The Shining

Writer's Block

1962

In 1961, four published writers came together to purchase the Overlook with the humble intent of turning the secluded, run-down hotel past its prime into a school for writers. Two of the writers had previously won the Pulitzer Prize, so this became a well-sought after school for aspiring writers to attend.

It was open for only one year.

Edward Sheldon was hunched over his desk, feverishly trying to finish his writing prompt before turning in for the night. He had a bottle of Jack Daniels hidden under his bed, where authorities would later find half-drank. This became evidence due to naturally assuming that Edward got intoxicated and committed suicide.

He was sweating due to his frustration and nerves about finishing his work. He was obsessive over it, to the extent that he pushed away his friends and family who were constantly worried about him. He dropped his ball-point pen to massage the knot in his hand and he looked towards his locked window. The sky was dark and the stars littered the sky with dazzling sparkles. The moon hung in heaven above, and the mountains were hidden by the dark of the night but when light breaks, he has the best view of the magnificent and mystical Colorado mountain range. 

He got up and his twenty-five year old knees cracked when he stood because he had been sitting at that desk non-stop for hours. He desperately needed a break, so he absentmindedly groped the desk for his carton of cigarettes and stuck one in his mouth. He lit it then opened his window so the smoke could get sucked out with the wind instead of soaking it's putrid odor into his room.

Edward took a deep inhale of his cigarette, and as he exhaled the smoke into the nippy wind, he heard murmuring in his ear. His eyebrows stitched together in confusion, so he stuck his head out the window to see if any of his classmates were also awake with an open window. He didn't see anyone, but he did look down and notice a concrete terrace below on the ground floor. Being on the third floor, it's quite a drop so it made him feel dizzy like he just got off a merry-go-round. He brought his head back into the room, and he peered over his shoulder and failed to see anyone. However, he could still hear them.

Do it, do it, do it, do it, do it, do it, do it, do it, the voice mumbled into his ear, getting louder and louder in his head. It was as if their lips were inches from his ear, sending a chill down his limber back and perspiration around his blonde hairline that was combed back with pomade.

For the months that Edward had been living in the dorms of the school, he occasionally would see shadows that weren't there, or little things out of the corner of his eye as well as feeling the presence of something else in the room with him when he is supposed to be alone. He also would hear audible hallucinations, which sometimes woke him up at night. The longer he stayed there, the more powerful these hallucinations became and he was afraid for his sanity.

To avoid scaring his peers and being labeled "crazy" by his superiors, he never told anyone about these hallucinations. When they got too intense, he would try to drown out their voices by drinking the Jack Daniels he smuggled into the school, but sometimes they wouldn't stop.

The voice in Edward's ear was too quiet for him to understand what it was saying, but then it slowly grew louder. Since he still had his schoolwork to complete, he did not want this to distract him so he put his cigarette on the windowsill and grabbed the Jack Daniels. He twisted off the cap and took a breath before bringing the bottle to his lips.

He tried to distract himself by focusing on the soft aromas of caramel and vanilla that wafted from the bottle. The warm, smokey sweetness of the whiskey bounced around on his tongue that reminded Edward of sticky, peppery corn syrup. The burning was masked by the aftertaste of oranges, but it wasn't enough to stop the voice.

Soon, the voice grew and more joined the party, overlapping with cynical comments that made Edward feel like he was losing his mind.

"Shut up. Shut up!" He yelled into the empty room.

It was no use. The voices kept scratching the inside of his head as he closed the bottle and rolled it back under his bed. It was like a hundred souls were trapped inside his brain, begging to be released.

You're a failure. Your entire life will be wasted and it will be entirely your fault. You are the biggest loser. If you graduate from this school, then what? Your work will go unnoticed and you'll make absolutely nothing of yourself.

"No, no, no," he mumbled to himself. He closed his eyes to try to push the voices away but they got stronger. He tried to calm himself down by sticking the cigarette back in his mouth. His fingers plugged his ears, but it blocked the sound of the wind out his open window which made the voices in his head more clear.

You're fucking pathetic. If you can't take this criticism, they will eat you alive out there in the real world. Whoever told you that you were a decent writer deserves an Oscar because you're dog shit. You are nothing more than the scum that people step on.

None of the voices in Edward's head were his own. He didn't recognize any of them, but they influenced the way he thought about everything. He never had so much hatred in his heart for his work. He never had these thoughts until he got to the Overlook, and he just couldn't take it anymore.

He tossed his cigarette out the window and stomped to his chair to fetch his coat. Even though it was nearing the devils hour, he had to get out of that room. He figured that a brisk walk around the building would calm him down enough to finish his paper and fall asleep. Sleep deprivation was a major contributor, and Edward vowed to get a full eight hours.

Edward whipped open the door, and froze in his tracks. Too stunned to even scream, he was met with the ghost of Horance Derwent. Derwent held up a twenty year old martini in his hand, and Edward's eyes fixated on the blood that dropped down his face. Other ghosts in the hotel emerged from the woodwork, all their eyes meeting with Edward's darting ones. His heart jumped to his throat, and he stumbled backwards.

Edward's eyes were wide with fear, and the ghosts were feeding off of it. The more terrified he was, the more powerful they became. Their faces morphed into terrifying, wide Cheshire-cat grins with dead eyes that stared right into his shaking soul. They slowly followed him into his room, as if they were wild animals and any sudden movement would spook them. Edward was too scared to close the door on them, so he slowly kept stepping back until he was right in front of his window.

Derwent's grin spread even further, his cheeks raised to his blank eyes and almost every tooth was brandished to Edward. Inhuman, and it made Edward's stomach twist and turn with pure fear.

Backed into a corner like a caged animal, Edward was so scared he had no choice but to run. His mind was in such a state of panic, he didn't realize that his window was open. He only took a couple steps back in a full sprint, and the windowsill caught his legs and he fell out the window. Edward screeched in fear as he dropped quickly to the ground. His petrified scream was bluntly interrupted by the abrupt thud of his head cracking against the unforgiving concrete terrace below.

Then, silence.

Edward died immediately from the excessively-massive blunt force trauma, and it took only moments for his blood to escape from his bashed skull and surround his lifeless body in a dark red pool. Blood and brain matter was splattered around his body, staining the concrete. His pelvis and spine were completely shattered, with a compound fracture from his arm in a fruitless attempt to save himself, and he suffered the excruciating pain of it all.

The school was promptly closed.

Not only did Edward's death not silence the voices, but he joined them. He has to relive the most terrifying moment of his life every single day for the rest of his eternal life in the mouth of hell that is the Overlook. He can't blink away the ghosts or drink away the voices. The only thing he can do, is jump from the third story window of his room and suffer the intense pain of death over and over again on an endless loop.