Nightmare

by Robin Parrish

  I was hurt, but I couldn't tell how badly. I wasn't even sure I was still breathing. But I had to be alive, because the heavy beating of my heart had become painful to my chest.

  My phone was situated right next to me on the floor. A blinking light indicated an incoming call.

  I placed a shivering hand over the phone and put it up to my ear.

  I tried to say hello, but my voice wouldn't obey my command to speak. Instead I let out a weak croak.

  When the voice on the other end spoke, it reached my ear as a whisper from a voice I didn't know.

  "The nightmare is coming, Maia," it said, and my blood turned to ice. "Forget Jordin Cole, or it comes for you next."

  DECEMBER 9TH

  Snow was falling in Estes Park as our rental car crested the top of the hill and our destination came into view.

  "I assume you approve?" It was a question I asked carefully.

  It had been hard getting much out ofJordin since we'd met up back at JFK Airport in New York. Her attitude couldn't have been more different than the way she'd behaved on our first trip, two months ago. She hadn't said one word on the plane, refusing even a complimentary beverage. She sat in her window seat, her gaze tracing the roadways and farms and other structures and signs of civilization far below.

  She was so withdrawn and pensive that I began wondering what could have happened to her. And not knowing her all that well, it occurred to me she might be brooding. Wallowing in something.

  As much as I enjoyed the opportunity to study without her endless chatter, the silence had grown uncomfortable, the tension surrounding her rising from the moment we got in the car and made our way out to Estes Park.

  I was sure that if anything could jar a reaction out of her, it would be the gorgeous vistas of the Rocky Mountains surrounding Estes Park, which nearly every visitor agreed was one of the most beautiful places on earth. But she hadn't spoken at all, still looking out her window as I drove carefully through the snowcovered streets, winding up the hill toward our stop.

  When she said nothing, I tried again. "Do you know where we are?"

  No reply.

  "Jordin ... this is the Stanley Hotel."

  Finally she blinked. Slowly she swiveled her head to face me. "The Stanley Hotel?"

  I nodded.

  "Where Stephen King wrote The Shining?" Jordin said, her enthusiasm rising.

  "Well," I pointed out, "he didn't actually write it here, he was just inspired to write it by his visit. After the comments you made about Waverly Hills, I figured a more famous landmark might scratch your itch."

  Jordin sat up straighter in her seat and leaned into the middle to peer out of the front windshield at the lovely white building that lay straight ahead. "Wow ... I've always wanted to see this place."

  I almost smiled, proud of myself for pullingJordin out of her funk. Until I remembered that this meant her nonstop talking would likely return, as well.

  "How many times have you been here?" she asked.

  "This is my fifth," I replied. "Used to come up once a year with my parents-they had an open invitation."

  I turned back to the windshield to take in the full view of the grand old hotel with its white siding, stone foundation, Georgian architecture, and six flagpoles jutting out at a severe angle over the large covered front porch, and once again I found myself enjoying a small tingle of the old adrenaline. Every time I'd been here in the past, I'd witnessed unquestionable paranormal phenomena-and every time, it was a different experience than before.

  The car wound carefully through the snow-covered driveway up to the front entrance, where we deposited ourselves in the foot-deep snow with our bags. A bellhop quickly descended the front steps and snatched our things before I could stop him. I always preferred to do things for myself, but I had to remind myself that I was on an all-expense-paid business trip and could let my "employer" pick up the tab on anything and everything. Which Jordin seemed only too happy to do.

  The yellow rays of the sun had already faded to orange by the time we neared the front steps. It would be dark soon, and I knew Jordin would be ready to get started the minute the sun was gone.

  It was understandable. Even a novice like Jordin was familiar enough with the building's reputation to know that the Stanley was very special.

  Someone brushed a curtain aside in a room on the fourth floor. I sensed the movement and looked up, but all I saw was a shadow, a person's silhouetted face staring back at me. As soon as I focused on it, it dissolved and the curtain fell back into place.

  I automatically tried to dismiss what I'd just seen, assuming it was a trick of the light. But something about it made my eyes linger on the window for a long moment.

  "You coming?" asked Jordin, already on the bottom step.

  "Yeah," I replied, still studying the window.

  Jordin led the way up the front stairs, and we went inside. As we waited to check in at the charming front desk, which was stained a deep welcoming hue and had a marble countertop, I decided it was time to lay down some ground rules.

  I spoke softly. "I need you to keep in mind that this is a vastly different scenario than what we did at Waverly Hills. For one thing, we're not the only people here-there's a full staff and a couple hundred other guests-so we don't have free reign. I know you're anxious to get started but we need to wait until midnight. I was able to get permission for us to investigate tonight on the condition that we will respect the other guests and we won't go poking around in places where guests aren't allowed. With one or two exceptions. Jordin, are you listening?"

  She was fishing out her journal from inside her large pocketbook as I spoke. "Yeah, yeah. Leave everybody else alone, don't make any big noise. I got it."

  We settled in and I tried to entertain myself by watching the hotel's channel 42, which played Stanley Kubrick's version of The Shining on a continuous loop, twenty-four hours a day. But I was really just waiting for the hotel to fall asleep. We needed the depths of night for our best exploring.

  As if sensing my own rising anticipation, Jordin knocked on my door the second the clock struck midnight, a very full backpack hefted over one shoulder.

  "Where do we start?" she said, her zeal for the hunt already in plain view.

  I didn't mind that she'd abandoned formalities. I was ready to get on with it, too.

  "Let's try the ballroom," I said. "It's where one of the most frequent reports originates. The grand piano in there sometimes plays all by itself."

  Jordin shifted her backpack and led the way down the narrow white hotel corridor. She seemed distracted. "Anything weird happen to you yet?"

  I glanced her way. "Like what?"

  "When I got in my room, I opened my suitcase and laid out some fresh clothes on the bed. I went to the bathroom and showered, but when I came out to put those clothes on, they were back in my bag. It could've been the maid-except I had the door locked. And chained."

  "Hmm," I said, intrigued but trying to sound noncommittal. It wasn't that unusual of an occurrence, but I knew that something like that happening to Jordin so quickly after we arrived could spell trouble later on. Something in the hotel might have taken a special interest in her. If so, further activity would not be confined to her room. It would follow her wherever she went.

  I eyed her bag. "What equipment did you bring?"

  "Everything you recommended," she replied without turning around. "Digital camera, digital voice recorder, video camera."

  "A good start," I remarked approvingly.

  "Start?" she echoed, nonplussed. "What else is there?"

  "Loads. Thermal imaging cameras. Temperature gauges. Electromagnetic frequency detectors. Full-spectrum DSLRs."

  Jordin stopped and retrieved her journal from her bag while we waited for the elevator to arrive. "I should be writing this down," she muttered.

  We rode down the elevator in silence, and then walked a short way down the main floor hall to the ballroom. The lights were on inside but I found the wa
ll switch first thing and turned them off.

  Something about the large emptiness of the ballroom always gave people chills. Nearly everyone who entered it was taken in by the sensation.

  "Why does it have to be dark?" Jordin asked.

  "Hmm?"

  "I've been reading up, and a lot of reported paranormal activity doesn't even happen at night. So how come you always investigate after dark?"

  "Because it's scarier," I deadpanned.

  She stopped. "What?"

  I laughed. "There's nothing that says you're required to investigate at night. A lot of investigators don't. There are lots of reasons to do it this way, though. Primarily it's a logistical issue, especially for populated locations. It's just easier to gain wide access to the most haunted locations at night, when there are fewer people around-or none. The absence of the human element makes it easier to record EVPs and capture imagery that's authentically paranormal. In a field where it's almost impossible to investigate under controlled circumstances, investigating at night increases what little control you do have over the environment."

  "Remind me what EVP stands for again?" Jordin asked.

  "Electronic Voice Phenomenon. Disembodied voices that the human auditory range can't hear, but recording devices can."

  It was unnerving to be in the big, unfriendly room, but where most would have been timid about entering, I was surprised to see Jordin stride right out into the open space without a care. I could only imagine what was going on in her head, considering how sullen she'd been earlier. I felt like she was making an effort to rein in the exuberant rookie I'd investigated with at Waverly Hills.

  She made a beeline for the piano, which sat silent across the room.

  "Cold spot," she reported. "It's very cold over here."

  I joined her by the piano, confirming that it was indeed colder than the rest of the room.

  Cold spots were a common phenomenon when paranormal activity was present. No one really knew why, but apparitions almost always drained the warmth out of the air.

  "You should be recording," I whispered.

  "Ah!" Jordin exclaimed. She dropped her pack softly on the ground and pulled out her video camera. To her credit, it was ready to go and all she had to do was turn it on and press Record.

  Jordin held the camera while spinning slowly in place for a few minutes, shooting video, mostly of the piano and eventually moving to the bench, where she sat down.

  "Why do electronic devices pick up sounds the human ear can't?" she whispered.

  I wasn't sure if Jordin really expected me to provide a sure answer, but I replied anyway. "I don't know. Maybe they have a better auditory range than the human ear."

  Jordin suddenly turned the camera to face the floor and began inspecting it. "Oh man..."

  I glanced her way, half expecting this. "Battery?"

  Jordin looked up in surprise, her long blond locks giving off a dull gleam in the dark. "It was fully charged, I know it was! I checked it before I left my room!"

  "Sudden battery drain," I explained. "It's pretty common during investigations. There are theories as to why."

  Jordin was all ears. "Like what?" she whispered eagerly.

  "The most popular thought is that when a spirit wants to make itself known to human senses, it'll draw on any energy source around it to manifest. Including electrical batteries, if they're handy."

  Jordin screwed up her eyebrows. "I'm not sure that makes any sense."

  "Neither am I, to be honest, but it's just one theory. You brought some spares, right?"

  She blinked. "These cameras all take special batteries that are supposed to last for hours! You didn't say anything about bringing extras!"

  I picked up her digital voice recorder and spoke into it. "Note to self. always bring extra batteries to an investigation."

  Jordin scowled at me, placing her recorder back on top of the piano.

  We stayed in the ballroom for another twenty minutes, but all was quiet.

  "So why is the Stanley so haunted?" asked Jordin as we were packing up to leave.

  I frowned, not in frustration but from searching for the words. The truth was, I didn't know. No one had ever been able to determine why the Stanley was so haunted, aside from the fact that it was built on very old land that had passed down through many generations. Before the Stanley was built, Native Americans lived all throughout the region for unknown numbers of years. Most of the sightings seemed to indicate the presence of immigrants from the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries.

  F. 0. Stanley, who built the hotel, and his wife, Flora, were believed to be behind most of the sightings. History records that the two of them dearly loved the area for its beauty. Mr. Stanley was all but healed of tuberculosis thanks to the clean mountain air and how much his morale improved just by being there. Maybe he just never wanted to leave.

  Hours later, we had hit several known hot spots throughout the hotel with little success. But I wasn't ready to give up yet.

  We were returning to our rooms so Jordin could plug in her batteries to recharge when we got our first hit of the night.

  It was past three a.m., so the lights had been dimmed in the brightly colored guest corridors, the walls adorned with ornate wallpaper and dotted with large antique black-and-white photographs. We were walking quietly to keep from disturbing the other guests when Jordin stumbled and dropped all of her equipment.

  "Shhh!" I whispered over the enormous clatter. I thought of my phone conversation with the owners a few weeks prior when I promised them we would be discreet during our investigation.

  Jordin collected her things and stood with shaky legs beneath her. She stood next to a floor-length mirror, and her eyes were huge as she looked into it. She glanced over her own shoulder, as if she expected to see someone there, and then she turned back to stare into the mirror again.

  "What is it?" I asked.

  "I saw a man!" she whispered back, her voice fragile and frantic. "In the mirror! I saw him in the mirror!"

  I eyed her suspiciously.

  "It was a man. An older man, and he was wearing ... like, an old-fashioned suit."

  The smallest of chills brought goose bumps to my arms. Despite all my experience, I still did not like mirrors. Something about looking into them with the chance of seeing something other than yourself looking back unnerved me and I tried, as a rule, to avoid them.

  "Where did you see him?" I whispered, joining her to stare at the mirror.

  "In the mirror!" Jordin replied with over-the-top obviousness, pointing to the spot we were both staring at. "I glanced at it as I passed by, and he was standing right there looking back at me!" She pointed at a small alcove that housed one of the hotel room doors.

  "He was only in the mirror!" she said, and her whole body jerked suddenly. She rubbed her arms, which had turned pale. "But as soon as I looked, he disappeared. He was just gone."

  "What else did you notice about him?" I asked uneasily, as I tried to look deeper into the mirror.

  "I don't know.... He was bald, but with, like, a comb-over. And one of those old-timey mustaches that curl up on the ends?"

  "A handlebar," I said slowly, realization dawning in my mind.

  "Yeah. And he had real beady eyes, and he was wearing a pinstripe suit. With a vest."

  I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, the hairs on my arms standing on end.

  "You just described the earl ofDunraven," I said softly. "Lord Dunraven was the original owner of this entire area, back in the 1800s, and he's been rumored to haunt not just the Stanley, but most of Estes Park."

  Jordin's eyes grew even wider, and the two of us stood in stunned silence for a long moment.

  I broke the silence first. "You just laid eyes on your very first full-bodied apparition."

  Jordin offered a trembling smile, and I recognized the thrill of adrenaline that had to be coursing through her right now. It was giving her a noticeable buzz.

  "So why does this guy haunt the
town?" she asked.

  I picked through my memory to relate Dunraven's story in concise words. "He wanted to use his land as a private game reserve, so he's probably unhappy with what's become of it."

  "Huh," said Jordin dully, and I noticed a new expression on her face I hadn't observed before. "I forget that ghosts were people like me and you, with the same emotions and wants."

  I watched her. "Does that mean you've made up your mind about the existence of ghosts? Is that what this is about for you?"

  She didn't answer at first. I was sure she knew that I was trying to get her to concede that there was no further need for these adventures of ours. "I'm not here to prove the existence of ghosts, Maia. Even if I were, I know I wasn't imagining what I saw in that mirror. So what else is on the agenda?"

  I sighed. "Next we make sure we have plenty of batteries for our flashlights, 'cause we're going to need them."

  "Shh," I whispered. "Did you hear that?"

  In the silence, I realized with slight alarm that my heart was pounding hard in my chest. I wasn't frightened, I was sure of it. I didn't usually get scared during investigations. Excited, thrilled, even emotional sometimes, sure. But you just couldn't do this job if you let the fear in.

  Yet here we were on a fairly routine investigation, my heart hammering and sweat beginning to rise on my face and head despite the chill of our location.

  Jordin shook her head, then stood in silence, waiting. I was glad to see her flick on her voice recorder without my needing to remind her this time.

  The sound came again.

  "I heard that," she said, and I could see that her breathing had also increased.

  We heard it a third time.

  Somewhere in the distance, maybe right down the hall from where we now stood, a child's voice was giggling.

  We were nowhere near the guest rooms anymore. We had descended down to the basement tunnels-a special allowance I'd been granted by the hotel's owners, thanks to my credentials. Besides, it was the middle of the night. This area was locked off, and I was the only person besides the owners with a key to get in, so no one could have possibly been down there but us.