The Haunted Halls

by Glenn Rolfe

  “I can play rough, too,” he said.

  “Fuck you.” She sat up and cracked her boney fists in a flurry of quick strikes to his face. Blood seeped from a cut beside his eye, but he continued to smile through the barrage of her tiny fists. She wailed away even harder, ignoring the pain in her knuckles, letting the urgency open fire. The sting of her knuckle splitting open as she made contact with one of his front teeth caused her to pull her hand back. Blood flowed from the wound.

  He laughed, releasing her and rising to his feet.

  “Why don’t you go ahead and start screaming,” he said, touching the gash she had made on his face and spitting out the tooth she had knocked loose. “I think I’d like to hear that pretty mouth of yours roar.”

  She scrambled back to the door, spinning and grabbing for the knob. His foot caught her square in the back. Sliding down the door, gritting her teeth, she refused to give this fuck-hole the satisfaction of her cries–she feared what might lie ahead. He stepped closer and she launched at him again, driving her bloody fist up into his balls.

  “Oomph.” He clutched his crotch and dropped to his knees.

  She turned for the door again. She screamed, surprised and pissed as he yanked her hair. She spiraled back into the room as he flung her away from the exit. Hitting the corner of the bed, she bounced off the mattress and hit the floor.

  “I knew you’d be feisty,” he said, grinning from ear to ear. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t turned on–” His speech was cut off by the lamp from the TV stand nailing him between the eyes. Stumbling backward, reaching for his face, she launched the lamp from the desk at him.

  “Fuck!”

  “You wanna hear me scream?” Rhiannon grabbed the microwave from the corner of the desk and charged at him. “Arrrgghhh!” She unleashed, rushing and swinging the appliance at his face.

  “Not this time, bitch.” He grabbed the microwave and pulled it from her grip. Before she could react, he swung back around and nailed her between the shoulders, dropping her to the floor. She reached a hand behind her, moaning as she rolled on the ground. She knew she’d fucked up.

  Kenneth threw the appliance down and kneeled next to her, grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her head back until they were face-to-face. His breath was a mix of rotten hamburger and shit. “I know you think I’m ugly and you would rather be dead than lie down with me, but if you give me a chance, I bet I can fuck my way into your heart.”

  She spit into his face. “Eat shit, you fucking faggot.”

  He let the spittle slowly crawl down his cheek then shook his head. “You shouldn’t have called me that.” Yanking her head back farther, he slammed her, face-first, into the floor. Her nose exploded on impact, her head swam to stay above the flood of stars swirling behind her eyes.

  Kenneth stroked Rhiannon’s dark locks. In spite of a valiant effort put forth from the rebellious girl, he was enjoying his small victory. Gazing over the softer edges of the tough little thing, he moaned thinking of what he was about to do. Turning her over, he scooped her up, cradling her in his arms. She was his promised reward, and this time, there was no Eric, no Uncle Wes, and no son of a bitch step-father to ruin his moment. Laying her down on the bed, he pressed his lips to hers. She tasted like mint and honey. Slowly undoing her button-up work shirt, and gently spreading the fabric to expose a pink bra patterned with black roses, he kissed between what little cleavage she had. He moved to her slacks, unfastening them and pulling the dark polyester down over her thighs and slipping them over her sneakers. He ripped his damp t-shirt off, tossing it behind him and began unbuttoning his jeans. A fever burned within him as he grew hard. The TV at his back suddenly came to life. The sound of white noise filled the room.

  Chapter Four

  With a hand under his jaw, fingers tapping his bristled cheeks, legs shaking like an unstable washing machine, Jeff stared out the window as Lee drove down Route 5. All the books, all the movies he’d either read or seen; nothing had prepared him for this. He felt like an idiot that would fit perfectly into a Wes Craven film. He told Lee he would help him; he was only going in to check on Meghan, and if she was all right, he would make sure he got her and Rhiannon out. This jerk could use his untouchable basket of voodoo if he was up for it, but Jeff wasn’t fucking stupid. He was more on the get in and get, and get as far away as possible plan.

  “Do you see that?” Lee’s voice broke through Jeff’s thoughts. He couldn’t see much of anything past the hammering rain pounding the windshield.

  “What? I don’t see–”

  Lee slowed the vehicle.

  “What are you doing?”

  “There’s something in the road.”

  Jeff saw her, but could not believe his straining eyes. Meghan Murphy stood in the middle of the road, soaked to the bone, wearing nothing but a t-shirt and panties. Lee brought the car to a full stop twenty feet from her. Jeff reached for the door.

  Lee grabbed his arm. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

  “I know her. That’s one of the girls I was telling you about that’s staying at the hotel.”

  “No. Wait.”

  “She could be hurt. The hotel’s only a couple miles from here.” Jeff grabbed for the door again. Lee grabbed him by the collar of his t-shirt, jerking him to a halt. Rage boiled up within Jeff’s veins. He’d had just about enough of this prick’s grabbing at him and condescending attitude. “Get your fucking hands off me.”

  “That’s not who you think it is.”

  Jeff looked out the windshield and watched. His jaw dropped. Meghan pulled off her shirt and then slipped out of her underwear. Her eyes flashed red as she raised her panties over her head and swayed her hips in a dance that under any other circumstances would have had him salivating. Lee let go of his shirt and revved the engine. “What are you doing? Shouldn’t you be rummaging through the basket for something?” Jeff said, staring at the supposed shaman.

  “Some things fucking die easier if you just run them down.” Lee buried the gas pedal, shooting the Shinari at Meghan.

  “Wait! Wait,” was all Jeff had a chance to spit out holding on for dear life as the car smashed into the girl he’d kissed the night before. Instead of being pulled under the vehicle’s wheels or sent flying up over the car, the body splattered on contact. Blood and flesh splashed the windshield, obscuring their view of the road. Lee stamped the brakes; the car screeching to a halt. The wipers took a second to move, under the weight of the gore covering them.

  “What the hell was that?” Jeff said, still clinging with one white-knuckled hand on the seat and the other gripping the door so tight he was sure the handle would pull free.

  “A taste of what’s waiting for us.”

  Jeff thought of Meghan. Between Kenneth McGowan’s nude stroll the other night, and his adventures with Lee, he didn’t know what the hell to make of this. “Was that her?”

  “Her who?” Lee said, reaching for his pack of cigarettes.

  “That girl, that thing…in the road. Was that Meghan?”

  “I don’t think so. Here.” Lee held out a cigarette for him. A sickening feeling crawled through Jeff’s already tense stomach. “Smoke ‘em if you got ‘em is something I’ve learned to live by,” Lee said.

  Jeff hadn’t smoked since he was twenty-two, giving up the habit after his Grandmother passed from emphysema. He wondered if Meghan, the real Meghan, was okay. He thought of their kiss, his promise to check on her… He had thought of her as the girl of empty promises, but now he was the one coming up short. The flash of guilt mixed with his ever growing pile of anxieties, pushed his nerves to their frayed limits. “Yeah, I think I could go for that.” He reached a trembling hand out and took the cigarette as Lee pushed the car’s lighter in.

  “I’ve never smoked in this car before, never used this lighter before,” Lee said. “But I think we’re both in for a night of firsts.” The lighter popped out and Lee handed it over. Jeff sparked the cancer stick to life. Lee
lit his own, cracked both windows, and hit the CD button on the car’s stereo. Jeff recognized the song as it drifted out of the speakers in perfect clarity.

  Riders on the storm… riders on the storm…into this world we’re born, into this world we’re thrown…

  Jeff took a long drag from the cigarette—his lungs surprisingly acting like it was old hat—and glanced up into the dark, cloud-covered sky.

  God, if you’re up there, we sure could use a hand.

  Thunder cracked.

  Chapter Five

  Timothy watched the brunette and the redhead lay motionless on the bed, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling, chests rising and falling. He considered his words carefully. While his counterparts may have enjoyed the quick kill, he preferred to play the spider to the fly, or flies, in this case.

  “Would you believe me if I confessed my sins?” he said, though neither could answer until he allowed them. He was standing with his back to the bed, staring out at the night. The rain was letting up and the fog was rolling in. Gazing down at the lot he thought the few remaining cars looked like gravestones; the fog, creeping around them, holding mass among the dead. In essence, the empty vehicles would serve as exactly that–markers for the fallen. “I killed two girls I loved very much… Just like I’m going to kill both of you.” He listened to the soft patter of rain, the whispering wind through the trees across the lot. “I was destined to be what I have become from the very beginning. You are both here with me now as it was meant to be.” He turned to them, watched as the wide-eyed pretty things began thrashing on the bed. “Ah…now, now, shh-shh,” he whispered.

  Timothy saw his new face, the Ice Queen’s gift, reflecting off the framed portrait depicting a generic beach setting, hung over the bed. His eyes were like burning embers–pure black surrounded by a fiery, red glow. The skin around his mouth pulled taught revealing an army of canines. His skin–pale and cold–revealing the thick blue veins beneath. He reached out a clawed hand and scraped a set of sharp yellowing nails down the length of Red’s leg; a thin trail of blood seeping in its wake.

  “I can tell you want to scream, and believe me, there’s nothing I would love to hear more. However, due to the sensitivity of our surroundings, I think your blood and tears will have to suffice.”

  He lifted the clawed hand up, resting it just between Red’s bikini top. Saliva, drooling from his jagged teeth, dripped down onto her flesh as he looked into her eyes. Her emerald greens went wild as he punctured her flesh, ripping his hand down the length of her torso. Blood, spraying like a fountain, covered his face as he tore through the rest of her. The brunette, thrashed madly, waiting her turn.

  Chapter Six

  The spirit watched the one called Kenneth. She had seen him attack the girl from behind and followed them into the room. The room…she knew this room. Phantoms of her past pulsed behind a hazy curtain. There was something there, something she needed to remember, but she couldn’t. Not yet. She watched the girl fight off this thing, all the while seeing bits and pieces of a forgotten past. The girl was strong, but not strong enough. The spirit needed to figure out a way to help her. The hotel clerk was unconscious on the bed, defenseless to this dark creature’s whim. And he was a creature. She wasn’t sure what exactly. He wasn’t dead, but he wasn’t alive either. The evil one had done this. Somehow, it had made this one and the other. They had to be stopped. All of them.

  Watching him undress the girl, she looked at the broken television on the floor. Without touching the device, she made the static screen come to life.

  Chapter Seven

  “What the–” The hairs on Kenneth’s neck tingled in the charged air. Eric? A hint of the old Kenneth, the weak Kenneth, and his penchant for paranoia slipped through. If she could bring him back after the big guy’s earlier attack, she could do the same for Eric, but why? “Where are you?” He scooted off the bed, walked to the TV, and hit the power button. The white noise continued. Kenneth grabbed the TV from the stand, ripped it from the wall, and threw it to the floor. Though muffled against the rug, the white noise continued. Gripping his hair in frustration, he brought his knee up. “Shut. The. Fuck. Up!” His foot came down with each seething word.

  The room fell silent.

  Knock, knock, knock.

  “All right, you big dumb fuck,” he said. “Come back for more, huh?” Kenneth walked to the door, undid the lock, and yanked it open. Complete darkness. He stepped out into a black pocket of cold that felt alive?

  “Sarah?” his voice called, shrinking with his libido.

  There was no answer. A light farther down the hall flickered to life, and then grew to an amazing brightness, causing him to block its brilliance with his hand as he moved forward. The bulb shattered in a splash of sparks and glass and the door behind him slammed shut. Stumbling through the black, seeing spots as he went, he reached out for the door knob and heard the lock click back into place.

  “Arrrhh,” he yelled, pounding his fists on the door. The light from within, barely registering in the darkened hallway via a sliver at the foot of the door, caught his eye. Resting his forehead against the barrier, he laughed. “Heh, heh, heh, you think you can keep me out?” Stepping back, he ran and kicked the door. The hinges buckled. “Huh? You think you can lock me out, bitch?” He made a second run at the door, landing with another solid kick. The hinges gave a little more. “I’d step back if I were you,” he said, before lunging again. This time, the door gave way, crashing into the room. “Now,” he said.

  The girl still lay unconscious on the bed where he’d left her. Kenneth started huffing, the rage building steam. He thought of Timothy. Maybe he’s fucking with me now, just like Eric. “No! She’s mine, you hear me? She said this one was mine. And I’m taking her right fucking now.”

  Stalking toward the bed, Kenneth stepped over the discarded microwave. The broken TV on the floor came back to life. The static hit his ears like some terrible metal band with a bad drummer, out of place and out of time. “Fuck you,” he said, dropping his pants to the floor. The hallway lights suddenly sparked back to life flashing back and forth between light and dark, life and death. Undeterred, Kenneth mounted the now moaning girl. Reaching down for her panties, he felt something cold shoot through his back.

  “Uhhh…” he gasped. He felt a freezing cold sensation penetrate him like he’d been harpooned by an icicle the size of a broad sword. He couldn’t move, the crippling cold holding him hostage.

  “Arr…arrr..” His voice was a whisper as the piercing frigidness sapped his strength. His eyes fluttered into the back of his head. Convulsing, he fell from the bed.

  …..

  Rhiannon opened her eyes and caught a faint blue shadow looming at the edge of the bed. The vision was gone in the blink of an eye. Sitting up, she slipped her butt back against the headboard and gazed down at her exposed flesh.

  Her attention was stolen by the stirring, pantless body on the floor. “I don’t fucking think so,” she said as she climbed from the bed. Scanning the floor for a weapon, she spotted the microwave. Kenneth’s arms reached for her as she stepped over him, bent down, and picked up the kitchen appliance. Raising the small microwave over her head, her muscles strained, her arms and lips trembled. She sucked in a quick breath as his eyes blinked open. Onyx orbs glared up at her. Without a word, she slammed the hefty metal machine down onto her attacker’s angry features, the contact sounding like a pumpkin being smashed. Kenneth’s appendages twitched and then stopped.

  Rhiannon hacked up a glob of snot and spit it to the floor. It was dark red, a result of her busted nose. She had no idea what the hell happened to Kenneth, or what had stopped him, what had made him cry out at the edge of the bed, but she didn’t care. She was safe, he was dead. She was getting the fuck out of here.

  …..

  Down the corridor, Timothy Laymon rose from the crimson mess on the mattress. Stepping from the bed, covered from head to toe in the gore of his two victims, he felt electric. He moved from th
e parade of tattered flesh and bone, running his hands through his hair. All traces of their blood upon him disappeared. The door opened without being touched as he walked on through. He stepped out into the open corridor just as another door slammed shut. Someone had just taken off down the stairwell at the opposite end of the hall.

  Run, run little girl.

  Two rooms down, a stalky Mexican with a tattoo of a skull sprouting red and black wings across his bare chest came into view. “What in the hell is going on out here?”

  Timothy waited as the inebriated man turned to face him. “What the fuck you lookin’ at?” the man said.

  His bloodshot eyes, staring into Timothy’s true face, reflected the burning pits of hell. “M-m-m-Mr…” the man mumbled as a bottle of liquor slipped from his grasp, falling to the floor. In a matter of seconds, his throat landed next to the draining alcohol followed by his heavy body.

  Stepping over the carcass, and pushing the door open, Timothy gazed upon the sexy Latina lying naked upon the bed. Her perfect ass up and swaying from side to side as she chirped soft little moans watching the skin flick on the TV at the foot of the bed.

  “What are you doing Enrique? Come back in here and–”

  Timothy didn’t even have to say a word to make her shut her trap. Walking into the room, the TV died; she screamed until he sent her decapitated head smashing through the window.

  Chapter Eight

  Jeff cradled his third cigarette between trembling thumb and index fingers. Partly from the anxiety over the Meghan-thing they had encountered in the road, partly because of the nicotine. He and Lee were both chain-smoking their way back to the Bruton Inn. He didn’t have a very good feeling about Meghan Murphy, and from Lee’s response, it didn’t seem as though he should.

  His eyes itched from the smoke refusing to go out the window. He stared at a piece of the thing they’d hit in the road caught on the edge of the windshield and flapping against the car. The rain, now just a drizzle, hadn’t been able to wash all the gore away.