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changed。
SHE'S ALREADY DEAD JACK SO WHY BOTHER？
（now who's the herd？）
'You are； Richie；' Jack said； 'but you ain't alone。'
Richard made a snoring； protesting sound in Jack's arms。 'e on；' Jack said； and began to walk。 'One more mile。 Give or take。'
2
The soaped…over windows actually seemed to widen as Jack walked toward the Agincourt； as if the black hotel were now regarding him with blind but contemptuous surprise。
Do you really think； little boy； that you can e in here and really hope to ever e out？ Do you think there's really that much Jason in you？
Red sparks； like those he had seen in the air； flashed and twisted across the soaped glass。 For a moment they took form。 Jack watched； wondering； as they became tiny fire…imps。 They skated down to the brass handles of the doors and converged there。 The handles began to glow dully； like a smith's iron in the forge。
Go on； little boy。 Touch one。 Try。
Once； as a kid of six； Jack had put his finger on the cold coil of an electric range and had then turned the control knob onto the HIGH setting。 He had simply been curious about how fast the burner would heat up。 A second later he had pulled his finger； already blistering； away with a yell of pain。 Phil Sawyer had e running； taken a look； and had asked Jack when he had started to feel this weird pulsion to burn himself alive。
Jack stood with Richard in his arms； looking at the dully glowing handles。
Go on； little boy。 Remember how the stove burned？ You thought you'd have plenty of time to pull your finger off…'Hell；' you thought； 'the thing doesn't even start to get red for almost a minute'…but it burned right away； didn't it？ Now； how do you think this is going to feel； Jack？
More red sparks skated liquidly down the glass to the handles of the French doors。 The handles began to take on the delicate red…edged…with…white look of metal which is no more than six degrees from turning molten and starting to drip。 If he touched one of those handles it would sink into his flesh； charring tissue and boiling blood。 The agony would be like nothing he had ever felt before。
He waited for a moment with Richard in his arms； hoping the Talisman would call him again； or that the 'Jason…side' of him would surface。 But it was his mother's voice that rasped in his head。
Has something or someone always got to push you； Jack…O？ e on； big guy…you set this going by yourself； you can keep going if you really want to。 Has that other guy got to do everything for you？
'Okay； Mom；' Jack said。 He was smiling a little； but his voice was trembling with fright。 'Here's one for you。 I just hope someone remembered to pack the Solarcaine。'
He reached out and grasped one of the red…hot handles。
Except it wasn't； the whole thing had been an illusion。 The handle was warm； but that was all。 As Jack turned it； the red glow died from all the handles。 And as he pushed the glass door inward； the Talisman sang out again； bringing gooseflesh out all over his body：
WELL DONE！ JASON！ TO ME！ E TO ME！
With Richard in his arms； Jack stepped into the dining room of the black hotel。
3
As he crossed the threshold； he felt an inanimate force…something like a dead hand…try to shove him back out。 Jack pushed against it； and a second or two later； that feeling of being repelled ceased。
The room was not particularly dark…but the soaped windows gave it a monochrome whiteness Jack did not like。 He felt fogged in； blind。 Here were yellow smells of decay inside walls where the plaster was slowly turning to a vile soup： the smells of empty age and sour darkness。 But there was more here； and Jack knew it and feared it。
Because this place was not empty。
Exactly what manner of things might be here he did not know…but he knew that Sloat had never dared to e in； and he guessed that no one else would； either。 The air was heavy and unpleasant in his lungs； as if filled with a slow poison。 He felt the strange levels and canted passageways and secret rooms and dead ends above him pressing down like the walls of a great and plex crypt。 There was madness here； and walking death； and gibbering irrationality。 Jack might not have had the words to express these things； but he felt them； all the same 。 。 。 he knew them for what they were。 Just as he knew that all the Talismans in the cosmos could not protect him from those things。 He had entered a strange； dancing ritual whose conclusion； he felt； was not at all pre…ordained。
He was on his own。
Something tickled against the back of his neck。 Jack swept his hand at it and skittered to one side。 Richard moaned thickly in his arms。
It was a large black spider hanging on a thread。 Jack looked up and saw its web in one of the stilled overhead fans； tangled in a dirty snarl between the hardwood blades。 The spider's body was bloated。 Jack could see its eyes。 He couldn't remember ever having seen a spider's eyes before。 Jack began to edge around the hanging spider toward the tables。 The spider turned at the end of its thread； following him。
'Fushing feef！' it suddenly squealed at him。
Jack screamed and clutched Richard against him with panicky； galvanic force。 His scream echoed across the high…ceilinged dining room。 Somewhere in the shadows beyond； there was a hollow metallic clank； and something laughed。
'Fushing feef； fushing FEEF！' the spider squealed； and then suddenly it scuttled back up into its web below the scrolled tin ceiling。
Heart thumping； Jack crossed the dining room and put Richard on one of the tables。 The boy moaned again； very faintly。 Jack could feel the twisted bumps under Richard's clothes。
'Got to leave you for a little while； buddy；' Jack said。
From the shadows high above： '。 。 。 I'll take 。 。 。 take good 。 。 。 good care of him you fushing 。 。 。 fushing feef 。 。 。' There was a dark； buzzing little giggle。
There was a pile of linen underneath the table where Jack had laid Richard down。 The top two or three tablecloths were slimy with mildew； but halfway through the pile he found one that wasn't too bad。 He spread it out and covered Richard with it to the neck。 He started away。
The voice of the spider whispered thinly down from the angle of the fan…blades； down from a darkness that stank of decaying flies and silk…wrapped wasps。 '。 。 。 I'll take care of him； you fushing feef 。 。 。'
Jack looked up； cold； but he couldn't see the spider。 He could imagine those cold little eyes； but imagination was all it was。 A tormenting； sickening picture came to him： that spider scuttling onto Richard's face； burrowing its way between Richard's slack lips and into Richard's mouth； crooning all the while fushing feef； fushing feef； fushing feef 。 。 。
He thought of pulling the tablecloth up over Richard's mouth as well； and discovered he could not bring himself to turn Richard into something that would look so much like a corpse…it was almost like an invitation。
He went back to Richard and stood there； indecisive； knowing that his very indecision must make whatever forces there were here very happy indeed…anything to keep him away from the Talis