The Shining

Ghosts

THANKSGIVING DAY

The snow never stopped. Charlie spent his days trying to fix the car in the freezing cold. He would work until his feet were numb and he could no longer physically move his hands. The snow continued to build and build, soon covering the first and second story windows. They couldn't leave and no one knew they were there, so no one was coming for them. For all anyone knew, they lost their lives on that mountain.

Tempers would rise and fall, but they all remained civil. All members of the Reynolds family experienced claustrophobia to some degree. Time ceased to matter. Sometimes strange, intrusive thoughts would blow through their minds, or they'd see strange figures out of the corners of their eyes. At one point, every family member thought that the hedges were coming to life, but no one dared mention it to avoid sounding crazy.

One night, Darla had caught Charlie looking out the window. This would not have been odd, except the curtain's weren't pulled back. When she asked what he was doing, he disappeared into thin air only to show up seconds later behind her with a toothbrush dangling out of his mouth.

Sometimes, when it's quiet, the family can hear what sounded like someone—or something—throwing a ball against the wall in the lounge. Whenever they sneak to the stairs to check it out, the sound promptly stops.

The Overlook has a playground, which Darla and Charlie would try to convince almost-teenager-Anthony that it would be fun despite the cold. Even if he wasn't too old, Anthony never felt comfortable being near that playground. Years earlier, a young girl suffered an epileptic seizure while playing in the concrete tunnels. He could still feel her lost soul wandering around, forever trying to figure out why she's alone.

It didn't matter how long they were trapped in the hotel, the family never really got a firm grasp on its labyrinthine layout. Hotel rooms opened straight out to balconies, what should be internal windows will have light coming from the outside, and corridors would lead to abrupt dead ends. This weird interior landscape wasn't much on their minds. The hotel was a psychological torture chamber, trapping its victims in a labyrinth of impossible corridors and rooms.

Anthony had his whole collection of books to entertain himself with, and Charlie was occupied with trying to fix the car. Darla tried the television, but it only delivered white noise and static. So, Darla spent most of her time in the kitchen or checking in on her boys. But she was so lonely, she could die.

One night, Darla had a vivid dream of being in the presidential suit they were staying in, but in the 1960's. She was an invisible bystander, watching all the men in that room get shot in the head. Their blood and brain matter were splattered on the walls, a dribbling red coating that could have been mistaken for spray paint, which forced Darla to wake up with fear shooting through her heart.

All she had to do was look down at her husband and her fear had washed away. She calmed herself down, but Charlie was starting to stir. He was screaming bloody murder in his sleep, and Darla quickly woke him up.

"Charlie! Charlie! Hey, wake up!" She shook his shoulder.

Charlie's eyes flew open but his mind was still stuck in his nightmare. His body flinched with fear at his own actions, something he never thought would ever cross his mind in a million years. Tears were staining his scruffy cheeks, and he was hyperventilating. His eyes locked with Darla's. "The most terrible nightmare I ever had. It's the most horrible dream I ever had."

"You're okay, you're safe," Darla reassured and rubbed his shoulder in an attempt to calm him down.

Charlie's voice was catching as he tried to calm down, but he was crying. "I dreamed that I... that I killed you and Anthony. But I didn't just kill ya. I cut you up in little pieces."