It was snowing heavily outside the old hotel, and the Overlook creaked and moaned every few minutes, but Jack didn't seem to mind as he typed slowly on his typewriter, his mouth slightly agape and his breathing slow as well.

He blocked out any other sounds from his family; they knew not to distract him, and if they did, he'd usually tell them to leave in the most passive aggressive tone he could. You sit on the couch in front of him, not facing him, but facing the fireplace while you knit. Danny's tricycle wheels click against the carpeted and hardwood floors as he rides around, lost in his own world.

Jack huffs suddenly, placing his hand on his forehead as he sits back in his uncomfortable chair. He reads over what he's written, scowling, before slowly standing up and strolling over to one of the Overlook's enormous windows, where he watches the heavy snow fall in silence. After a moment, he turns on the radio beside him.

"The Central and Rocky Mountain States are buried in snow," the reporter's voice crackles through static. "In Colorado ten inches of snow has fallen in just a few hours tonight. Travel in the Rockies is almost impossible. Airports are shut down stranding thousands of passengers."

"Highways are blocked by snowdrifts. Railroad tracks are frozen," the reporter continues. "Officials in Colorado tell Newswatch at least three people have been killed by exposure to freezing winds. Weather forecasters predict more snow and heavy winds tonight and tomorrow, with temperatures dropping well below zero." Jack smiles faintly at the report, his eyes fixed on the swirling white outside.