Dansk Bay Hotel

by Matthew Cornachione

  “If you want to know more, check out the Net Profit.”

  “Net Profit?”

  “The boat at the far end of the marina. It's an old museum from the tourist days. Maybe you'll find something helpful.”

  “A museum? How will that help?”

  “I’ve given you all I can Kyle. I don’t expect you to understand. From here, the choice is yours.” She bowed her head to me and shuffled into the back room.

  “Thea! Wait!”

  She didn’t stop. I was left alone in the trading post, alone to face a spirit that had murdered other unsuspecting travelers. I had no idea how to stop it, how to escape.

  But, I had to try.

  Chapter 9

  Thea might have thought she was helpful, but all I had from her was a useless clue. So I made an idea of my own. I’d steal a boat.

  I’d never driven (or was it “captained?”) a boat before, but how hard could it be? Certainly easier than walking 30 miles. And it had a better chance of success than visiting an old museum. Resolved, I pushed through the door and turned toward the docks.

  And, nearly jumped out of my skin.

  An old couple strolled down Main, the first people I’d seen out and about. Were they working for the ghost? Did they know what I was planning?

  As they walked past me, heads down, I realized how paranoid I had become. The balding husband gently ushered his white-haired wife into a small church. Nothing sinister. These were normal people, living here under this evil oppression.

  The ghost, or spirit, or whatever it might be, was scary as hell and dangerous. Even so, it couldn’t be all-powerful. I had a chance to escape it and damned if I was going to waste it. I took a few deep breaths, calming my nerves. I continued on toward the docks.

  When I reached the ocean, the marina was empty save for a tiny silver motorboat, a dingy fishing trawler, and a wooden derelict. The tiny boat didn’t look seaworthy, not with whitecaps on the bay. My best bet was the trawler.

  I headed toward it, but before I made it to the dock, a door opened over at Nekker’s warehouse. Instinctively, I slipped out of sight, hiding behind a bathroom stall. Definitely still jumpy.

  Breathing heavily, I waited as footsteps approached. I thought they were coming my way, but they turned out onto the dock, then stopped. They were close enough that I could pick up on their conversation.

  “Lucas still isn’t here. Got anyone else for me?”

  “I’m afraid you’re on your own today.”

  I recognized the second voice: Nekker.

  The first man sighed. “Well, I need someone else soon. Damn hard to get a good catch alone.”

  “I know, but it can’t be helped. Lucas was acting strangely, not a good fishing hand for you anymore. I’ll hire a better replacement.”

  “Yeah, I know how that goes. Survival of the business comes first. Just don’t be surprised if it’s a lean week.”

  “Of course not, Captain. You’ll give it your best.”

  With that, the pair split, one heading along the dock, the other heading back toward the warehouse. I stayed hidden, though I wasn’t sure why. Something felt wrong about the talk. Lucas had to be the young man I’d bumped into yesterday, the one who wouldn’t tell me anything. He had been acting strangely, but more than that, he’d been acting scared. Did he know what was going on? Had Nekker fired him over it?

  I had no answers, but, as the boat engine roared to life, I knew that my plan was sunk. The captain was leaving with the only seaworthy vessel. Sure enough, a minute later, the engine chugged, and I heard the boat speed off into the ocean.

  For a moment I stayed quiet, listening for any sign of Nekker, or anyone else. When I heard nothing, I emerged from hiding. The fishing trawler was shrinking from sight leaving two lines of white in its wake. The warehouse was quiet. I was alone.

  I still didn’t want to chance the motorboat. Maybe the derelict ship was in better shape than it looked. Not that I had a choice.

  As I crossed the marina, I spotted a wooden sign lying askew on the deck. The word “MUSEUM” was printed in big lettering. Closer in, I saw Net Profit painted in script along the bow. Below it was a picture of a net scooping up fish-shaped dollar bills. So, this was Thea’s big tip. Classy.

  I stepped onto the deck, the boat swaying beneath my feet. I hadn't gone boating since I was younger, but the gentle rocking brought back happy memories. If only times were still so innocent.

  Edging around the damaged sign, I tugged on the door. Locked. I rapped on it, as though there was a museum attendant inside who would let me in. Nothing moved inside.

  My excitement stirred; I was about to do my first ever breaking and entering. Warily, I glanced around the docks. No one was around, not even the ghost. I shuffled back, then ran at the door, slamming my heel into the weathered wood.

  It felt like kicking a tank. Pain blossomed in the back of my leg. I hopped backward then tripped over the fallen museum sign. I crashed onto my back, banging my head against the deck. Stars dotted my vision.

  Looked like the spirit wasn’t going to need to kill me; I was doing a pretty good job on my own.

  Groaning, I rolled to my stomach and pressed back up. My head swam, my hamstring protested, but I stood. I hobbled back to inspect the door, wincing with each step.

  I’d pictured a gaping hole in the door. What I found were a few loose splinters. The door was old, but it was a hell of a lot tougher than I'd expected.

  I needed something heavy duty. I walked along the deck and found a large toolbox toward the stern. Fortunately, it opened easily to reveal a tangle of aged fishing gear. I dug past a few nets until I found something perfect: a wicked looking spear. I didn't know what they used it for, but I knew that it had a solid handle with a heavy metal end.

  Returning to the door, I smashed the spear into the wood, again and again. Each blast echoed across the water. I was sure Nekker or someone would hear, but I didn’t stop. Finally, the wood split. A couple more blows and I made a wide hole.

  Chest heaving, I tossed the spear aside and stepped into the museum. From the ragged exterior, I hadn't expected much, but the layout was actually nice. A few intact exhibits stood in the middle with ancient nets, anchors, and various tools enclosed in dusty glass. Each item was labeled and captioned. The walls were lined with photos of old sailors and fishing vessels, some with articles detailing their exploits. It was small but cute.

  I checked for some kind of engine control station, but saw nothing. If the ship could still be piloted, it couldn’t be done here. I strolled through the exhibits, scanning through articles for anything of interest. Maybe something could still help me out.

  What I got was a quick history lesson. Dansk Bay had been founded in 1924 as a fishing town. They displayed dozens of different fish; I at least recognized salmon and king crabs. The town had grown rapidly until about 1940. That agreed with my earlier guess; the war had devastated the town. After that, there wasn’t much here. A couple of articles from the early 50's proclaimed Dansk Bay's plans for expansion to a fishing mecca. I already knew how those plans had turned out.

  Other than that, I found a smattering of useless facts: tales of the dangerous-but-exciting life of a fisherman, schematics of boat design improvements, and a picture of the largest sea bass ever caught in Alaska. Not even a mention of the hotel.

  Finally, I found another door toward the bow. My heart picked up. This had to be the control room. I tried the handle.

  Shockingly enough, the door was unlocked. Maybe my luck was changing. I slipped inside.

  Chapter 10

  As it turned out, this was the museum office. The room was abandoned save for a barren desk, a host of dusty filing cabinets, and a few rows of shelving.

  Then, I spotted it, half covered by a tarp. A steering wheel. I rushed over. Once I dragged the tarp off, I saw the wheel was rusted solid. I tugged at it, but it wasn’t going anywhere; this ship must have been docked for decades. My shoulders slumped. I fel
t stupid for thinking I could captain this piece of junk.

  I surveyed the rest of the office. At this point, it was little more than a large closet. I’d call it a museum archive.

  Junk lined the shelves, stuff that hadn't met the cut for the showroom. One section held old equipment, including a dozen spools of fishing line and, for some reason, a rusted toilet seat. Another held a collection of old books and journals from the town. The last section had stacks of rejected exhibits including “Widow Continues Char Fishing Pro’s Legacy.” Hard to imagine how that one got cut.

  Useless, all of it. If it wasn’t good enough for the museum, what good would it do me? Frustrated, I slammed a fist into the nearest pile of books.

  A single piece of paper slipped to the floor. I knelt down and picked it up. Like everything else in the room, it was old and torn, but was heavier than most papers, like card stock. The lettering was typewritten and it appeared to be a brief memo.

  To: Records Clerk, Dansk Bay Branch

  From: Director of Records Retention

  Date: 10-Aug, 1946

  The order has come. All mention of facility 387AR-55 is to be scrubbed from public record. Priority documents are to be secured and delivered to Washington. All other documentation, including this missive, is to be destroyed.

  Execution of these tasks must be completed by 17-Sep, 1946, after which date the facility will be decommissioned.

  Signed,

  Richard T. Lincoln

  Wait, did this mean what I thought it meant? Well yeah. Since the missive had survived, it meant that the records clerk hadn't followed orders. More importantly, this sounded suspiciously like the cover-up of a secret government facility. One abandoned right after the end of WWII. Short list of candidates in this town for which building they'd used...

  A piece of the puzzle clicked into place. The Dansk Bay Hotel didn’t look like a hotel because it never had been. So, then, what kind of facility was it? And, why had the government expunged the building from record? I didn't know much about the military, but I was pretty sure that sort of thing wasn't normal.

  Intrigued, I dug through the pile of books. I skimmed pages of the journals and newspapers, but found only the daily ups and downs of a fishing town. No apparent military connection. Disappointed, I almost stopped, but then I found a navy blue journal dated 1946. By the first line, I knew I’d found something.

  08-15-46:

  They want to bury it all. I should have known they would, but the truth must get out. Our research must count for something greater.

  Where these pages will end up, I cannot know, but at least now I have a chance to pass on a message. Perhaps someone will get it, will pick up where we left off.

  Regretfully, I do not have time to explain the experiments that my team has been authorized to perform. I leave only the pertinent details and know that a suitably keen mind will understand their value.

  This war, terrible though it has been, allowed us to run tests on the most fascinating subjects: humans. We have been asked, nay forced, to push the limits of what the mind can achieve. Many cultures through history have spoken of the concept of an “out-of-body experience” in vivid detail. My colleagues and I suspected such a thing must be real, not merely a delusion of laypersons. Indeed, our evidence from the last three years shows not only that this state exists, but that it can be induced at will through the right chemical elixir.

  Our military overseers think only to harness this power to spy upon their enemies, but the applications are boundless. A chance to see the world from the safety of one’s own home. The ability to send the mind to explore inhospitable regions like the ocean floor or the center of the Earth. Just imagine!

  Alas, our efforts have been cut short before our formula is complete. We have seen indisputable evidence that our elixir works as intended. Gaseous vapors rise from the subjects and coalesce into tangible clouds. These clouds move in ways that cannot be described by any physical equation. A conscious will must be directing their movements. This conclusion is supported by numerous observations. Stimulation of the vapors elicits a response in the bodies of the subjects.

  Unfortunately, the range of the effect is limited by subject mortality. No subject survived more than a minute after receiving the dose, thus preventing the mind from traveling far afield. As such we have been unable to study the properties of these “mind clouds.” A complete physical understanding eludes us.

  None of us took the abrupt end of our research well. Jorgensen committed suicide and Pizzani is locked up for attempting to smuggle an elixir sample. Then there is young Friedrich … he is frighteningly angry. He claims to have a plan to continue our work, but I fear his naive hopes are misplaced. We will all be watched for the rest of our lives. What we've done here can never be revealed to the masses. In this case the government is right – the people will not understand.

  Although removing a physical sample of the elixir has proven impossible, the formula must be set free. Here it is:

  Below was only a smudge. Apparently someone had tampered with the journal, but I read on, too fascinated to care.

  Know, he who reads this, that further improvements are still needed to suppress the toxic side-effects. Experiments will cost more lives, but I believe that one day, the elixir can be perfected.

  Please, do not let our work be in vain, and please do not judge us for what we did. You, whomever you may be, are not so different. Think of how many have died so that you may stand where you do. Ancients suffered plagues that we could learn how to heal them. Construction crews died to perfect our home designs. Automobile pioneers lost their lives so that our vehicles could become safe. All life is built upon death. We do not admit this to ourselves, but we know its truth.

  Yes, they were our enemies, but they were still human. That is why their sacrifice must have meaning. Their deaths can advance all humanity. One day everyone will thank us.

  Chapter 11

  Cool droplets fell against my upturned face as I stood on the dock. Eyes closed, I let the rain patter over my skin, as if it could wash away this whole situation. It couldn't, but, for a moment at least, I felt free.

  I knew the freedom couldn't last. What I'd read, the atrocities that had been committed, that knowledge could never leave me. Long in the past, yes, but by our government, by our citizens. The hotel I'd come here to buy turned out to be a former POW camp, one drenched in the blood of its captives. It was a horrific secret.

  I knew this was what Thea had wanted me to find. This thing was much bigger than I had ever imagined.

  But now I knew something about the evil spirit. It had something to do with the elixir, with the vapors described in the scientist's journal. Was the spirit the tortured remnant of some prisoner's mind floating in space for eternity? Was that even possible? The whole idea was too crazy to comprehend, yet it explained everything I’d seen in Dansk Bay.

  The ghost was no longer so mysterious. I knew where it came from, why it existed. But not how to escape.

  Then it hit me. Thea’s words rang in my head. I doubt you have the fortitude.

  If you can’t run, you have to fight.

  Damn that woman.

  I took off at a jog, quickly crossing town. I reached the trading post and tried the door, but it was locked. No, she couldn’t leave me now.

  “Thea!” I pounded on the door. “You can’t do this to me.” No response.

  Part of my job is to read people. I’d been so thrown off by the ghost that I hadn’t seen it sooner. Thea wasn’t trying to help me; she was trying to help Dansk Bay. She knew I didn’t have a choice and was using me as a weapon.

  But, at this point it didn’t matter. I’d walked into this trap, and there was only one way out.

  Deflated, I turned and stared into the rain. Across the street I saw the young waitress in her raincoat walking into Lucy’s. She glanced around, spotted me, and gave me a long look before slipping inside.

  So much like Lena. Lena who was now in a
full time care home. Because of me. Because I’d left her alone to face a ghost.

  This was my chance for redemption. If those old notes were to be believed, this horror went back over half a century. Hundreds of lives ruined in the pursuit of mad science. I’d ruined one life, but I could save others. The waitress, the fishing hand, the old couple.

  I had to try.

  I started walking. Before I knew it, I stood at the back door to the hotel. I paused, wavering for a moment. Did I really want to do this? Hell no, but I was going to anyway. Pulling the door open, I slipped back into the hotel.

  The rusty door creaked behind me as it slowly fell closed again. The interior was cast in darkness and I realized I hadn't brought a flashlight. Or had I? My phone might not be able to call anyone, but the flashlight app worked fine. The small beam gave me a pool of light to work with.

  I remembered exactly where I’d first seen the clouds, the spirit. I moved with confidence down the hall, past the lobby. At the corner my foot hit a sticky patch and I nearly fell, but I caught myself and kept going.

  Down the far wing I went until I my phone light glinted off something to the left. Set in the wall was a massive steel door with a wheel crank and thick deadbolt. I was sure the spirit lived beyond.

  The hallway was blessedly empty. I let out the breath I'd been subconsciously holding. For some reason I'd expected to find the ghost perched in from of the door, blocking my entrance.

  Still, I hesitated. I'd broken into the museum, but I was hardly a master criminal. This door was locked, probably with military grade security. There was no way I’d get through.

  I tried anyway. Setting down my phone, I grabbed the wheel and twisted with all my might. The wheel didn't so much as flinch. I shifted my stance, trying for a better angle.

  And my foot slid. Only my grip on the wheel kept me upright. What the hell was this? Was something growing in this nasty building? I retrieved my phone and looked at the floor.