Westport (Grays Harbor Series Book 1)

by James Bierce

  "I'm not staying another night in this town!" Sarah says, her voice definitive.

  "We have to, this storm could be dangerous."

  She stops and turns around, just as the first drops of rain begin to fall from the dark clouds overhead. "There was somebody upstairs with us the whole time!"

  "Yes, but..."

  "That means they know we're here. They know we're in town..."

  "I know..."

  "And what about whoever they have locked in the basement...?"

  "Hon, I'm not arguing that we should stay in that house — I'm saying we need to get out of this rain."

  As the words leave his mouth, a massive flash of lightning illuminates the sky, followed by a crack of thunder that rumbles just over the heads.

  Sarah knows that this entire trip was a huge mistake, that none of them had any business venturing into town this soon after the outbreak — not when they knew so little about what was happening. As much as she despises their new home in the woods, she'd give anything to see its warped floorboards and cracking paint right now. Curtis is right about one thing though, they're miles from the cabin with no possible way to get back before the full force of the storm reaches them. They need a place to hide, somewhere they can ride out the weather until daybreak.

  "Where did you have in mind?" she asks.

  "What about the Regency?"

  "Its been closed for years."

  "Good, it'll be empty then."

  The history of the Regency Hotel is shrouded in secrecy and confusion, and is often told through far-fetched stories that do little to clarify the truth behind the place.

  It was originally built in 1922 by a man named Joseph Embree. The hotel in those days was small, with only twelve rooms located on a cramped second floor — the first floor being entirely consumed by a grandiose entrance that looked completely out of place on the Washington coast. In 1942, shortly after the second world war broke out, the army took over the hotel and used it as a barracks, destroying most of the artwork and furniture in the process — and leaving Mr Embree broke for the first time in his otherwise productive life. Years after the war ended, and long after the Embree family disappeared from the area, the hotel was burned to the ground and rebuilt, this time on a much grander scale.

  Size wasn't the only thing about the newly rebuilt hotel that surprised the residents of Westport — after all, it was still only a modest fifty rooms, with an extra floor added to take advantage of the ocean views. What set it apart was the style and elegance of the place, it was unlike anything the small coastal community had ever seen. The floor of the lobby was covered in white marble, giving the room a bright glow despite the often gloomy conditions outside. The ceiling over the entrance was nearly forty feet high, with windows that covered three sides of the building, and provided views of the ancient trees and sand dunes that surround the hotel. The most impressive element of all, however, just like the previous hotel, was the main staircase. Using the finest wood from the hills just outside of town, the carpenter spent almost nine months building what would ultimately become one of the greatest examples of Pacific Northwest architecture ever created. It swept across all three floors of the hotel, using a footprint so large that every guest and employee could actually stand on the bottom course of its maple inlay steps at the same time — something the staff went out of their way to prove every Fourth of July with a photograph. It was a tradition that would continue until 1957, when a horrible tragedy closed them down once again, only four years after the much-celebrated reopening.

  That much about the hotel is widely considered to be true by historians and residents in the area. The numerous stories of hauntings, murders, the mysterious disappearance of the Embree family, and the true identity of the second owner, have been clouded in rumors and gossip throughout the years to the point where its difficult to tell what actually happened there. Matters became even murkier a few years ago when yet another owner, this one veiled in secrecy as well, remodeled the building with the intention of matching its former glory.

  The construction process was entangled with delays from the beginning, with men walking off the job, complaining of whispering and screams coming from the empty rooms on the second and third floors. People living adjacent to the hotel reported hearing strange noises as well, leading some to blame ghosts or specters for the disturbances, and others to postulate that the hotel might be sinking into the unstable sand dunes beneath its foundation.

  In most cases, and in most towns, all of this would be quickly disregarded as foolishness by the locals, a pathetic attempt to draw attention to a business looking to attract curious guests. Westport, however, is no ordinary town. The waters along its shore are some of the most dangerous in the world, sending hundreds of fisherman to their death over the years, and causing its residents to firmly believe in the ever-changing laws of superstition.

  Curtis grew up listening to his grandfather tell his own version of events concerning the hotel, leaving him both intrigued and terrified of the place. The stories would come like clockwork every time he visited the cabin with his parents, and despite his later suspicion that his grandfather was simply spinning tales to frighten an impressionable young mind, the stories never changed from one season to the next — which in his mind gave them legitimacy. Although he now considers his grandfather's stories nothing more than inspired fiction, Curtis had hoped to pass them onto his own children when they became old enough to hear them, and still young enough to listen.

  Standing in front of the entrance to the hotel, with the wind already howling as it passes over the tortured trees behind him, it seems the perfect atmosphere for Curtis to recite the stories from his childhood — but as he walks up the chiseled stone steps, he turns around and sees the worn-out expressions of his wife and sons. It occurs to him that none of the stories he remembers are as terrifying or gruesome as the circumstances they now face, and little by little the magic of the grand hotel begins to wash away, until all that's left is an overly decorated building that's been built too close to the dunes.

  "Did this place ever open again?" Sarah asks Curtis.

  "I think it was supposed to open later this year."

  Reaching for the doorknob, Curtis looks down and sees a set of keys still inserted into the keyhole. After figuring out that the door is locked, he turns the key and it swings open. At first he worries that someone might still be staying here, but after looking at the keys more closely he can tell they've been out in the weather for quite some time, and judging from the smell of mildew inside it seems clear that the building has been closed for a while.

  As the four of them enter the lobby, their gazes all turn upward to the high ceiling above them, their slow footsteps echoing loudly throughout the immense space. Directly in front of them is the hourglass-shaped staircase, impressive even in subdued lighting. There's a landing in the middle of the stairs that provides access to the second floor, and another one at the top which serves the third floor. Hallways run both left and right from each landing. At the very top of the stairs, on the back wall that faces the ocean, sits a dirty and unkempt etched-glass window — barely clear enough to see the gathering storm outside. Two massive concierge desks sit on the ground-floor, one on each side of the staircase, both of them nearly swallowed up in the darkness that covers the far side of the room. The lobby itself has no rooms above it, the ceiling goes all the way to the roof, but the concierge desks are nestled under the second story, beneath the cover of shadow.

  "Did you want to head straight to bed, or did you want to look around a bit?" Curtis asks his wife.

  "I'm exhausted, let's just figure out where we're sleeping — then maybe you and the boys can come back down and explore."

  Hearing a loud noise, Sarah wakes up, unsure of exactly what she'd heard. She listens closely for a moment, waiting for it to happen again, and trying to figure out just how long she's been asleep. Her body is unbelievably sore, especially her legs and feet. She knows if she fee
ls this way in the morning she'll definitely want to stay another night in town just to heal up, and she hopes like hell that it isn't morning already. She knows it can't be though, the room is still pitch-black, and she's certain that she picked a room with an outside view.

  Then she hears something again, a rhythmic thumping that at first she mistakes for a branch blowing against the outside of the hotel. It stops for just a few seconds, and as it starts again she realizes what it is — footsteps from above her, on the third floor. Thinking that it could be Curtis and the boys, she reaches across the mattress to see if she's still alone, but instead finds her husband sleeping on the bed beside her.

  "Curtis, wake up." she whispers into his ear, shaking him slightly.

  "What?" he answers, still groggy.

  "I can hear footsteps upstairs."

  He turns on a flashlight and listens, but the sounds have stopped. After waiting a few more seconds, he kisses his wife's cheek, turns off the light, and pulls the blanket back over his shoulders. "Its probably just the kids. Go back to sleep."

  "Why aren't the kids in here with us?" Sarah asks.

  "I put them in the next room, they were going to build a fort."

  "Hon, I don't feel comfortable with..."

  She stops mid-sentence as a loud crash fills the room from directly above. Curtis turns the light back on and sits up in bed, then looks over at Sarah. "Did you hear that?"

  "Of course I heard that." The footsteps start again, this time joined by the sound of something being dragged across the floor, like a piece of furniture. "That can't be the kids..." she whispers. As soon as the words come out of her mouth, she hears a knock on the door from the adjoining room, startling both of them. Then the noises stop.

  "Mom?" comes a voice on the other side of the door. She recognizes it as Matt.

  "Come in."

  Both Matt and Ben walk into the room, wearing pajamas and looking scared.

  "Was that you two making that noise?" she asks them.

  Matt shakes his head. "There's someone outside our window."

  Curtis jumps out of bed and puts on his clothes, then grabs the revolver that he has waiting on the nightstand. He motions for the two boys to join their mother in bed, then closes and locks the door to the room. After shutting off his light, he waits by the window, watching for any sign of movement — but all he can see is darkness. Then just as his eyes begin to adjust to the lack of light, making the sand dunes visible through the filthy window, he hears something again, this time a faint rattling.

  "What is that?" Sarah asks.

  "It sounds like its coming from downstairs. Maybe I should go down and check it out..."

  "No! Are you crazy?" Sarah fires back, screaming under her whisper.

  "We have no idea who they are. Hell, the hotel might be open for all we know..."

  "Then we'll settle the bill in the morning. None of us should be leaving the room."

  "Matt, did you get a look at the person you saw?" Curtis asks.

  "Sort of, it was dark."

  "Was it a man or a woman?"

  "A man."

  "Did he see you?"

  "I don't think so."

  Their eyes now fully adjusted, and with the moon momentarily shining through a small break in the clouds, they can now see each other clearly without the use of flashlights. Peering out the window again, he still can't see anything but the dunes between the hotel and the beach. He can see the blades of grass and the branches of the stunted pine trees whipping violently in the wind from the storm still raging outside, and the sheets of rain pelting the window in rhythmic bursts. Sarah almost screams as a flash of lightning fills the room, followed quickly by the loud crack of thunder overhead. Curtis looks at his watch, after suddenly realizing he has no idea what time it is.

  "This is ridiculous, its only a few minutes after nine... I'm not sitting here all night waiting for the sun to come up."

  "What choice do we have?" asks Sarah.

  "I'm gonna sneak down the hall and take a peek. Nobody will know I'm even there."

  "We need to stay together."

  "Nobody will see me, it'll be fine." he adds, walking toward the door.

  Sarah throws her hands in the air, her face a mask of disbelief. She's too upset to even speak to him.

  As he quietly unlocks the door, he tries once again to reassure her. "Its probably just a construction crew anyway."

  "Yeah, for all the customers in town..."

  Ignoring her remark, he opens the door and walks out into the hall, the door automatically locking behind him. The hallway is noticeably darker than the room, with very little visible except for the end of the corridor in front of him. As he begins walking, being careful not to step too heavily on the wooden planks that make up the floor, he can still hear something downstairs. Worse yet, he can also hear the creaking and groaning of the floorboards under his bare feet. When he reaches the staircase he waits and listens, but the noises have stopped once again.

  The lobby below seems to glow in the dark, the bright white marble reflecting every speck of light that comes through the expansive windows surrounding the room. Crouching down, he watches the room closely, waiting for a flashlight or candle to appear, or maybe even the shadow of someone walking across the room. When nothing happens, he decides to walk down the stairs, his gun still firmly in his grasp.

  Unlike the hallway, the steps leading down to the lobby make absolutely no noise at all, not even the slightest crack of dried-out wood. As he reaches the bottom, and steps out onto the cold stone floor, he catches a glimpse of something moving at the far end of the lobby to his right. His first thought is to run back upstairs to the safety of his room, but as the fear washes away he realizes how ridiculous that sounds — whoever else is in the room is probably as scared as he is. Still not comfortable being seen, he looks around for a spot that's hidden from the moonlight, and notices that a shadow extends a couple of feet out from the wall beyond the concierge desk. He places his back against the wall and begins moving slowly toward the other end of the lobby, his feet freezing against the hard tile.

  About halfway down the wall he stops, his legs suddenly heavy with fear once again — someone is in the room, only twenty or thirty feet in front of him. He can hear them breathing, a deep rattling wheeze that causes a slight echo throughout the room. The moment he finally spots the man sitting at a table, the stranger stands up and coughs, nearly losing his balance in the process — then he walks slowly across the floor toward the main entrance, his steps awkward and unsteady. Curtis is still frozen with terror, realizing that he's been holding his breath since the moment he first saw the man. He eases a breath out, careful not to make any noise doing so, then watches as the figure's weak, trembling fists slam helplessly against the glass of the door.

  Taking advantage of the man's distraction, Curtis glides down the wall and into the moonlight again — crouching over to make himself as small as possible as he steps onto the staircase. He turns around and faces the stairs in front of him, worried that someone else might be coming down at the same time — and out of habit he grabs the wooden railing beside him, releasing a loud creaking noise that rumbles across the room. The man in front of the door turns around and faces him, reaching his hands out in front of him, grabbing nothing but handfuls of air. He mumbles something completely unintelligible, ending with a low-pitched wail that stops Curtis in his tracks. He can barely see the man's face as he takes the first few steps in Curtis' direction. His steps are clumsy and jerky, and his breathing is audible even from this distance, but his face shows absolutely no sign of emotion. The features look sunken and withered, with glazed over eyes that look both dead and fixated at the same time. The sight of him sends a chill up Curtis' spine, and for a few seconds he does nothing but stand there and watch as the man creeps slowly toward him. Finally snapping out of it, he turns around and runs up the stairs, hearing once again the sounds of footsteps coming from the hallway on the third floor. As he reach
es the second floor landing he turns and races down the hall, no longer caring whether he makes any sound or not. When he makes it to the door he grabs the knob and tries to open it, forgetting that it locked itself when he left.

  "Sarah, open the door!" he whispers, still trying to turn the knob. After only a few seconds the door opens, with Sarah standing in the doorway, tears running down her face. After glancing back down the hallway to see if anyone is following him, Curtis rushes inside, closing and locking the door behind him. "Everybody stay quiet, and no lights."

  "Who's out there?" Sarah whispers.

  "Shh, they're coming..."

  The room is nearly pitch-black, and the only sounds Sarah can hear are the frightened whimpers coming from behind her as her sons sit huddled on the bed. Her and Curtis are waiting nervously with their ears pressed up against the door, listening closely for any sign of activity in the hallway beyond — and although the hallway outside their room remains silent, in the distance they begin to make out the faint sounds of footsteps from seemingly all around them, and then the creaking of old wooden floors from the direction of the staircase at the end of the hall. Just as the footfalls pick up speed, a blood-curdling scream is heard, reverberating around the hotel and piercing through the walls as if it were in the next room. The screaming eventually becomes interspersed with shouting, coming from at least two people, each one as incoherent as the other. Curtis and Sarah both flinch each time one of the screams can be heard, their hearts beating so hard in their chest they have a difficult time concentrating on anything else. Its a noise unlike anything they've ever heard.

  Then they hear a loud crash, like something, or someone, falling down the staircase — and then nothing. The noise disappears completely from the hotel, leaving only the sound of the storm outside.