by J L Bryan
“She could be up there.” Michael pointed his flashlight up through the stairwell toward the upper floors.
“There's no sign she is. You know this place is falling down around us. We could get injured. And a hotel this old could have its own ghosts to contend with...haven't you ever read The Shining?”
“Yeah. I saw it on TV. It was a miniseries, right?” He moved closer to the stairs.
“Really? You watched the TV miniseries and not the Kubrick one with Jack Nicholson?”
“I don't think so.” He put his foot on the first stair.
“Are you serious? Okay, anyway, look...we have to at least wait until daylight. Even with the flashlights, we won't see all the dangerous spots. And if we got into a serious fight with Clay up there, he could burn this place down around us.”
“But we can't let them get away. You just stay down here, Ellie. I'll be right back.” He started up the stairs, which bent and creaked under his weight, far worse than the old stairs in the museum.
“Michael!” I called after him, in the most powerful and angry voice I could summon, which probably sounded a lot like how my mom had yelled at me as I evolved into my sullen and rebellious teenage years.
He didn't stop, so I let out an exasperated sigh and followed after him. I thought he was making the wrong choice, but I wasn't about to let him go up there alone, either. The buddy system was invented for a reason. And right now, I was the only buddy he had.
We ascended into the crazy rotten hotel, every stair straining beneath us.
The sagging floorboards upstairs creaked pretty badly, too. I kept expecting to plant my foot through the floor and fall straight through to the floor below.
We looked into room after vandalized room, many of them filled with debris. The windows were almost all broken, and with the cold December wind leaking in everywhere, it would have been impossible to detect a cold spot up there.
It was all cold spots—the perfect place for a ghost to hide.
We went round and round through the once-luxurious hotel, up to tiny rooms in the rafters where a couple of cots remained. Maybe hotel staff had lived on-site up here, though not in great comfort. The ceiling was so low you had to squat-walk, and there was only one small fireplace for the whole attic.
There was also no sign of Melissa.
“Let's head back down,” I said. “We're lucky we haven't put a foot through the floor yet.”
Michael nodded. “If she left these ruins, she might be walking along the road somewhere.”
“Probably into town,” I said. “There's no reason for her to go back to the museum now. She wanted the ring. She—I mean, Clay—figured out what it was before I did. Whatever Clay wants next...a hot meal, a ride out of town...they're more likely to find it down there. There's nothing to do up here but freeze to death. And if Clay was ready to let Melissa die, he would've killed me down in the cave, I think.”
“He'd better not hurt her,” Michael said. “Or I'll...”
That was the real futility of it. What kind of threats can you make against an assailant who's already dead?
We descended, taking care to avoid the most rotten-looking stairs along the way.
Out in the gardens, we called again, hoping for Clay and Melissa to emerge from somewhere, but there was still no response.
We stepped out through the overgrown, rooted-down gate.
Then we both stopped in surprise just outside the walls, still standing in the shadow of the archway above.
“Well,” I said, staring. “I guess that explains where Melissa went.”
“I can't believe it,” Michael said.
His red '49 Chevy pickup with the cute round, bubbly shape was nowhere in sight.
“Did you...leave your keys in it?” I asked.
“No, but Melissa can hotwire it,” Michael said. “I showed her how.”
“Why would you show her that?”
“I showed her how to change the oil and fluids, too,” Michael said, sounding defensive. “Nobody should have to pay forty bucks every three months for that. It's too easy.”
“So...here we are. Stranded.” I gestured at the deserted, weedy road ahead, which dead-ended here at the old resort gate. “Doesn't look like anyone's coming up that way in the next ten or twenty years.”
There wasn't any cell service in this abandoned, overgrown area of the mountain either, we quickly learned.
We started to hike downhill, under a clear, star-studded sky. The snow had finally stopped falling.
The town was closer than the museum, and mostly downhill. Walking to town would be less likely to lead to us freezing to death.
We walked close, trying our best to keep each other warm, but it didn't help much.
The walk was beautiful, full of stars and snow, but it was so cold that I was sure we would die.
Chapter Forty-One
Michael and I must have looked like fresh-risen zombies as we staggered into El Grande Chalet not long before dawn. We were battered, coated in dirt, half-frozen. A friendly local woman, out delivering newspapers, had picked us up at the edge of town and driven us the last few blocks to the hotel—and by that point, those few blocks had looked like a whole marathon, so we were grateful for it.
Despite our appearance, none of the hotel staff tried to stop us from entering the hotel and going up to our rooms, so that was lucky.
On the freezing hike down from the ruins, I'd fantasized about the things I'd do in my hotel room, fantasies that revolved around hot tea and a hotter bath, soaking my filthy, beaten, scratched, frozen body for a good hour or so.
By the time I actually stumbled into my room, this goal had been reduced to getting all the way out of my mud-soaked clothes before hitting the bed.
I didn't even manage that. I sat on the edge of the bed, half-untied one boot, then dropped back and fell instantly asleep, sprawled across the top of the bedspread, my feet on the floor.
That was how I woke up hours later, groggy, acutely aware of the pulsing pain in my hands and the foul smell of the rest of me. My jacket was burned at the sleeves, and all my clothes seemed suffused with a foul pond-scum reek.
At last, I could peel off my layers of ruined clothing, soak in a bath, and drink a strong hot coffee. I was bruised in a number of places, and my hands and arms were red and sore where Clay had burned them.
Still, they could have been much worse; the flesh wasn't charred or falling off the bone. Clay might have been holding back when he burned me, or he might have been weak, his attention divided as he struggled to control Amil against Polly's power to distract the dangerous old ghost.
Once I felt somewhat human again, my first act was calling Ryan to check on him and his kids.
The phone rang several times, and when he answered, he gave a reluctant, “Hello?”
“Hey, there,” I said, trying to sound friendly, feeling awkward. And ashamed. And guilty. “How are the kids?”
“They seem all right. Still sleeping. They're lucky. I haven't slept at all. I've just been sitting up, thinking about everything that happened. In shock, I guess.”
“Yeah. That makes sense. So...just catching up on the case here...I think we removed the ghost of Amil along with the ring. Which is definitely off the premises now.” I had no idea where, though. “As far as the three other ghosts, including your uncle, I think those three are sort of tangled together by their mutual murdering of each other, and I think they're the sort of nuisance ghosts that are bothering you down in the museum. Getting Georgina's remains out of there and into a proper grave should address that. Georgina attended a church in town; maybe she already had a plot there.”
“Okay,” he said. After a long pause, he said: “So where did this other ghost come from? The pyromaniac possessing your boyfriend's sister?”
“Yeah,” I said. “He's been after me since my childhood. He sort of...killed my parents.”
My heart beat faster as I said that. I didn't reveal myself to many people. But
Ryan deserved the truth.
“So how did he end up kidnapping my daughter?”
“Yeah,” I said, again, awkwardly. “So. My own personal demons sort of followed me into this investigation. And Clay—that's his name, Anton Clay—figured out the nature of that ring and decided he wanted it for himself. So now he's out there somewhere, with Melissa's body, and with the Snake Man under his control. But...at least that ghost is out of your home now. And I'm sorry for the danger. I'm not going to charge you a fee, obviously, considering what Polly went through was entirely my fault—”
“So get rid of the bones?” he said. The guy did not sound happy with me. Almost like I'd endangered his kids' lives with my own problems.
Oh, right. That was exactly what I'd done.
“In her preferred churchyard,” I said. “And get rid of that skeleton in the medical exhibit, just for good measure. And maybe the creepy dentist thing. I'll be happy to take care of all that—”
“I got it. Thanks for everything.” That sounded sarcastic. “I have to go. My kids are up and crying now. I'm sure they'll be freaked out for a long time.”
He hung up.
Okay. That could have gone worse, I supposed. He could have dragged it out, for example, berating me for hours instead of just dropping me cold. He'd been fairly merciful, really.
I'd really liked Ryan, too. It was too bad he was bound to hate me for life now.
I had a million things to do, it felt like, so I scribbled a quick agenda on a pad of El Grande Chalet stationery, watermarked with a Swiss clock that had a tilted sombrero hung on one side. Contact Stacey and Jacob, who were en route to Foxboro today. Contact Calvin so he could recommend an exorcist, and any other advice he might have.
And, above all, try to figure out where Clay had gone, and what his plans were.
I knocked on the door to Michael's room. We had a long day ahead.
FROM THE AUTHOR
The Monster Museum and the town of Foxboro were inspired by a number of colorful touristy mountain towns in the Great Smokies area, including Gatlinburg and Pigeon Forge in Tennessee and Helen, Georgia.
In Gatlinburg, you can visit the Mysterious Mansion, a huge multi-level haunted-house maze with hidden doors and secret passages. Its twin, The Old House, once stood in the Miracle Strip Amusement Park in Panama City Beach, Florida, and I was fascinated by it as a kid. The Old House is one of the reasons I'm so endlessly fascinated by haunted houses. Miracle Strip Amusement Park closed long ago, and sat in ruins for many years; images of the ruins, combined with my childhood memories, inspired my horror novel Inferno Park. I even met with Vincent Valentine, who designed much of the park, including the now-vanished Old House and the still-operating Mysterious Mansion, as well as another of other big tourist attractions that have since vanished. For some reason, I'm fairly obsessed with the roadside tourist traps of the “highway” era, before interstates and massive them parks like Disney World and Universal Studios. See Rock City!
Also, as you may have noticed, there's quite a lot happening in this book, and the story is going to continue right on into the eleventh book, Fire Devil, which should be out in November or December 2018. I will try to get that one out as quickly as possible! This storyline just isn't one that was going to resolve quickly. I hope you enjoyed this book, and keep an eye out for the next one, coming soon!
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Thanks for reading!
Also by J.L. Bryan:
The Ellie Jordan, Ghost Trapper series
Ellie Jordan, Ghost Trapper
Cold Shadows
The Crawling Darkness
Terminal
House of Whispers
Maze of Souls
Lullaby
The Keeper
The Tower
The Monster Museum
Fire Devil, the eleventh Ellie Jordan, Ghost Trapper book will be available in 2018.
The Jenny Pox series (supernatural/horror)
Jenny Pox
Tommy Nightmare
Alexander Death
Jenny Plague-Bringer
Science Fiction
Helix
The Songs of Magic series (YA/fantasy)
Fairy Metal Thunder
Fairy Blues
Fairystruck
Fairyland
Fairyvision