by Glenn Rolfe
“Uhhh…”
The moan from the man just out of sight startled him. Terrified over what was probably nothing, he forced his legs to carry him onward. He dared a glance toward the couch and wished he hadn’t. The man, staring at his blood-covered hands and rocking back and forth, looked up letting out another moan and locking eyes with him. Jeff dropped his gaze and scurried across the floor to the next set of apartments. He hurried down the hallway fearing the lights would go out any second and leave him in the darkness with the moaning, bleeding man. He saw himself being chased to the end of the corridor only to find the staircase door locked. Jeff got to apartment 318, dropped the heavy paper with a loud thud in the quiet space, and darted for the staircase door. He slammed into it–it wouldn’t budge. He thought he saw the lights flicker. There was a sign hanging on the handle of the stairwell door:
Temporarily closed. Sorry for any inconvenience. Please use the elevator.
He glanced back down the hallway that suddenly seemed more like a tunnel in a coal mine. His chest was tight, a cold sweat breaking out over his body as he tried to shake all of the wicked images being flung at him from the dark side of his brain. He started forward, chanting a prayer under his breath. Please be gone, please be gone.
When he reached the open room, it was empty. Relieved, he hit the down button for the elevator as he glanced around the room laughing at his cowardice. His good feelings died as his eyes landed on the droplets of blood scattered in a trail from the foot of the sofa to where he was now standing. He raised his hand to his face and saw blood on his finger. The elevator button was smeared red.
Bing
He jumped at the elevator’s arrival. Part of his body clenched as the door slid open revealing an empty space. He stepped in and found himself scanning the interior for more blood. There was none. He rode down to the ground floor feeling like he’d imagined the whole thing; the blood he wiped on his pant leg assured him he had not. The ding of the elevator arriving at the bottom floor felt like a gunshot signaling the start of a race. He ran out of the elevator as it opened to his freedom, tripping and nearly falling on his face over a book lying on the floor. He picked it up. It was a hard cover copy of The Shining. There was a bloody print on the back cover. He looked around the lobby, making sure the man from the sixteenth floor wasn’t waiting for him. He was alone, as usual. Tucking the book in his carrier bag, he got out to his van, and drove home.
That copy of the King classic, bloody print and all, was sitting on his backseat even now as he drove down Route 5 toward Hollis Oaks. He glanced in his rearview mirror and for a moment thought he saw someone smiling back at him. He rubbed his eyes and looked again. Nothing. The hair on his arms and neck raised like tiny antenna seeking out a signal. He passed the sign for Hollis Oaks and took his next right into town.
Entering Barnes and Noble, he followed the welcoming aroma of coffee to the sample-size Starbuck’s café, grateful to have people around. With a fresh shot of caffeine in hand, he set out to find the books he’d seen online. He found the local section just beyond the magazines, and skimmed past a plethora of town-by-town histories, a series of Maine hunting books, and a lakes and campground book before finding what he was looking for. Ghosts of Maine: Lighthouses, Ghosts on the Coast of Maine, Haunted Coast. He spotted two that looked intriguing–Ghost Legends of Vacationland, and another in the Ghosts of Maine series: Ghosts of Maine: Hotels, Inns, and Bed and Breakfasts. Before he could reach them, the man he’d been quietly joined by grabbed both.
“Oh, sorry, were you looking at these,” the man said.
“I was–” Jeff noticed a book display to the left featuring the man’s likeness.
“Yeah, that’s me. Lee Buhl, nice to meet you…”
“Oh, so it is. Jeff,” he said, holding out his hand.
“Nice to meet you, Jeff. You’re into ghosts I take it?”
“Not exactly. I’m just doing a little research.”
“Same here. Say, I hope you don’t mind me asking, but you wouldn’t happen to be privy to any tales in this particular area would you?”
Jeff hesitated. “Not really. I mean, kind of–”
The man stepped back. “Are you’re experiencing something now? Is that why you’re looking for these books,” he said, holding the books up.
Jeff looked into the man’s eyes. “I think so.”
“Well, I’m not sure if you’re familiar with what it is I do, but maybe I can be of some assistance. How’s about we grab a bite to eat.”
“Sure,” Jeff said. He felt compelled to grab a copy of the man’s book while in his presence. Part of him hoped the guy would offer him a free copy–he didn’t. Instead, the man handed him the two local ghost books they had both been interested in.
“How’s about you meet me out front after you pay for these. I’m going to run to the restroom.”
You’ve got to be kidding me.
Jeff wondered why a professional author was making him pay for the books—agreeing nonetheless. He waited in line, purchased the books, and met Lee Buhl out front.
“You know this area,” Lee said. “Where can I get a good slice of pizza? I’m fucking sick of seafood.”
“Matt’s,” Jeff said. “It’s a couple streets over.”
“Lead the way.”
Jeff wanted to laugh at the way this guy was dressed: fancy button up shirt, pleated pants, and a ring on almost every finger. What kind of jerk wore so many rings?
Writers.
Lee talked mostly about his books and his travels while sucking down two cigarettes. Jeff nodded along, half-listening as he led the guy to the best pizza in town. They walked in the local joint, an Aerosmith song blaring from the speakers, the smell of fresh pizza and onions in the air. He saw the shop’s proprietor, Matt Hilton, standing behind the counter talking with one of the new girls. He nodded, Matt waved, giving Jeff’s company a second look. He led Lee to a booth near the KISS pinball machine in the back.
“So, Jeff, what’s this current predicament you’re in?” Lee said.
Chapter Four
Carla Dunn was singing an old Supremes song as she pushed her housekeeping cart down the corridor. Her singing was more for distraction than anything else. She knew the Bruton Inn shared a space with something, but over the years, she’d minded her own business and had been left alone in return. She’d felt the presence throughout the inn–pockets of cold, like you’d find in a lake. There was always a sense of being watched, something being in the room with you, but never any poltergeist-type activity. She’d yet to see a bed levitate or drawers flying across a room. Rhiannon’s asking her about ghosts was like someone cleaning a fishbowl–stirring up all that nasty stuff you didn’t usually see. Carla was feeling one of those cold pockets now.
The last couple of late check-outs needed cleaning and suddenly she wanted to get them done as quickly as possible. She noticed a number of the rooms on the second floor had do not disturb cards in the door–211 had not been touched in a week. It was hotel policy that she had to get into every room at least once every six days to change the blankets and vacuum, a number of the rooms were due tomorrow for the sixth day cleaning. 211 was due and had not been checked off today. The girls must have missed it.
She knocked on the door. “Housekeeping.” Carla stood there giving the guest a chance to respond. Placing an ear to the door, fear snuggled up around her. Her mouth went dry. She fished the master key from her apron, removed the do not disturb card, slipped her key into the lock for 211, and turned the knob. She was welcomed by a blast of frigid air and an unexplainable sense of dread. She wanted to turn around and leave the room for tomorrow, maybe have a couple of the younger girls do it, but her feet carried her over the threshold. “Hello?” She propped open the door then grabbed her cleaning cart and shivered. Her arms busted out in goose pimples as she made her way in. Her eyes followed the naked mattress down to the bathing suit and skivvies crumpled at the foot of the bed. It was empty.
Someone had a good night. The thought usually produced a smirk from her, but instead she felt her flesh crawl, her stomach turn. She moved past the sick feeling building within and began to gather the discarded bedding when she heard the toilet flush from the bathroom across the room. “Housekeeping,” she said again, her voice barely squeaking through her lips. More silence. She wished she had skipped this room and gone home for the day. “Hello?”
The door behind her slammed shut. She looked back and saw the rubber stopper—the one she’d used to hold it open—melted into the rug. She turned her head back and dropped the bedding she’d been clinging to. A naked man with long blonde hair and dark eyes stood before her. She wanted to scream, but couldn’t catch her breath. He placed his hands on either side of her face and stared into her (through her) with pitch black eyes. She thought of her husband, John, and her son, Parker, before the naked man lifted her from the floor and tossed her across the room. There was a deep crack as she came down on the nightstand and fell to the floor in a broken heap.
“Please, Jesus–” she tried.
“Shh, shh, shh, come on now,” the man said. Carla began to convulse as he smiled at her. He was doing this. “You came into my room,” he said crouching down before her, stroking her hair. “Are you frightened?”
“Y-y-yes, please d-don’t–” He placed a hand over her mouth.
“I will,” he said. “I don’t like strange people coming into my room unless I ask them to. Did you not see the card in the door? Don’t answer that.”
Tears bled from her eyes, snot dripped from her nose down onto his hand. He lifted his palm from her lips and glared at the mucus with a look of disgust.
“Why? Why are you doing this now?” she said. “I’ve known you were here for years, but you’ve never hurt any of us?”
“Ha, ha, ha,” his laughter was awful. She closed her eyes and thought of her husband and son again. “You speak of my love,” he said. “She’s a fine piece of work. She tells me the staff is harmless, but I’m new here, and frankly, I don’t like you.” He placed his thumbs over her wet eyes.
Carla Dunn screamed as he pressed them in.
…..
Timothy Laymon pulled his gore-soaked thumbs from the screaming woman’s eyes. He snapped her head to the side, silencing her.
Standing up and stretching, he felt her power flowing through him. Killing had always come easy, all he had to do was unleash the rage; it was the guilt that came afterward that had kept his humanity. This was different. He felt a surge of power from taking the woman’s life. He’d been born for this, just as she had said. The ecstasy purring through his veins felt like heaven and he wanted more.
Chapter Five
Jeff sat across from Lee wondering how to explain the events of the last twenty-four hours. The more he thought about them, the more he saw the dots connecting. Kurt and the elderly couple, that night with the bizarre love-fest in the pool room that was then suddenly wasn’t, naked Kenneth McGowan and that tall buddy of his–what had they been up to last night? Coincidences? Or part of something bigger that he had somehow not put together? He didn’t know, but maybe Mr. Buhl would. Looking across the table, Jeff had a few questions running through his head. Was this guy in the fancy clothes and jewelry the real deal? Was he a real ghost hunter or some fraud in it for the money? Jeff picked at the corner of his thumb. He glanced around to see who might be in listening range. He didn’t need to be treated like a weirdo in a place he enjoyed frequenting.
“First off, let me clarify, I’m not sure what I believe right now,” he said, looking over Lee’s shoulders before continuing. “There’s just a bunch of things that are kind of adding up, and truthfully, thinking about them right now, it’s sort of…freaky.”
“Okay, that’s all right. A lot of people in these situations are often confounded by what they’re experiencing, afraid of sounding crazy or being ostracized by those they eventually confide in. I’m not going to judge you, hell, I don’t even know you.” Lee reached for his pack of cigarettes. “Shit, I always forget you guys don’t allow smoking anywhere up here.” He slid the smoke back into the pack, dropped the pack back on the table, and continued. “So, maybe you don’t know what you’re dealing with. Let’s try starting with what’s going on. What in particular is piquing your otherworldly senses?”
Just as he was about to begin, the rock station coming through Matt’s speakers started playing Alice Cooper’s “Welcome to my Nightmare.” Jeff and Lee both glanced up toward the speakers, each giving out a nervous laugh. Jeff collected himself and began. “I think we might be dealing with something evil, maybe a ghost. I don’t know.”
“Go on,” Lee said.
“Well, I’m not sure if I believe it’s a ghost per se, but…” Jeff trailed off pondering his theories. “…but maybe it is.”
“What exactly have you experienced?”
The grey world beyond the large glass pane separating them from its vampiric cold caught Jeff’s attention. The bright sun that woke him this morning had been murdered by the coming storm. Folding his hands together on the tabletop he opened the can of worms he never wanted. “My friend said someone, or something, chased her from the hospital last night.” He felt stupid saying it out loud, but then thought of the elderly couple they had found alongside Kurt. “And I think I believe her.”
Sitting across the booth from him, Lee Buhl looked like a twelve-year-old at one of the Hollis Oaks Cineplex’s Saturday Nightmare Matinees. Jeff thought of the time he’d gone to see the afternoon double feature of The Gate and Prince of Darkness. He’d been so engrossed he thought he’d fall into the seat in front of him. That was how Lee looked now.
“Go on,” Lee said.
“There have been rumors, stories about something being there, but I never saw anything, I still haven’t,” Jeff said, raising his hands as if to claim some sort of innocence. “Outside of a couple nutjob veterans and a naked geek who roams the second floor.”
“You said something being there. Where exactly is there?”
“At my work. There have been whispers about a ghost. A guy died in the pool a couple months ago and everyone–”
“A pool?” Lee looked ready to jump out of his seat.
“Yeah, a guy was found floating in the new pool one morning. The cops came and took pictures and everything.”
“And this happened at your work?”
“Yeah, I work at a hotel–”
Lee held up his hand. “What hotel do you work at?”
“The Bruton Inn, off Route five.”
Chapter Six
Kenneth opened his eyes to the brutal scene he’d produced the night before. The small room reeked of iron and feces–the scents of death. He would have to drag the bodies out at some point. She demanded they be discarded, buried in the patch of woods beyond the back parking lot. The room was cloaked in shadows. The alarm clock next to him read 6:07. He rose from the blood-sodden mattress and moved to the window. Pushing the heavy curtain to the side, a grey world shivering beneath a darkness it had no idea was coming stared back at him. He would have to wait until the shrouded sun fell from the sky before moving the two ruined forms. He could at least get the graves ready. He glanced down at his naked form, and then toward the dead man by the door; the dead man’s clothes would have to do.
He cinched the pants that were about three sizes too big in the waist with the nice leather belt hanging in the loops. He passed on the shirt–the blood splattered Rorschach dressing its front would draw more attention than his boney chest. He grabbed the man’s socks to hide his wounded foot, smirking as he recalled the man and his son in the other room. He would have to take care of those bodies, as well. Quiet as a mouse, Kenneth cracked open the door and glanced out into the hall. He watched a family of four carrying enough luggage for an entire move rather than a few nights stay make their way toward the elevator. He remembered the college kids partying in the pool for the last few days and wondered if they were all he
ading home today.
That’d be a real shame. I’m just getting started.
As soon as the family disappeared, he placed the do not disturb sign in the door and headed for his own room. He liked wearing the mess his victims had made, but knew the big guy would have a shit fit if he saw him wandering around like he’d just stepped out of a slasher film. He’d had enough of Eric. First made or not, Kenneth had already decided he was going to make sure he put his lights out for good. The big guy would never see it coming. He felt confident that she would forgive him.
Entering his room–free from the tiny voices that had plagued him before she arrived–he made for the shower, curious where the rest of their little group were, especially the girl. Maybe he’d get another chance with her. No matter, there would be time for that when they were done. He had plenty of chores to keep him busy. Besides, she would let him know when he was needed. He showered, dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, and headed back to his private graveyard.
Chapter Seven
She was in his arms again; tangled in a mess of sheets and sweat, her roars of ecstasy making him harder. Eric pinned his Ice Queen to the mattress and drilled into her, wanting to make her scream, demanding the pain, but she unleashed her own needles of death. Just as he came, she transformed before his eyes from the beauty that walked with a sultry sway to the demon that demanded revenge. He watched the skin bleed from her face, her arms, her chest–hollowed eyes suddenly aglow with the blood of their victims peered into him. He could no longer differentiate whether he was ejaculating or pissing, either way, he knew it made no difference to her. A shriek blasted through the darkness causing something warm and wet to seep from his ears. He tasted blood on his lips. His nose began to leak. The husk of a human form remained beneath his nakedness. He sat back on his feet watching as its damned soul rose to the ceiling, its crimson eyes staring back down at him. Eric wanted to look away, but couldn’t. The eyes of the thing above him dropped at a break-neck speed, slamming into him, sending him flailing backward to the floor. Dust from the withering form upon the bed dispersed into the air of the electric room, sparkling, then fading and disappearing.