by Amy Cross
“Where are you?” I whisper. “Ruthie, I -”
Suddenly I feel something.
A shuddering, sobbing shoulder, barely covered by scraps of torn fabric. As my fingertips brush the shoulder, however, I'm horrified to feel charred, torn flesh that seems horribly dry and burned in some places and wet, almost sticky in others.
“Do you have something for my burns?” Mary cries. “Please, Ruthie, anything to make the pain stop...”
Still convinced that I must be imagining the whole thing, I run my hand along her shoulder until I reach the side of her neck. Her entire body seems to be convulsing as she continues to sob, but now I can feel her damp, matted hair between my fingers, and I force myself to touch the side of her burned face. At first, I feel a faint flutter of relief as I realize that here at least her flesh feels soft and undamaged. After a moment, however, my fingertips brush against some kind of rippled edge, and I realize that part of her flesh has burned away entirely, leaving me touching the meat and muscle beneath.
“Ruthie, help,” she sobs. “Don't leave me down here. Get help, or...”
Her voice trails off for a moment.
“Make the pain stop,” she continues. “One way or another, make it stop hurting. Ruthie, please...”
“You're not real,” I whisper. “You died in the fire.”
“Help me...”
“I heard you. I heard you as you were dying, Mary.”
She tries to reply, but her voice breaks into a series of shuddering, breathless sobs, and I can feel her body shaking as my hand rests on the side of her face. I try telling myself that this is all in my head, that the shock of the past few days has caused me awful visions, but I'm feeling a rising sense of panic in my chest and finally I realize that I can't just walk away. Whatever has happened to Mary, I have to help her.
“Wait here,” I stammer finally. “Just wait right here. I'll go and find someone.”
“Don't leave me!” she gasps.
“I have to go and get help!”
Stumbling to my feet, I turn and hurry back to the doorway, although I hesitate for a moment as I hear Mary's wretched sobs getting louder and louder. At the same time, I can hear chair legs scraping against the floor of the room above me, and the sound of laughter in the distance. I want to turn back and go to Mary again, but deep down I know she can't be real. Either she has sprung unbidden from the deepest traumas in my mind, or she's some kind of spirit that has come back to the world and stopped to rest here in the basement.
“Please,” she groans, as if she's getting weaker and weaker. “Ruthie, help me...”
“I will,” I whisper, before hurrying along the corridor and then making my way up the stairs. As I reach the door and push it open, I tell myself that I shall have to find somebody who knows better than I what to -
“And where have you been?” Mrs. Crandall sneers, as I almost slam straight into her.
“I was in the basement!” I stammer, stepping back and bumping against the wall.
“And where are the sheets you were supposed to fetch, young lady? I've been waiting upstairs in room nine for so long, I began to worry that you'd puffed out of existence entirely.”
“I found...”
My voice trails off as I stare up at her. She looks so angry, but at the same time I can't think of anybody else in this entire hotel who might be able to help me.
“My sister,” I say finally. “I think I found my sister down there.”
She raises a skeptical eyebrow. “Your what?”
“My sister Mary,” I continue. “She's crying in one of the dark rooms and -”
“Your sister Mary is dead, dear,” she replies, interrupting me. “You were told that, were you not? She died tragically in the fire.”
“But I...”
Again, my voice trails off.
“I found her,” I add finally, trembling with fear. “I heard her voice, and I felt her. She's in the room at the far end, under the dining room. I know it sounds like it can't be true, but she's really there!”
“She is, is she?” Mrs. Crandall mutters, clearly very unimpressed as she steps past me and heads down the stairs. “We'll soon see about that. Wait up here while I go and check for ghosts. And I suppose I shall have to find the sheets, while I'm at it. God forbid that you might have some gumption.”
She continues to grumble and complain as she heads down into the basement, leaving me standing completely alone. A moment later, hearing footsteps nearby, I turn and see a man and a woman leaving the dining room, heading toward the reception area. They're dressed in very fine clothes, and suddenly the woman turns and looks at me. I see the disgust in her eyes, as if the mere sight of me is repulsive, and she quickly hurries to keep up with her husband as he makes his way around the far corner.
Hearing someone coming up the stairs, I turn just as Mrs. Crandall emerges from the basement.
“Well, we'll have to find some sheets from the laundry room,” she tells me, quickly closing and locking the door. “I suppose someone forgot to put them in their usual place. Come along, Ruth.”
“Did you look in the room at the end of the corridor?” I ask, as she turns and starts walking toward the staff stairwell.
“There was nothing there,” she replies, not even bothering to look back at me. “Of course there wasn't. Don't fill your head with such nonsense, girl. We're busy enough as it is, without the likes of you imagining this, that and the other.”
As she starts going up the stairs, I look down at my hands. To my surprise, I see that my fingertips are glistening with traces of wet blood. Pressing my fingers together, I expect to find that the blood is another illusion, but instead I find that I'm able to smear it against my own flesh. I'm still quite sure that my encounter with Mary in the basement must have been some moment of madness, but I don't understand why I seem to have some of her blood on my hands. Actual, real blood.
“Girl!” Mrs. Crandall shrieks from the stairs. “Come! At once!”
Fearful of being beaten, I hurry after her.
Chapter Thirteen
Flat on my back in bed, I stare at the dark ceiling and listen to the sound of the cooks finally getting ready to leave the kitchen next door. They've taken forever, and it must be past midnight by now, but I don't dare go out until they're all gone. For one thing, some of them have leering eyes, and I really don't want their attention. And for another, they might ask why I'm up and where I'm going, and I can't possibly tell them.
Eventually I hear the kitchen door click shut, and I wait a few more minutes until I'm certain that there's nobody in the next room. Finally, I climb out of bed and pick my way carefully across through the darkness, taking care not to trip on any of the sacks of flour that have been left on the concrete. I know I should be well-behaved and stay in bed, but my mind is racing and I don't think I'll ever be able to sleep again, not until I know for certain whether my sister's ghost is really in the basement.
Even if she's dead, Mary might still need me.
***
“Hello?” I call out cautiously, trying not to shout too loud just in case anyone hears me. “Mary? Are you here?”
I wait, holding a candle up to cast flickering light across the doorway in the basement. All I see in the next room is darkness, and so far there's been no hint of movement. I haven't heard so much as a whisper, and deep down I'm already starting to think that the whole thing must have been a figment of my imagination earlier. After all, why would Mary's ghost be in the hotel, and why would she be begging me for help?
“It's me,” I continue. “It's Ruthie. Mary, are -”
“Ruthie?” a faint, weak voice gasps suddenly. “You came back?”
I take a deep breath, forcing myself to stay where I am instead of turning and running. The air is so cold down here, and I fear that I must be going completely mad.
“They didn't bring anything for me,” she whispers. “A woman came and looked at me, but she wouldn't help. It hurts so much, Ruthie.
Why are they doing this? You have to get me out of here.”
I wait.
Silence.
“Ruthie?” she continues finally. “Are you still here? Ruthie, please -”
“I'm still here,” I tell her, feeling a knot of panic in my chest. “I promise.”
“Can you come closer? Do you have food?”
Reaching into my pocket, I take out the piece of bread I wrapped in a napkin. I don't know why I bothered, since I'm sure ghosts can't eat, but I suppose I just felt that I had to bring something. Stepping forward, I make my way through the doorway, and then I realize that I've inadvertently lowered the candle. Perhaps I just don't want to see whatever state my dear sister might be in, but slowly I force myself to raise the candle again, and then I gasp as soon as I see Mary's bloodied, burned and near-naked body shivering on the bare concrete. Curled into a ball, she's staring up at me, her eyes bright white against the charred black and red of her face.
“Help me,” she shudders. “Ruthie, please...”
Forgetting all my fear for a moment, I hurry forward and drop to my knees. Setting the candle next to her, I hold the piece of bread out and watch with horror as she reaches up and takes the food with her burned, reddened hands. I swear I can hear her flesh crinkling as she moves the bread to her lips, and she flinches as if the merest touch is enough to cause excruciating pain. She doesn't stop eating, however, and she seems to be wolfing the bread down as if it's the first thing she's eaten in days. As she does so, I can't help noticing that some parts of her left hand have been burned so badly that patches of bone are showing through around the knuckles, while several of her fingers appear to have been completely torn away.
“Water,” she gasps finally, once she's finished the bread. “Give me water.”
“Wait!”
Hurrying back out of the room, I fetch a cup of water from the kitchen. By the time I get back down to Mary, I find that she's tried to prop herself against the wall, leaving a smeared trail of blood and loosened skin on the concrete floor. Figuring that she's probably too weak to hold the cup properly, I lift it to her lips and pour the water into her mouth, and I hear the sound of it flowing down the back of her throat. Finally, once the cup is empty, I set it down on the ground.
“I'll fetch more,” I tell her, although for a moment I can only stare at her ravaged face. “Do you feel better now, Mary? Did the food help?”
“We have to...”
She pauses, as if she can barely get the words out. If I didn't know better, I'd swear that she seems weaker than before. The more I look at her, the more I find it hard to believe that she's a ghost, but I know deep down that she's definitely dead.
“We have to get out of here,” she manages finally. “We have to... go before he comes back...”
“Before who comes back?” I ask.
I wait for an answer, but she's simply staring at me as if she expects me to know already.
“Do you mean Mr. Nash?” I continue. “Has he been down here? Does he know about you?”
Her lips move slightly, but all that emerges is a faint sigh.
“But you're a ghost,” I point out. “You don't have to just sit here like this. You can't even be hurt, can you? All you have to do is get up and walk through a wall and go somewhere else. You can probably even move your legs again!”
She stares at me, and now her eyes have opened a little wider, as if she's shocked by what I said.
“You know you're a ghost, don't you?” I continue, with tears in my eyes. “Mary, our house was burned down. Mamma and Pappa and you died, and I managed to survive because I was off getting water from the well. Are Mamma and Pappa down here too? Did their ghosts come back?”
“Ruthie,” she whispers. “Ruthie, please, it hurts so much...”
“You can't feel pain!” I tell her again. “Look, I'll prove it!”
Reaching out, I place a hand on her bloodied arm, but she immediately lets out a searing, agonized cry and I instinctively pull back. Sobbing now, she turns her head away from me slightly, and I see that her bottom lip is trembling.
“That can't have been real,” I continue, although when I look at my palm I see that some of my sister's charred flesh has come away from her meat, sticking instead to my hand. “I don't understand, I can't -”
“They pulled me out,” she groans, her voice trembling with sorrow. “Right out of the flames, Ruthie. They reached through the window and pulled me out. Mamma and Pappa was screaming, but they left them to burn and they took me out and brought me here. And then they just left me in the dark.”
Slowly, she turns to me with a hint of anger in her eyes.
“Mr. Nash comes down twice a day,” she sneers, “and does things to me in the dark. He says he doesn't want to see me, so there can't be any lights. He talks about such strange things, about making me live in the forest as some kind of wild thing. He stinks of whiskey and he hits me. It hurts so much, Ruthie. The last time, I just wanted him to kill me, but he wouldn't even do that. He'll be back again soon, I know it, and then he'll hurt me some more. I can't even scream, because he puts something over my mouth. Sometimes I hear people above, laughing and talking in one of the other rooms, and I'm down here trying to cry out but I can't! My throat is burned!”
She breaks into a series of convulsing sobs, and for a moment I can only stare in shock at her ravaged features. If she's really alive, then I have to get her out of here right now, even though I don't have a clue how to start. There's nobody I can ask for help, nobody I can trust at all, but it's the middle of the night so I might be able to sneak her out. She can't walk, though, and I don't know if I'm strong enough to carry her, so I'm going to have to find some kind of cart or wheelbarrow. My mind is racing as I try to come up with a plan, but then I gasp as Mary reaches out and puts a hand on my wrist.
“Either get me out of here,” she whispers, “or kill me. I don't mind either. Just promise you won't leave me down here alone.”
“I promise,” I stammer, “I just... I don't know where we can go.”
“Anywhere. Anywhere that means we're away from him.”
“I'll figure something out,” I tell her. “It's only just gone midnight, so if we leave now we can be far from here by the time the sun comes up. Hopefully that should give us a head-start, and then they won't be able to catch us. And then we can find someone and tell them about this place, and Mr. Nash'll be arrested and we can live somewhere else.”
“Hurry,” she groans. “There's not much time. I don't want to die down here.”
“I'll go and find something to put you in,” I reply, starting to get up, only for her to grab my arm again. Turning, I see fear in her eyes. “I have to go,” I continue, “just for a few minutes. I'll be back really soon, I promise, but I have to go!”
She stares at me for a moment, before slowly letting go of my arm.
“Don't leave me too long,” she says cautiously. “And leave the candle. Please, I don't want to be in the dark again, in case... I just don't want to be in the dark, Ruthie. I'm scared I might never see light again.”
“I'll be back soon,” I reply, turning and heading out the door. I still don't know where I'm going, not really, but I figure I'll work something out. Hurrying up the stairs, I push the door open, and then I stop for a moment as I try to come up with a plan.
The garden.
There's a shed out there, where the hotel's gardener keeps all his tools. If I can get ahold of his wheelbarrow, I can use it to carry Mary far from here. I know the plan isn't perfect, but it's all I have right now, so I hurry along the corridor and around the next corner, determined to -
“There you are!” Silas says suddenly, grabbing my arm and twisting me around so hard that I slam against the nearest wall. “I've been looking for you, young lady! Mr. Nash has requested the pleasure of your company!”
Chapter Fourteen
“The swimming pool is key to all of this,” Mr. Nash mutters drunkenly, as he peers at the model
on his desk. “Once the pool is in place, and once people hear about the marvelous improvements I've made, we'll be packed to the rafters throughout the season. I'll order the men to stop their other projects by the lake and focus on the pool.”
He makes his way around to the other side of the desk, still examining the model. He's holding a bottle of whiskey in one hand, and it's clear that he's been drinking for most of the day. I know from experience with Pappa that it's best not to interrupt a man when he's drunk, and that it's quite possible Mr. Nash will completely forget that I'm here. Although he's been talking for the past few minutes, he seems to be talking mostly to himself, and he hasn't glanced at me for a while now, or at Silas.
If Silas leaves, then perhaps I can slip away.
“I am a great man,” he continues after a moment, stepping back from the desk and swaying for a moment as he stares at the model. “Like all great men, however, I find myself forced to operate in a world of fools. There must be some way to make them recognize all the work I've done here. It's my money that built this hotel, and my money that paid for the road that leads here. I can only suppose that, like all great men, I shall have to be patient while I wait for the world to recognize my achievements.”
I wait, but now he seems lost in thought.
All I want is to get out of here and go to find a wheelbarrow, so that I can get Mary out of this place. There's a part of me that wants to scream at Mr. Nash, to tell him that I know he had my sister brought here, but I know there's no point making him angry. So long as he doesn't know that I found Mary, it'll be much easier for me to steal her away from the hotel. I just have to be smart about this.
Mr. Nash is mumbling about something now, but I can't make out any of the words.
Glancing to my right, I see that Silas is still standing by the door. He'll try to stop me if I make a move to leave.