The New Paranormal

by Jackson Tyler

  “Thanks, I guess?” I said. I went to close the door again, but before I could, he kept talking.

  “How have you been finding your stay so far?” he asked.

  “It’s fine,” I said cautiously. “Thanks for the muffin, but I have to sleep.”

  “Have you noticed anything strange?”

  “Anything strange?” I smirked. “What, is this room haunted or something?”

  Those perfect lips set in a straight line.

  Oh. Oh, this was interesting.

  I opened the door a fraction more.

  “You know this is the thirteenth floor,” the bellhop started tentatively.

  “I thought it was the fourteenth floor,” I said with a smirk. This guy seemed sweet and sincere, like he was genuinely concerned for my safety.

  The bellhop shook his head. Before weighing up what I was going to say next, I scanned him up and down, trying to work out from a glance which buttons he had and how to push them.

  If this man believed in ghosts, he might believe in psychics too. He seemed genuinely concerned about my safety, which meant he was a sucker. No matter how pretty or kind this man was, suckers were always fair game.

  “So what’s the story here?” I asked. “Did someone get murdered in this room, or-”

  “May I come in?”

  I chanced a glance behind me. Hannibal knew to stay quietly in the bathroom, and if the bellhop wanted to use my bathroom, I could say no. Despite myself, I was interested in what he had to say. Living in a haunted hotel room could be good for business. And I had to admit: I wasn’t opposed to him being closer to my bed.

  “Sure,” I said. I opened the door wider and ushered him in. “I’m Isaac, by the way. Isaac Baker.”

  “Roman Bula.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Roman.” I hopped onto my bed before he had the chance to see what I was doing, updated my status on the website to ‘be right back’, and slammed the lid down.

  He paled when he looked at my bed. “You’ve been using tarot cards.”

  “I needed guidance.” For Roman, I was going to pretend I was interested in ghosts — a true believer. I was always a good actor. Then, when I got the chance, I would mention shyly that I did readings for money. Hook, line, sucker.

  “You can’t do that in here.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Is that a hotel rule?” Somehow, I doubted it.

  “You don’t know what you’re messing with in here.” Roman wasn’t pulling punches. This man was blunt.

  “Wait until you see my spirit board.”

  “You have a ouija board?”

  “It’s a spirit board. I can’t call it a ouija board for copyright reasons.”

  “You need to get rid of it.”

  “I have a connection to the afterlife. Ghosts can’t hurt me.” At least the second half my sentence was true. Ghosts couldn’t hurt me — on account of them not being real.

  “You’re being naive,” said Roman.

  “Who are you?” I asked. “I didn’t know that warning guests about ghosts was part of a bellhop’s job.”

  And I was starting to think that muffin wasn’t complimentary so much as it was an excuse for Roman to come and talk to me. Warn me. How noble.

  “I’m a paranormal investigator. I’ve been observing this hotel for three years now, and it’s not safe. Especially not for these kinds of things.” He gestured at the tarot cards. “You’re as good as inviting them into your bed.”

  Okay, so maybe I couldn’t sell him a reading. He seemed dead-set against it, scared of my cards. But I was starting to get a better idea. It was all I could do to stop my lips curling into a smile. I flopped down and propped myself up on my elbows. “A paranormal investigator, huh?”

  “Yes.”

  A real live ghostbuster. How fascinating. “How long have you been in the paranormal investigation field?”

  “Seven years.”

  “Have you ever worked with a medium?”

  He looked me up and down. “No.”

  “Would you like to?” I flashed him my best smile. I had always been told I had a winning smile, the kind that could charm anyone.

  “I have yet to meet a medium who isn’t a fraud.”

  “What are you talking about? You just met me.”

  If I had expected awe or shock, I was disappointed.

  “You’re a salesman, not a medium,” said Roman.

  I couldn’t be too offended. He was right. “What makes you say that?” I asked curiously. Was Genesis losing his touch?

  “You slammed your laptop closed as soon as I got into the room.”

  “I might have been watching porn.”

  “There’s a USB microphone sticking out from under your pillow.”

  “I might have been making porn.”

  “And there are tarot cards on your bed.”

  “I might have-”

  “I’m relatively confident saying you were doing psychic readings online.” His lip curled into a sneer. “You were scamming sad people who need closure into spending money on your lies.”

  “Providing a valuable online service doesn’t mean I’m a con artist,” I said defensively. There were plenty of other reasons I was a con artist.

  “It substantially increases your chances of being a liar. But more importantly, you told me at the door that you hadn’t noticed anything strange here. If you were truly a medium, you would have felt something.”

  “You seem sure of yourself.”

  “In 1972, a young man was hacked to death with an axe in this room.”

  “So you think he’s haunting me now?” I tried to sound serious, but my voice came out like a taunt.

  Roman either didn’t notice or didn’t care, because he kept talking. “In 1978, a newlywed was strangled and then stabbed to death in the stairwell while she was getting ice for her and her husband.”

  “I’m shaking.”

  “You should be. I’m not finished.”

  “It’s a seedy hotel. People die in seedy hotels.” I shrugged. It didn’t phase me.

  “Another woman was stabbed to death in 1984. The same thing happened in 1990.”

  “So a serial killer used to hang out here over twenty years ago. So what?”

  “A healthy thirty-three-year-old woman had a heart attack in the thirteenth floor corridor in 1993.”

  “I guess she wasn’t that healthy.”

  “In the same corridor, five years later, a man fell down the stairs and ended up in a coma. When he woke up, he said he was pushed.”

  I sighed. “How do you remember all these numbers?”

  “They’re important. I know all their names too. Barbara Hennessey, Laura Olivier, Catherine-”

  “Can I have the cliff notes version, please?” I said. I yawned dramatically. I would never remember these names.

  “Since 1972, the thirteenth floor of the Cressley hotel has seen one axe murder, five stabbings, two ‘heart attacks’, two suffocations, two violent falls, and half a strangulation.”

  I forgot the information as soon as he told me. I didn’t have the brain space for all of that. “What’s half a strangulation?”

  Roman stared at me. “I told you already. The victim was strangled before she was stabbed.”

  “Right.” I stared at him. Roman hadn’t convinced me that ghosts were real and this place was haunted, but he’d definitely convinced me that it was creepy.

  He narrowed his eyes at me. “So tell me again how you’re a medium who didn’t notice a single unnerving thing about this room?”

  I didn’t like anyone else having the upper hand. “Not all spirits linger,” I said.

  “These ones do.”

  “I don’t know what to tell you. Maybe the ghosts don’t want to let themselves be seen right now.”

  The wall behind my bed let out an inconveniently timed loud groan that almost made me jump. I suppressed my expression of alarm before Roman noticed.

  “Okay,” I said, “okay, I’m
getting something now. I think they’re here-”

  “Yes, they’re here. But you don’t have any connection to them. You’re a fraud.”

  “Well, aren’t you blunt?” And condescending.

  “Yes. And you’re in danger. Especially if you’re using tarot cards in here. You’re opening the door for malevolent spirits. You’re opening yourself up to things you can’t possibly understand.”

  I scoffed. I refused to let Roman scare me. “I don’t believe in ghosts.”

  “I’m not here to upset you,” said Roman. “I’m here to warn you and to check your room for signs of supernatural activity before you sleep. I need to know you’re safe.”

  As impressed as I was by Roman’s deductive skills, I certainly wasn’t about to let him look around. Not while I had an illegal cat in the bathroom.

  “No way.”

  “I don’t want your death on my hands.”

  I spluttered a laugh. “Way to be melodramatic.”

  “Isaac-”

  “I said no.”

  He stepped away from me, reproached. “Okay,” he conceded. “I’ll leave.”

  “Okay,” I repeated. I wouldn’t have minded having Roman in my room a little longer, but I had the feeling my body wasn’t on his list of things to investigate in here.

  “Just promise me you won’t use the spirit board. You could seriously hurt yourself with that thing.”

  “Fine. I promise.” I rolled my eyes. He wasn’t going to leave unless I acquiesced.

  Roman reached for his waist and lifted up the bottom of his blazer to reveal an honest-to-god leather fanny pack. I spluttered a laugh. “What is that?” I asked.

  “It’s practical,” said Roman. He unzipped the top and pulled out a thin card. He passed it to me. I took it, intrigued.

  Roman Bula. Paranormal Investigator.

  At the bottom of the card were his contact details.

  I fluttered my eyelashes, testing the waters. “Are you giving me your number?”

  If I wasn’t mistaken, the reddish undertone to his cheeks deepened slightly. “Please call me if you notice anything strange. If only to humor me.”

  I sighed. “Yeah.” I wondered if I could finagle a booty call.

  “I won’t tell management about your cat, by the way,” said Roman before he turned to leave the room.

  “What cat?” I feigned innocence, my heart beating faster.

  “The one hiding in your bathroom.” He smiled. “I like cats. Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me.”

  “And your business card is safe with me,” I chirped.

  After Roman left, the room felt oddly quiet. The things he’d said had unsettled me more than I wanted to let on, and the hairs on the back of my neck were on end. I let Hannibal out of the bathroom, and he bolted straight for the bed.

  I joined him, and he settled on my lap. I stared at Roman’s business card. What an interesting night. What an interesting guy.

  I opened my laptop again and plugged my microphone back in. No matter what Roman said about me being in danger, no matter if his spooky stories about stabbings had made my skin crawl, I had work to do. Maybe Roman didn’t believe I was a real psychic, but plenty of people online were begging me to take their money.

  Chapter Four

  Roman

  Kyle was nursing a flask between his hands when I came downstairs. He looked up sharply when the elevator doors dinged open and went as if to hide his drink, but then he recognized me and took another swig. I shook my head, amused. That was Kyle. The night manager at the Cressley was like a drunk grandpa to all the staff here. He’d been working here since before I was born. And he was an invaluable source of information about the comings-and-goings of this place.

  “Drinking on the job, Kyle?” I said, shaking my head as I approached the front desk. Kyle had been doing this job for over thirty years, and while I considered him a friend, I was well aware he wasn’t necessarily a good man or a good worker.

  He extended the flask to me. “Do you want some, kiddo?”

  “I’ll pass,” I said. I always kept my wits about me.

  “It’s a quiet night,” he said. “I don’t think you need to worry about it getting in the way of your work.”

  “Mr. Partridge might need another bottle of sparkling water at four in the morning,” I reminded him. “I want to be courteous to my elders.”

  Kyle rolled his eyes. Mr. Patridge had been living here for almost as long as Kyle had been working here, and the two of them were like mortal enemies — only both old, and neither effectual.

  “So how was Mr. Isaac Baker?” asked Kyle. “Is he in mortal peril?”

  “Even if he were, I doubt he’d let me help him out of it. He’s a phony phone psychic. He doesn’t believe in ghosts.”

  “Ooh,” Kyle winced.

  “I didn’t sense anything too dangerous,” I said. “Obviously I couldn’t get my tools out when I was in his room, but I ran the EMF meter through the corridor and only got the usual readings. He’s safe for now.” I paused. With the way his job lay out a welcome mat for whatever lurked in these walls, I doubted he’d be safe for long. “How long do you think he’s staying for, Kyle?”

  Kyle shrugged. “He didn’t give me a check-out time. He said that his ex had kicked him out and he had nowhere else to stay.” Kyle took another swig of whatever was in that flask of his. “Poor guy.”

  So he was single. I knew not to sleep with someone I vowed to protect, but with that golden flow of hair and those sparkling green eyes, Isaac tempted my self-control.

  “He can’t stay indefinitely,” I said.

  “Plenty of people stay on the fourteenth floor indefinitely.”

  “They’re not Isaac,” I insisted. “He’s different. He’s pretending to commune with the spirits in that room. Don’t you think that will upset them?”

  Kyle frowned and set his flask on the desk in front of him. “I suppose it would piss me off, maybe. If I were a ghost.”

  “Exactly. Can’t you make him move rooms or something?”

  “He wanted our cheapest room.”

  “But Kyle-”

  Kyle spread his hands, revealing deep-set lines on his palms. “I felt sorry for the guy, and he needed somewhere cheap to live- Besides, this is my job.”

  I nodded. I could keep getting upset at Kyle for letting Isaac stay in room 1405, but it wouldn’t change anything. As long as he lived there, I had to protect him.

  ***

  Kyle had been right. The Cressley was deserted tonight. Everything was silent except a dribble of water from the fountain in the lobby and the sporadic creaking of a tired old building. The room stretched out for what seemed like miles around me (although I knew from blueprints that it was less than 48,000 square feet). The lights were dim here, but not in that way that put you to rest and made you want to close your eyes. It was that kind of semi-darkness that put me on edge and made me restless, desperate to find and destroy whatever hid in the shadows.

  I distracted myself with an article about Bigfoot while I waited for something to do. Elliot was the cryptozoologist of our duo, but I still liked to stay informed about every conspiracy, no matter how wild. You never knew where you’d find a puzzle piece that could bring it all together.

  I intermittently wandered up to the thirteenth floor to scan for psychic energy with my EMF meter, but nothing was out of the ordinary. That floor always gave me high readings, but tonight was no worse than usual.

  “Any luck?” asked Kyle when I came downstairs for the third time.

  “That depends on what you mean by luck. I didn’t find incontrovertible proof of ghosts, but I think Isaac will be safe tonight.”

  Before Kyle could say anything in response, the front door to the hotel swung open. I straightened quickly. I might have had this job because I wanted to investigate the Cressley hotel, but it was my job, and I wanted to keep it.

  Our new guest was a stiff man in a stiff suit. He gave the cherub fount
ain a disdainful look as he walked past it. The statue was tacky, but I liked it. The cherub always smiled, and you didn’t usually see smiles in this place.

  The Cressley Hotel was not a tourist destination, a love nest, or the sort of place to host business conferences. It was seedy and run down, used by victims escaping abusive situations, fugitives hiding from the cops, people conducting illicit affairs, and it provided long term housing to those who couldn’t afford it elsewhere. This hotel wasn’t a cheerful place to live or work.

  The guest thrust his bags at me as soon as I approached him. I escorted him to the front desk to meet Kyle, who was hastily popping a breath mint between his vodka stale lips.

  “What can I do for you today, sir?” said Kyle.

  “I have a lady coming over,” he said. “I want the nicest room in this hotel.”

  He wasn’t in the right place for nice.

  “We can put you on our top floor,” said Kyle with a bright smile.

  “The penthouse?”

  “I’m afraid we don’t have a penthouse. But we have a good view of the Space Needle.”

  “It’ll do,” he scoffed.

  “Roman,” said Kyle. He handed me a key. “Could you take this man’s bags up to room 3215?”

  I took the key and disappeared toward the elevator. I didn’t get along with guests well. Aside from Kyle, who liked me, management only kept me around for my muscle.

  I opened up the room for our new guest and gently put his luggage by the door. I fluffed the limp pillows on the bed and spritzed some air freshener around the room to make it smell a little less damp. I turned on the heater at the wall. Mostly, I milled around so I had an excuse to stay until our guest showed up with his wallet — and hopefully, a generous tip. Even ghost hunters had to survive financially.

  As I hovered awkwardly by the door, my mind strayed back to Isaac. I wished I could get his face out of my head. The flutter of long, dark eyelashes over green eyes. Had he been wearing eyeliner? I couldn’t tell.

  I wanted Isaac out of that room, so the idea of turning him in for having a cat in his room had occurred to me. I hadn’t been certain he had a cat at first — the bag of cat food on his bed might have been for someone else — but the look on his face when I brought it up confirmed my suspicions. But I knew from Kyle that this man needed somewhere to sleep, and I couldn’t in good conscience leave anyone potentially homeless. Not unless things on the thirteenth floor got a lot worse.