B&B

by Amy Cross

  “Of course you are,” I reply, holding my tongue.

  “I'm sorry?”

  I shrug, and again the bandages rustle loudly. I should try not to shrug again. The noise is irritating.

  “We have food in the basement,” I continue, figuring I need to play along for a little while longer, just to see how she reacts. “Late-night snacks, that kind of thing. There's a tea and coffee machine. Sometimes people...”

  I pause, feeling as if maybe I should just leave her to do her own thing. She'll trip up eventually. She has to.

  “You get the idea,” I add finally. “There are biscuits too.”

  “Is that the bathroom?” she asks.

  I glance at the glass-paneled door, and then I turn and nod again. Damn, I need to remember to stop doing that. Every time I nod, the bandages rustle loudly, and I think I'm dislodging some of the lotion. Patches of flesh on my left cheek are starting to itch again.

  “Okay, thanks,” she says, clearly feeling uncomfortable. “Goodnight, then,” she adds, before swinging the door shut, leaving me alone on the landing.

  Now what?

  She's in my room, pretending to be me, and I have no idea how to react. There's still a part of me that wants to go and knock on that door and demand answers. In my mind's eye, I picture myself pinning her to the wall and wrapping my hands around her throat, demanding answers. She might think she's smart and resilient, but I could quickly show her which of us is really the tough one, and then she'd sing like a church mouse on Sunday. At the same time, I'm worried that I'd only be falling right into their trap, whoever they happen to be. Or I'd be succumbing to a whole new level of my delusion.

  I should just get out of here.

  This B&B is insane.

  Taking a deep breath, I realize I've been standing here for a couple of minutes now. A moment later, I spot a flicker of movement in the keyhole that leads into room four, and to my shock I see that the girl is staring out at me. Startled, I turn and scamper down the stairs, although I stop once I'm just around the corner.

  A moment later, I hear a door swinging shut on the ground floor. For a few seconds, it occurs to me that perhaps somebody just went into the office, which I guess means that the real landlady might have shown up again. I'm not sure whether I should avoid her or go and demand answers.

  Not knowing what to do, I remain poised halfway up the stairs, next to the evil plant. My mind is racing and I genuinely have no idea where to go. If I head back up, I risk running into that little faker again, but if I go down I'll surely bump into the landlady. At the same time, my clothes are still drying in the office, and my suitcase is there too with all my cash inside, so it's not like I can just bolt for the front door and run away into the night. I don't even know the time right now, but I figure morning has to come fairly soon. I already feel like I've been in this place forever.

  “Dear God,” I whisper, crouching down and leaning against the wall. “I've never believed in you before, but if you could get me out of this madhouse, I could definitely see my way to believing in you and being a better person. I know I've made a few mistakes lately, but -”

  Mistakes?

  That's the understatement of the century.

  Then again, if God does exist, I'm sure he's seen every move I've made. In which case, there's probably a whole lot of extra punishment lined up for me. I mean, one thing I've learned lately is that I am definitely not a good person.

  I'm a liar and a thief.

  I lean my head back against the wall, and it occurs to me that maybe this is all a big cosmic hint. Maybe this is the universe telling me to go home, to confess to everything and face justice. It's not like I can just keep running for the rest of my life, and I'd probably feel better about myself if I turned myself in rather than waiting until I'm caught. Besides, it's the right thing to do.

  I just don't know if I'm that brave.

  The police would get involved. They probably are already. I might even go to jail.

  “Why am I such an idiot?” I whisper under the bandages. “Why do I always -”

  Suddenly I hear a door opening upstairs, on the landing. I freeze, worried that somebody is about to come to the stairs and spot me, but a moment later I hear another door swinging open. In fact, I think maybe while I was lost in my thoughts I heard a couple more bumps as well, although I'm not entirely sure of that.

  “I'm sorry,” I hear the girl with a whiny version of my voice say finally, “I thought...”

  In the distance, there's the sound of someone splashing about in the bathroom.

  “No,” I whisper. “No way, this isn't -”

  “I can do this in the morning,” the girl continues, “I just -”

  “Nonsense,” I hear Jude reply brightly. “Come on, don't fret. I won't be long in there. And trust me, I've been staying here long enough by now to know that there's never not a queue. If you wanna get into that bathroom any time in the next twenty-four hours, you'd better get your butt over here and stake your spot.”

  Seriously?

  This part is happening again? Is Jude in on the whole thing too? There's no other possible explanation. I'd assumed it was just the crazy lookalike who was trying to freak me out, but a sense of fear starts spreading through my chest as I realize that everybody in this entire B&B might be playing some kind of long, drawn-out prank on me.

  “Oh, look at you,” Jude continues with a laugh. “Like a deer in the headlights.”

  I stay where I am, still crouching on the stairs, and listen as she goes on and on. She certainly loves talking, but I'm more and more certain that she's saying exactly what she said to me earlier, word for word. I mean, that's not possible, it can't be, but I can't deny what I'm hearing.

  “Now come over here,” she says finally, “and claim your spot before somebody else comes and jumps in ahead of you. My name's Jude, by the way. I didn't catch yours.”

  Figuring that I really don't need to stay crouched here, listening to a re-run of everything that happened earlier, I quietly get to my feet and make my way past the plant, heading down to the hallway. Sure enough, the door to the office is shut, and I'm fairly sure I left it open a few minutes ago when I left to take the fake version of me up to her room. I glance toward the stairs that lead down to the basement, and I think I can hear a series of faint bumps down there.

  Hurrying to the office, I push the door open and make my way to where my clothes are drying on the chairs. They're still a little damp, but right now that's the least important thing in the world. All that matters is that I get the hell out of this B&B and never, ever come back.

  “Cold night.”

  Startled, I let out a terrified shriek, losing my footing as I turn and slam down to the ground. There's a man standing calmly at the window, watching the snow while holding his hands together behind his back. After a moment he turns and smiles at me.

  Lloyd. What the hell is Lloyd doing in here?

  Six

  “He's out there, you know,” he continues, parting the net curtains again and looking out at the snowy street. “I can feel it in the air. I can almost taste it. I don't know how that works, but I can just tell that the Snowman isn't far away. This night is absolutely perfect for him.”

  Still on the floor, I stare at him. I'd been hoping that everyone was safely in bed by now, but a moment later I spot a clock on top of the old television.

  “Quarter to eleven?” I whisper, sitting up. “No way, it has to be more than -”

  “There!” Lloyd says suddenly, tapping the window. “I saw someone!”

  I turn to him, while still trying to make sense of this madness, and I see that he's craning his neck as he tries to look further along the street.

  “I saw him!” he hisses, his voice filled with excitement.

  “You saw who?” I ask, wincing as I get to my feet. It's not just my ankle that hurts now. When I fell, I landed on my right hip, and I think I might have damaged something. At the very least, I'm gonna have a
hell of a bruise. “Lloyd, what are you doing in here?”

  “I'm sorry,” he replies, still peering out the window. “I didn't mean to intrude, but I did knock. I think you were upstairs at the time, showing a new arrival to her room. I'm afraid curiosity got the better of me and I just had to come and use your window for a few minutes. Like I said, I don't know how, but I just felt certain that the Snowman was going to run past. And sure enough, he did. Off on another of his deadly hunts, I shouldn't doubt.”

  “Lloyd -”

  “I mean, all I saw was a shadow,” he adds, turning to me, “but who else would dare go out there on a night like this? It must have been him!”

  I limp over to the television and look at the clock again. Sure enough, it still shows the time as being a little after quarter to eleven, and the second hand is ticking healthily. It has to be wrong, I know that, but for a moment I feel as if this entire place is twisting its way into my mind and infecting me with its own dose of madness.

  “Lloyd,” I say cautiously, “do you happen to have the time?”

  “The time?”

  “Humor me.”

  I turn just as he checks his watch.

  “Well, it's 10.46,” he tells me. “Your clock there isn't wrong.”

  “It can't be 10.46,” I reply, starting to feel a little faint. “It has to be more like three or four, maybe even five in the morning.”

  “Does it?”

  “Of course it does!”

  He furrows his brow.

  “What's going on here?” I continue, trying not to panic. “I was outside, after Matilda ran off, and then...”

  My voice fades as I think back to the sight of the fake version of me. I guess she's upstairs somewhere, going through the motions of pretending to be me, and the thought is enough to send a shudder through my chest. After a moment, I limp to the little mirror over the sink behind the door, and when I look at my reflection I'm shocked to see that I look exactly like the landlady. I'm wearing her gown, and I hadn't realized it at the time but now I realize that I really covered my entire head with those bandages.

  Reaching up, I gently ease the bandages aside, revealing my rash-covered, reddened face. I stare at myself for a moment, before sliding the bandages back into place.

  This can't be happening.

  “I suppose the others will be ready soon,” Lloyd mutters suddenly. “I've got to admit, it'll be difficult to keep my mind focused on anything else. Sometimes I think I'm rather obsessed by the case of the Snowman, but it's all just so fascinating! Mark my words, somebody is going to die tonight. The Snowman will have his victim, regardless of what the others might think.”

  I turn to him.

  “The others?” I ask cautiously.

  “Down in the breakfast room.” He chuckles. “Well, we call it the breakfast room, but I'm not sure why. We spend more time there at night than we ever do in the mornings. Perhaps we should rename it the games room, or the night room.” He pauses, before heading to the door. “The funny thing is, I can't remember the last time I saw a ray of sunshine. Some nights feel much longer than others, don't they?”

  “Do they?” I ask.

  “Are you alright?” he continues, turning to me. “I know this might sound odd, but I can't shake the feeling that you might be looking a little pale under all those bandages. In fact, you've seemed out-of-sorts ever since you came in just now.”

  I stare at him, and for a moment I can't help wondering how much he knows.

  “How long have you been here?” I ask finally.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “At the B&B. How long have you been staying here?”

  “Oh, a long time now,” he replies with a sheepish smile, as he slips his hands into his pockets. “Almost as long as you, I'd wager. Maybe even longer.”

  “And how long do you think I've been here.”

  He chuckles. “Well that's a queer question.”

  Glancing over at the chairs in the corner, I see that my wet clothes from earlier are still drying. I could probably slip into them right now, but I don't see my suitcase anywhere and I need to take it with me. I need the money, so I can catch a train, and so that I still have the option of taking it all home and turning myself in. Heading over to the chairs, I feel my shirt and find that it's almost completely dry. A fraction of a second later, I hear a faint bump from upstairs, and I look at the ceiling just in time to hear a set of footsteps.

  “Somebody going into the bathroom, no doubt,” Lloyd mutters.

  “Where's my suitcase?” I ask.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “My suitcase! It's important! I can't leave until I've found it!”

  “Well, I can't say that I know,” he mutters. “Have you checked your room? That's where I'd put mine.”

  Ignoring him, I head to the door and peer out into the hallway. There's definitely somebody up there, although after a moment I hear a door swinging shut. Now the entire house seems rather quiet, almost too quiet, and I feel a tightening sense of curiosity rippling through my chest as I step over to the foot of the stairs and look up toward the plant.

  “Are you okay?” Lloyd asks.

  I pause, before turning to him. “Did -”

  Suddenly there's a loud bump from one of the rooms above us.

  “Sounds like that came from the bathroom,” Lloyd mutters.

  Without a second thought, I start making my way up the stairs, while taking great care to not go anywhere near the plant. By the time I get to the landing, my heart is pounding, and I see that the bathroom door has been left slightly ajar with the light still on inside and the sound of the shower running. There's no sign of anyone, but I'm starting to think back now to my experiences earlier tonight and I distinctly remember finding the red-stained man in the empty bathtub, and then...

  And then...

  Stepping over to the door, I gently push it open. It creaks a little, revealing first the sink and the towel rack, and then the empty but running shower cabinet, and finally the sight of me, or rather the girl who looks like me, unconscious on the floor.

  I freeze, trying to work out what to do next.

  “Hello?” I whisper.

  No reply.

  I take a deep breath, before making my way cautiously into the room. The girl is still down there on the floor, as if she slipped in the puddles of bloodied water and hit her head on the floor. I remember that, and I remember waking up later with Jude standing over me, but obviously I don't remember anything from the period when I was knocked out. Now, stepping closer to the girl, I can't help wondering whether maybe this isn't a trap after all. Or if it is a trap, maybe it's one that involves a little more than just some scrappy doppelganger who was sent to fool me. Stopping and looking down at the girl, I tilt my head slightly, trying to get a better look at her.

  It's really me.

  I mean, I've never seen myself when I'm unconscious before, but I really, truly think this is me.

  “No,” I whisper, feeling another shudder run through my chest. “It can't be.”

  I pause, before crouching next to her. I'm worried about waking her, but then again I know that I wasn't woken earlier when this happened to me. But what does that mean? Does it mean I can't wake her now, even if I try? Is she simply pretending to be unconscious, in an attempt to drive me out of my mind? Or did she really hit her head and really knock herself out? I stare at her for a moment longer, before looking over at the side of the white porcelain bathtub.

  Getting to my feet, I immediately see that the red-stained naked man is still in place, still curled on his side at the bottom of the tub. Transfixed by the sight, I edge around the side of the bath, hoping against hope that I might spot a 'Made in China' label somewhere on the spotty, pocked flesh, or perhaps a seam where some kind of dummy has been sewn together. The more I look at the body, however, the more I start to realize that it's an actual human.

  “Oh,” a familiar voice says suddenly. “She did drain the water.”


  Turning, I'm startled to see Jude standing in the doorway.

  “I asked her if she could refrain,” she continues, “but perhaps she didn't hear me.”

  She comes over to join me, and then she stops to look down at the girl on the floor.

  “Poor thing must have had a fright when she saw him. I can't imagine what went through her head.” She sighs, before setting the towels on a chair next to the tub. “I don't suppose you could be a honey and help me move him, could you? I wouldn't ask, but he was piling on the pounds in his final days. Probably comfort-eating as he dealt with the pain. If I can just get him to our room, I can lay him out and treat him with the respect he deserves, rather than leaving him here like this for everyone to see. He wouldn't want people to start talking.”

  “What...”

  Taking a step back, I stare at the man in the bathtub for a moment longer before stumbling, almost tripping over the unconscious girl's arm. I steady myself, but my heart is still pounding.

  “What happened here?” I ask.

  “I told you it was what he wanted,” she replies. “My Herb was a complicated man, that's for sure.”

  “What did you do?” I stammer. “Is he... Is that a...”

  My voice trails off as I continue to stare at the body.

  “Let's just give him some dignity,” she replies, grabbing one of the towels and unfolding it before laying it gently over the man's face. She takes another and covers his side, and then she places one more over his legs until only his hands and feet are showing. “This is how he would have wanted it to be. He was a very proper man, you know. He wouldn't have wanted people poking about in his private affairs. Especially with the boy to consider.”

  She sighs.

  “Oh,” she adds after a moment. “That poor boy.”

  “What boy?” I ask.

  She pauses, with tears filling her eyes, and then she reaches down to grab the man's wrists.

  “Can you take his ankles, honey?” she asks.

  Figuring that I should at least try, I take hold of his ankles and brace myself. This Herb guy looks pretty heavy, but I guess I'm hardly in a position to deny Jude's request.