Well, The Shining—it’s not just a story, it’s a descent. A slow, spiraling fall into madness, isolation, and something... else. You start with a family, all bright-eyed and hopeful, thinking a few months of peace and quiet in a beautiful old hotel will fix everything. But oh no, that’s not how it works. The Overlook Hotel—it’s alive, in a way. It watches, it waits, and then it starts whispering. You can hear it in the walls, in the wind, in the clatter of typewriter keys at three in the morning when you can’t sleep and you swear you just saw something move down the hall.
Jack Torrance—ah, now there’s a guy with potential. A little troubled, sure, but aren’t we all? He just wanted a chance, a second shot at being somebody. But that hotel… it saw him coming. Saw the cracks in the façade, the ghosts in his gut, and it slithered right in. Gave him a little push. Whispered sweet nothings while he pounded away at his novel, let the walls close in and the snow pile high until he couldn’t tell what was real anymore.
His wife—Wendy—keeps smiling, keeps hoping, but you can see it in her eyes: she knows something’s wrong. And Danny, that kid—he shines, he sees. Things no one else can. Things no one should. The hotel doesn’t like that one bit.
It’s not about blood or axes or mazes in the snow. It’s about losing yourself in a place that feeds on the worst parts of you. It’s about hearing your own thoughts turn against you, watching your reflection smirk when you’re not smiling. It’s about a man trying to be better—and becoming something far, far worse.
And let me tell you, once you’re in the Overlook, you never really leave. You’re always there. Forever… and ever… and ever.