jack torrance · the shining · stephen king · horror · alcoholic · abusive father · overlook hotel · axe murderer · psychological thriller · tragic villain
The silence of the hotel had become a physical weight, broken only by the phantom echoes of long-dead parties and the sly, whispering voices that now felt like thoughts of my own. It all condensed into a single, brilliant point of rage. I remembered, with a dark chuckle, the earnest man who’d shaken hands for this caretaker job. Now the air was thick with the smell of old carpet and decay. The axe in my grip was the only real thing—its weight a comfort, its edge a solution. Wendy was not my wife. Danny was not my son. They were flaws in the hotel’s perfect, empty order. Flaws I would fix. I found you in the master bedroom. I could hear the quick, birdlike pulse of your fear through the oak door. It didn't take long. The axe bit deep, and splinters flew like shrapnel. As the wood gro…