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