B&B

by Amy Cross

  I'm almost at the table, but my lungs are screaming with pain. I open my mouth to tell Lloyd that he's crazy, but suddenly I hear footsteps racing across the ceiling directly above us.

  “Help!” I gasp, but I'm in too much pain to raise my voice about a faint whisper. “Please...”

  I reach a trembling hand up toward the beams.

  “Such a busy house,” Lloyd continues, stepping closer to me. “Don't worry. I'm going to make this very easy for you. I'll simply knock you out and take you back to your room, and then I'll do what I do to all my guests. And then, once your body has been disposed of, you'll take your place with the rest of them. You'll be quite happy, doing the same thing over and over again. Really, you should be thanking me. I'm going to let you stay here forever, and all you have to do in return is bleed a little over my nice white sheets.”

  “Go to hell!” I hiss, trying to kick his ankles.

  He laughs.

  “Go to hell!” I shout, trying but failing to get to my feet.

  “I'm sure your sheet will go nicely with my collection,” he continues.

  “What collection?” I ask.

  “Haven't you seen it yet?”

  He looks past me. Turning, I'm shocked to see several white bed-sheets pinned against the farthest wall, each with its own distinctive patch of dried blood. Some of the sheets look much older than others. Some have brownish, faded stains, while others look more recent. There are six in total, and for a moment I stare at them in horror.

  Suddenly I'm grabbed from behind. Lloyd puts an arm around my neck and swings me around, slamming me against the wall.

  “You'll be number seven!” he hisses into my ear. “Daddy and Mummy were one and two. Then came Elizabeth, Matilda, Major and Mrs. Denham... And now you!”

  I try to pull free, but he squeezes my neck even tighter.

  “Mummy and Daddy should never have left me alone!” he hisses into my ear. “I was just a boy! I learned to manage, though! I think I turned out just fine!”

  I gasp, trying to get free, but he's choking me.

  “The police will be looking for the Snowman out there!” he continues. “All the while, they'll never -”

  Before he can finish, I elbow him hard in the ribs, sending him stumbling back. Seizing my chance, I turn and try to run toward the steps, only for Lloyd to grab my ankle and drag me down. Slamming against the concrete, I swing around and kick him hard in the face, and then I try again to reach the steps. The pain in my ribs is intense, holding me back, but finally I'm able to grab the edge of the first step and start hauling myself up. Only -

  Suddenly the hammer's handle slams into the back of my head, sending me back down onto my knees. I fall forward, landing against the side of one of the tables, and for a moment my vision is blurred. After blinking several times, I'm surprised to see my coffee mug from earlier. It's on the edge of the table, resting exactly where I left it when I was down here in the boiler room before.

  “Like I told you,” Lloyd says calmly, stepping up behind me, “you can't run. Even if you try, you'll only end up right back here. This is your destiny.”

  “Maybe,” I gasp, reaching out and grabbing the mug as I hear Lloyd picking up the hammer. “And maybe this is yours.”

  With that, I get to my feet and swing the mug at him, slamming it against the side of his head. The mug immediately breaks, and Lloyd steps back with a shocked look on his face.

  “What's -”

  He stares at the broken mug in my hands. For a moment, I actually think he might be about to pass out, but then slowly a smile spreads across his lips.

  “Is that your best effort?” he asks, as blood starts dribbling from a wound on his temple. “Oh dear. Did you think you could -”

  Before he can get another word out, I swing the mug's broken section at his head, hitting him again. This time, he laughs as he steps back.

  “Oh dear,” he continues, as I try to get my breath back. “You don't really have it in you, do you? You're not the killing type.”

  I take a series of snatched breaths, trying to work up the strength to strike him again.

  “Go on,” he says, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. “I'm a good sport, so I'll give you a fair chance. Try one more time. Really whack me as hard as you can.”

  I strengthen my grip on the broken mug.

  “Use every ounce of hatred in your body,” he continues, and now his smile is fading. “Go on. Try to knock me out. Do you worst.”

  I swing again, and this time I hit him even harder, sending him thudding back against one of the support posts. He stares at me for a moment, with more and more blood flowing down his face, and then he tries to say something before finally slumping to the ground.

  I reach down and grab the hammer, which slipped from his hand when he fell, and then I hold it up, ready to defend myself if he attacks again. My heart is pounding, but Lloyd's eyes are wide open and there's no sign of movement. I whacked him hard with the mug, as hard as I could manage, and I think finally I stopped him.

  Still, I wait a couple of minutes, just in case he stirs. Finally, feeling another burst of pain in my ribs, I realize it's over.

  “Thanks for the stay,” I whisper, limping past his body and heading over to the table in the corner, where my suitcase has been left with its lid wide open.

  I glance over my shoulder to make doubly sure that Lloyd hasn't moved, and then I quickly check that all the money is still in the suitcase. Once I'm sure that I have what I need, I close the lid and pull the zip around, and then I haul the suitcase off the table and turn to look at Lloyd again. There's a fair amount of blood pooled beside his head now, and his dead eyes are still staring up toward the basement's low wooden ceiling.

  “I'm sorry I had to do that,” I tell him, feeling a shudder pass through my chest as I realize that I actually killed him. When I arrived at the B&B, I was a thief. Now I've killed someone. Sure, it was self-defense, but that doesn't make me feel any better. I'm still a killer. I guess that'll be one more thing for me to deal with once this insane night is over. “I'll let someone know to come clean up the mess.”

  Figuring that I finally need to get out of here, I turn and start hauling the suitcase toward the door. My arms are aching, but I know I just have to keep going. Letting out a gasp, I feel the suitcase catch on a crack in the floor, so I have to pull extra hard, and I swear I feel like I might be about to collapse.

  Suddenly I hear someone laughing.

  I turn, just as Lloyd slams the mug's broken handle against the side of my head, sending me crashing back down to the ground.

  “Did you really think it was that easy?” he asks, tossing the handle aside before picking up hammer and stepping closer, until he's towering over me. “Honestly? A smack on the side of the head with an old mug, and you thought you'd killed me? It was all I could do to keep from laughing after I fell.”

  “Please,” I stammer, as he raises the hammer. “Don't do this!”

  “You're not a killer!” he sneers, as his grin widens. “Face it, Bobbie. You don't have it in you. You don't have the guts. Even when I presented you with an open goal, you couldn't strike the fatal blow. I suppose you're just not that kind of person.”

  With that, he raises the hammer.

  “Please don't kill me!” I whimper, as tears start streaming down my face. “I have to take the money back!”

  “You couldn't kill me,” he continues with a chuckle, “not even to save your own life. You don't have what it takes, not in your heart. You're just not a -”

  Suddenly the end of an iron poker slices through the ceiling and straight down into the top of his head, quickly bursting out through his mouth. He freezes, staring straight at me with shocked eyes as blood starts dribbling freely from his lips. The poker's tip starts shuddering, as if it's being wiggled around, and after a moment it slides back up and out the top of his head, and it disappears back through the hole in the ceiling.

  Lloyd stays in place for a
moment, still staring at me, still holding the hammer, as the dribble of blood becomes a torrent that rushes from his mouth. Finally he slumps forward, and I just manage to roll out of the way in time as he lands hard next to me. This time, his head cracks against the concrete floor, and I'm left staring at the bloody hole where the iron poker miraculously slid straight through his brain.

  “Great!” I hear my own voice hiss in the room above, followed by a metal bump and then the sound of several stumbling footsteps.

  Staying completely still next to Lloyd's corpse, barely even daring to breathe, I listen to myself moving about in the office. I remember being up there earlier, and I remember trying to use the iron poker as a kind of walking stick. I remember the poker's tip suddenly breaking through the floorboards and sliding down, and I remember having to pull it back up. I don't remember seeing blood on the tip, but I guess I was too busy freezing in my wet clothes at the time.

  For the next few minutes, too exhausted to move a muscle, I simply stay flat on my back and listen to myself moving about up there. Finally, however, I hear another noise.

  A knock on the door.

  “Oh, go away,” I hear myself muttering in the room above.

  A moment later, there's another knock.

  “Shut up!” I hear myself hiss. “Quiet! You'll wake them!”

  I hear myself heading out into the hallway, and a few seconds later I hear the front door swinging open. I remember that exact moment. It's when the madness looped around for the first time and began to happen all over again. Right now, up there, the bandaged version of me is staring in shock at the version of me that's out in the snow.

  It's all starting again.

  Maybe it's never going to stop, but I have to try.

  Hauling myself up, I look down at Lloyd one more time and see that this time he's absolutely, well and truly, positively dead. I guess I killed him hours ago, at the crucial moment, but I never realized until just now. Figuring that I can panic later, I grab the suitcase and haul it back over to the door, before dragging it out into the hallway. Just as I'm about to pull the door shut, however, I find myself face-to-face with Matilda and the Denhams.

  “Is he in there?” Matilda asks calmly.

  “We remember,” Mrs. Denham adds. “What he did to us.”

  “I don't know how we forgot,” Matilda whispers, “but we remember now.”

  I hesitate for a moment, before stepping aside. I watch as they head into the boiler room, and a moment later I hear a whimpering voice in the darkness. It's Lloyd, but not as an adult. It's the voice of a young boy.

  “What are you going to do to him?” I ask.

  Matilda stops in the doorway, behind the others, and turns to me.

  “He's damaged,” I explain, trying not to panic. “I know he did awful, awful things, but when he was a kid... I know that's no excuse, but at least you can try to understand. I've been in a similar situation. I know what it's like to be young and alone, and to make a terrible choice.”

  I wait for an answer, but she simply stares at me as Lloyd's ghost continues to whimper in the room behind her.

  “Please,” I continue, “don't -”

  Suddenly Matilda slams the door shut in my face, and Lloyd lets out another, even more pained cry. I take a step back, before realizing I don't want to hear any more of this. Turning, I head toward the stairs, only to see that the final ghost – the timid woman who kept avoiding me – is coming down. She glances at me briefly as she passes, but she doesn't say anything. Instead, she simply makes her way to the door and pushes it open before slipping inside to join the others.

  For a moment, I can hear Lloyd begging them to leave him alone. Somehow, I don't think they'll show him any mercy.

  And then the door slams shut again, with enough force to rattle the frame.

  Epilogue

  There's still a lot of snow coming down. Somehow, despite everything that happened to me tonight, it's still only 10pm. I guess the B&B spat me back out at the very start of the evening.

  Thanks to my throbbing ankle and my painful hip and my fractured ribs, not to mention several other little cuts and scratches that I never even got around to mentioning, it takes me almost an hour to lug my suitcase through the uncleared streets. I almost give up a couple of times, but deep down I know I have to keep going. I have a train to catch. I have to go home and face the music for what I did.

  When I finally reach Canterbury East station, I find that it's pretty much deserted. I check the board and see that the next train back to Ashford leaves in about one hours' time, which means I've got a long wait on the cold platform. Still, I guess that'll give me time to think about what I'm going to say when I walk through the door, and what I'll say to the police. I only spent about £200 of the money, so I can give most of the £26,000 straight back. I know that won't be enough to undo the damage, but at least it's a start.

  What happens to me after that is out of my control, but I'll take my punishment. I've got to admit, though... I wish I'd remembered to throw that plant out the window before I left the B&B.

  Stopping at the waiting room's locked door, I lean back against the wall and try to get my breath back. At first, I listen to the sound of the quiet city, but after a moment I realize I can see a couple of lights in the distance, moving through the streets. I guess the night-watch team is still out, still trying to keep the people of Canterbury safe. I guess they were ghosts too, each of them the father or mother of one of the Snowman's victims. Maybe they'll find peace now that Lloyd is finally dead. The Snowman's reign of terror is over.

  Suddenly I hear a voice nearby. I turn, looking toward the phone-box, and I freeze as soon as I see the girl who's in there.

  It's me.

  Or rather, it's an earlier version of me, calling B&B numbers from the phone book in a desperate last-minute attempt to find a room. She has her back to me, and I can just about make out her voice in the cold night air.

  I remember this.

  “Okay, thank you,” I hear her saying, before she puts the phone back on the hook. Next, I hear her sorting through her change, and then she makes another call.

  This happened earlier.

  I watch for a few more minutes, poised to duck back into the shadows in case she happens to glance this way, but she seems utterly focused on making more calls. Her suitcase is propped next to her, and I can't help thinking back to how scared and lost I felt when I was in that phone-box. I was panicking, and I was exhausted, and all I could think about was the fact that I had to keep running.

  She finishes another call and turns to the next page in the phone book. Only a couple more numbers left, and none of them will have room. And then -

  Pausing, I suddenly remember the card in my pocket. Taking it out, I see that it shows a faded drawing of the Castle Crown B&B, along with a phone number. Lloyd tucked this card into my pocket earlier, but I remember seeing one even before that, when I was in the phone-box. Without even thinking, I start making my way toward the earlier version of me, listening as she makes a couple more calls. Finally I'm right behind her, so close that I can see her reflection in the phone's glass panel.

  And she could see mine, if she just happened to look this way.

  “That's fine,” she says as she finishes yet another call. “I'm sorry to have bothered you.”

  She sets the phone down, and then she simply looks at the phone book for a moment. A drop of muddy snow falls onto the patch of skin just behind her ear. She wipes it away, leaving a small dollop behind. Suddenly remembering this moment, I realize it's the point at which I finished calling all the names in the book without any luck. I hesitate for a few seconds, before remembering exactly how I found the B&B's card. I look down, but there's no card on the ground, and I realize what I have to do.

  Stepping back, I let the card fall from my hand, and I watch as it lands on the snow right outside the door.

  Suddenly the earlier version of me pushes the door open. Letting out a faint, barel
y audible gasp, I step back into the shadows and watch as she stops again. She reaches down and picks up the card, staring at it for a moment before putting some more coins into the phone and trying to call the Castle Crown.

  Of course, nobody will pick up.

  Finally she heads off, dragging her suitcase through the snow, while tucking the card into her pocket. She's going to go knock on the B&B's door, and a bandaged woman will answer, and then she'll go inside and all the madness will begin again. I could warn her, I could call out and save her the trouble, but instead I stay quiet and watch as she disappears into the distance. She's not exactly going to get the night's rest she's after, but I think this needed to happen. Besides, if I start thinking about the details of this night, I think I might just lose my mind.

  Finally, one hour later, I step on-board the train that'll take me home.

  Also by Amy Cross

  THE NURSE

  “Twenty years ago, something very bad happened in this house. But it's over now. I promise.”

  When Rachel moves to a new house with her mother, she immediately realizes that something isn't quite right. Although she's blind, Rachel can tell that the stories about the house's past don't add up. And slowly, she starts to worry that someone or something from that past might still be around.

  Soon, Rachel learns the story of the house's previous occupant, a troubled nurse who spent every waking moment caring for a sick old man. The nurse eventually lost her mind, resulting in a series of horrific murders, but have the events of that awful time truly been left behind? Or is something stirring in the night, something that only Rachel seems to notice?