by Amy Cross
I turn to her. “Can I see your wrists?”
She furrows her brow.
“Humor me,” I continue.
She pauses, before holding her hands up to reveal a pair of clean, undamaged wrists.
“Huh,” I whisper, realizing that this is all the evidence I need. I guess there's no doubt now. I really am losing my mind, in which case running away from the B&B would probably make things worse. I need to stick the night out here, no matter what.
***
I was planning to go straight to bed after my experience in the bathroom, but I'm starving and I figure I could use some of those biscuits that the landlady mentioned earlier. I run some deodorant across my armpits and then I head downstairs, where I locate another flight of steps that seems to lead down to the basement. I'm already halfway down when I realize I can hear voices coming from below, and I pause for a moment, feeling as if I should just go back to my room. After all, I really don't feel like talking to anyone right now.
“Oh hey,” an elderly man says suddenly, limping out of the brightly-lit kitchen with a bowl of fruit in his hands. He stops and smiles at me. “Another guest for the feast, eh?”
I stare at him, feeling a little startled.
“We've been raiding the refrigerator,” he continues with a grin. “It's become something of a tradition these past few nights. I keep telling myself we should stop, but these strawberries are just so yummy.”
He pauses, as if he's waiting for me to reply, and then he turns and carries the berries through to join the other voices in the next room.
I hesitate, still convinced that I should go back to my room, before reminding myself that this is precisely the kind of anti-social behavior I've been meaning to stamp out. I have to be less scared of people, so I need to force myself to go through and at least fetch some tea and biscuits. It won't kill me to be slightly sociable, and I might even benefit from being around other, normal people. I take a deep breath and try to ignore the fear in my chest, and then I make my way across the hallway and over to the door.
The next room is a low-ceilinged little space with half a dozen tables neatly set out. There's an elderly couple sitting at the closest table, playing cards while nibbling potato chips from various bowls, while a younger girl – my age, or maybe even a few years younger, in her late teens – is sitting quietly and a little meekly behind them, reading a book. Another man, middle-aged and wearing a striking yellow and black checkered blazer, is sitting at a table in the middle of the room, watching the card game, and he grins at me as I mumble a greeting and head to the coffee machine on a table at the side of the room.
“We have another guest!” the middle-aged man says, evidently amused. “And at such a late hour, too! Still, it's always nice to welcome someone to our little shindig. As you might have noticed, my dear, we're enjoying something of a lock-in!”
He raises a finger to his lips.
“Don't make too much noise, though,” he continues. “We don't want to wake the ghosts.”
I manage to find a smile from somewhere. I hope it seems genuine.
“My little joke,” he continues, getting to his feet and using a hand to smooth his slicked-back hair. Stepping closer, he extends the same hand for me to shake. “You must call me Lloyd. Do you want to know why?”
“Um...”
“Because it's my name, silly!” he continues, giggling at his own joke.
I force myself to shake his hand, which feels predictably greasy.
“Now,” he adds, “I understand that it can feel very lonely to be the outsider in a group, but we're very welcoming and you'll soon feel right at home with us. Most of us have been staying here for... Well, for a little while now. Several nights, at least, as guests of the delightful Castle Crown Bed and Breakfast. Do you know, this place has been a home away from home for travelers since the middle of the last century?”
“That's nice,” I reply.
“We're all just lonely pilgrims seeking room and board for a few nights,” he continues, lowering his hands and placing them on his hips. “On a cold winter's eve, one doesn't want to be searching for lodgings, especially not when there's rumored to be a killer on the prowl.” He turns and looks at the girl in the corner, who still has her nose in a book. “I've told Matilda over and over, she's just the kind of girl the Snowman would go after. Young, pretty, innocent, naive, defenseless. I dare say if he spotted her out and about, he wouldn't hesitate to gut her. I mean, look at her. The poor girl's style positively begs someone to drag her into a dark alley.”
He watches her for a moment.
“Did you hear me?” he calls out suddenly. “Matilda? Did you hear what I just said?”
Again, she ignores him.
“You'd be dead in minutes,” he continues, as if he's trying to goad her into a response. “No killer could resist you!”
A flicker of discomfort crosses the girl's face, and it's quite clear that she's heard every word Lloyd is saying, but she doesn't seem to want to acknowledge him. Instead, she pointedly turns to another page in her book. I can't entirely say I blame her.
“Then again,” Lloyd continues, glancing back at me with a leering eye, “I suppose you might be his type too.”
He looks me up and down for a moment.
“Yes,” he mutters, “you really might.”
“I just came to get something to eat,” I reply, turning and taking a cup from the trolley. I drop a tea-bag into the cup, before examining the machine and seeing that there's only one nozzle for both coffee and water, which means the tea is going to taste a little weird. Still, I guess beggars can't be choosers, so I slip the tea under the nozzle and press the button for water.
Nothing happens.
“Give it a minute or two to catch up,” Lloyd explains. “Major Denham asked it for water just now, so it rather needs to catch its breath. That's the thing about these old models. They can still do the job, but you have to let them rest in-between. Rather like older men.”
I can hear a faint gurgling sound coming from deep inside the machine, so I guess it's at least thinking about giving me some water.
“Would you care to join the game?”
I turn to Lloyd.
“It might be more fun with you,” he continues. “I wanted to play Onesies and Twosies, but Matilda's being a stick-in-the-mud as usual, but you could be the fourth hand. I promise you'll have a wonderful time! We're very friendly, and we're exceedingly welcoming when new people join our little group. I know Major and Mrs. Denham can seem rather frosty, but that's just their way with everyone. Don't worry if you haven't played it before. You'll soon get the hang of things.”
“I'm fine, thank you,” I tell him, desperately hoping that the machine will spit out my water soon. “I'm not really much of a game player.”
“Nobody is until they give it a go!”
“It's very late,” I point out.
“Of course, but how can anybody sleep on a night like this?” He leans past me and places a hand on the wall. “Feel that!”
“I'm sorry?”
“Feel the wall!”
Figuring I should be polite, I turn and put my hand close (but not too close) to his. “It's cold,” I mutter, stating the obvious.
“Exactly! We're nice and warm in here, but outside it's another freezing, snowy night in the good city of Canterbury. And he's out there somewhere, you know. He's traipsing through the streets, looking for his next victim.”
“Sure,” I mutter.
“The Snowman,” he continues. “Don't tell me you haven't heard of him.”
“I've heard of him,” I reply, before glancing at the coffee machine. It's taking so long to deliver a cupful of hot water, but I know it'd seem rude if I abandoned ship now. I wish I was one of those people who didn't mind seeming rude, especially around strangers.
“This is the perfect night for the Snowman,” Lloyd explains. “Cold, snowy, deserted. He'll be out there somewhere in one of the dark streets, or lu
rking in one of the darker alleys. Everyone knows not to go out in these conditions. The police have issued warnings, and history speaks for itself, but you can bet that someone at some point will decide they can take the risk, and some slight young lady will venture out into the snow, trampling along an empty street, convinced that she'll be fine. But he'll find her, and he'll pursue her, and he won't even give her time to scream. And then in the morning, there'll be a corpse in the bloody snow.”
He leans closer to me.
“Mark my words,” he continues. “Somebody will die tonight. I even...”
He glances over his shoulder, as if to check that the elderly man and woman are still chatting away to one another, and then he leans ever closer to me.
“I even spotted him,” he whispers. “I think so, anyway.”
I wait for him to continue. “Spotted who?” I ask finally.
“Him! The Snowman! Tonight!”
“You did?”
“I was looking out through one of the windows,” he adds conspiratorially, “at around quarter to eleven. I suppose I was feeling rather listless, and perhaps a little out-of-sorts. One gets that way sometimes, especially on a night like this when one fears a killer might be on the loose. And I just happened to be looking out at exactly quarter to midnight, while I was trying to decide whether or not to come downstairs tonight for another late-night session, and I saw someone hurrying right past the B&B! I didn't get any details, all I really spotted was the shadow of a figure, but there was definitely somebody out there!”
“Maybe it was just someone going about their business,” I suggest, trying not to let him see that I can smell his coffee breath.
“We both know it was no such thing,” he continues. “This particular figure was trying very hard to keep from being seen. Very, very hard. There's no doubt in my mind, it was the Snowman, out on the prowl again. I thought about calling the police, to tip them off, but it's not as if the information would really help them. They've been rather lackadaisical about catching him, to say the least.”
“Still,” I reply, “it wouldn't hurt to -”
“Anyone foolish enough to risk going out there,” he adds, “deserves to get their warm guts ripped out and dropped onto the cold snow. Don't you think? It's a kind of natural selection. All the smart people are huddled in the warmth and safety of their homes. Or their B&B, in our case. I'll tell you one thing for free, young lady. You couldn't pay me to go outside tonight, not with all the money in the world or all the tea in China. Especially not if I was a pretty young lady such as yourself.”
He glances over his shoulder.
“Or Matilda.”
I wait for him to continue, while desperately hoping that he won't. Matilda looks extremely uncomfortable as she focuses on her book, and I feel as if I've stepped into the middle of something that's been brewing for quite a while.
Suddenly the coffee machine emits a loud clunking sound. I turn and look at the spout, but to my disappointment I see that only a dribble has come out.
“Turn it off and on again,” Lloyd suggests.
I turn to him.
“Sometimes it works as a last resort.” He steps away from me and leans behind the machine. I hear a switch being flicked, and the machine's lights go dead, and then Lloyd hits the switch again and all the lights briefly blink green. “It'll still take a minute or two,” he explains, “but at least you'll get your tea water at the end of it. And that's what you really want, isn't it?”
I force a smile. What I really want is to go up to my room, and I wish I'd never started messing with the machine in the first place. There's a pile of biscuits in a bowl, and I should have just grabbed a few of those and retreated. I suppose it's too late now, since I don't want to seem rude. It's typical of me to get myself into this kind of situation, though. All I want is a good night's sleep, and instead I'm stuck here talking to strangers and waiting for an ancient-looking coffee machine to finally give me water.
Suddenly I hear a buzzing sound.
“Maybe that's him!” Lloyd exclaims, unable to hide his excitement as he slips his phone from his pocket. “Maybe the Snowman has struck!”
I watch as he taps at the screen, and a moment later he rolls his eyes.
“Just another news article about him,” he says with a sigh. “I have alerts set up, so I'm notified every time the Snowman is mentioned by a credible news site. Unfortunately, a lot of them are posting speculative guff tonight. I wish they'd keep the hashtags clear for real developments.”
He taps a couple more times, before slipping his phone back into his pocket.
“This bally thing is clearly playing up,” he continues, tapping the top of the coffee machine, “but it will give you the water you want eventually. In the meantime, won't you at least sit with us? It'd be rude not to!”
He heads over to the table and pulls out a chair for me. I open my mouth to tell him I'm fine standing, but I guess I don't want to seem unfriendly. Besides, I'm still worried that I might start hallucinating again once I'm alone, so it might be better to at least wait while the machine starts working again.
I can hear howling wind outside as I head over to where the elderly man and woman are engrossed in their game.
“So I told him it's no way for an ambulance driver to behave,” the woman is explaining as she peers at her cards. “I said to him, if someone annoys him, he needs to deal with it the proper way, rather than waiting 'til he bumps into her at the scene of an accident and... Well, it's not right what he did, is it? Although I've gotta admit, it gave me a good giggle. I'm going to hell for that, I am. Straight to hell in a handbag.”
“Four of spades,” the man mutters.
“No,” she says quickly, before looking up at me. She stares at my face for a moment, and then a smile slowly creeps across her lips. “And what do we have here, eh? A new arrival?”
“I -”
Before I can say a word, I spot movement nearby, and I turn just in time to see the bandaged landlady stopping in the doorway. She looks somewhat flustered, with both her floral-patterned nightgown and her bandages appearing out-of-sorts. Behind her, the door to the boiler room is swinging shut. She quickly reaches up and adjusts the bandages, and then she fixes her nightgown until she looks a little more presentable, but she still seems utterly startled. I guess maybe that's just her default state.
“The coffee machine is still on the fritz,” Lloyd tells her. “I tried turning it off and on again. Whatever you did, it hasn't made a spot of difference.”
She looks over at him for a moment, and then she turns to the machine.
“You want to get that thing fixed,” he continues.
She seems frozen to the spot, as if in a sense of panic she has no idea what to do next. After a moment, she mumbles something under her bandages, and she certainly doesn't sound very impressed.
“Good luck expecting anything to ever work around this place,” Lloyd mutters, turning to me. “I swear, even in the time I've been here, I've seen how it's all falling apart.”
“And how long have you been here?” the elderly woman asks, not looking up from her cards. “You were here when we arrived, that's for sure.”
“Well,” he replies, “I was here...”
His voice trails off, and after a moment he furrows his brow. He seems lost in thought, as if the question is a difficult one, and then finally he offers an exasperated smile.
“Certainly some days now,” he tells me. “To tell the truth, I've been in something of a foggy mood, so I can't quite be more precise. I have a diary upstairs, so I can check and let you know later. But it doesn't matter, not really. I'm just like all the rest of you. Honest!” He turns to the bandaged woman, who's still looking startled in the doorway. “Do you remember how many nights I've been here?”
She pauses, before hurriedly shaking her head.
“Like I said, it doesn't matter,” he continues, turning to me. “I'm just like everyone else here. And this is your first night
, I believe?”
I nod.
“I remember my first night,” he continues, “or rather, I don't. That's the point.” With that, he winks at me.
I wait for him to explain, but suddenly the elderly woman slaps a card triumphantly onto the table.
“Oh, balderdash,” the elderly man mutters, setting all his cards down. “I thought I had you there!”
“Sshh!” the girl hisses behind me.
Turning, I see that Matilda has a finger against her lips. She glares at the couple, before looking back down at her book. Now that I'm closer, I can see that she's reading The Wind in the Willows. I want to tell her that it's one of my favorite books of all time, but she doesn't seem like she wants to be disturbed, and the last thing I want is to be a nuisance. She's gently squeezing a ketchup sachet in her right hand, as if she's using it as a kind of stress reliever.
Feeling very out of place, I turn and look at the coffee machine, which is still rumbling away without actually showing any sign that it might deliver water in the near future.
“I wonder if he's found his latest victim yet,” Lloyd says after a moment, looking up toward the top of the far wall, as if he's imagining the snowy street above. “Even if there's no news, he might have struck, and the body is simply awaiting discovery. Or perhaps he's merely tracking her through the snow, waiting for his chance. Or I suppose it's possible that he's still on the lookout, still waiting for some timid little mouse to scurry out from one of the city's doors. Matilda, for example.”
He pauses, before turning to me.
“If I were him, I'd start near the cathedral,” he explains. “Good hunting ground and -”
“For God's sake!” Matilda shrieks suddenly, getting to her feet. “Can't you just shut up?!?”
Hearing a bumping sound over my shoulder, I turn just in time to see that the outburst has startled the bandaged woman, sending her staggering back against the trolley with such force that she almost knocks over the pile of cups.
“You actually enjoy this, don't you?” Matilda continues, scowling at Lloyd. “It's like a game to you, or some kind of sport!”