much a part of him； so frighteningly close that
it might have been a part of his own thoughts。 It was soft and infinitely sly。
Mocking him。 Seeming to say：
（Oh yes； you'll like it here。 Try it； you'll like it。 Try it； you'll liiiiike
it — ）
Now his ears were open and he could hear them again； the gathering； ghosts or
spirits or maybe the hotel itself； a dreadful funhouse where all the sideshows
ended in death； where all the specially painted boogies were really alive； where
hedges walked； where a small silver key could start the obscenity。 Soft and
sighing； rustling like the endless winter wind that played under the eaves at
night； the deadly lulling wind the summer tourists never heard。 It was like the