by Amy Cross
“It's okay,” he mutters. “I never really had any complaints. Nothing bad or good ever came of that name. It just was what it was.” He pauses for a moment. “So you're in that room, huh? Figures. I suppose it has to be used occasionally.”
“Stephanie!”
Turning, I see Daddy waving at me from the door to room 119.
“If you want to go to the zoo,” he says, gesturing for me to join him, “you need to come and get changed right now. We're short of time as it is, young lady.” He pauses for a moment. “Well come on, then! Get a move on!”
“Coming,” I say, before turning back to look at Humphrey, only to find that there's no sign of him. I look both ways, but he's nowhere to be seen.
“Stephanie,” Daddy says firmly. “Come on.”
I wait for a moment, still looking for Humphrey, and then I follow Daddy into the bedroom.
“Mummy's in the bathroom, taking a shower,” he explains as he shuts the door. “Who were you talking to out there?”
“There was a man,” I reply cautiously, “but...”
My voice trails off as I realize that Humphrey seemed to vanish into thin air. It was almost as if he was never really there in the first place, but I know he was. I talked to him, and how could I have done that if he hadn't been real?
“Go and turn the lamp on,” Daddy says.
I glance around, and then I spot a lamp next to the bed. I walk over and reach out, but then I hesitate as I see that the plug socket is loose, with wires hanging out at the side. Still, I know Daddy wouldn't tell me to do something that's dangerous, so I reach over and push the socket back against the wall, and then I flick the switch.
Suddenly there's a flash, and I feel a slight pain ripple through my body, and my heart jolts before falling still.
Chapter Thirty
September 12th, 1987
“How could I have forgotten?” I whisper, still standing in the dining room as the men talk at a nearby table. “I died. Over and over. Why did I only just remember that?”
“It was reset every day, when you were a child,” Hannah explains. “When that original loop ended, you and your parents went off on your merry way, with no awareness that anything had ever been wrong. It's only now, when matters become more urgent, that the loop returned. I could try to explain the complex cosmic calculations behind the whole process, but to be honest I have to admit that even I don't understand. I'm afraid it all just boils down to the fact that -”
“I had to die,” I whisper, interrupting her.
I wait for her to argue with me, to suggest that there's still hope and that she can still fix things, but finally I turn and see the sadness in her eyes.
“I'm dead,” I continue. “I'm a ghost.”
“You can still have a lot of fun as a ghost,” Hannah replies. “I'm going to have to go soon. I think maybe my punishment is over, so I imagine I'll have more jobs to do. It's hard to tell, really. I keep changing my mind on exactly what's going on here. Maybe I'll find out eventually. But I'll check in on you from time to time, and believe me, you can really keep yourself entertained. Did you ever read Oscar Wilde? He wrote a great story about -”
“Why did I have to die?” I ask.
“Well, I haven't quite figured that out yet.”
“I thought you knew everything.”
“Ha!” She chuckles. “Not even close. I'll get onto it, Stephanie, I promise, but there are a lot of potential eventualities that'll need to be untangled. Eventually I'll work it out, but for now all I can tell you is that obviously your death is the only way to make sure that something important happens. Something that will save the whole of reality.” She pauses. “I'd tell you to be proud, but actually I figure that wouldn't make you feel much better.”
“I never even...”
My voice trails off for a moment.
“I never fell in love,” I say finally. “I never really did anything fun. I never traveled.”
“I'll have you know,” she replies, “that you're not the only ghost in this hotel. I don't know if you're aware of him, but there's a guy named Humphrey who died here a long time ago. He's not really the attention-seeking type of ghost, but he -”
“Am I supposed to rattle chains for the rest of my existence?”
“What would be the point of that?”
“And slam doors?”
“Did you enjoy slamming doors while you were alive?” she asks. “It won't suddenly become enjoyable, just because you're dead.”
“And moan and groan in the night?”
“That would seem like a very weird use of your time.”
I pause for a moment, before looking down at my hands. If I'm a ghost, that means I won't ever be able to touch anyone again, or speak to them, or have any hopes and dreams. Am I really just going to drift around for all time, watching people and maybe occasionally doing spooky little things that'll freak them out. For a few more seconds, I can only stare at my hands, but then I realize I can hear footsteps walking away so I turn and see that Hannah is leaving.
“Where are you going?” I call after her.
She stops in the doorway and turns to me.
“I told you,” she says, with a hint of sadness in her voice, “I can't stick around. I have work to do. But I'll come back when I've figured out why you had to die, I promise. Even though I've accepted that it's true, I haven't entirely given up on the possibility that one day I can change it. For now, just... Hang on in there, okay?”
With that, she turns and head out into the reception area, and her footsteps immediately fade to nothing once she's out of view.
“Hang on in there?” I whisper, horrified by such ridiculous advice. Did she really just say that? I'm dead, and she told me to hang on in there?
Suddenly getting to my feet, filled with an impossible fury, I hurry across the dining room and storm out into the reception area, ready to tell Hannah exactly what I think of her. There's no sign of her, and after looking around for a moment I turn to Manfred.
“Did you just see a weird girl walk past?” I snap. “She just came out of the dining room about ten seconds ago.”
I wait, and for a few seconds I can't understand why he hasn't replied. Then, suddenly, I remember that he can't see or hear me. I open my mouth to ask him again, but it's already clear that Hannah has left. I guess she's got more important things to be doing now, and better places to be. I was a puzzle, a mystery, and now for the most part I've been solved, so she's no longer interested. Sure, she claimed that she'll come back some day and update me, but I don't think I can even count on that. She'll probably stay away forever, and eventually she'll forget all about me.
Suddenly hearing sobs nearby, I turn and watch as Dad helps Mum down the main staircase.
“I'm right here!” I shout, rushing over to them. “Look at me! Listen! I'm right in front of you!”
I wait, but they walk straight toward me without even acknowledging that I'm here. And then, just as I'm about to try once again to contact them, they step straight into – and then through – me. I let out a shocked gasp, but in truth I don't actually feel anything at all, other than a slight – and perhaps imagined – flicker in my chest. By the time I've turned around, they're already making their way toward the hotel's front door.
“I'm right here,” I stammer, before hurrying after them and trying in vain to grab Dad's arm. “I'm here!” I shout. “What's wrong with you, why can't you tell that I'm touching you?”
“We'll find somewhere for you to rest,” Dad says to Mum, as Manfred holds the door open for them. “The police gave me a number to call later, to see if there's any news.”
“Who would do something like this to her?” Mum sobs. “Stephanie never hurt anyone! She was such a good girl!”
“I'm still here!” I shout, but suddenly I find that I can't follow them out of the hotel. As they make their way down the steps, I try to force my way through the door, but it's as if there's some kind of invisible barrier.
“I'M NOT DEAD! I'M STILL HERE! YOU HAVE TO HEAR ME!”
Chapter Thirty-One
Several months later
The little boy – dressed up all smart and with his hair neatly combed – steps out of room 203 and then stops, waiting for his parents to follow. He seems so well-behaved, almost to the point of being a little creepy, and he waits obediently as his parents fuss over everything they need to remember from the room.
Standing just a few feet from the boy, I stare at him intently, hoping against hope that finally I'll be able to get someone to notice me.
“I'm right here,” I say firmly, and slowly. “Look at me.”
The boy stares at a painting on the opposite wall, and there's not even the slightest flicker of recognition on his face.
“Look at me,” I snarl. “Why won't you just look at me?”
***
This is where it happened.
Standing in room 119, I stare down at the new carpet that was installed shortly after that day. The whole room was renovated. For a short period, no bookings were taken for 119, but eventually guests were allowed in again. Nobody seemed to worry about the room's past, and I've even heard Manfred and the other receptionists referring to 119 as a “premium, upgraded” room that costs a little extra.
Quite often, however, the room stands empty. Maybe people don't want to pay a supplement for the 'recently decorated' room. Or maybe, I wonder sometimes, they sense that room 119 isn't a good place to stay.
***
“Manfred, please,” I plead as I follow him across the reception area, “you know me. We were friends. We talked. You're the person I was closest to in this whole hotel, you have to be able to hear me. I know you haven't forgotten. Just take a moment and try to focus. Remember how it felt when I was around. I know you can sense me!”
Stopping next to one of the leather chairs, he reaches down and starts putting the chess pieces back in place. A kid was playing with them earlier, and Manfred has always been a stickler for neatness.
“Don't you ever think about me anymore?” I continue, with tears in my eyes. “I'm right next to you, Manfred.” I try to grab his arm, but my hand slips straight through. I try again, though, in a desperate attempt to make him feel something. “I haven't gone away. Not really. I know you'll sense me eventually. I'm not going to give up until you realize that I'm here.”
Sighing, he turns and heads back across reception. Feeling a rush of anger, I reach down and try to knock the chess pieces over, but my hand passes straight through. Turning, I see that Manfred looks bored as he resumes his position at the desk. I hurry over and stop in front of him, and then I lean into his face until our eyes are just a few inches apart.
“LOOK AT ME!” I scream. “I'M RIGHT HERE!”
***
“Are you okay?” the man asks groggily, as his wife starts climbing out of bed.
“I need the loo,” she replies. “Go back to sleep.”
It must be two or three in the morning by now. The woman doesn't switch the light on as she trudges to the bathroom door, so the room remains bathed in blue. I'm sitting in the chair by the window, and for the past few hours I've been watching this couple as they sleep. I know it's crazy, but at night I tend to get a little scared, and I like to seek out living people for company.
I suppose, deep down, I'm hoping that maybe suddenly one of them will notice me.
As the woman pees in the bathroom, I sit and stare at her husband. He seems to be settling back down to sleep now, and there's nothing to indicate that he knows I'm here. Still, I can't help wondering whether humans can really be this oblivious to the presence of ghosts. I never really believed in ghosts before, but I suppose I thought that they had to be detectable on some level. Can two people really sleep all night, peacefully, without realizing that a ghost is sitting just a few feet away?
The toilet flushes, and the wife comes back to the bed. She climbs under the covers, mutters something I don't hear, and then settles back down to sleep. For a moment, she keeps her eyes open, but then she closes them as I continue to stare directly at her face.
***
“If I'm still here, then maybe I'm not really dead. Not permanently, anyway. Maybe there's some kind of way back. Maybe there's hope. I just need someone to notice me!”
I wait, but Martin shows no indication of having heard me. Instead, he continues to mumble to himself as he examines one of the pipes in the boiler room.
“But how do I do that?” I continue. “I've tried everything, but nobody's so much as glanced in my direction or even felt a chill. What if I fade away eventually? I just want to get a message to my parents, to let them know that I'm okay. I won't stop trying, not until I've managed something. There's no -”
Before I can finish, one of the pipes lets out a brief, loud banging sound.
Martin turns, and for a moment he seems a little spooked.
“Pay attention,” I say, heading over to the section of pipe as he stares at the spot that made the noise. I start waving my hands furiously. “Can you see me? Can you sense that I'm here?”
I wait.
Does he hear me?
Does he maybe even see me?
He's not looking straight at me, but it's almost as if he's got some vague idea that he's not alone.
“Stupid thing,” he says suddenly, and then he stomps this way and starts inspecting the pipe next to me. “But will they listen to me? Of course they won't. I'm only the janitor, nothing I say matters.” He bangs the pipe hard with his hand. “Especially the old man. Sometimes I think he sent me down here to rot. That'd suit him just fine, wouldn't it? He'd be happy if I just faded away until I didn't exist anymore. He'd probably have a glass of whiskey to celebrate.”
“Look at me,” I say, leaning close to his face. “See me.”
He mutters something under his breath, while looking up at another section of the pipe system that runs to the boiler.
“I should show them,” he says finally. “I should make them all see me.”
“I'M RIGHT IN FRONT YOU!” I scream. “HELP ME!”
***
There he is, the same little boy from room 203. He's wearing a bright red sweater as he walks along with his parents, heading to the room.
“Look at me,” I say calmly as they pass. “I'm right here.”
They don't look at me, though. They don't stop. They just walk past, and I'm left standing alone in the corridor, too exhausted to try anymore. Maybe I'm not even a proper ghost. Aren't proper ghosts supposed to scare people and slam doors, things like that? I feel more like the ghost of a ghost. I don't even get tired anymore. Exhausted, yes, but not physically tired. All I do is wander the corridors day after day, watching the living.
“Look at me,” I whisper, as I hear the door to room 203 swinging shut over my shoulder. “Why won't you just look at me?”
Chapter Thirty-Two
“Of course,” Manfred says suddenly. “I'll make sure that it doesn't happen again.”
Startled, I blink and turn to see that Manfred is talking to a customer at the top of the staircase. As the customer grumbles about something and walks away, I look around and try to work out how I got here. The last thing I remember is being upstairs, wandering around and...
What was I doing?
I think I was just drifting along the corridors, mindlessly moving from place to place without really thinking about anything. Occasionally a resident walked past me, but I don't think I mustered the necessary energy to bother looking at them. It's as if my mind switched off entirely and I was left in a com
plete daze. Manfred's voice must have stirred me, but how did I manage to become so empty-headed. Am I starting to completely fade away?
“Bloody people,” Manfred mutters, before turning and heading down the stairs. “Never happy. Do they say thanks when something goes well? No. They just complain.”
I wait as he goes back down to the reception area, and then I find myself once again standing alone in the corridor. I try to work out where I should go next, what I should do, but I can already feel my mind once more starting to drift. Am I going to fade out and start wandering aimlessly again? For a moment, the idea horrifies me, but then I realize that perhaps that wouldn't be the worst option after all. I wouldn't have to think, I wouldn't have to worry, I wouldn't even have to decide what to do next. I'd just float around, and maybe eventually I'd become nothing.
After all, what's the point of being a ghost?
Turning, I start making my way back along the corridor. And with each step, I can feel my mind fading away a little more. Good. Maybe I can fade away forever.
Chapter Thirty-Three
“We're going to be late if we don't hurry up,” a male voice says, drifting into my mind. “Can we please just get a move-on? I'm starving.”
I blink.
Or do I?
I don't feel myself blinking, but I feel the impulse to blink, and then the feeling of having blinked. I'm not even sure that I feel any part of my body anymore.
“Oliver, wait outside for a moment,” a female voice replies. “Your father and I will be two seconds, I promise.”
I turn my head, but again...
Do I?
It's as if I'm waking from a deep sleep. I don't know how much time has passed, but I suddenly find myself standing in a corridor in the hotel, facing a patch of particularly ugly wallpaper. I have a sense of having walked here, of having been drifting again, but this time I think I was drifting for much longer. Was I just wandering around like a zombie?