The Eaton

by John K. Addis

  “Her husband didn’t hear it,” Clem explained. “He had had a bit too much to drink.”

  “But not Mrs. Biddle?”

  “No, I don’t believe she imbibes.”

  “And why did she scream?”

  Clem frowned. “She said when she opened the door, it was indeed her sister…but at the age she had been when they were kids together, not her age today. And she had blood covering her little dress, which meant, to Mrs. Biddle, that it was the night her sister had found their mother dead from a hemorrhage. And this little girl, her sister, was laughing, saying that she wished Jamie had joined her to ‘dance in mommy’s blood.’ Which, I might add, Mrs. Biddle says is not something her sister had ever said.”

  “But when she screamed,” Matthew interjected, “and Mr. Biddle woke up, he ran to her, and couldn’t see the girl his wife saw, except for maybe a flicker in the air—nothing like the real, physical presence Jamie saw and heard.”

  Jon took notes.

  Oliver, Clem, and Matthew shared several other stories involving hotel guests. The first of the late night had involved Garrett and Margaret Freeman, “the negro couple working for me, Garrett on maintenance and Margaret in housekeeping,” Oliver explained. They were one of three married couples who combined a construction worker or hotel staff husband with a housekeeper wife, which Oliver encouraged to maintain secrecy. They had stayed late in the ballroom, cleaning up after the party, and were taking the stairs together back to their room in 308, as the elevator had already been stopped for the night. On the stairwell, they turned a corner and both saw and heard a man in a white robe and hood, carrying a lit torch, telling them to turn back. It was a figure from Garrett’s memories as a child in Tennessee, “some sort of white supremacist group that scared their family off their farm.” They ran down to the lobby to get help, which is when they told Matthew, but when Matthew accompanied them back up the stairs, they found nothing.

  “Do you know if Garrett and Margaret drank any alcohol last night?” asked Jon.

  “I don’t think so,” Oliver answered. “They’re Baptists.”

  “Hmm,” said Jon, making another note.

  Matthew had retrieved the guest manifest from the front desk, allowing Jon to know where each guest was staying, assuring his notes were accurate and everyone’s names were recorded. As the additional stories were discussed and compared, Jon understood why Oliver seemed to be coming around to Jon’s creature hypothesis. As Jon had observed the night before, whatever was causing the visions was moving through the hotel, not just affecting random people at random times. There wasn’t a single case of two visions happening at the same time in two different places, and each disturbance was separated by the previous disturbance by one or two floors. Alcohol, too, seemed to play a role, as being intoxicated appeared to make the hallucinations invisible, or at least much less real. This also matched Jon’s own experience with the flies, and why Clem seemed to be the only one who didn’t clearly see the swarm.

  “So, do you want me to grab a bottle for us?” asked Clem, hopefully.

  Jon groaned. The thought of alcohol this early in the morning made his stomach churn, and his head was still buzzing from the evening before. But he nodded, and Clem sprinted off to the bar.

  Oliver forced a smile, and Jon looked at him carefully. There was more that Oliver hadn’t yet shared, but he was uncertain how to proceed. Throughout the night, Oliver and Matthew had used their intelligence and charm to convince each of the affected people that their experience was an isolated hallucination, caused by the reasons explained by Drs. Carr and Winchell, and there was no cause for alarm. But in the morning, the guests would talk to each other. They would compare notes. They would realize that the visions were increasing in frequency, and some might even figure out, as Jon had, that the cause of the disturbances was mobile, some sort of ghost or demon moving through the hotel. They would panic, and they would leave, and Oliver would be ruined. The fact that Oliver was now on board with Jon’s hypothesis underscored the seriousness of the situation, but Jon could tell the man was still holding back.

  “I must ask,” Jon began, “if there’s anything you’re not yet telling me.”

  Oliver and Matthew looked at each other. While Oliver was more skilled in projecting confidence, the look of grave concern that flooded over his assistant told Jon that he was right to suspect something more. Oliver must have recognized the transparency of Matthew’s fear, for he shot him an annoyed, chastising smirk before turning back to Jonathan.

  “Yes, there is something,” Oliver began, as Clem returned with two bottles of scotch and four lead-lined glasses. “There are at least two people missing.”

  Jon’s eyes went wide. “Missing?”

  “Two workers of mine, Tim Elshoff and Mark Hinkley, are not in their respective rooms and cannot be found.”

  “Where were they staying?”

  “All the staff and construction workers are staying on the third floor for this opening,” Oliver explained. “Part of their agreement to develop the hotel in secret included a stay in the hotel for the first two weekends, as long as they keep the rooms spotless, for tours. We know they’re missing because we went through all the rooms after Garrett and Margaret insisted on looking for them with the torch.”

  “But you haven’t gone through all the rooms,” Jon frowned.

  “No, just the third floor, because they work for me. And we didn’t want to create any sort of panic.”

  “That means you don’t know if others are missing.”

  “No, we don’t,” Oliver admitted. “But we have no reason to believe any more are gone.”

  Jon’s eyebrows scrunched disapprovingly at Oliver’s unjustified optimism.

  “Maybe they got out,” offered Clem, handing each of them a full glass of scotch.

  “No, they couldn’t have,” argued Matthew. “The elevator’s been locked down since midnight, and they both were still here then, helping with the linens.”

  “They could have taken the stairs,” Jon reasoned.

  Oliver shook his head. “No, the stairs don’t go all the way out. They stop at the Mastersuite.”

  Jon was taken aback by this. “You mean to tell me there’s just one way into and out of this place, and you don’t even allow its operation at night? What if there’s an emergency? My God, man, what if there’s a fire?”

  Oliver held his hands up. “Now wait a moment, I didn’t say there never will be, there just isn’t now. The stairwell will eventually break through to the surface, just outside the wall of the train depot, for emergencies, but we couldn’t very well build that before the existence of the hotel was known. It’s coming, within weeks, it really is. But right now…”

  “Right now,” Jon shot back, “you chose secrecy over safety, and the only way out is an elevator that you control.”

  “Well, technically, there’s also the transit level…” Matthew began.

  “But that doesn’t go anywhere yet either,” Jon interrupted. “So our choices are a staircase that doesn’t reach the surface, a train tunnel that doesn’t reach Charlotte, and an elevator that Oliver currently has blocked. And somehow, we need to get forty people out of here, and fast.”

  Oliver stiffened. “Well wait just a damned minute,” he said, eyes cold. “I’ve worked very, very hard to make sure this weekend goes smoothly, and there are some very wealthy and well-connected people here. We can’t just…”

  Jon cut him off by showing the pencil rubbings of the petroglyphs contained in his notes.

  “Do you see this?” he demanded. “This is the creature that is terrorizing your hotel. The Indians knew the creature. These carvings describe exactly what we’re now seeing. A thing they trapped. That you let out. A demon who can project a different appearance, anything it wants to, by raping the memories of its victims. Like the old shape-shifter legends, only it’s not really a shape-shifter, is it, because it’s hiding behind its illusion
s, not actually changing.” Jon pushed the journal closer to Oliver’s face. “It’s real, and it looks like this clawed monster right here—and the only reason we’re not seeing it for what it really is, is apparently because we haven’t had enough damned whiskey. So don’t tell me that ‘we can’t just’ get out of here. Because I happen to think we are in very real danger here, and if we don’t leave now, we might not get another chance.”

  Jon’s words hung in the silence for a long time. He lowered his journal back to the table, grabbed the whiskey glass, and pounded back its contents. Drinking while hung-over was not something he enjoyed, although he could tell from Clem’s vacant expression that it was a regular occurrence in Clem’s world. God, what an asshole, Jon thought, not for the first time. Why do I work with this guy. Although, he supposed, had Clem not been a drunk, he might not have figured out the alcohol connection in time. Even a broken clock…

  “No one’s gotten hurt,” said Oliver meekly. “There’s no reason to believe anyone’s in danger.” But there was a look of defeat on his face, like a child caught doing something awful and was now in deep trouble with a strict parent. Jon had empathy for the man, who had poured so much of his heart and soul into the place, only to have it become a house of horrors.

  “We don’t have to alarm anyone,” Jon assured him. He glanced up at the clock hanging on the far wall. “Look, it’s after 6:00 now. People will be waking up anyway. You and Matthew can walk around, knock on each door, apologize profusely for the inconvenience, but advise them to pack up their things.”

  “We can explain it as a steam leak in the mineral baths,” Matthew suggested. “We can say that the reason for the hallucinations is due to the leak, and out of an abundance of caution, we’re evacuating the hotel, just to save the guests the discomfort of having scary visions, even though they’re harmless.”

  Jon nodded. “That’s right. It matches up with Dr. Carr and Dr. Winchell’s theories, so you’re not a liar. But it also is compatible with the stories the guests are going to be hearing about from their neighbors. It avoids a panicked rush to the exit, but still gets people out before the creature turns violent.” Jon did not add his concerns that the creature might have already turned violent, given the unsettling fact of the missing people from the third floor.

  Oliver nodded gravely, then knocked back the final swig from his whiskey glass. “Alright, Jon. We’ll do it your way. I don’t want to see anyone get hurt.”

  “How do we restart the elevator?” Jon asked.

  “It’s just blocked on the Mastersuite floor,” Oliver explained. “I stick one of the lobby chairs over the threshold. The car can't move if it's blocked.” Jon glanced down at the guest manifest, which listed the Mastersuite as occupied by “Waldorf Astor.” Oliver caught his confused gaze and laughed. “That’s me,” said Oliver. “I’m staying in the Mastersuite for our maiden voyage.”

  “You used a pseudonym in your own hotel?”

  “For luck,” he admitted. “Thought a famous name like Waldorf Astor would get us off to a good start.”

  “Alright,” Jon responded with authority. “You wake up the staff, enlist their help, and start at the upper levels. Then you can start explaining to the guests in the suites what’s going on. They’re the high-society visitors so I’m sure they’d appreciate an explanation from you personally. Matthew and I can help with the lower levels. We’ll tell everyone to stay calm, pack up, and we’ll start taking people up and out within the hour. And we’ll all get through this, including you, Oliver.”

  Oliver smiled, but his eyes were wet and glassy. He knew as well as Jon did that even if everyone got out safely, the reputation of the great and mysterious Oliver Stanton was very much on the line.

  Clem got a shoulder bag from the back and began filling it with several bottles of alcohol, just in case. Oliver began the trek to the third floor, hoping the combination of whiskey and climbing stairs wouldn’t expel the contents of his stomach. Matthew and Jon were behind him, Matthew stopping at the fourth floor, but Jon advanced to the eighth floor, figuring he owed his wife an explanation first.

  As he had feared, Niamh had indeed been worried.

  “Christ, Jonathan,” she said after he opened the door. “Where have you been?”

  “We have to leave here, now,” Jon explained, motioning to their traveler trunk. “Pack everything up.”

  “It’s the hallucinations, isn’t it,” she said.

  “They aren’t hallucinations, exactly,” Jon began, then thought better of it. She didn’t need to know the whole truth, at least not now.

  Niamh scrunched her nose. “Have you been drinking?”

  Jon ignored her question, tossed his journal onto the end table, then went into the washroom to splash water on his face. The alcohol was just starting to take effect, and he knew he would be tipsy soon, but it was important he look sober if he was to help with an orderly evacuation. He dried himself with a towel and took a deep breath before entering the bedroom again. Niamh hadn’t moved, and was standing there in her nightrobe, eyeing him with fearful fascination.

  “Jon,” she started, but he cut her off.

  “Niamh, my wife, it is okay. You were right to want to leave yesterday, and I’m sorry I didn’t fight harder for that. But we’re going to leave now. There’s…” Jon stopped himself. He was going to try out the cover story, that there had been a leak in mineral water steam, and that it was causing hallucinations, but he couldn’t bring himself to lie so directly. He would tell her the whole story later, once they were safe and free. For now, he smiled and kissed her. “Trust me,” he said instead, and headed toward the door to the hallway, which he had left open in his distracted state. Realizing anyone walking by might have seen his wife in her nightclothes, he added “and get dressed, for God’s sake!” before racing out.

  Niamh poked her head out the door. “Where are you going?” she called.

  “I need to help with the evacuation,” Jon called back as he reached the stairwell. “Everything will be fine, and I’ll see you very soon, but I promised I’d help with the lower floors first, alright? Just, pack up as quick as you can.” He didn’t wait for a reply, and soon he had vanished through the door on his way down to help Matthew.

  Niamh looked around, backed fully into their room, and pulled the door shut behind her.

  All of this was wrong, she knew. They shouldn’t be here. They should never have come. There was a coldness to the room that she hadn’t noticed before, and a chill went through her body. She could hear something, too, and it took her a moment to realize what it must be. Jon hadn’t shut the water off entirely, and there was a soft drip-drip-drip sound coming from the bathroom. She sighed and walked toward it, turning the corner into the bathroom’s open door, freezing in her tracks.

  The drip-drip sounds hadn’t been from the sink, but from her brother’s soaked body dripping water onto the tiled floor.

  Niamh cried aloud, stepping back from Danny but never looking away, as the boy stared back, his accusatory eyes blazing at her with anger. He was bluer now than he had been during her first hallucination, and his skin was taut and bloated.

  “Neeeevie,” the boy taunted, though his voice stayed monotone. “I’m not thirsty anymore, Neeeevie.”

  “Get….get away!” Niamh stumbled backward into the main part of the room. He followed her, stepping slowly, leaving wet footprints behind him.

  “Neeeeeeeeeevie,” he said, adding a note of malice. Niamh realized for the first time that he had a hand behind his back. “I have something for you, my sister. I know how much you like these.” He produced a decaying bouquet of wildflowers, which seemed to blacken and wither before her eyes, shedding rotten black petals onto the carpet.

  “Stay away,” she sobbed. “I know you’re not real.”

  “Oh, but I am real,” Danny assured her, his hand crushing the flowers into an ashy paste. “You know I am real. And your husband, didn’t he just say we we
ren’t hallucinations? I heard him say that, Neeeevie.”

  Niamh was breathing in spurts and sobs now. She crawled backward away from him, hitting the far wall and then pushing her body hard against it, as if she could knock it down with sheer force and create an escape.

  “I know you’ve been sad for years over my death,” Danny said, his voice developing a raspy tone as if unable to breathe. “And I want you to know that you were right. It was your fault. God knows it was your fault. Every day you spend alive is an insult to our Lord.” He leaned in closer, conspiratorially, and smiled. “And so we both know that the longer you stay on this earth, the more your skin will bubble and burn in the flames of eternal hell.”

  Against the wall, Niamh’s body trembled and turned in on itself like a crushed ant. “Oh, Danny…” she choked. “Oh I’m so sorry, oh Christ I am.”

  “The longer you wait to join me in death,” Danny continued without mercy, still creeping toward her thin, twisted body, dripping water from his blue skin and matted hair, “the more I will take everything you love. I’m the one who made sure you were childless. And I’m the one who will make sure your husband dies a slow, cruel death. I’ll make sure his skin will burn in flames in this life like yours will burn in the next.”

  Niamh was covering her face with her hands now, shaking and sobbing, trying to drown out her brother’s taunts, to convince herself that it was still an illusion, and that if she just closed her eyes it would go away. But she felt him getting even closer, could smell the wet hair and the scent of decaying flowers, and before she could cry out again, she felt two cold, wet hands seize her by the wrists, pushing her arms apart with incredible strength, uncovering her face, and putting his own face an inch from hers. When she opened her eyes, her entire vision was overtaken by that face, that blue, bloated, rotting face, water still dripping from his hair onto his taut skin, and her mouth locked open in a silent scream.

  “Neeeeevie,” he said, through loose teeth that seemed ready to fall out on their own, his breath humid and sour. His eyes locked into hers, daring her to look away. “Neeeeeeevie.”