B&B

by Amy Cross

  “Where are you?” I hear her voice calling out, far below. “Matilda! Can -”

  I watch as she stumbles, and as she then keeps going, frantically trying to get along the alley. I remember this moment so clearly, and I know that at any moment she's going to find the ketchup. There's a part of me that wants to slide the window up and warn her, to tell her that Matilda is just playing a stupid prank, but at the same time I can't help thinking that she looks pretty dumb stumbling about out there. Maybe she should learn her lesson the hard way. I watch as she disappears into the shadows, but then suddenly I hear a faint creaking sound over my shoulder.

  Turning, I see to my shock that the door to room one has swung open.

  Eight

  “Hello?” I call out cautiously, heading over to the door. “Is anyone in there?”

  I can still hear the sobbing, although there's no sign of whoever's responsible, not even when I push the door all the way open and see the bed. The sound is definitely coming from somewhere in here, but so far the room looks to be completely empty. I take a step inside, and I'm immediately struck by the fact that this room feels much colder than any other room in the entire B&B. When I reach down and touch the radiator, I find that it's on full blast, but the heat seems to be making no difference to the rest of the room.

  “Are you hiding?” I ask, looking toward the closet next to the window.

  The sobbing continues, and I figure I should go take a look.

  “I'm gonna open the doors, okay?” I continue, making my way around the bed and heading toward the closet. I grab the handles and hesitate for a moment, before pulling them open and finding nothing more than a set of suits hanging from the bar.

  Crouching down, I double-check that there's nobody hiding anywhere inside, but all I discover at the bottom is a few pairs of shoes.

  And now the sobbing sound definitely seems to be coming from somewhere over my shoulder. I turn and look at the bed, and I swear it sounds as if somebody is sitting there and weeping, but I still can't actually see anyone at all. I'm not given to flights of fancy but, after all the weirdness I've experienced so far tonight, the hairs on the back of my neck are definitely starting to sit up. Still, there's no sign of my suitcase in here, so I guess I should just go and keep searching.

  Suddenly I lean down and look under the bed, convinced that I'll see whoever's sobbing.

  Nothing. Just a few dust bunnies.

  I sit up again, looking around the room. I'm starting to think that maybe this is all part of some very clever, very elaborate trick that's being played on me. It wouldn't be that difficult for somebody to hide some equipment in the room and play a recording, and I'm worried that I've accidentally become part of some twisted hidden-camera show. The last thing I need is to have my face broadcast, so I get to my feet, feeling as if this really is getting out of hand. I just need to find my goddamn suitcase and then never look back as I leave this B&B for good.

  I step past the closet, but suddenly I hear the sound of a faint cry outside. Looking down at the alley, I'm shocked to see what looks like a struggle. In a flash, I realize exactly what I'm witnessing. The girl is out there, and she's being attacked by some kind of dark, shadowy figure.

  And she's looking at me.

  For a moment, our eyes are fixed upon one another. She seems utterly shocked to see me, and I'm frozen to the spot as the sobbing continues behind me. All I can do is watch as the girl continues to fight back, and after a moment I squint, trying to get a better view of whoever or whatever is forcing her down. I can only really make out a faint shadow, however, although it seems to be keeping her in place with great ease.

  Deep down, I'm almost impressed by its strength.

  Deeper down, I'm horrified by that reaction.

  And yet, that stupid girl got herself into this mess. She should never have gone rushing out into the snow, no when she knew full well that there's a killer on the loose. Besides, it's not like anything bad is going to happen to her. I know that she'll get away, that the attacker will suddenly pull back and leave her alone. I know that because I've lived through it already. And as I continue to watch her struggle, I feel a creeping realization start to move up through my chest.

  She's me.

  She's not some girl who looks like me.

  She's really, truly me.

  I can't even begin to explain what's happening here, or how it's happening. Maybe I'm just mad, maybe this is all a dream, maybe the world has gone completely off the rails, but I'm watching myself.

  And sure enough, a moment later, the attacker pulls away, leaving the girl gasping in the snow.

  She looks up at me again, and I can see the shock in her eyes, mixed with a little hatred. I remember that moment, I remember seeing the bandaged woman and wondering why she just stood and watched while I was being attacked. And now I'm the bandaged woman, watching as she stumbles through the snow and finally makes it back inside the building. I hear the door slamming shut, and then I reach up, touching the bandages that cover my face. My flesh no longer feels irritated, and when I slip my fingers beneath the bandages I find that the lotion seems to have dried up, which I guess means that perhaps it's done its job. I pull a section of the bandages away, then another section, until half my face is uncovered, and then I go to the mirror in the corner of the room.

  My face looks a little sore still, but the worst of the rash has gone down. Carefully, I start pulling away the rest of the bandages, until finally they're all gone and I can see myself properly.

  “Where's Daddy?” a little boy's voice asks suddenly.

  Spinning around, I look over at the bed and see a boy sitting there, staring at me with tear-filled eyes.

  “He's coming back, isn't he?” he continues, his bottom lip trembling slightly. “Tell me he's coming back. Tell me Mummy's wrong.”

  I stare at him, too shocked to react. He has neat, side-parted hair and he's wearing what looks like an old-fashioned school uniform, and I can see tears glistening as they trickle down his cheeks.

  “I know he and Mummy have been sleeping in separate rooms lately,” he whimpers, “but that's just because Daddy snores, isn't it? Daddy's coming back, he has to. If he doesn't, who will I play Onesies and Twosies with? I can't play by myself. And Mummy will clean the sheets. She's angry with me, she says I shouldn't have burst in there like that, but I was worried. And the sheets were so horrible. I don't like blood.”

  I open my mouth to reply, but no words come out.

  A moment later, I hear bumping, stumbling steps somewhere else in the house, and I realize that somebody is coming up the stairs. It takes a moment before I realize what's happening, but then I hurry across the room and drop to my knees, peering through the keyhole just in time to see the earlier version of me disappearing into room four.

  I freeze, too shocked to say anything, and a moment later she hauls her suitcase out.

  “Thanks for nothing,” she mutters under her breath, pausing for a moment and looking around, and then she starts dragging her suitcase down the stairs.

  Suddenly I remember what happens next.

  “Wait,” I whisper, “watch out for the -”

  I flinch as I hear her tripping and falling, and I know she just landed with her face in the plant. I can hear her scrambling to her feet, and I know that she's probably just starting to feel the first stings on her flesh. Too shocked to move, I listen as I hear her making her way down to the hallway. For a moment, all I can think about is what's going to happen to her next.

  The office.

  The lotion.

  The knock on the door.

  The sight of...

  Wait, will that all really happen again?

  “Are you going to look after me?” the little boy asks suddenly.

  I turn to him. “What?”

  He sniffs back more tears. “First it was Daddy,” he continues, “and then it was Mummy. I don't like blood. I found Daddy, and then I found Mummy, but now have you come to find me?
Are you going to look after me?”

  “Look after you?” I hesitate for a moment, trying to figure out exactly what he means. “Are you here alone?” I ask finally. “Where are your parents?”

  I wait, but he simply stares at me with dark, pain-filled eyes.

  “Okay,” I continue, “don't take this the wrong way, but you're kinda starting to freak me out. Are you staying here at the B&B alone, or are you with someone?”

  “You look funny,” he replies.

  “Thanks,” I mutter, before glancing over at the pile of bandages on the floor. I guess right about now, the other version of me is bandaging her face in the office, while yet another version is hauling her suitcase from the station, heading toward the front door. A moment later, as if to prove that fact, I hear someone knocking downstairs.

  It's her.

  I mean, it's me.

  It's all about to start again.

  “What are you scared of?” the little boy asks.

  I turn to him. “Me? Why do you think I'm scared of something?”

  “You look it.”

  I hear another knock downstairs.

  “Yeah, well...” I pause for a moment, trying to figure out how the hell I'm going to get out of here. “You'd be looking a little ratty too,” I add finally, “if you'd had the night I've had.”

  Heading to the window, I struggle with the latch for a moment before managing to pull it open. To be honest, I'm hoping to find a ladder or a roof I can use to climb out, but of course I don't have any such luck. As a strong wind howls through the window, I lean out and look down into the darkness, and then I look up and see several large chunks of ice hanging from the edge of the roof. Figuring that there's no way I can risk trying to climb down, I lean back and pull the window shut.

  “What the hell am I going to do?” I whisper, trying to figure out when I can sneak downstairs and get out of here. The last thing I want is to run into two earlier versions of myself.

  “Why do you think she did it?” the boy asks, sniffing back more tears.

  I turn to him. “Huh?”

  “Mummy said she'd look after me,” he continues mournfully, “and then just a day later, she did exactly the same thing that he did. Why would she do that, when she told me she loved me?”

  “I don't know what you're talking about,” I tell him, heading over to take a closer look at his pale little face. Something about this kid is sending shivers through my chest, and I'm half-tempted to reach out and touch his shoulder, just to make sure he's really real. At the same time, I don't quite dare.

  “The sheets were so white before,” he tells me, “and then so red after. Redder than anything you can imagine. I still see them, even when I close my eyes. Watch.”

  He squeezes his eyes tight shut.

  “I can see them!” he continues. “Right now!”

  After a moment, he opens his eyes again.

  “I thought they loved me,” he stammers, “but they both did the same thing. They both made the sheets turn red, and now...” He pauses, and I swear I see a hint of anger simmering behind his eyes. “I hate them,” he adds finally. “I hate them more than I ever hated anything else in my life. I hate them so much, I'd kill them if I could. I'd kill them all over again, every day! I hate them more than anyone ever hated anyone else in the whole world! And I'd make the sheets turn red again!”

  “Who are you talking about?” I ask. “What -”

  “I hate them!” he screams, suddenly lunging at me.

  “Stop!” I stammer, stepping back. “You -”

  Suddenly I see that the sheets beneath him are stained red, as if blood has began to soak through the cotton. For a moment, all I can do is stare in horror, but already blood is running down the sides of the bed and onto the carpet.

  “I hate them!” the boy sneers, grabbing the sheets with his hands and pulling tight, forcing more blood to dribble between his fingers as he starts tearing the white fabric. “They ruined the sheets! They bled all over everything and they ruined it all! Look at the blood! These sheets were so clean before, but now -”

  “You have a really nice place here,” I hear a voice say suddenly, out on the landing.

  Turning, I stare in horror at the door as I hear footsteps making their way past, along with the sound of a suitcase bumping against the floor.

  “No,” I whisper, “it can't be...”

  “Thank you so much for letting me stay,” the voice continues, in the distance now, as if they've entered one of the rooms.

  “I have to get out of here,” I stammer, finally feeling a horrific crushing sensation in my chest. I turn and look at the bed again, but suddenly the boy is gone and the sheets appear calm, unstained and undisturbed. Suddenly I'm filled with an intense, burning need to get the hell out of this place.

  My fingers are trembling as I turn the latch, and I feel as if I might collapse as I pull the door open and peer out onto the landing. When I look over toward room four, I realize I can hear voices coming from inside, but the bandaged woman is turned partially away from me, which means...

  Filled with panic, I creep across the landing and then scurry down the stairs, while taking care not to make any noise at all.

  Once I'm down in the hallway, I feel a burst of relief as I scamper to the office door. When I go to grab my drying clothes from the chair, however, I'm shocked to see that they're gone.

  “No,” I whisper, looking around the room and realizing that there's still no sign of my suitcase. Then again, there's at least a version of my suitcase up in room four, but I can't go and get it unless I'm willing to encounter the two previous versions of myself. I hurry to the doorway and look toward the stairs, and for a moment I actually feel as if I might have the courage to just storm right up there.

  Suddenly I hear footsteps coming down, and I panic. I hurry to the front door and pull it open, then I step outside and carefully pull the door shut, making sure to make almost no noise.

  And now I'm locked out, shivering on the icy step, wearing nothing but a floral-patterned night-gown over my underwear. I pull the gown tight, but I'm already starting to feel the biting cold, and suddenly I realize that I might have made an absolutely massive mistake. I turn and try to push the door open, but of course it's locked now, so I take a step back and -

  My right foot slips on the ice. I try to catch myself, but it's too late and I let out a gasp of shock as I fall back and land hard on the bottom step. Slithering down into the snow, I gasp again as I feel a thumping pain in my shoulder, and for a few seconds all I can manage is to stay right here on the ground as more snows falls on me.

  Staring up at the dark night sky, with snow drifting down, I feel for a moment as if maybe I should just stay right here. Eventually the snow would cover me completely.

  Finally, worried that I'm going to freeze to death if I stay out here, I stumble to my feet. There's no point trying to go back through the front door, so I limp around through the snow and make my way to the alley at the rear of the building. The last thing I want to do is venture into the darkness, especially when I know that there was someone out here a little earlier, but I'm freezing to death and I figure I have no choice. I push my way through the snow, forcing myself onward until I reach the yard, and then I try the door to the boiler room, only to find that it's locked.

  “Damn you!” I hiss, trying it a couple more times before stepping back and then trying to push it open with my shoulder. I try again, causing the door to shudder in its frame, but there's clearly no way I'm going to force my way inside. I'm a little out of breath now, so I take a step back and try to come up with another plan.

  “Help me,” I whimper, before realizing that nobody's going to be able to hear me. “Come on, please, give me a break.”

  I have to do something.

  Filled with a sudden sense of determination, I realize that there's no longer any point hiding from what's happening. I need to face this thing head-on, the way I should have done in the first place. Feel
ing colder and colder, I start stomping back through the snow, making my way along the alley and out onto the street again. I'm going to go right up to the front door of the B&B and I'm going to knock, and then I'm going to go inside and confront both the previous versions of myself and I'm going to tell them what's happening. Then I'm going to get dressed, get my suitcase down from the room, and not let anything stop me as I head straight out the door again.

  I mean, sure, I don't remember that happening the first time around, or the second, but I don't care. This time, nothing is going to stop me.

  Struggling through the snow, I finally get to the front of the building. I have to tread carefully, since there's a hell of a lot of ice, but eventually I make it all the way to the foot of the steps.

  Suddenly spotting a hint of movement, I look up at the office window. To my surprise, I see Lloyd holding the net curtains open and staring out at the street. After just a moment, he looks straight down at me and our eyes meet.

  I remember this moment.

  Sort of, anyway. I remember being in the office, with my face bandaged, and finding Lloyd at the window. And I remember him saying that he'd seen someone rushing past the B&B, except...

  As I stare at him, I realize that he's watching me with a freakishly calm expression. I want to look away, I want to go and knock on the door, but I can feel a sense of fear rising through my chest, threatening to numb me completely. No matter how much I try to tell myself that I'm over-reacting, the fear grows and grows, reaching up with long, thin fingers that seem to be wriggling through my neck and up toward the base of my skull.

  I take a step back through the snow, watching as his lips start to move, but the sense of fear is still getting stronger. I let out a faint whimper, and suddenly I realize that the entire B&B seems to be radiating an overwhelming sense of death. I don't know how I never noticed it before, but the building itself is silently screaming at me, telling me to get the hell away, and a moment later I realize I can see two faces behind Lloyd. My first assumption is that one of them has to be the bandaged version of me, but instead I see that Jude is standing over his left shoulder, and her dead husband Herb is on the other side, and all three of them are watching me with cold, dark eyes. Behind them, on the far side of the room, the bandaged version of me is just entering.