by Jeremy Craig
“In layman’s terms, Ben, I read minds… Among other things,” she explained with a wink as she sipped at her wine. “And, to answer that other question worming about that beautiful mind of yours… Here at the Reunion Inn, the veil, meaning the walls between the realms of the living and dead, are sufficiently thin enough to allow some of us to cross over once a year, as permitted, for a time—the rest can be summoned, for a price, of course.” She smiled as she took another sip. “Those Rover witches definitely have a lucrative racket. Preying on all those poor rich sods who pay a king’s ransom for a weekend with their lost loved ones. It’s tragic and sad, though I’m not one to look a gift horse in the mouth.”
“Did often enough with me,” Gramps grumbled as he took up one of the lounge chairs. I wanted to join them but found my legs couldn’t move, feeling as heavy as lead weights as a disturbing realization settled in. My Gran was a ghost…
“Dear, your idea of a romantic night out is burgers at the Wayfarers… Not exactly a glamorous night out on the town to a society girl such as myself.” She laughed lightly and offered him a smile to sooth his obviously wounded pride. “It is, however, your simplicity that I love ever so much.” She paused and eyed me, offering up a warm smile as she patted the cushion next to her. “He doesn’t know how special he is, does he?”
“I doubt it.” Gramps shook his head and looked at the floor, suddenly finding the toe of his work boots quite interesting.
“And it’s not for me to tell him,” she concluded with an understanding nod as I finally broke free of whatever it was that had frozen me in place. “It’s the spectral quivers, Ben. Nothing to be ashamed of. Happens to us all. Even Darklings the first time we see a ghost. You should have seen your grandfather here his first time. Turned white as a sheet and didn’t stop shaking and stuttering for hours.” She explained away my unasked question with a pleasant laugh before I knew I’d even thought it up.
“I’m so, so sorry about your parents, Ben. My son was a good man. He deserved better than to go like he did, even if he was only an accountant… Now that I know he and Karen passed I’ll have to pay them a visit so we can all be together now and then. And, perhaps give them both an earful or two for not dropping his dear old mother a line.”
She sniffed and wiped at her eye, ignoring Gramps’ unsettled look that clearly stated he thought that was an absolutely terrible idea.
“It’s really not fair that you got to spend so little time with them, and all of this is dropped onto you… It’s cruel, really.” She sighed.
“I’m sorry, dear,” Gramps mumbled.
“It’s not you, Artur. It’s genetics, magic, and fate, but this awful business with the Vraad weighing so heavily on the both of you. It troubles me deeply.” She shook her head sadly. “Always knew there was a risk of it all coming to a bad end since that botched job in Athens. Was it the same one—the prince?” she asked pointedly, the question sending a chill of terror down my spine. A Vraad Prince?
Gramps nodded, still staring at his toes.
“My Gods, Artur. A whole family?” She gasped. “The boy’s right, you know. This all has to end before it gets worse. Much, much worse. You have a chance here to make things right. Well, not you.”
She waved off Gramps with a throaty chuckle. “You’re hopeless. You, Ben, you definitely have a choice to make. Though, I don’t envy you it in the least. It won’t be easy, but if you make the right one you will know more happiness than this old fool ever has… But at a terrible cost.”
“Could you, by any chance, tell me the choice that’s the right one and how to avoid those terrible costs?” I asked hesitantly, not quite sure what to say other than that. My question gave them both a good laugh.
“I don’t read tarot cards or crystal balls, my boy. I’m a real witch after all. It sadly doesn’t work that way. All that free will and great mystery nonsense and all.” She waved her hand about and downed the rest of her glass. She snapped her fingers and the room door opened. “I’m sorry to ask, dear, but I’ve only got a small amount of time here, and Artur and I have important things…to discuss.” She eyed him darkly, and Gramps swallowed, making an odd wheezing sound as he seemed to shrink fearfully into his chair.
“Be a good lad and run along down to the dining room. Talk to no one in the halls or do something foolish like opening any doors. There are things here that not even a young Darkling should trifle with. At least not if they don’t want to become a permanent spectral resident.” She warmed grimly.
“Oh, and don’t take anything from that wicked, insufferable old crone at the reception desk ether. Go on ahead and order whatever you fancy. Your Grandfather and I will join you in a jiff.” Her instructions done, she smiled, hugged me, and almost playfully shooed me out.
For some reason Gramps was in deep trouble. I knew this the moment the door slammed closed with a flick of Gams’ hand behind me. I felt bad for him, but there was nothing for it but to head down to the dining room as I was told.
I walked as fast as I could down the suddenly eerie hall, as I’d always been taught that in fancy places such as this one never ran.
Crying, scratching, thumping, banging, moans, screams, laughter, and worse could be heard as I passed each door.
As I passed a humming old ice machine a grotesque face bulged out of the wall, stretching it out like a fleshy membrane. Its jaws all but unhinging into a gaping silent shriek. Hands desperately pushing out at either side into the seemingly thin boarder between it and me, scratching, straining, and pushing at it like a thing desperate to claw its way out.
Somehow, I knew that should it get out terrible things would happen, most likely to me. Heart thundering, I gaped at it, shocked into stillness and terrified to look away. Feeling that if I even turned away for a second it would burst free and drag me into whatever nightmare it was trapped in with it, but in the blink of the eye it was gone.
A young maid, impossibly pale, shimmering, and flickering as she pushed her ghostly spectral cleaning cart gave me a smile that chilled the blood. It was impossibly wide and almost made me whimper as she walked flickeringly by, there and gone, there and back again with each step.
Wisely, I decided to move on, as quickly as possible. As suddenly, ghostly Grandma’s instructions made a great deal of sense. Especially given what I’d just seen and what she’d already told me about what lurked within the Reunion Inn.
A clean shaven, square jawed, serious looking man with a grizzly ragged hole in between his eyes (that you could see clean through like a ghastly peep hole) that was barely hidden by a bowler hat, gave me a cold, hard look. He wore a finely tailored old-style pinstriped suit and coat with a flower in his lapel. As he approached his room, he gave me a semi polite nod, and ruffled my hair, sending bowel clenching chills through me as he stepped through his door.
The folded newspaper under his arm dropped to the floor at the room’s threshold next to a silver room service tray of dirty plates and an empty champagne bottle and glasses.
Another pair of guests, a young couple arm in arm did the ethereal shimmering thing and all but walked through me, the pair not noticing me in the least as they headed back to their room. Leaving me feeling disoriented and unsettled, trembling, and fidgeting and rooted to the spot until I could pull back together my shattered wits.
Not quick enough I finally reached the hotel’s reception area where a smirking Gretta waved and cackled. I did my best to ignore her as I made my way to the French doored entry to the dining room. I was met by a white gloved, balding, very proper waiter who seemed to be expecting me.
“Follow me, young master, if you please,” he instructed, and he guided me to a nice, private table in the very back of the room with a tiny lit candle flickering in a gold rimmed frosted glass holder.
“Your grandparents will be joining you soon… I will return with your chocolate milk in a moment.” He smiled, taped at his head, and winked in answer to my unasked question and handed me a gold lettered kid’
s menu with a flourish and was off to fetch my drink.
It was a strange, almost scary, interesting, and impossibly sad place all at once. Everyone smiled and laughed but not everyone belonged here, not really, and they had the look of those who knew it and dreaded the tick of time. Acting like each look, sip of wine, and moment was priceless and unspeakably important.
A young army officer in old style dress greens that looked brand new dined with an old, bent, white haired couple who clung to him tearfully and drank him in as they talked.
In the corner of the dining room at an intimate table, an old man held a young women’s hand and tearfully nodded as she talked. Staring at her, no that didn’t adequately describe it, he sat there dreamily drinking her in with the look of a man who had loved and painfully lost. One who couldn’t bring himself to let go no matter how much it hurt.
At another table a young couple talked softly and lovingly to a little boy, laughing and crying and hugging till I had to look away uncomfortably, a painful tug of sadness in my eyes and chest as I was reminded of my own losses, gripping at my heart with a squeezing hand of melancholy. I found myself longing after my chocolate milk, something my mother used to make me when I was little.
This place is cruel. Loss is hard enough, but this? I guess I was too young to understand then. I’m not ashamed to say I visit the Reunion Inn more than once a year now, but we will get to all that soon enough.
My milk arrived and the waiter smiled down at me understandingly, offering to give me more time to consider my lunch order. I gulped down a bit and tried to concentrate on the menu. There was quite a bit to choose from. I didn’t even notice he had gone, kindly giving me time to think.
When next I glanced up from the menu, I was startled to see the pale, little boy, his parents’ hands in his, staring at me. It seemed he had brought them over on their way back to their rooms.
He smiled.
“I’m sorry, little Billy just insisted on coming to see you, I have no idea why…” The tearful mother apologized, wiping at her splotchy face and running makeup with the cuff of her expensive sweater as the dad, pale and silent just gazed at me numbly.
“You’ve lost your mommy and daddy, haven’t you?” Billy asked in the sweet innocent way really little kids do that leaves you speechless. He nodded his understanding before I could answer. “I thought so… It’s not so bad, you know. It really isn’t. You don’t have to be so sad all the time—you can even see them again, if you want… It might make you feel better?”
He giggled and began to pull his stunned and mortified parents away as they tried to offer me another heartful apology. Leaving me sitting there stunned and shaking like a leaf with hot tears streaming down my face.
He waved happily as they exited the dining area. I couldn’t bring myself to wave back. Something his smile told me he completely forgave and understood as the family walked down the hall, Billy playfully pulling them along.
Gramps and Grandma Mary arrived not long after, and noting my pale face and unnerved expression, they knew something was up. Not surprisingly my Clairvoyant Grandmother almost immediately sighed and leapt into an explanation as Gramps eyed the luxurious room uncomfortably.
“Some spirits, particularly the little ones will sense the sadness in one such as yourself miles off. The poor things can’t help themselves. If they can ease your suffering, they will try,” Grandma Mary explained wistfully as the waiter sat an uncorked cloth wrapped bottle of champagne in a silver ice bucket on the table and bowed away.
“Of course, not all spirits are so benign. Some can be quite malevolent and dangerous, especially here—so much psychic energy and ethereal tampering guaranteed to attract the worst of them like bees to honey. And those too will be attracted to the energies you all but pulsate with, my dear… And they will not be interesting in helping, I assure you,” she warned seriously as Gramps poured her a healthy measure of champagne then filled his own glass with much less of the bubbly amber liquid.
“He will be dealing with one with me later this afternoon,” Gramps announced as he set the bottle back into the ice bucket, carefully trying to avoid his sixth wife’s eyes as he said it.
“Yes, I know,” she asserted unhappily. “The one in Room 33, am I correct?”
“Yup,” Gramps nodded a bit distractedly.
“I won’t dare tell you how to be a Darkling, but I have to say as the boy’s grandmother that I am far from comfortable with that. What resides in Room 33 is pure evil. It’s not a thing to be trifled with.”
“I’m not in the habit of trifling with poltergeists,” Gramps snorted, but his departed spouse was far from amused.
“You think it’s just a simple poltergeist, do you?” Her question and glare melted the smile from his lips, and he sat down his glass in sudden uneasy interest. “It alone is a black, suffocating evil aura that all but covers that cursed room in a darkness I’ve never felt the likes of before. Even should you manage to banish it there’s no real guarantee it will stay gone.”
“Why do some of them look… Well,” I thought about the strange maid and the guy with the hole in his head and shuddered. “Different?” I asked uneasily as I stared about the room.
“Different how?” Grandmother Mary demanded sharply, but not unkindly after sharing a troubled look with Gramps.
“Well, some, like you, look pale—but normal…”
“Well, I’m delighted to know I look normal, dear.” She chuckled. Something deeply troubled shimmering in her eyes as she laughed a fake little bell like laugh. “My love, do I look just normal to you?”
Gramps ignored her nervous attempt at fishing a compliment from him and eyed me with obvious trepidation while worrying at his sleeve button and chewing at his lip.
“Well, you’re beautiful,” I assured her honestly, something that seemed to please her immensely. “But some of them look, well…more really dead than others,” I explained.
“Do they now?” Grandmother Mary asked softly. “How so precisely?”
In explanation I pointed to a man with a twisted, broken looking nose and sandy hair in a cheap looking suit who had just walked in and was glaring about the room. His neck was awkwardly bent, fingers itching at his collar which was rimmed with an unnervingly red stain and did little to hide the ear to ear cut along his throat.
They glanced over at him and shrugged, then looked back to me. “What exactly do you see?” Grandmother Mary inquired, as if she dreaded the answer.
“His throats been slit.” A shiver went through me as I stared, which he noticed. He glared back, snarled, and stormed out of the dining area in an obvious huff.
Grandmother Mary swallowed and again gave her widowed husband a strange look and a nod. He sighed and again shrugged.
“You can’t see it, can you?” I asked them both. Pointedly they didn’t answer, and I took the hint and let the matter drop. As annoying as it was, I was somehow getting used to not getting answers.
Just then the food arrived, saving them from answering what seemed to be an extraordinarily uncomfortable and anxiety inducing question that neither seemed willing to properly tackle. I sighed. More Mysteries and secrets.
The waiter and his young assistant carefully serving them in flowered china plates, eggs benedict, caviar, avocado toast and strawberries and cream for Grandma Mary. She disapprovingly eyed the rare T-bone steak, bacon, fried beans, and eggs set before Gramps. Shaking her head as she regarded her widower husband with a pursed lipped sideways look of ill-concealed disgust.
“You really should eat more health consciously at your age, Artur. Don’t you think?” she asked waspishly as he happily forked a thick, drippy pinkish hunk of steak into his mouth and shrugged. With a defeated sigh she rolled her eyes and daintily nibbled at her avocado toast.
Meanwhile, I quite contentedly tucked into my quarter pound cheeseburger and fries which looked quite odd on the delicate china plate they’d set it on next to a pickle spear, but it was definitely juicy and
outstanding.
The talk and mood lightened as Grandma told me stories that Gramps obviously would have preferred I hadn’t heard, as more than once bright red crept up from his neck through his beard and onto his face. Though he had a good laugh nonetheless.
An hour into our meal Grandma Mary sighed and set down her glass. Gently placing her hand on Gramps’ as she sat a moment staring at him with an odd sad smile.
“That time, isn’t it?” Gramps sighed deeply, a catch in his voice as he gazed at her with a longing expression that I’d never seen on him before, as she traced a manicured finger along his scruffy jaw and gave him a passionate, lingering kiss.
“Until another year, my love,” she whispered huskily when they finally broke apart, her hand lingered on his own as she stood and fixed me with a serious but fond look.
“As for you, young man.” She smiled down at me. “You have a job to do for me.” I nodded as the sadness crept back in and a weight seemed to crush down. “Do you promise to do as I ask, no matter what?
Again, I nodded numbly.
“I want you to work hard. Learn everything you can and keep this old fool alive. As much as I love him, I’m not quite ready for him to take up residence in my house on the other side just yet… I’ve just gotten it the way I like it and just couldn’t bare it if he started sneaking in any bloody plaid pillows.” She sniffed and very stiffly began to walk back to her room. We both didn’t have to be told that this was a thing she had to do alone. She stopped and turned back a few steps from the table.
“Ben, I’ll tell my son and his wife you love them, miss them, and that they should be VERY proud of you… And remember, choose wisely, but don’t worry. It will be all to soon when next we meet. By then I just might have some more answers for you.” She graced Gramps with a wistfully adoring look and gave a little wave, blew a kiss, and walked away as dignified as she could manage.
Gramps stared after her breathing deep shuddering breaths. “Boy, I want you to remember this. There’s nothing that can gut you more than love. It gives you a weakness and changes you in ways you don’t necessarily want. Makes you angrier and sadder than anything else in this damndable world, and when you lose it and are left alone… It breaks you, boy. It cores you out like a melon and teaches you that you never once knew what real sadness, anger, and loneliness really was until just then. Then it gets worse and never leaves, and at that point, if you’re not careful it can make you bitter and cold. But you know what, boy?”