Eventually she stirred herself and got out of bed. David had often mocked her for the amount of stuff she took on every holiday, but she was glad of the bandages she’d brought. By the time she had wrapped her forearms, she looked like a half-done mummy.
Two to one he makes a crack about me taking up Thai boxing.
“I must be losing it,” she murmured, staring at the bathroom mirror. Pale and tired, she noticed crow’s-feet by her eyes, and tried to remember if they had been there before.
A tapping sound dragged her attention away from the bleary-eyed woman in the mirror. She listened, wondering if it might be the radiator, but it sounded like it was in the lounge. Sighing, she wandered in, and was surprised to find the tapping was coming from the window.
She bent down to pick up the heavy iron doorstop and crept to the pale blue curtains. There was neither rhyme nor reason to the tapping, but if one of the staff or guests was trying to work the ancient window frame open, she’d clobber the bastard. Her fingers tightened their grip on the doorstop, and she yanked the curtains aside.
A snowball tree’s branch was being knocked against the window pane by the strong wind.
And now I’m being frightened by a tree.
Alexandra sighed, dropped the doorstop, and opened the window. A gust set the curtain fluttering as she reached out and broke off the offending branch. The cold caress of the wind provoked goose bumps to crawl over her flesh. She shivered and closed the window.
I’m changing rooms tomorrow.
~
Alexandra awoke to the sound of a robin warbling outside the window.
Shut up, you chirpy little bastard.
It did not. Despite her fatigue and aching head, she got up and forced herself to shower —at which point she discovered the hot water was playing up. After subjecting herself to a few minutes of the frigid trickle, she escaped the cold and dried herself off.
Once her ablutions had been completed and she’d gotten herself dressed, Alexandra strode to the front desk. The postwar relic lurking behind the desk smiled at her.
“Good morning, Miss Blackwood. I take it everything’s to your satisfaction?”
Alexandra folded her arms. “The hot water’s broken, the radio turns itself on and some idiot planted trees so close to the window they hit the windows whenever there’s the slightest wind.”
Lissette frowned. “I’ll send along one of the staff to mend the shower. The weather is forecast to be calm for the next few days. As for the radio, it occasionally picks up stray radio waves. Did you know they can bounce around and reach receivers decades after being transmitted?”
“Fascinating,” Alexandra growled. “I want another room.”
Lissette opened up a thick leather book and ran her finger down one column. “I’m terribly sorry, but the Lake Manor Hotel is fully booked for the next week.”
“I’m unsurprised. It’s such a lovely place.”
Stupidity or politeness kept the gibe from ruffling Lissette’s feathers. “Isn’t it? I do hope you enjoy your stay from now on, Miss Blackwood. The old place is a little quirky, but we find that many guests like it so much they can scarcely bring themselves to leave.”
Thwarted, she retreated to her room and found the radio had decided to burst into life once more. It seemed to be the same play that had been on before.
“I’m going to be good. I promise,” an old woman said.
“I know,” a young lady answered. “Because if you’re bad, bad things will happen, Alexandra.”
Hearing her own name took her aback. The two women continued speaking until she pressed the button to shut them up. She glanced outside to see if the weather was nice enough for a walk, and was surprised to see the crone figurine staring at her from the mantelpiece. Just then, her phone buzzed in her pocket.
If this is my secretary, I’m going to rip his balls off.
The screen told her it was David.
“Yes?” she asked.
He paused before replying. “Are you all right?”
“Bloody marvelous. The hotel’s lovely. Look, about this break—”
“Sorry to interrupt, but I’ve got news on that front. Managed to pull some strings, and I’m going to be there tomorrow,” he said.
Great.
She slumped onto the couch. “It’ll be good to see you again. At last. But I was wondering if we should go somewhere else? This place is a bit weird.”
David thought for a bit. And then she realized her phone had died.
Of course it has; I forgot to charge it earlier.
~
In the morning, Alexandra rang David on her newly recharged phone and had him book a room in another, less creepy hotel.
“Are you ok?” he asked.
“I got attacked by a witch, but otherwise I’m fine.”
“What?”
She smiled. “I’ll explain later.”
The plumbing had been mended, and she enjoyed a piping hot shower before she readied herself to leave. She strolled to the front desk, and smiled charmingly at Lissette.
“Delightful as this hotel is, I’m leaving early. Is payment by card all right?” she asked, half-expecting the old-fashioned establishment to accept only cash or checks.
Lissette cocked her head. “I am sorry to hear that. Oh dear, did you hurt yourself?” she asked, staring at Alexandra’s bandaged wrist.
Alexandra tugged the sleeve of her fleece to cover up the bandages. “A small accident. Nothing serious.”
“Perhaps you should recuperate here?”
Alexandra put her credit card on the desk. “No, I’m leaving.”
Lissette claimed the plastic and swiped it, returning the card wrapped in a receipt. “I do hope you come back to us soon, Miss Blackwood.”
I don’t.
She carried her suitcase back to her BMW, slung it in the trunk, and got into the driver’s seat. The day was overcast, the last remnants of early morning mist still lingering, but the gloomy weather belied her mood. The fog made her drive slowly down the narrow road away from the Lake Manor Hotel, but with each passing moment she was further from that odd little place and closer to David.
Someone stepped into the road.
She swerved, and the BMW careered off the road and straight into a tree. A thick branch shattered the windshield and struck her head. A maelstrom of glass shards showered her face and the airbag exploded, rocking her head backward.
Spots of light danced in front of her eyes, and the edges of her vision grew dark. Her hand brushed her head and the fingertips were stained red.
“Christ,” she groaned, the words muffled by her ringing ears.
She tried to sit up, but pain stabbed into her neck and she slumped back into her seat.
The door opened, and a shadow fell across her.
“Thank God. Help me,” she said. It took a few moments for her eyes to adjust, the darkness nibbling at her vision retreating a little as she focused on her rescuer.
The old woman’s smile deepened the creases in her skin. “It wasn’t your false deity that sent me, girl.” She leaned so close Alexandra could smell the decay on her breath. “I’ve slept for years, dwelling on the edge of abyss, sustained only by the crumbs I could drain from the birds. Until I met you, my pretty.”
Edith wrapped her hand around Alexandra’s neck, and lapped up the blood pouring down the side of her head.
Alexandra strained to push her away, but the slightest motion sent a lightning bolt of pain down her neck.
“A single drop of your blood stirred me from slumber. I drank whilst you slept, and now I want more.”
Alexandra stared at the crone’s face, unable to draw her eyes from the ancient, piercing gaze. Pain swelled in her heart as she watched her antagonist’s thin, wrinkled skin grow inexorably smoother. With each passing moment, the renewed tautness swallowed wrinkles and drew tight the sagging skin, until the face had become utterly transformed, unblemished by the ravages of time. White hair had darken
ed to a lustrous brown, and her thin lips had widened sensuously.
“What… what are you?” Alexandra asked.
The crone, now filled with the beauty of youth, curled her lips into the cruel mimicry of a smile. “Oh, my dear, if you think I’ve changed, you should look at yourself.”
Over the tormentor’s shoulder was the cracked side mirror. And in it, staring back at Alexandra, was the confused face of an elderly stranger. Her face had been scarred by time with countless wrinkles. A single tear rolled down her cheek, but before it finished its journey the cause had slipped from her mind.
“All that youth, that strength, that potential is now mine,” the crone said. “You’re an empty husk, robbed of your future and drained of your soul.” She stroked Alexandra’s cheek. “Who is this woman in the mirror?” the stranger asked, pointing at the side mirror.
She stared at the reflection and frowned. The face frowned back at her. It was familiar, but she couldn’t quite place the name. “I’m not sure. David would know.”
Where is David? He should be here.
The stranger smiled. “Who’s David, my dear?”
“He’s…” she began, but the words and memory dried up the moment she tried to conjure them. “I’m sure I’ve heard of him before.” She sighed, and looked around. “It’s misty out here. Did I crash the car?”
The stranger patted her on the shoulder. “Yes, dear. It’s easy for someone to lose herself out here. But don’t worry, I’ll help you.” The young lady produced a red shawl and tied it around her head. “There. Now, don’t you feel better with your shawl back on?”
“Thank you, you’re very kind.”
Edith smiled. “Not at all, my dear. Now, you should give David a call. He’s a friend of yours, but the crash must have damaged your memory. The number will be in your phone.”
Alexandra searched her left inside pocket, but the object she pulled out was a purple ring box. Edith plucked it from her grasp before she could open it.
“What’s that?” Alexandra asked.
Edith flicked the box open and turned the platinum, ruby-studded ring so Alexandra could see the inscription. “It’s for the man in my life. ‘Together Forever’. Isn’t that sweet?”
“It’s gorgeous. He must be very dear to you; I do hope you make a go of things.”
Edith put the ring back and snapped the box shut. “Don’t worry — I’m sure we’ll grow old together. Perhaps your phone is in your other pocket?”
Alexandra patted her pockets until she found the one with the phone, and searched for the number. “Where should I tell him to come?”
“The Lake Manor Hotel. I live in room number one. I can’t wait to meet him.”
Room 10: Dark Reflections
By David I Thomson
…come and get me. Come and wake me. Come and make me…
~
It was early morning and Tony didn’t feel like drinking any more hard liquor. He had suffered a nauseating, agitated night, making rest impossible. Now it was too early for the obligatory hangover to kick in, but also too late to think about sleeping through it. Finally, he had snapped, feeling pent-up and frustrated, so now he found himself at the top of the first floor landing, staring at the reception area of the hotel. Only the dim glow of an antiquated light on the reception desk provided illumination. A night guard or bellhop stood at this desk, like a museum exhibit on fifties fashion. Tony padded down the stairs slowly, synching his steps with the tick-tock of the hall’s large grandfather clock.
As Tony approached the desk, the bellhop produced a cautious smile, taut across his thin face. Then, as the bellhop’s lips parted, there was an unusually deep, throaty and animal growl. Tony stopped, a little startled, thrown by the menacing sound. The bellhop rolled his eyes to say sorry, then turned to his side and bent over; Tony’s gaze followed, and he made out a rug-like ball of fur in the darkness of the floor. Yellow teeth and wet, red eyes fixed on him suspiciously.
“There, there, Caesar.” The bellhop stood up straight and gave Tony an embarrassed smile. “Don’t you worry about ’im, sir, he always is a bit uneasy around new people. Is everything all right, Mr… Zwilling?”
It had been the first name that popped into Tony’s head. He’d tried to find a place to lose himself for a few days, a week maybe. Place had seemed empty when he had arrived, and they seemed desperate to get anyone in. They hadn’t asked for ID, just accepted his upfront payment. The opportunity to hide his real name had seemed too good to be true.
“Trouble sleeping,” Tony muttered. “Got up to see if I could find some coffee.” Tony could smell the odor of neat vodka on his breath, and for a moment wondered if the bellhop could pick it up too. Tony let the moment pass. I’m too tired to care.
“If the bed or anything about the room is causing trouble, I’m sure we can swap you to another, more comfortable one.”
No, it’s my fucked-up life; I wish you could swap that.
“It’s always strange sleeping somewhere new on the first night,” Tony offered as a vague explanation, adding as an afterthought, “Work’s stressful as well. Not helping.” The bellhop gave him a puzzled look, making a big, wet ‘O’ with his lips.
“Work… of course, sir,” he said.
“Land sales, estates, that sort of thing,” Tony said, not sure if he needed to spill out more of his cover story. Definitely won’t tell you that my boss fired me months ago and I’m lying through my pickled teeth. The bellhop nodded, clearly not fully comprehending but looking as if he was trying his best to understand. “Anyway, coffee…” Tony said. The thought of his former boss gave him a rush of prickly anger. It made him want to get far away and cool off. Alone.
“Oh.” The moist O appeared again. “It’s a bit early; the breakfast bar will be open at eight. I could rustle up something if you—”
“Don’t worry about it — I’ll get some fresh air instead.” Tony wasn’t in a mood to have a conversation.
“Of course, sir. Where were you thinking about going?”
“Down by the lake,” Tony said. He’d seen it through the trees of the hotel estate when he arrived. It had looked peaceful and calm. He imagined a picturesque boating lake, jetties with small dinghies, and manicured paths around the shore. The idea called out and soothed him.
“Be careful down there, especially when it’s dark. It can be treacherous near the shore.”
Tony mumbled thanks, and walked out. Caesar gave him another low growl as he passed.
~
When Tony reached the lake, he was sorely disappointed. The opposite bank was obscured by a heavy night fog, feeding tendrils of icy mist that drifted between the trees. The shore was hemmed-in and dark, tangled and messy. Pine trees were even growing out of the lake itself. It looked primordial: thick, pitch-black water, ancient gnarled trees and ragged filter beds of reeds clogging most of the near shore. Tony wavered when he got a smell of the rich aroma of decay coming from a nearby fetid reed bed; the urge to retch was very strong.
There was no sound of any sort; even his footsteps were muffled almost entirely by the thick atmosphere. If there was any wildlife here, it was silent or asleep. Maybe just a few more minutes to justify coming out here, then try and sneak back past the bellhop. I feel now that a morning drink—
There was the distinct sound of splashing. A swirl of wet mist hit Tony, sharpening his senses. Scanning the nearby inky water, he saw no tell-tale ripples or disturbances. He waited to see if it would repeat. For a long while, there was just his distant buried heartbeat and his anticipation. He started to turn to go.
The sound came again.
It was definitely closer, and clearly made by something big in the water. This time a blast of freezing air thickened the fog into a dirty grey blanket, quickly cutting his vision down to mere metres. Near the water’s edge, Tony could make out a dark shape condensing from the very fog itself. Then a moment of relief as he recognized the movement. Probably just someone messing about in the
lake, a night fisherman or—
The shadow came up, stumbling with loud squelchy footsteps as it padded through the soft mud of the reed bed. There was something wrong about this shape. Tony couldn’t tell if it was the fog or the poor light, but it seemed indistinct and fuzzy. And wrong. That thought came to him unbidden and instinctive. He knew he had to get away.
Tony stumbled backward, and a sharp pain in his head caused him to double up and collapse. The wetness of the damp dirt and the reek of decaying vegetation clung onto him as the pain intensified and he fell into total unconsciousness.
~
…I take and breathe. So long since I walk. So long since I could connect. He wallows in misery and drunkenness. Still, I take and breathe…
Tony opened his eyes to see the small bedside table, threadbare armchair and battered desk of his hotel room. He was lying on the bed. For a moment he could not remember, amnesia tightly bound around him.
He suddenly remembered the lakeside. In fright, Tony threw himself up off his back, swinging his shaking legs onto the floor and kicking an empty bottle of vodka, causing it to roll across the room. It was stopped by the skirting board with a loud clunk.
What had happened? He had no recollection of getting back. Had he dreamt it all? No, even before he looked, he could smell the thick reed-mud of the lake on his shoes and trousers. The nausea returned. So I had been there. And that shape, that person? Perhaps it had been some sort of hallucination, a sort of waking dream. I haven’t slept at all in the past twenty-four hours, it’ll be my brain misinterpreting something. There was a bottle of vodka on the table, still with a few fingers of liquid left. He snatched it and took a big gulp, swallowing the lukewarm, bitter liquid but grateful for the relief it gave him. He got up with the bottle and sat on the armchair.
“Your fault, no doubt,” he told it out loud. “Your fault I have a wife who sleeps about with sober, straitlaced bosses. Your fault I have kids who have gone feral and see the police and school authorities more than they see me. Your fault my life went rapidly down the tubes. And now your fault I’m seeing things that aren’t there.” He picked up the bottle and swirled the liquid left at the bottom. “But thankfully, I still got you.” He slugged the final mouthful down. Overwhelmed with tiredness, Tony settled into the chair and drifted into sleep.
The Haunting of Lake Manor Hotel Page 3