Haunted House Tales

by Riley Amitrani

  As soon as the Andrews were out of sight though, Ingalls simply shook his head and stifled a laugh as he went back to his tea and the afternoon paper. He had just taken a brief taste of the brew when both Thomas and William were back at the reception desk, both looking as if they had seen a ghost. They said nothing, but just stood and grasped the edge of the desk.

  “Are you two alright? You look as if you’ve seen a ghoul?”

  “No, Mr. Ingalls, not a ghoul.” Thomas replied as he was now supporting his companion from falling over.

  “Did you move the Andrews’ belongings and find out what they were talking about?”

  “No, sir.” Thomas said weakly as William was beginning to recover a bit.

  “No? And why would that be?”

  “I think that maybe you had better come see for yourself, sir.” Thomas said in a whisper.

  Ingalls was about to refuse when he got a good look into Thomas’ eyes. This was not a man who rattled easily, but in those eyes, he could see that the man was clearly shaken. He had another man take the desk and he and Thomas returned to room 32 while Harold sat quietly on a chair behind the desk, his head in his hands. As they came down the hall, Ingalls knew immediately that the odor that the Andrews had complained about was no scent wafting off the shore. The closer they got to room 32, the more noticeable the stench got and once in the room, both men immediately covered their mouths and noses.

  “My word, man, that is horrible!” Ingalls exclaimed before he ran back to the hallway. “Any idea where it is coming from?”

  Thomas just moved backward and pointed at room 33. The mere thought of going back in there was out of the question.

  “Mr. Grant’s room? You went in already?”

  Thomas just nodded and began to tremble. The door to 33 was still slightly ajar and Ingalls pushed it open tentatively with one hand. What had been merely noticeable in room 32 was nearly overpowering in the room where Harold Grant resided. With great effort, Ingalls covered his mouth and nose and walked just inside the room to see the apparently unconscious form of Harold Grant splayed across the bed. Ingalls stumbled back to the hallway to join Thomas, both of them now sitting against the far wall, their knees drawn up high.

  “Did you check for a pulse, Thomas?”

  “Yes, sir, Nothing. But his face! Did you see it, sir?”

  Ingalls just nodded. He unfortunately had. He wished with all his heart that he had not, but it was too late for wishing. The tortured and twisted visage on Grant’s face was something Ingalls was sure would haunt him for the rest of his days. Not sure exactly how to handle the situation, Ingalls went to the owner who assured him the man had probably just had a sudden heart attack or some such thing.

  “He just went up there and that was it, right, Ingalls?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Looked completely exhausted and asked not to be disturbed upon check-in?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Then there it is, man. Call the coroner, air out the room and that is that.”

  “What about the other guests, sir?”

  The look from his boss could have turned him to stone. Ingalls knew just to follow his orders and he did as the man had told him. After the coroner had come and gone, the story shared with any curious guests was just that one of the employees had suffered a sudden and fatal heart attack. The last thing to be passed along was that one of their fellow travelers might have fallen ill. An employee? That was of no mind. But to suggest another guest had succumbed was, as his boss had suggested many moons ago, “just bad for business”.

  The maids changed out all of the linens and scoured the room completely. By the time they had finished, whatever had been the source of the nauseating sulfuric odor had vanished…as if it had never been there at all. They all went back to their routines, and no one other than Ingalls, the owner, and the two bellmen knew the true story. The only real fallout from the incident was that both Thomas and William never came back to work at The Excelsior. They did not give notice or even come and talk to Ingalls. They just disappeared.

  The owner and staff assumed it was just some sort of inexplicable phenomenon and thought no more of that day. Until, that is, the same exact thing happened with the next three guests that were checked in to room 33. The staff did their best to cover up the pattern of events that had become routine with staying in room 33. Despite knowing it was biting into the bottom line, the owner finally had no other choice but to no longer rent out room 33. They merely posted a renovation sign across the doorway of the room. Their clientele were still in the dark as to what was actually going on there, but the owner knew it would only be a matter of time before they could no longer cover it up and that would likely be the beginning of the end for The Excelsior as word spread.

  The years went by and a number of new owners took over The Excelsior. Each time, room 33 was reopened and in each time the same pattern repeated itself. It took mere hours before a resident of room 33 was found stone dead with the same terrifying mask of horror on their faces. Each new owner ignored the stories that were bandied about as they assumed ownership, somehow seeming to have to have it happen to them first-hand before believing it themselves. Even today, in 2016, this pattern has manifested itself. However, the current owner, Anne Cartwright, needed just a single taste of this. Between the old tales of the room and what she had seen, she immediately closed off the room permanently.

  She had always been a rational and well-grounded person prior to arriving to run The Excelsior, but she had been so shocked and petrified when it happened to her, she asked no more questions. She was not sure what was going on nor why. She just knew she was not going to let it happen anymore on her watch. No renovation sighs were posted. The room was just no longer made available. Under any circumstances.

  The Excelsior: Under New Management…yet again

  Blackpool, UK, December 24, 2016

  Chloe Riddell had driven most of the day, and if not for the urgency of her trip, she was not sure she could have kept going. She had finished her university program only with the financial support of beloved grandmother, Emily. Chloe’s parents had been tragically killed in a freak airline accident while she has in her third year of school while her father had been attending a conference in Spain. Her mother did not normally accompany him in these regular jaunts, but for some reason she had gone along this time. Despite being shattered emotionally over the loss, Chloe was sure that was it for her education.

  There had been some money that had come to her from the life insurance policy, but it had not covered her mother at all. That situation, coupled with the funeral expenses, had drained the vast majority of the settlement. It would allow her some meager living expenses, but there was no way it would even come close to paying the remainder of her school bills. She was about to call it quits when her Grandmother Emily stepped in. Emily was what today might have been termed a free spirit, but in her day, she was seen as rebellious…labelled the “black sheep” of the family and shunned. Her father had given up looking for her once he gone away to university himself, based on the lies his relatives fed him.

  The family had written her off and he was told, erroneously, that she had died during one of her “wild trips”. In fact, Chloe had not seen her grandmother since she was about ten or so, and was crushed when she got the same line that was fed to her father. When this older woman appeared at her parents’ funeral she was rocked to her core to be reunited with her once again.

  “Is it really, you?” Chloe asked as the woman first took her hands and then hugged her tight at the memorial service.

  “It is dear…so sorry I let those bastards of a family we fell in with coerce me away from you.”

  “Where have you been? What have you been doing?”

  “Later, Chloe…this is not the time or place. Let’s honor your parents. Then we will talk.”

  After all the furor of the services were over and all the dust had settled, Chloe and Emily sat and talked all night. Emi
ly explained that she could no longer stay where she had been due to a lot of choices she had made early in life and how judgmental and disapproving all their relatives had been. She had made sure her son had enough money to go to school or pursue whatever it was he might choose in life and then just faded out of the picture.

  “I know it may sound cold and heartless now, but they were taking it all out on your father as well. It was best for everyone.”

  “Even me?”

  Emily fell silent and winced.

  “I know it was horribly unfair to you as a child, Chloe, but trust me, it would have been much worse otherwise. Those vile people I was unfortunate enough to be related to would have poisoned you against me. I would rather have had you think me dead somewhere that let that happen.”

  “But you came back now….”

  “I did. Chloe…getting old has a few advantages that you will discover when you reach my age. One of those is that you eventually cease caring what others think of you and you no longer feel the need for their approval.”

  Chloe smiled at her with great admiration.

  “And besides. Most of them are dead anyway.”

  Chloe burst into laughter with her grandmother, realizing it was the first time she had laughed since getting the news of her parents’ deaths. As the night went on, Chloe relayed her financial woes. Emily did not frown nor look the least bit upset which Chloe found unsettling to be sure. Emily could see that her granddaughter was baffled by her lack of empathy at her perceived situation and immediately jumped in to put her mind at ease. She never exactly said where or how it was that she had come to have the funds, but Emily assured Chloe that as long as she was able, there was no way that her education was to be cut short.

  And so, it was that on one of the worst nights of her life, Chloe was gifted with an endowment that was earmarked for her educational expenses. She graduated with honors and never forgot her grandmother, Emily. They stayed in touch constantly following her matriculation, and Chloe dedicated all her work, mostly privately, and when it was appropriate, publicly, to the woman who had made her successes possible. It was with these memories that Chloe now pushed herself mile after mile to reach the assisted care facility in Blackpool where Emily was now living.

  Chloe had been hoping that she and her new boyfriend, Jack Sutter, would be able to spend a few days at the holidays together, but Jack had just started a new job and at the moment it was not possible for him to get away beyond anything more than just Christmas Day. Then, just the day before Christmas Eve, Chloe had gotten an emergency call from the facility where Emily was living, letting her know that her grandmother had taken an unexpected downturn in her health and that it might be a good time to visit. They could not give her an exact time frame based on the imprecise nature of predicting her time left based on the myriad of health problems she had.

  As well, and what spurred Chloe out the door, even at the possible threat of losing her own job, was that Emily had been asking for her every day now for the last week. Chloe knew she was probably the only family that her grandmother still had around—certainly the only family that would deem it proper to care about her anymore. And besides…if not for the kindness of her grandmother’s heart and spirit, Chloe knew she would most likely be waiting tables or working as a barista in some generic coffee shop back in Southampton. The emergency trip was nothing she wanted to burden Jack with, and at the moment it seemed as if this would work out fine for both of them. She was still crestfallen over missing the holidays with Jack, but seeing as how he only had the one day off, she felt not quite as bad. There would be other holidays together, and where she needed to be right now, totally undistracted by anything, was Blackpool with her grandmother.

  Chloe plied herself with caffeine and loud music on the radio and cold air from the open windows as she made the long and emotional journey north toward Blackpool. She was not familiar at all with Blackpool itself. She knew of it vaguely from having seen it mentioned in travel brochures around town and even a short project she had done for her graphic arts firm for the newly vamped amusement park that sat atop Pleasure Beach. She pulled into Blackpool and made the rounds through town to find lodging for the night. In her haste to get out of Southampton, it had just never crossed her mind that she would be arriving into a popular shoreside resort town on Christmas Eve.

  In retrospect, she realized her lack of foresight, but the call from the care facility had overridden all her rational thought processes. All she wanted to do once she could get off from work, was to get on the road and get to her grandmother’s bedside. However, after being turned away by six or seven places, the reality of her situation began to settle over her like a shroud. Chloe was about to give up and was seriously considering just sleeping in the car, though she was hardly prepared for a frigid night in her car. As she cruised down the Lytham Street in town, she looked ahead to see a modest-looking hotel, The Excelsior.

  She seemed to recall from something she had read somewhere that The Excelsior had fallen from its once lofty standing, but she could not recall the circumstances. The average-looking structure ahead did not inspire her to rush to check it out, but at this point, Chloe thought it might be this place or nothing at all. She parked and climbed the steep steps that led to the unassuming, yet festively decorated entrance. With great hope in her heart, Chloe approached the reservation desk and a woman in her mid-fifties looked up from her writing and smiled as she pushed a lock of graying hair behind her ear.

  “Welcome, Miss…I’m Anne Cartwright, the owner. May I help you?”

  “I hope so, Ms. Cartwright. Would you by any chance have a room available for the night?”

  “No reservation?”

  “I am afraid not.”

  “I’m terribly sorry, Miss. But it’s Christmas Eve. We are booked solid.”

  Chloe felt like the whole world was slipping out from under her feet as she slumped against the desk and her eyes filled with tears. Anne rushed from behind the counter and caught Chloe by the shoulders as it appeared she might fall to the floor.

  “Easy, child…come with me.”

  Anne walked Chloe to the small but cheery lobby where a lively fire was already crackling away. She handed Chloe a glass of water and let gather her emotions. After thanking Anne for the water and her concern, Chloe looked into her face and fighting back fresh tears, explained her situation. No one in town had a room and all she wanted to do was spend Christmas with her grandmother, as her last surviving family member. Anne was deeply moved by the story and could see just how exhausted and desperate the poor girl was. Reluctantly, Anne told Chloe the long history associated with room 33 and why she had vowed never to rent it out again.

  Chloe brightened at the prospect of there actually being something available at last. Anne’s tale was indeed bizarre and strange, but Chloe was just not the type of person to buy into all that “haunted room” nonsense. After much insistence on her part, Chloe finally got Anne to relent and she checked her into room 33. The room had not been let out in almost twenty-five years. Anne was still unsure as she helped Chloe get her things from the car and into her room, but surely after all this time, whatever had been cursing that room would have long since departed. That is what Anne told herself even as she came back down the hall to the lobby. But even as she stood in front of the roaring fire, not feeling the slightest bit of warmth from the flames, she prayed she had not just made a huge mistake.

  Room 33: Ooooh that smell …can't you smell that smell?

  Chloe stood in the middle of the room and just looked around. Anne had on some level given her the shivers with all her stories of people who checked in to the room but never checked out alive. But as far as she could tell it was just another unremarkable hotel room. It was a simple double bed, a pair of elegantly carved oaken bedside tables, a small dresser with drawers, and a small desk and chair just in the corner, next to a window that looked out toward the sea. Chloe lifted her suitcase from the floor and set it gently on
the bed. She checked out the tiny bath that was just off the left side of the bed. A dim light illuminated a ceramic tub with a shower and toilet and sink. Nothing fancy, but also nothing to give her any cause for alarm. Boy…she had really let the owner spook her.

  Chloe shouldered off her winter coat and hung it on the middle hook of a three-hook hanger set into the wall just behind the door. She sat on the bed and took out her cell phone to call Jack to let him know shew had arrived safely and that she had secured a hotel for the night. As the call rang, Chloe just looked around and shook her head as she laughed to herself at all the hoops she had just had to jump through with Anne Cartwright over the supposed curse that room 33 held.

  “Chloe! Good to hear from you. All set?” Jack asked.

  “I am but it was an ordeal!”

  Chloe sat back against the headboard and regaled Jack with how close she had come to possibly having to spend the night in her car as well as the superstition and legend of the one room available at The Excelsior.

  “You are kidding, right?” he asked.

  “Not at all. I thought the poor woman was going to pass out right in front of me as she told me the long and fantastical stories that have surrounded this room since the hotel was built.”

  “Think there might be something to it, Chloe?”

  “I have no idea. All I know is it is a normal hotel room. A bit boring, but normal. I thought maybe she was trying to gouge me since it is Christmas Eve, but that was no it at all. For whatever reasons, she really seems to believe it all.”

  “Incredible….”

  They talked a few more minutes and then Chloe hung up to unpack and get her bearings on Blackpool so she could see if the home where her grandmother was now living was perhaps within walking distance. The dresser was small, but seeing as how Chloe had only packed for maybe two days at the most, it was fine. It was still digging at her that she could not stay longer, but her boss had made it clear that she needed to be back in the office no later than the 27th of December. Besides spending Christmas Day with her grandmother, Chloe also needed to have a conversation with whoever was in charge there to get a more accurate picture of her grandmother’s condition and see if anyone could give her a better idea of just how long she might have left.