Haunted House Tales

by Riley Amitrani

  As he closed the top drawer of the dresser and went to the bathroom to set out her toiletries, Chloe began to detect the unmistakable odor of what smelled like rotten eggs. It was faint at first, but the longer she focused on it, the stronger it seemed to be getting. She went back to the main room and sniffed around trying to see if she could locate the source of the rapidly strengthening stench. No matter where she went in the room, there seemed to be no real origin of the smell. Even a thorough search in the bathroom did not seem to be indicating where it was coming from. It was like in was coming from everywhere all at once.

  Considering that it might simply be some rotted scent carrying over from the shore, Chloe popped open her window to check. Nothing. In fact, the air outside that was drifting in from the mild breeze coming off the sea was clean and fresh. She left the window open for a bit in hopes of airing out her room. Maybe, she thought, it was just some leftover foulness since, according to Anne, the room had not been let out in over twenty-five years. However, even after trying this, when Chloe closed the window again, the odor was just as obvious, if not even more so. Running the water in the sink and the shower did not alleviate the smell either. Covering her mouth and nose, Chloe fled the room to let Anne know and see what could be done to fix it.

  As Chloe breathed in deeply of the fresh air in the hallway and made her way back to the reception desk and the lobby, she had a feeling that this was why the room was not being let out. It was not the curse that Anne had so dramatically explained, but simply the persistent stench there was making the room uninhabitable. Chloe supposed it was easier to scare people off with a story of unexplained deaths there than knowing they could not have guests think there was some sort of chemical leak somewhere. If that got out, she reasoned, it would not be long before no one would want to patronize the place at all. From all appearances, The Excelsior looked to be just hanging on as it was. Historically, it had certainly seen better days.

  The reception desk was unattended when Chloe arrived, and she finally spotted Anne sunk into a chair near the fireplace, a tumbler of some dark liquor in her hand. She was staring blankly into the flames, almost as if she were staring through them rather than at them as Chloe arrived at her side. Chloe did not want to startle the woman, as she had apparently not heard her approach, so she reached out and touched Anne gently on the arm to get her attention. The woman flinched smartly at her touch and gasped, sloshing a bit of her drink onto the floor.

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Cartwright. I did not mean to sneak up on you.”

  “Oh, no worries, dear. Was just lost in my thoughts, I guess.”

  However, despite her reply, Chloe could see that the woman had something on her mind other than ‘her thoughts’. She looked about as worried and concerned as anyone could be on Christmas Eve.

  “Anything wrong?” Anne asked.

  Chloe thought that an odd initial response, but if the noxious smell in her room was a known entity, then perhaps not.

  “Just my room.” Chloe replied.

  A visible shiver passed through Anne’s frame as soon as those words were out of Chloe’s mouth. As well, Chloe could not help but sense that Anne was shocked to even be seeing her. Whatever might be the truth surrounding room 33, apparently Anne had bought into the story she had told earlier. Chloe suppose if that was the case, then according to the superstition, she should already be dead. Prone on her bed with a twisted grimace of horror, pain and revulsion on her face.

  “Did you see something?” Anne asked as her hand holding the glass with the remaining liquor began to tremble. It was impossible to miss that this was most likely not her first drink of the evening.

  Again, Chloe was utterly puzzled by her reaction.

  “No, it’s not that, ma’am. It’s the smell.”

  What little color that was remaining in Anne’s face quickly drained away as she clasped the tumbler with both hands and looked away from Chloe and back at the fire.

  “Ma’am? Ms. Cartwright?” Chloe asked wondering if the woman was actually right in the head.

  “Sorry, dear...a smell you say?” She struggled in her reply, her words slurred, partly from the alcohol and partly from what looked to Chloe as sheer fear.

  “Yes. Like rotten eggs. It’s everywhere. I cannot figure out where it is coming from. Maybe there is a plumbing problem since it has been empty for so long? I was hoping maybe someone here could drop by and take a look?”

  “Come into the room? Oh, no…that would not be possible.”

  “Excuse me? Everyone off for the holidays already?”

  “It’s not that, dear. It’s just…well…”

  “Let me guess.” Chloe said cutting her off abruptly. “The curse?”

  “Actually…yes. Ever since the last episode there, no one here goes in there.” Anne tried to offer a weak smile but it just came off as forced.

  “You have got to be kidding me. Is this how you treat guests here?” Chloe was trying to keep her temper, but dealing with this preposterous legend was beginning to annoy her.

  “No, dear. It’s just that room. I told you about the smell and what happens there. It almost always smells like that. Especially just before…” her voice trailed off as she took a healthy slug from her drink.

  Chloe had had enough. She knew she came from a larger, more sophisticated background that what was likely in Blackpool, but this was too much. Her temper often got her in trouble routinely, so Chloe reluctantly took the advice her grandmother had given her as a young child:

  “Do not let your emotions control you, Chloe. When you get mad, take a breath, count to ten, and relax.”

  Chloe exhaled calmly once she had reached ten and magically the knee jerk reaction to lash out at the hotel owner was gone.

  “OK. Fine. Then can a get some bleach so I can flush the pipes?” Chloe asked.

  Anne nodded and led her to a closet just off the reservation desk and handed her the bleach. She watched as Chloe went back down the hall and disappeared into her room. Anne refilled her glass with the bourbon that she was slowly drowning herself in ever since leaving Chloe at her room earlier. Her eyes filled with tears as she plodded, unsteadily back to her chair in the lobby and the fire.

  Room 33: You Have Got to be Kidding Me…

  Despite having heeded her grandmother’s advice and having remained calm in Anne’s presence, Chloe found herself putting a death grip on the two bottles of bleach as she stomped back down the hall, rolling her eyes at the staff of The Excelsior. It was unbelievable to her that a hotel, in this day and age, was allowing fables and ghost stories to be more of a driving factor in how they ran their business than in reality and good customer service. The smell was just as overpowering as she returned to the room and she hurried to the bath to douse all the accessible plumbing with a healthy dose of bleach. As she emptied one bottle, she was now not sure what was worse, the original sulfur-like smell or the current mixture of sulfur overlaid with the strong chlorine odor.

  What she did know was that she could not tolerate either and that maybe it would be a good idea to just let the bleach settle into the pipes and do its thing. She had not eaten since leaving Southampton, and this seemed like a good time to both grab a quick bite of supper while the plumbing got treated. Besides, if she was going to eat, it might be a good idea to go now before it got too late and everyone was closed up in observance of Christmas Eve. She grabbed her coat and keys and closed the door behind her as she headed to the lobby and then out.

  Chloe was about to ask Anne for some recommendations for a good place to go to eat, when she glanced into the lobby and saw a glass tumbler, empty, on the floor beside the chair where she had first found Anne. The woman was hidden by the high back of the chair, but Chloe could see her arm hanging over the arm rest, her pale fingers just above the drained glass. Concerned that something bad had occurred, Chloe rushed to the chair to check on the hotel owner. She was immediately relieved that she was fine…still breathing and all…just passed out she gu
essed.

  Chloe set the crystal tumbler on the short table that was in the center of the lobby between the fireplace and the chair, now holding the unconscious Anne Cartwright. Her face looked a bit disturbed as she breathed easily in and out, but otherwise seemed as if she had just overdone it. The nearly three-quarter empty bourbon bottle on the table seemed to confirm that assessment. Great, Chloe said to herself…in addition to a staff scared of their own shadows, they’ve got a drunk running the joint. She straightened Anne in the chair, putting her arm that had been flailing over the arm rest in her lap before covering her with an afghan from the nearby sofa.

  She guessed anyone coming in was on their own, though Anne had indicated that they were full anyway. Chloe snugged her coat up to her chin and took one last look at the snoozing Anne Cartwright. She guessed she had done all she could for the moment…and much like everyone else here at The Excelsior, she saw was on her own as she walked out to find an open café. The sun was just heading for the horizon as Chloe set off down the street in search of some food. Clouds were beginning to gather as well, and the once crystal-clear sky was now well overcast and the threat of snow looked quite likely as the calm breezes that had been blowing off the sea had intensified as well.

  Despite the small town, it seemed as if Chloe would have her pick of at least a few cafes and restaurants along the few streets of the town within close walking distance of The Excelsior. She was sure had she waited just a little longer that she would have been shut out as merchants would be shutting up soon to head home to be with their families. After walking for longer than she had anticipated, especially in the wind, Chloe spotted a brightly-lit pub, The Albert and the Lion, just ahead on her left. After all the weirdness at the hotel, Chloe thought a lively pub might be just the ticket to get her mind off room 33. She leaned into the wind and jogged across the street and into the pub.

  The Albert and the Lion seemed to be quite popular, even on this day, and the warmth of the interior, the clinking of glasses, and the upbeat conversation among the patrons as she stepped toward the bar made Chloe smile. In addition to the situation back at The Excelsior, Chloe was feeling more and more alone with Jack back in Southampton. She slipped off her hood and pushed her hair back as a waitress made her way to greet her.

  “Welcome to The Albert and the Lion, miss. First time here?”

  “It is. Just in town for the holidays.”

  “Just yourself, then?”

  “Afraid so.” Chloe replied, feeling just a bit depressed.

  “Not to worry, miss…” the waitress replied, sensing her mood. “We’ll make you feel right at home. This booth OK?”

  Chloe nodded and slid in after hanging her coat on the hook at the booth.

  “Something to drink?” the waitress asked.

  “Pint of your best, please.”

  She looked around, and although she was a stranger, she noticed several of the other customers raising their glasses her way and wishing her a Merry Christmas. She still felt a bit isolated, but in an odd way, the simple gestures from the locals warmed her heart as he raised her pint in return. Chloe was still trying to prepare herself for the trip to the convalescent home and her grandmother as well as doing her best to forget room 33. The warm reception here, without having to ward off any unwanted advances from the male customers was making all of that easier to process in her brain.

  She ordered what looked like a decadent cheeseburger platter to go with her beer as she removed the small paperback from her purse to read as she ate. As time went on, the crowd inside began to thin out, surely, Chloe thought, to head home for family obligations. The burger was even better than it had looked in the menu and she was well into her second pint before she looked up to see that she was just one of a couple patrons remaining. Embarrassed that she had gotten so caught in her book, she suddenly wanted to be anywhere else, afraid that she might be causing the staff to stay late on her account. Her waitress saw her plight and came immediately to ease her mind.

  “I’m so sorry, miss…I just lost track of time. I am sure you need to close up and get home.”

  “No need to worry. My husband and I own the place. That’s him, the big hairy bloke at the bar.”

  Chloe looked over and he tipped two fingers at her in a mock salute and smiled broadly.

  “We live just upstairs and this is more home to us anyway. You take your time. Seems like you maybe have something on your mind that is not so holly jolly, if you will excuse my asking.”

  Chloe closed her book as the waitress sat across from her in the booth. It must have been written all over her face. Jack had been right. Chloe would have made a lousy poker player. She wiped away at tear and sighed.

  “I…uh….shit….” Chloe started. “No need to burden you at the holidays, miss.”

  “Nonsense. And it’s Linda. Linda Moore.”

  “I’m Chloe. Chloe Riddell.” They shook hands and Chloe spilled her guts. First about her grandmother in the home nearby and that this might be her last holiday with her, and then being away from Jack on their first Christmas together as a couple.

  Linda offered Chloe a tissue and listened compassionately as the story unfolded.

  “Sorry to hear all that, Chloe, but glad we could make it all go away for a few hours anyway. You have relatives you are staying with in Blackpool?”

  “No. Just here to visit my grandmother. Seems she and I are the last of the line. Was able to get just a couple days off from my job in Southampton to come see her, then back home. Got a room for the next night or two here in town. The Excelsior.”

  As soon as the words were off her lips, she noticed a subtle but definite change in Linda’s demeanor, though the kind waitress/owner tried to cover.

  “Did you say The Excelsior?” Linda asked quietly, as if she might be overheard, despite them being virtually thon only ones left in the pub at the moment.

  “Yeah. It was slim pickings to get a room when I got here, but they had one room left, lucky for me. You seem like you are familiar with it. I hear it used to be quite a grand place.”

  “Um…in its day, it was. Back when it was first built.”

  “So, what happened?”

  “Oh, you know, it went through lots of owners, then the economic dips we all had to suffer through. I guess the grandeur just became a bit beyond most people’s wallets.”

  “Sure…sure.”

  “Chloe? Can I ask you something?”

  “Shoot…”

  “You said you looked all over town and finally got the last room available at The Excelsior?”

  “Yep.”

  “Are you familiar with the stories there?”

  “You mean the people checking in and then being dead a few hours later. Looks of horror on their faces? Those stories?” Chloe smirked as she replied.

  “So, you have heard.” Linda was no longer smiling.

  “Yeah, yeah…I don’t really buy into all of that, no offense.”

  “None taken. But they did not actually book you into room 33, did they?”

  “As a matter of fact, they did. It was all that was open. Christmas Eve and all, you know.”

  Linda then physically sat back from her as if she was afraid something from the woman from Southampton might rub off on her.

  “When did you check in?”

  “Oh…maybe three, four hours ago, I guess, why?”

  “Just curious. I know we just met, but could I offer some friendly advice?”

  “Sure…”

  “Go back there, get your things and get out.”

  “Are you serious, Linda?”

  “Deadly.” she said, at once regretting her choice of words as she winced.

  “Oh, come on, Linda…surely you do not believe all this whoey?”

  Linda just looked her straight in the eyes and said nothing.

  “OK…just for the sake of argument. Suppose it is all true. How come I have been there all this time so far and I am still up and walking around?”
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  “No idea. Maybe because no one has been in the room for so long. Who knows. You smelling like rotten eggs in the room yet?”

  “Actually, yeah…that is why I am here. I doused the plumbing with some bleach and wanted to give it time to clean out the smell before I flush the chlorine funk out.”

  “I am begging you, Chloe. Do not stay there tonight. Or any other night.”

  “Blackpool’s full up. Where exactly am I supposed to go?”

  “Come stay with me and my husband. We’ve got plenty of room.”

  “I appreciate your concern, Linda. Really, I do. But this is just crazy! I’ll be fine. Go help your husband close up and have a great Christmas. I’ll be here for at least another day or so. I’ll come by to say goodbye, just so you can see all of these stories are just that…stories and nothing more.”

  “Please, Chloe…”

  Chloe just stood and hugged Linda and headed back to the hotel after paying them. Linda stood at the door of The Albert and the Lion as her husband put his arm around her waist while they watched Chloe fight her way back down the street, the snow that had looked so promising now flying sideways in the wind.

  “You tried, Linda….” her husband said as he pulled her close.

  When Chloe went back through the lobby, she saw that Anne had apparently sobered up enough to head off to bed, as all the chairs in the lobby around the fireplace were empty. The fire was still burning, now just reduced to low embers, but the afghan was back in its spot on the sofa and the glass and the nearly empty bourbon bottle gone. Chloe felt better knowing Anne had just tottered off to bed and she continued down the hallway to her room to see what was what. As soon as she opened the door, Chloe was relieved. The room stank of chlorine, but the rotten egg odor was gone.