i did little thing after getting inspired by the music from the haunting of hill house. let me be perfectly clear, though—this was just a fun little project to explore the shining's ambiguities (i fucking love the shining) and get closure with nina. it is NOT cannon, but was lots of fun to write! enjoy!

SEVEN YEARS AGO—

"OH GOD, you guys aren't good at this!"

it happened before nina could blink. one moment, she had a despairing sort of hope. she had a knife. she had allies; friends. maybe, maybe, they could still escape this place. maybe her friends, the people she had loved and protected since this had all began, would see reason. maybe shay wouldn't take arlington's hand.

and nina could not fathom a reality in which she died. she couldn't. nobody could.

her friends weren't murderers. she loved them, and they loved her, and good always prevailed in the end.

that hope was stupidity.

the next moment, nina was no longer holding bart's hand. he was grabbing her arm, twisting her to face him—then slipping the hilt of her knife right out of her hand and impaling it into her abdomen. she felt its tip drive out her back.

"ladies first, aye?"

nina's reality came crashing to her feet. bart had stabbed her—bartholomew loomis. they had grown up together. played tag on the playground. she'd helped him with his homework a couple times. they'd been friends.

and he betrayed her.

nina fell to her knees as soon as bart pulled the knife out and released her, a stream of blood spurting from her wound. he and that knife had been the only thing holding her up.

she slid forward onto her stomach, wet cheek against the cold marble floor, a pool of blood spreading under her body.

dying was slow. she felt lou's hand in hers. heard the screams of those who died next. watched shay dance.

as she bled out, too weak to move or speak, nina wondered how this could have been possible. she no longer recognized the people she'd known best. was a moment enough to change a person so dramatically? to make him a murderer? or had nina been such an awful judge of character that she hadn't seen the evil festering in her friends before it was too late?

she missed her family. she missed her friends—they were all gone now—either dead, or just... gone.

nina watched as the survivors left, happy, with blood on their hands, in their hair, painting their faces, their grins. she watched as night became day, then night again, then day. then night. winter, then spring, and summer again.

her eyes were open—she couldn't close them. she wasn't breathing. she couldn't move. and she was so cold. was this death? the afterlife? purgatory? hell?

＊

nina opened her eyes.

she was standing in the gold-carpeted hall at the overlook hotel, chandeliers lit above with burning candles.

she looked down at herself. red dress. touched her stomach—no hole. no crusted blood.

she was alive.

it had been a bad dream. she laughed, hysterical for a moment, then stopped abruptly when she hear voices. music.

she followed the noise into the ballroom, she paused when she stepped onto the marble floor.

the room was grand, decorated finely, and filled with people. all wore clothing reminiscent of the '20s. nina stuck out in her dress, and in the way she wore her hair, but nobody quite seemed to notice her.

a man played at the piano, a jarringly bright tune. he was familiar somehow. but nina didn't stop to wonder why.

she moved deeper into the ballroom, smiling as she looked up at the shining crystals of the chandelier. they reflected the firelight, casting. warm glow over the lovely colors of the room. the gentle laughter, clinking of glasses, and tones of the piano made lovely music. nina wanted to dance to it.

how wonderful, to be alive.

"ms. strode, we've been expecting you," sai da man nearby. he held a tray of drinks, and gestured for nina to move towards the bar. "we've reserved your seat."

she gave him a brilliant smile. "thank you, mr. grady."

she slid into her seat, the only empty one at the bar. the boy beside her looked about her age. he wore a vintage-looking tuxedo, and held a top hat in one hand, checked the time with another with a small golden pocket watch.

"right on time," he said after a moment, and nina glanced at him. he looked familiar, too.

"what time is it, exactly?" she asked, frowning just a bit as the bartender placed a glass in front of her, filled with a dark, thick liquid. "your order, ms. strode," he said.

"time to wake up," the boy responded, meeting her gaze. "you've been asleep for six years, marina. but i need to know that you're ready to wake up."

"i... but i am awake," she said, voice quiet.

suddenly, something felt wrong about this. nina felt sick. she felt a sharp pain throb to life in her stomach—the glass toppled over and spilled all over the front of her dress, dribbled down her chin. she gasped, and pressed a hand to her stained dress, the movement eliciting another deep thrum of pain in her abdomen.

and it all came rushing back. nina wasn't alive—she was dead. she was dead, and there was her body, right on the ballroom floor, lou's beside it. they still looked warm. pink.

she had walked right past it and hadn't even noticed.

"i don't understand," she said, eyes filling with tears as she wiped the dark liquid off her chin. she licked at it—blood.

"what is this? where are we?" she grabbed the boy's arm with her blood-stained fingers. he was elias, she realized. how had she not seen it the moment she'd seen him?

elias shook his head, gave a sharp sigh. "we're in the ballroom of the overlook hotel. you died here—six years ago. listen, this... it messes with your mind at first. i still remember my first day—july fourth, 1921. and i had nobody there to walk me through it."

a particularly tortured look filled his eyes.

"i don't understand," she said again, wiping her tears away and leaving streaks of red under her eyes. "i'm dead? i thought..."

"the hotel can confuse you. it likes to torture its souls. give us hope, make us think we're happy and safe. it will even let us leave for a time, if we've slept long enough. i can. you're not quite there yet." elias looked grim, and he tossed back the alcohol in his glass, swallowing it down. "either way, we will always end up back here. the hotel is your prison now, forever, nina. i need to be sure that, no matter how alive you feel, you remember that you aren't alive at all."

he grabbed her face.

"you're only awake. and no matter how long you try and keep your eyes open, someday, they will close again."

he released her, and nina nodded, blinking. the bartender handed her a napkin—she wiped off her face, dabbed at her dress, where the blood was crusting. "thank you, lloyd," she said quietly.

a table nearby erupted in laughter, and nina looked around again.

now that she'd been given a cold reminder that none of this was real, she saw the cracks where the illusion of it was falling apart. the lights of the chandelier flickered unnaturally. people held conversations, but their sentences meant nothing. the food never disappeared from the plates. the cups never emptied. cigarettes never burned out.

"this isn't real at all," she said, and elias nodded, checking his pocket watch again.

"just the overlook, giving you a little demonstration of its power. all these people died here. all of them decided to sleep forever."

elias stood, snapped his pocket watch closed, and tucked it into his waistcoat as he put his top hat on.

"you have a choice, too. waking up will hurt like hell, you know," he said, giving her a slightly bitter grin.

"anyways, i have to go. good luck."

nina watched him walk away, swinging his cane. he stepped through the open doors of the ballroom and into the hall, then disappeared from view.

she stepped forward. she wanted to follow him. but she stopped in front of her body—stared down at it.

if she slept, she could lose herself, forget the things that made her heart ache. she saw the appeal. partying forever—the drinks never ran dry, the music never stopped playing, the night never ended, and nina would never have to face the harsh reality of the world again.

but, with that choice came defeat, and shame, and nina could never let herself stoop to that level. not in life, or in death.

she she stepped over her body, formulating that list of names—people whose faces would feel the force of her fist.

she passed the man at the piano. she didn't look to see who it was. she didn't want to know.

she stopped by an old photo photo on her way out. it was mounted against the wall, labeled 'the overlook hotel, july fourth ball, 1921.' and she spotted herself standing there, fitting right in with the era, smile bright, beside elias and lou and blaire. genie was there too, champagne in hand, along with so many others. all the friends she had watched die.

sawyer wasn't there. what did that mean?

she stepped into the carpeted hallway, deciding she'd find out.

and nina woke up.