"The Shining" fic for Alexandra Marie

[smooshi]

I have finally finished it. I'm desperately sorry that it took me over a week to write, well... this. () But I warned you that it'll probably be this way- the schoolwork is slightly bringing me down at the moment.

Anyway, here is the Jack Torrence fic. And it has no title. Yeah. Mostly because, being a quasi-intellectual I am I have serious trouble thinking of witty one-liners I could use as a title.

Oh, and to get couple of things straight:

1) this is a fanfiction of a Stephen King's 1977 book, not Stanley Kubrick's 1980 movie loosely based on that book- the main difference between them being the fact that Jack wasn't supposed to be a crazy antagonist who was just waiting for some man who was supposed to be dead for a while now to tell him that his kid has to be corrected so he can start attempting to kill his family with an axe. No, no, no. Jack is an emotionally unstable alcoholic, but not a bad guy. End of the story.

2) I don't own any of the characters

3) it contains some strong language

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“Well, this just makes no sense.”

(“…moving slowly DENKER approached GARY with a stern look on his face moving slowly…”)

John Daniel Torrance’s forehead wrinkled as he realized that he has been re-reading the same line of the text over and over again for the last two minutes. He slowly straightened up in his chair, stretching as he threw the first page of “The Little School”’s third act on the neat pile of paper by his typewriter. Burying his face in palms of his hands, he gently massaged his temples, trying to relieve the pounding headache which has crept back to him during the last two hours. Blinking quickly, he was slowly becoming more and more aware of the warm heaviness of his eyelids and the sore dryness of his throat.

Gosh, he needed a drink.

He wasn’t asking for a lot. Just one small martini. One tiny little glass which is going to help him clear his head and gather his thoughts. Nothing more. Jack could nearly feel the taste of gin in his mouth, so familiar it was soothing. Yes, a nice glass of gin and vermouth, with an olive for a decoration. Just one small sip and everything will be all right.

Papers soaked with spilled bear. Danny’s little arm bent under peculiar angle.

He shivered as that thought came into his head. “No,” he whispered under his breath, wiping his mouth with a handkerchief, his hands still shaking. He sniffled wetly. Damn, was his nose running as well?

And his head. His goddamn head. With this cunt of a headache, no wonder he couldn’t concentrate.

Pushing the typewriter on the side, he made a mission out of finding Excedrin on his desk. When he finally found the desired package under the batch of crumpled paper, he took one pill, and after a shorter hesitation, one more. He powdered the pills with his teeth, feeling the flavor which has marked most of those painful morning-afters during his drinking days filling his mouth. Swallowing, he wiped his mouth, not even bothering to use the handkerchief this time. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, like he was trying to concentrate. He sniffled again. “Everything is going to be fine,” he said quietly, mostly to himself and the emptiness of the room which was surrounding him.

Putting the paper from the top of the pile back in front of himself, he put a cigarette in his mouth. His hands were already steady, he thought with relief as he lighted it. With his head resting on his left hand, he hungrily took a drag of it.

Bad idea.

He only had time to quickly exhale the smoke through his nose. He sharply inhaled air, his nostrils flared, his eyebrows raised, his eyes closed. It took less then a second for a power of his own sneeze to overcome him, bending him over as he sneezed a throaty, harsh sneeze.

“Hurshoo!”

He was more prepared for the next one, and he has managed to turn away and stifle it against his shoulder.

“Hnnxt!”

He slowly turned back, blinking quickly, feeling slightly lightheaded. He felt wetness above his upper lip and realized that his nose was probably running pretty badly. He sniffled loudly.

“Fuck,” he cursed under his breath, his voice harsh and slightly broken. He put out a still long cigarette and collected the papers he has probably scattered during his quick motion. His throat was fucking burning. He coughed lightly, trying to clear it, which was mostly as useful as an attempt of a child trying to dry out the sea using plastic cannikin.

“Fuck,” he repeated, since it was the only thing which he could think of.

He went through his hair with his fingers, sighing. His nose was running again. He took the handkerchief, blowing softly. Folding it, he wiped his mouth.

He has succeeded in what he thought was impossible: he actually felt worse then he has ever felt during their stay in Overlook.

He went back to writing, but he soon realized that it isn’t going to work: he felt too dizzy and sore to concentrate on what he was doing, and when he went back to re-read what he has already written, most of the time it made a very little sense or none at all.

Eventually he gave up.

Laying back in the chair, he exhaled loudly through his mouth- not because he was trying to be dramatic, but because he could hardly breathe through his nose at this point.

What could he actually do at the moment?

Tea. He will go to the kitchen as quietly as possible because Doc was probably asleep by now and make himself some tea. And then he’ll maybe manage to go back to work. Yes. That sounded perfectly logical.

He stood up and made his way to the kitchen, mostly keeping his balance by stretching his arm out to feel the wall through the dark hallway and down the stairs. He tapped the kitchen wall to find the light switch. Bright light which filled the perfectly clean, white kitchen of the hotel giving it an eerie look of the space station was too much for his already tortured nasal passages. He quickly muffled the sneeze in a cloth of his shirt.

“Hmmsh!”

He shuddered at it’s sound, which slightly echoed against the walls of the empty kitchen. The size of always made it creepy, since it was made for a large number of people to work in, and the wheezing sound of the wind blowing outside didn’t help at all. Jack went to the counter: the sooner he finishes, the sooner he’ll get out.

As he was waiting for the water to boil, something at the other end of the counter caught his eye; it was a half empty bottle with a pleasant, reddish liquid inside- the cooking sherry. Wendy probably forgot to put it back in the cupboard.

It probably tastes like crap, but it was alcohol, right? He won’t drink a lot- maybe just put a bit in his tea. Like a medicine, to clear up his sinuses. And it is going to be fine. Perfectly.

For the second time he realized that he was actually actively planning to have a drink in a short period of time. He shivered, like he was trying to shake the thought off.

He continued to prepare tea, pouring the water into the cup to drench the tea bag.

His attention was back to the bottle.

(don’t touch it don’t touch it don’t touch it don’t touch it don’t touch it)

Slowly, he took it and opened the cupboard

(don’t you dare to open that bottle you fucking cunt)

and he swore that he could actually feel it’s smell, despite the fact his nose was most likely incapable of registering such things.

(just put it inside don’t even look at it don’t open it don’t open it don’t open it)

He put it in the cupboard, feeling his pulse in every inch of his body. He grabbed the cup and left the kitchen, turning off the light as he left.

Back by his desk, he realized that his plan was more of a wishful thinking then something that could be worked out- his hands were cold, his throat sore, his headache almost intolerable.

Despite the fact it was highly impossible, he could hear the humming sound, followed by a clank. A rattling bang. A thump- the sound of

(“Elevator! Elevator!”)

an elevator coming up. And there was this another, bashing, sound, like an arrow

(or a cane)

constantly coming through the air. Resting his head on his hand, he could actually see a silhouette of his father hitting his mother. And then his father’s face changed and he could clearly see himself bending over George Hatfield.

(“I duh-duh-don’t s-s-st-st-stutter!”)

And then, to his own terror, under some occult method of metamorphosis, George’s body got smaller and smaller and soon he was staring at his son’s grey eyes. But he couldn’t stop. Oh, no, he couldn’t stop. And there was this awful cracking sound as Danny’s arm broke and he tried to scream but no sound came out.

Then everything went black and some whispering voice was calling him out of the darkness: “Jaaaaackkk…. Jaaaackkk…”

“Jaaaack… Jack!”

Jack’s eyes fluttered open, his eyelashes brushing the pile of the paper he was laying on. He could see his wife’s golden hair softly falling over her collar bone.

“Weddy…”

“I heard you screaming, is everything okay?” she said, sounding concerned. She moved his hair away from his face, touching his forehead. “You have a fever,” she added, her voice almost accusing.

“I’b fide,” he stated diffidently. His mouth stayed opened for a moment after. He harshly turned away from Wendy.

“Harsooo! Hurshoo!”

He turned back to her. “Really, I’b fide. Just feelidg a bit udder, that’s it,” he said with an attempt of a smile, despite the fact she did nothing to try to contradict him.

“Come on. Let’s go to bed,” she said at last while gently putting her hand over his shoulder.

“Weddy?”

“Yes dear?”

“I would dever hurt you dor Doc. Dot adybore.”

She looked at him with a mixture of confusion and concern.

“Of course not, darling,” she said reassuringly before turning off the lights and closing the door behind them.

“Of course you wouldn’t”

~THE END~

Oh, and any kind of feedback would be highly appreciated. Seriously, if you tell me: "Saw off your hands so you can never write again", I'll be grateful. Even if you want to bitch about my grammar. That's great as well. Since I'm not a native English speaker, this is an incredible language practice for me.

I guess that's it.

Bye.

[Ali Marie]

Oh My Gosh! IT'S PERFECT!!! (Seriously, While I was reading it, I made the most indescribable sound of happiness.) You write very well! THANK YOU!!!