“Well,” asked Vaughn, “are we even sure all of this is Sam's building? I can't imagine the property deed mentions a twelve-floor underground hotel.”
“No, I'd have noticed that,” chuckled Janet. “But in general, when you buy a parcel of land, you own everything from the property line down through the earth. It's the same principle that gives you rights to any oil or precious metals found anywhere on your property, regardless of depth.”
“Well perfect,” cooed Sarah, lightly tapping her pocket. “These precious metals were definitely found below Sam's place. So there.”
Al, who had been silent thus far, seemed anxious. He glanced at his watch and shuffled his feet. Finally, since Sam didn't seem to be taking the nonverbal bait, he cleared his throat and motioned to the door. “The other rooms, guys?”
“Sorry,” said Sam, with a little impatience of his own. “Is exploring a hidden underground hotel a little too dull for you? Do you have more interesting plans later?”
“Must be a hell of a hot date,” chuckled Kedzie.
Al narrowed his eyes. “I do not find jewelry and old clothes particularly fascinating. What I'm interested in is the higher levels. I can only imagine the suites are more architecturally interesting, and I can't wait to see if the baths are still operational.”
“Fair enough,” Sam acknowledged. “But I still like the idea of going in order. Besides, what's wrong with building a little suspense?”
Al chuckled with a touch of derision, but then shrugged his shoulders in acquiescence, as if to say “you're the boss.”
Sam smiled. “Alright then, next room.”
As they began to file out into the hallway, Sarah noticed a reflective glass object in the far corner. She approached and knelt down to pick it up.
“What's that,” asked Vaughn. Sarah handed it to him. It was a glass bottle, resembling an fifth of alcohol, but without a label or identifying marks. It did not have a stopper, and was bone dry.
“They must have had a bit of a party,” observed Sam as he took the bottle from his friend. “I wonder if this was from the bar.”
“Well you did want your club to have bottle service,” Vaughn remarked. “Maybe it already had.”
“Indeed.”
Sam set the bottle back down on the ground, and they joined the others in the hallway. Janet had already opened the next door and had stepped inside.
This new room, like so many on the first level, looked untouched. The bedspread was neat, the armoire was empty, and the nightstand was free from both objects and dust. Sam glanced at Al, who had waited in the hallway this time, trying not to look bored.
Sarah noticed it first. It crept into her mind like a shadow, hinting at itself while revealing nothing concrete. “Hey, be quiet a sec,” she requested, and everyone complied. At first it sounded like a dull hum, perhaps from the machinery that powered the lights and heat. But then a faint rhythm became clear, and it wasn't a mechanical rhythm at all. It was music.
Sarah walked over to the far wall and placed her ear against various points along the surface. “It's coming from the next room,” she declared.
“Maybe someone left a TV on,” Janet remarked dryly.
They joined Al in the hallway and opened the door to the adjacent room. Although inaudible from the hallway, the quiet sound of music was more obvious once inside. Yet it was not clear where the music could have been coming from. This room, like the one preceding, appeared unruffled, with a nicely made bed and no sign of past occupation.
“The armoire,” directed Al.
Sam was closest, and so opened the heavy doors of the armoire. Inside the armoire sat a beautiful Berliner gramophone, with music emanating from a brass horn facing the room. The album was nearing completion, and as the final chord faded into silence, Sam watched in awe as the careful mechanics of the antique machine began to slow and click to a stop.
“That was Liszt,” Sarah announced. “One of the short piano pieces.”
Vaughn lifted the needle and examined the record. Rather than having a modern label, the small seven-inch disc had the title engraved in the shellac. It was indeed Liszt, Short Piano Piece #1 in E Major, performed by Arthur Friedham with a recording date of 1898.
Al was impressed. “And just how in the hell does a young punk girl such as yourself recognize a piece like that?”
“My dad played piano for us growing up,” Sarah explained. “He was in a band on the side. Nothing major…local bars, Amvet halls, that kind of thing.”
Al raised an eyebrow. “And this band played Liszt?”
“No, no, nothing like that. They played classic rock.”
“Or as I knew it, 'rock,'” Al mused.
“Yes. But he was classically trained. When he played for us, it was as likely to be Beethoven as it was the Beatles. We had this old upright in the dining room—really bright sound, practically a tack piano—and we'd sing songs together after dinner, or on holidays, you know. But the classical stuff he'd play at night for us to sleep to. My sister and I had bunk beds in a room which shared a wall with the dining room, so we could hear it really well, though it was muffled of course. Sometimes at night he'd play Mozart, or Bach, or even a little Rachmaninov before his tendonitis got too bad.” Sarah smiled at the memory, and gazed at the gramophone as if it were a treasured photograph. “Liszt was one of his favorite composers, and these little piano solos were special treats. Especially as they were short enough to keep a child’s attention span.”
Vaughn operated the hand crank and started the record from the beginning. Even with the limited acoustic range of the monaural equipment, the melody was clear, and rather haunting. For Sam, the inescapable dreamlike coloring to the entire day was further heightened by this impossible musical discovery. That the recording was one of his fiancée's most beloved songs from childhood added an otherworldly depth. It felt magical yet creepy, comfortable yet ominous.
“Not to interrupt your music appreciation seminar,” Vaughn said, “but are we seriously not going to talk about how fucked up this is? There’s no power option for this device. It’s hand-crank only. How did the thing just start playing?”
“Perhaps it was queued up all this time,” offered Al, “and our footsteps and door closings nearby just bumped a hair-trigger mechanism.”
“You think the tension in the crank held for over a hundred years?” Vaughn remarked with skepticism. “That seems unlikely.”
Al shot Vaughn a sly smile. “The alternative, my boy, would be a ghost.”
Janet had taken time to inspect the rest of the room. Curiously, she found no additional sign of occupancy. The nightstand was empty, there were no clothes, and the bathroom was untouched. There were not even any additional gramophone records. She frowned.
“So, what is this here for? Do you think whoever rented this room forgot their record player behind?”
“Maybe it belonged to the hotel,” ventured Vaughn. “It’s pretty bulky to be a travel unit.”
Sam chuckled. “Did they even have travel units back then?”
“Look, man, my first record player was a dual-turntable Numark mixer kit. That's as far back as my knowledge goes. I don't know anything about creepy Victorian shit playing by itself in haunted hotels.”
“It’s not haunted,” said Sam. “No one thinks it's haunted.” But that wasn't true. Vaughn may have been the first to vocalize the idea, but every single one of them had thought it over the last two hours, except for Kedzie.
“Oh my God, you all are looking like you've seen a ghost,” Kedzie chirped. “But there's no such thing as ghosts. It's always just a guy in a mask.”
“Well, jinkies,” replied Sarah. “In that case, there must be nothing to worry about, huh.”
Sam laughed. “Come on, gang. Let's try another room.” He leaned over to turn off the gramophone, but Sarah halted his hand with hers. She looked at him with something approaching panic, but her face soon returned to normal
.
“Sarah? What is it?”
“I…don't know.” But she did know. When she saw Sam's hand approaching the off switch, Sarah had been consumed with an irrational sense of dread. It spread through her body in a violent jolt, and she became momentarily convinced that, if the music were stopped, her father would be killed. This feeling was all the more irrational due to the fact her father had passed away several years ago.
Sarah's father had actually owned an old gramophone like this, but it had never worked, at least not in any of Sarah's recollections. Like most of his musical possessions, they had been taken by her older sister Amy, who was the musically gifted one. Sarah had instead received her father's old books, art supplies, and architectural tools. Even though Sarah's inheritance was more valuable and useful to her own interests, Sarah was always jealous of Amy's share. After all, her greatest memories of her daddy were his playing music, not reading books or using a protractor. She thought about Amy, and wondered if she still had the old record player tucked away in an attic somewhere. Maybe she'd ask if she could have it.
“Sorry,” said Sarah, coming out of her trance. “It's fine, shut it off.”
By then, however, the final chord had played once more, and static had again filled the small space. Sam docked the needle. Sarah's dread did not return.
They left the room, and explored the other rooms one by one. Other than a few pieces of old clothing in one armoire, and another empty bottle of some sort of spirit, the remaining rooms were essentially empty.
When it was time to leave for the next level, and they had loaded the elevator car, Sarah looked wistfully through the cage at the closed door which had held the Liszt, and the memories of her father the discovery had awakened. She began to remember other things, too—the time her dad had taken her to the circus and she had dropped the cotton candy, and the time she had ridden on his shoulders to see the Christmas parade, and the time they had built a puppet theatre out of scrap wood and deck screws, and the time he had cried when he had lost her at the department store, when she had decided to play hide and seek in the middle of a clothes rack. She wondered what her father would think of her life today, if he would be proud of her academic accomplishments, her increasingly feisty spirit, or her charity work. She wondered if he would approve of her politics, her tattoos, and even if he'd approve of Sam.
“On to the baths,” announced Al in the manner of a tour guide, pressing the brass “5” before him. Sam found Sarah's hand and gave it a good squeeze. She smiled up at him with gratitude. He smiled back, and turned to watch the floors change.
Sarah ultimately decided she was happy they had found the gramophone. She reasoned that although the discovery may have been unusual, like so much of this mysterious place, it was not creepy or haunted. And besides, if it had been a ghost, why couldn’t it have been a friendly one? Surely an evil ghost would have found something more ominous to frighten them with than two minutes of piano music. Perhaps it was even her father, smiling down on her, sharing one last musical memory with his little girl, to comfort her as she explored this bizarre, abandoned underground world.
The elevator arrived at its destination. For a long moment, no one said a word, except for Al.
“Well, wouldya look at that.”
ten
For the first time of their entire adventure, Al seemed truly awestruck. His jaw was slack and his eyes were like saucers. He opened the elevator gate, but no one moved for several moments. Then they all stepped into the luxury together.
The elevator emptied into a small waiting area with a pair of enormous doors straight ahead, which were open wide and beckoning. The rest of the floor appeared to be a single, cavernous room, and was already lit with more than a dozen warm electric lights. It was closer in size and style to the impressive lobby, with its high ceilings and ornate designs, but was altogether more opulent in both scope and fine detail. There was an active but quiet fountain in the center of the room, inlaid with green tile which seemed to emit a certain phosphorescence at certain angles. Stone statues were carved into the center of the fountain, and reflected a Greek style without referencing specific gods or historical figures. Unlike the rich wood walls of the lobby, the walls were also stone, though carved with the similar looping “e” pattern which had been etched into the lobby trim. Along the left and right walls were eight large baths clad in gorgeous cerulean blue tile, with each tub thrusting halfway into the room and remaining halfway embedded into the walls, as if carved directly out of a rock face. The far wall was comprised of six showers with half-height dividers, as well as deep open shelves containing large folded towels. Presumably, the shower stalls were used for changing as well, as it was the only place for possible privacy. There was also a door on the far wall, which accessed the stairs.
The baths themselves were filled with gently bubbling water. They did not possess the powerful jets of modern hot tubs, but Sam was surprised to see any bubbles at all, always having assumed that mineral baths of the past had been still. He dipped his fingers into the water, and found it rather warm, like a toddler's bath. He turned to Sarah, who had followed him to the closest tub, and motioned for her to try the water as well. She did, and grinned with mischief.
“Let's kick everyone out and stay here for a while,” she cooed.
Vaughn overheard her remark from the other side of the room. “Hey you're not trying these out without us!”
Sarah laughed and looked up at her boyfriend. “Whaddya think, stud?”
A broad smile spread across Sam's face. He began to unbutton his shirt. “Why the hell not?”
Sam, Sarah and Vaughn all began stripping down. Al and Janet exchanged awkward glances, but Janet eventually laughed and started removing her blouse as well. “Don't get any ideas, though,” she warned Al with a chuckle.
“I didn't bring a bathing suit,” Al said. “And I don't have a change of underwear.”
Sam overheard this remark, and took the lead by removing his own boxers first and stepping naked into the bath, followed by Vaughn, and then Sarah, though she was a little more coy, making sure to cover her exposed breasts with gently crossed arms. Janet was next to disrobe, though made the decision not to hide a thing, and joined the three younger occupants without any lingering embarrassment.
Each tub was designed to fit ten full sized adults, but Al decided on taking his own tub adjacent to the rest of them. “Nothing personal, guys…just a little old fashioned.” Only Kedzie remained clothed, and stayed standing by the fountain.
“Can't join us at all, Kedzie?” Vaughn seemed disappointed.
“Aw, Vaughn, you know you don't get to see me naked that easily.”
“Dip your feet in,” urged Sarah. “I'm sure the baby will be fine!”
“Sounds like famous last words to me,” Kedzie responded with a shake of the head. “I'm fine just admiring the fountain, and I'll be your little towel girl when y'all are finished swimming in each other's juices.”
“Just my own juices here,” corrected Al.
“Okay, enough with the 'juices' talk,” laughed Sarah. “I'm already suspending disbelief and pretending there's chlorine in here.”
“So what is in here, Al,” asked Janet.
“Oh, probably lime deposits, iron, silica, that sort of thing. Some salts and sulfurs. But remember, what really made these waters special was the magnetism.”
“That’s actually a thing? Magnetic water?” Janet was skeptical.
“That’s right,” Al replied. “A neutral iron or steel rod could be placed in this water and, after a short time, become a magnet with measurable polarity.”
Vaughn laughed. “Dude, how do you know all this shit?”
“Hey, I grew up with this ‘shit.’ My parents and grandparents believed these waters could cure anything. Rheumatism, dyspepsia, sciatica…”
“Well now you’re just making up words,” Vaughn scoffed.
“Ha, ha. But don’t forget, m
agnetic therapy is used all over the world. Magnetic energy affects all living things, and keeping your own electromagnetism in balance is thought, by some, to be the key to good health and long life.”
Janet spoke up. “By ‘some,’ of course, you’re referring to the hippie chicks at music festivals selling magnetite rings to make your internal energy totally more groovy?”
Al smirked. “Something like that.”
“Well then,” she said. “I’m taking some with me.” She leaned over the tub to grab her purse, retrieving a half-filled plastic Aquafina bottle. She dumped its original contents onto the floor, then plunged the container into the bath. She capped it and held it above her head in triumph. “To an extra year of life!”
“Oh yeah?” Sam laughed. “Then I’m going to live forever!” He descended into the bubbles, immersing his head under water. He popped back out after a moment, spit a stream of water in the manner of a fountain sculpture, and shook his hair like a wet puppy.
“Hey,” chided Sarah with a smile, as she brushed away droplets from her forehead.
Sam tickled her right thigh under the water, and nibbled her bare shoulder as he cuddled closer. She squealed with delight and pulled his face up to kiss him on the lips. The kiss was short but deep, and left a distinct, lingering metallic flavor on her tongue.
“Um, excuse me, middle-aged Realtor present,” said Janet, leaning over to place the bottle back in her purse. Vaughn smiled and slid a bit closer to her as she returned.
“Feeling left out?” he asked, with a suggestive smile.
“In your dreams, mister.”
Vaughn laughed, then shrugged his shoulders, defeated. He turned to the only remaining female. “Come on, Kedz,” urged a jovial Vaughn. “Just dip a nipple in.”
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