Héritière sans égale

Chapitre 3

"Chocolate? No problem, coming right away."

Wendy, Jack, and Uman walked down the corridor.

“This place is really big,” Wendy said.

“Yes, some staff and guests left yesterday. The last day is usually very busy, everyone wants to leave, and there’s no one left after 5 pm,” Mr. Uman replied.

“It’s like a ghost shop!” Wendy joked.

“Yes!” Mr. Uman laughed in agreement with Wendy, but no one noticed that his laughter was somewhat forced.

The old chef and Danny sat at the table. Danny's ice cream tub was empty, and there was still a trace of chocolate on his lips. He looked at the old chef with a satisfied expression.

The old chef looked at Danny and asked, "Do you know how I know your name?"

Danny was a little confused, and he looked at the old chef without saying a word.

"You don't know what I'm talking about, do you?" the old chef continued to ask.

Danny made a strange gesture; he genuinely didn't understand what it meant.

“I remember talking to my grandmother when I was little, but I didn’t open my mouth to speak at all. People call this ability ‘the Shining.’ For a long time, I thought I was the only one with this ability, just like you think you’re the only one with it. Actually, other people have it too, but very few people know it or don’t want to know. How long have you had this ability?”

From the moment the child stepped into the Overlook Inn, the old cook sensed it; there was another person with the ability to see the future. The old cook's feeling was very strong. The "shining" is a precognitive ability. Many people have experienced it, but their feelings are very fleeting; they can't form concrete images in their minds. They only feel a sense of familiarity, like revisiting a familiar place, at the moment the event actually occurs. Only a very few people can store a large number of these visions, forming a complete information transmission to their brains—that is, seeing the future. The ability to see the future varies from person to person and doesn't increase with age. So, although Danny was only five years old, his spiritual perception was enough to impress the old cook.

Danny listened to the old chef's words and wanted to say something, but hesitated for a moment and just looked at the old chef.

Why don't you want to talk?

“I can’t say.” Danny lowered his head.

"Who told you not to speak?"

"Tony."

"Who is Tony?" The old chef felt something was amiss.

"Little Tony who lives in my mouth."

The old chef understood. The five-year-old child didn't yet comprehend why he could always see certain things at certain moments, as if someone else was telling him. And that person, the so-called Tony, was actually another existence within Danny's consciousness! "Did Tony tell you these things?" the old chef asked.

"yes."

How did he tell you?

"He took me to see it while I was asleep, but I don't remember it when I woke up." This is a kind of soul travel in the Shining ability.

"Do your parents know about Tony?" Obviously, neither Jack nor Wendy had that information, and if they heard Danny say this, they would think the child was crazy.

"yes."

"Did you tell them what you knew?" the old chef asked.

“Tony told me not to tell them.” People with the ability to see the flash have their consciousness controlled by their soul.

"This is a gifted child," the old chef thought. "You can tell from his eyes, which are beyond his years, that he must know a lot. Has Tony told you anything about this place? About this Overlook Hotel?"

"I don't know." Danny was clearly not telling the truth; he lowered his head.

"Think carefully, think it over." He knew the child must know something.

"Is there anything bad here?" Danny couldn't help but ask.

“When something happens here, it leaves clues for posterity to see.” The old chef pondered what words to use to explain everything that had happened here. Hiding it was useless; this child would spend five months here, and he would discover many things. “It’s like someone burned the toast. Maybe something really happened, but no one noticed, except for those with psychic abilities. Those who can see are like those who can foresee the future, and sometimes they can see things from long ago.” He tried to speak lightly, not wanting to frighten the innocent child. “Many things have happened here, several years ago, and not everything was good.”

"237?" the child whispered. These numbers had been appearing repeatedly in his sleep for the past few days.

"237?" The old chef stared at Danny in astonishment. He realized the seriousness of the situation; the boy knew far more than he had imagined.

(3)

"You're afraid of room 237, aren't you?" Danny asked innocently, seeing the old chef's fearful expression.

"No." The old chef's deep, trembling voice told Danny that he was lying.

"Mr. Harold, what's in room 237?"

The old cook's expression turned stern. The boy's curiosity would kill him, but he was powerless to stop it. He couldn't tell the truth; the only way now was to escape: "Nothing! Nothing! You're not in that house anyway. Stay away from it, understand? Stay away from it!"

Room 237, Danny thought about it over and over again.

One month later.

In winter, the valley is shrouded in wisps of smoke, and the hotel nestled against the snow-capped mountains is enveloped in tranquility.

Danny rode his tricycle through the hotel's wide, winding corridors, enjoying the smooth flow of traffic. The hotel floors were covered in beautiful carpet, making the sound of the tricycle on the floor intermittent. He liked making that noise in the spacious hotel, although Wendy often complained that it was too much noise. He'd been staying at this hotel for a month now, and everything about it gave him the feeling of sheer size. Even on his tricycle, it would take him several days to explore every inch of the hotel.

Wendy, wearing pajamas with the straps loosely tied around her waist, pushed a cart full of exquisite food back to the room, where Jack was still asleep.

Good morning, honey. Breakfast is ready.

"What time is it?" Jack was still sleepy-eyed; the sunlight outside the window was already very bright.

“It’s almost 11:30,” Wendy replied to her husband with a sweet smile.

"Good heavens!" Jack got up and dressed.

“We stayed up too late last night.” Recalling the long-awaited passion of the previous night, Wendy felt that this kind of life was simply wonderful. This job had brought them a better life; for the past month, the family of three had lived in warmth and comfort, with ample food and clothing, and a joyful spirit. This vast hotel was their own private castle. And this idyllic life would last for another four months.

"I made your favorite soft-boiled egg." Wendy handed over the egg and orange juice. "It's beautiful outside today. After breakfast, will you take me for a walk?"

“I want to write something first.” Five months wasn’t a long time for the massive work Jack planned to complete, especially since he had already wasted a month. For some reason, he couldn’t settle down in the hotel. For the first week, he attributed it to novelty and indulged in pleasure. Such a life was rare, and forcing himself to write at this time would be disrespectful to life, he thought. The second week passed without inspiration, but he wasn’t worried. Inspiration couldn’t be scheduled; when the time was right, it wouldn’t refuse the writer’s invitation. So, the second week passed, but he didn’t waste it. He cleaned his typewriter thoroughly, meaning he could start writing whenever inspiration struck. The third week passed, and the fourth week arrived. Jack was getting restless. The monotony and loneliness of life made him feel as if his life had stagnated. If he didn’t start doing something soon, he might never be able to write again. So he began typing, but still, nothing came of it.

"Have you already got an idea?" Wendy asked excitedly.

"I have a lot of inspiration, but none of it is good."

“Take it slow, just make it a habit to write every day,” Wendy said.

“Alright,” Jack said slowly. Wendy never rushed him, which annoyed him; she seemed to have no desire for her husband to achieve anything, content with their monotonous daily life together. With her encouragement, he might progress faster, like the wives of literary giants, always casting expectant glances at their husbands, anxiously awaiting to become the first reader of their works. Jack believed that works anticipated by others always arrive in the world sooner.

The cigarette stimulated Jack's sense of smell, but only brought more emptiness. The typewriter sat empty in front of him; inspiration hadn't struck yet, perhaps it needed more stimulation. Alcohol! The thought sent a shiver down Jack's spine. He'd been sober for seven months, and never before had he felt such a strong craving for alcohol. A small glass of bourbon would ignite his creativity, but Wendy had already hidden all the liquor in the hotel, as if she knew he wouldn't be able to control himself.

Thinking of this, Jack angrily threw a squash ball at the wall, nearly hitting a photograph on the wall. Jack didn't care about that; in this huge, silent, alcohol-free room, he needed noise!

A series of dull echoes reverberated through the hall.

Wendy and Danny, bundled up in their heavy winter clothes, ran towards the enormous forest maze outside the hotel. It was a breathtaking maze, a popular attraction during peak tourist season. The maze was entirely made of trees, with 5-meter-high tree walls preventing visitors from seeing the exit; only patience could lead them to victory. For the past month, Danny had repeatedly asked his mother to take him into the maze, but Wendy had always refused because she was busy.

"I'm going to catch you, don't run so fast. Watch out, I'm going to catch you!" Wendy pretended to grab Danny as the two ran into the maze.

"Danny, you win. Let's walk the rest of the way, don't run anymore." Wendy couldn't keep up with Danny's pace and pretended to beg for mercy.

"All right."

"Give me your hand. Isn't it beautiful?" The mother and son turned left and right in the maze, searching for the exit.

"Yes." Another dead end.

In the deserted maze, their only companions were towering tree walls and endless dead ends, all the same color and structure, making it impossible to find an exit. For some reason, the maze offered no directional guidance, no opportunity for cheating, and not even communication facilities. It's hard to imagine what would happen if a child were trapped alone in such a vast maze.

The mother and son were not the only ones focused on the maze.

Frustrated, Jack continued wandering aimlessly, tossing the ball around, venting his escalating emotions with each dull thud. In the lobby, Danny's toy car lay on the floor, toys scattered around it. Seeing these things was irritating; couldn't they tidy up their things? Couldn't they be as organized as he was? Jack turned away, forcing himself not to look at the scattered toys. The greenery by the window caught Jack's eye—a miniature model of a huge forest maze. It was beautiful, perfectly symmetrical around the center line, the trees sharply defined, every turn a right angle. Jack liked this layout. Standing atop the model, Jack looked down. "Is this how the Creator looks down on humanity?" Jack wondered. This sense of control over others' lives brought Jack a sense of joy. He smiled. Perhaps, he could finally begin writing.

Right in the center of the maze that Jack was looking at, two people were slowly moving. They were Wendy and Danny from the maze. They had finally reached the center.

“It’s beautiful,” Wendy said. “I didn’t expect it to be this big. How about yours?”

Danny nodded. The two of them were exhausted and felt a sense of dread at the thought of not being able to get out for a while.

Tuesday.

In the afternoon, the snow-capped mountains appeared even more solemn and white, signaling the imminent arrival of the true snow and ice season.

Danny rode his little bike through the hotel corridors, a routine that had become his daily task. He rode into a long corridor and suddenly stopped. Something felt off. That stench of decay was there again, seeping into his skin. Danny slowly turned around and looked behind him—it was room 237!

Room 237 seemed to be calling to Danny. Danny involuntarily got out of the car and slowly approached the room. His father's workshop was far away, and he wondered where his mother was busy. "Nothing will happen," Danny thought. "There's nothing here. If I see nothing inside, I won't be afraid anymore." Danny touched the handle, and with a determined look, turned it. The door didn't open; it was locked. Danny looked at the number again—it was indeed room 237. This room was nothing special; it was locked, just like the other rooms. Danny breathed a sigh of relief.

Just as Danny was about to get back to his car, he saw them again: the two girls in blue dresses! The same expression, the same hairstyle, standing hand in hand not far away, smiling at Danny, but there was something eerie in that smile that made Danny feel chills all over his body and wanted to scream.

But this time Danny didn't wait like before. His intuition told him he had to leave, go back to his mother, and everything would disappear. He got on his bike and drove off quickly without looking back.

The sound of typing.

In the workspace, Jack was intently working at the central workbench. He typed quickly; after so many days of isolation, his thoughts were finally flowing smoothly. The pages moved incessantly, letter after letter appearing on the paper. Beside the desk sat an elegant manuscript basket, already containing several finished sheets of paper.

Wendy walked toward Jack.

"Hi, darling?" Wendy greeted Jack in a good mood.

An overwhelming anger surged within Jack, the long passage he had just prepared interrupted by Wendy's foolishness. His train of thought was broken; his previous passion vanished. Jack futilely tried to grasp at the last vestiges of inspiration, attempting to jot down a few key words that flashed through his mind, only to discover that there wasn't even a pen on his desk. Damn Wendy! Who told her to tidy up the desk without permission? Just because he doesn't use something doesn't mean he'll never need it! He'd forgotten it all, not a single word remained! Only the suppressed emotions remained, choking him, desperately searching for an outlet.

Jack slowly raised his head, looking at Wendy, who was oblivious and smiling happily at him. It was the ugliest smile Jack had ever seen; to derive such pleasure from disturbing someone, Jack thought. A vengeful pleasure gradually rose within Jack. Suppressing his anger, he smiled back at Wendy. Hurting an unsuspecting person was a wicked pleasure, especially since this person was foolish enough to so easily disrupt someone's work.

"How is it?" Wendy asked again, her eyes wide open, looking just like a frog.

“Very good,” Jack said softly, tearing a piece of paper from the typewriter. Wendy, however, remained oblivious to the implications of his action.

"Do I have a lot to write today?" Wendy asked. A housewife's magazine had once taught her that when her husband was working hard, a caring wife needed to comfort him. Not bad! Wendy thought.

“Yes.” Jack’s words grew shorter and shorter.

“The weather forecast says it will snow tonight,” Wendy said cheerfully. Jack’s quietness displeased her.

The woman's foolish expression, completely oblivious to the fact that she had bothered others, infuriated Jack even more; she was actually enjoying it. A foolish woman who couldn't even see her husband's anger. Jack thought, his anger escalating, but he wanted to hold it in until the very end; the final outburst would be even more satisfying.

“What do you want me to do?” Jack said, his forced smile carrying a hint of malice.

"Okay, honey, stop complaining so much."

“No, I didn’t. Complain? I just want to get my work done!” Jack still smiled.

At this moment, Wendy finally sensed her husband's resentment: "Okay, I understand. I'll come back later and bring you some sandwiches. Maybe you have something to show me."

Jack's last line was crossed. What a self-righteous, foolish woman! He looked up at Wendy: "Wendy, there are some things I need to make clear to you. When you come in and interrupt, you distract me."

Wendy's blank expression showed that she hadn't reacted yet.

"You're distracting me! I need some time to get my mind back on track." Jack ripped the paper in his hand to shreds and yelled angrily, "Do you understand?"

“...Yes.” Wendy stood there dumbfounded, completely bewildered by Jack’s roar.

“Let’s make a new rule. As long as I’m here, and you hear me typing…” Jack tapped a few keys on the typewriter, which made a crisp clicking sound, “or whatever you hear me doing, as long as…”

"I'm here, I'm working! Don't come in! Can you do that?" Jack practically yelled in Wendy's face.