t　would　be

doing　them　both　a　favor。　She　was　messed　up　。。。　in　pain。。。　and　most　of　it

（all　of　it）

was　that　damn　boy's　fault。　Sure。　He　had　left　his　own　daddy　in　there　to　burn。

When　you　thought　of　it；　it　was　damn　close　to　murder。　Patricide　was　what　they

called　it。　Pretty　goddam　low：

〃Mr。　Hallorann？〃　Her　voice　was　low；　weak；　querulous。　He　didn't　much　like　the

sound　of　it。

〃Dick！〃　The　boy　was　sobbing　now；　in　terror。

Hallorann　drew　the　mallet　from　the　rack　and　turned　toward　the　flood　of　white

light　from　the　snowmobile　headlamp。　His　feet　scratched　unevenly　over　the　boards

of　the　equipment　shed；　like　the　feet　of　a　clockwork　toy　that　has　been　wound　up

and　set　in　motion。

Suddenly　he　stopped；　looked　wonderingly　at　the　mallet　in　his　hands；　and　asked

himself　with　rising　horror　what　it　was　he　had　been　thinking　of　doing。　Murder？

Had　he　been　thinking　of　murder？

For　a　moment　his　entire　mind　seemed　filled　with　an　angry；　weakly　hectoring

voice：

（Do　it！　Do　it；　you　weak…kneed　no…balls　nigger！　Kill　them！　KILL　THEM　BOTH！）

Then　he　flung　the　mallet　behind　him　with　a　whispered；　terrified　cry。　It

clattered　into　the　corner　where　the　horseblankets　had　been；　one　of　the　two　heads

pointed　toward　him　in　an　unspeakable　invitation。

He　fled。

Danny　was　sitting　on　the　snowmobile　seat　and　Wendy　was　holding　him　weakly。　His

face　was　shiny　with　tears；　and　he　was　shaking　as　if　with　ague。　Between　his

clicking　teeth　he　said：　〃Where　were　you？　We　were　scared！〃

〃It's　a　good　place　to　be　scared　of；〃　Hallorann　said　slowly。　〃Even　if　that

place　burns　flat　to　the　foundation；　you'll　never　get　me　within　a　hundred　miles

of　here　again。