Escape From Hotel Necro

by Amy Cross

  “Katie?” Jason calls out from the bedroom. “Don't forget to take your pills while you're in there!”

  I freeze for a moment, before opening my toiletry bag and rifling through. Sure enough, the 'spare' pill is right where I left it, so I quickly crouch down and slip it into the drain in the shower, and then I take my pills as normal. I guess it's possible that my crazy dream last night was caused by my failure to take my medication properly, in which case I have no-one to blame but myself. I should have been more responsible, instead of chasing some easy fix for a minor problem.

  “Did you hear me?” Jason continues. “Katie? I said -”

  “I heard you,” I reply. “I took them. I'll be out in a moment.”

  Taking a deep breath, I look at my reflection in the mirror, and I swear I can see the fear in my eyes. That dream really knocked me for six and left me feeling discombobulated, but I know that I need to pull myself together so that I'm good company for Jason. After all, we've already reached the final full day of our stay here in Italy, and the last thing I want is to ruin things for my husband. He put so much care into planning this trip, and I know he pushed the boat out when he booked this fancy Hotel Necro place. I take another deep breath, and then another, and I tell myself that I have to be strong. If not for myself, then for Jason.

  I can't let a stupid dream derail everything.

  Sixteen

  “So I thought we should go and see the castle first,” Jason continues as we sit at the breakfast table, “and then do the arcade, because that way we don't have to walk up all those steps. I mean, we could do it the other way around, but I don't really fancy that kind of a trek. I don't think my calf muscles would survive.”

  The couple from the cafe yesterday- Beehive Lady and Chisel Jaw – are at one of the other tables, and I swear they're still watching me. Every time I look over, one of them is staring at me; they turn away quickly enough, but it's very obvious that for some reason they find me very interesting.

  “Katie?”

  Turning to Jason, I realize that I'm being rude.

  “Sure,” I say, trying to act as if I heard he was saying. “Whatever you think.”

  “Or we could just take a rest day,” he says cautiously. “If you're not feeling up to doing a lot, we can totally just chill at the hotel or -”

  “No, it's fine,” I reply, still keeping an eye on the other couple. I watch Beehive Lady for a moment, and then I lean toward Jason. “The couple on that table keep looking at me,” I whisper.

  “Maybe it's because you're so -”

  “I mean it,” I continue, cutting him off before he can deliver another half-baked compliment. “They were doing it yesterday, and they're doing it again today. It's getting kind of creepy.”

  He turns and glances toward them, but of course this is the one moment when they're not looking at me.

  “I don't think you have anything to worry about,” he says, turning back to me. “They don't look like serial killers to me. They look more like they just stepped out of the page of some 1960's magazine spread about suburban lifestyle choices.”

  He chuckles.

  “I'm sorry,” I reply, “I guess I'm just feeling out of sorts today.”

  “Still thinking about that bad dream, huh? What happened in it, anyway? You haven't told me all the gory details.”

  “It doesn't matter.”

  “A burden shared is a burden halved.”

  “There's really nothing,” I tell him, not really wanting to think about the dream again. “Let's just keep ourselves really busy all day today, yeah? It's our last day in Italy and I don't want to waste it. Let's have some fun!”

  Seventeen

  “The history of this city is insane,” Jason explains as we make our way across the hotel lobby, heading out for the day. “I was reading that the -”

  “Mr. Johnson?”

  We both turn and see that Henri, the man at reception, is gesturing for our attention.

  “Mr. Johnson,” he continues as we walk over, “I'm sorry to bother you, but the manager has asked to see you. It won't take long, but would you perhaps mind if I take you through to his office?”

  “Uh, sure,” Jason says, although he seems a little reluctant. “No problem.”

  “What's this about?” I ask.

  “Everything's fine,” Henri says with a broad, well-practiced grin. “Your husband will be back out shortly.”

  “I'll come with you,” I tell Jason.

  “No,” he says quickly. “I mean, it's fine. I'm sure this is something totally boring. Just wait here for a minute or two, honey, and I'll be straight back out.”

  He kisses me on the forehead, and then – before I have a chance to argue with him – he heads around the desk and follows Henri through into one of the rear rooms. Sure, Jason can be very old-fashioned when it comes to certain things, but I can't help feeling as if I keep getting pushed to the sidelines.

  “Sure,” I say, somewhat started by the speed of his departure, “I'll just stand around here and twiddle my thumbs. No problem.”

  Sighing, I turn and wander over to take a look at a large, oval sculpture that's standing on a table in front of the window. It's kind of an abstract thing, like a large gray egg that got elongated, and I have to admit that I'm not really getting much from it in terms of meaning. I reach out and run my hand across the surface, and I find that it's much smoother than it looks. I've never really been very good when it comes to understanding art, and I have no idea what this sculpture is supposed to 'say'. It's still kind of cool, however, and as I continue to run my hand over its surface I find my mind starting to empty. I guess that meditative quality could, in fact, be the sculpture's purpose all along.

  “It's beautiful, isn't it?” a voice says suddenly.

  Startled, I turn to find that Beehive Lady is standing just a few feet behind me.

  “Sorry,” she continues, “I didn't mean to ruin your moment.”

  “It's fine,” I reply, pulling my hand away from the sculpture, “I was just -”

  And then it hits me. I know this woman. I don't know how, or where from, or when, but I'm suddenly struck by the overwhelming certainty that we've met before. I don't just mean passing glances in breakfast rooms and cafes, either. I mean, I've met her before and talked to her. She just suddenly feels... important.

  “Are you okay?” she asks.

  “I'm fine,” I stammer, as I realize that I must have looked like a lunatic while I was staring at her.

  “My husband thinks it's about the nature of life and growth,” she says, stepping past me and reaching out to touch the sculpture. “He thinks it's a reflection of the fact that we never really emerge from the egg. We think we do, but in reality we're always trapped in there, and the world around is us a kind of illusion. No matter hard far we look, we'll never see beyond the inside of our own shell.” She runs her hand across the sculpture, and for a moment she seems lost in her own thoughts. “Me?” she adds finally. “I think it's just a big cool shape. I guess I'm a little shallow in that regard.”

  “I don't really know what it's about,” I tell her. “I'm not very good at art.”

  She hesitates, before sliding her hand off the sculpture and holding it out to me.

  “Michelle,” she says with a faint smile. “Have we met before?”

  “I don't think so,” I say cautiously, shaking her hand.

  “I'm sure I've seen you around,” she continues. “Is this your first time here?”

  “It is.”

  “And are you enjoying it?”

  Her hand slips away from mine.

  “It's nice here,” I tell her. “The city's so -”

  “No, I mean at the hotel,” she says, interrupting me.

  “I've never stayed here before,” I reply.

  She stares at me for a moment. Something about this whole conversation feels very stiff and awkward, as if we're both struggling to keep it going.

  “You didn't tell me your na
me,” she points out finally.

  “Sorry. I'm Katie.”

  “Is that short for Catherine?”

  I nod.

  “And what's your surname, Catherine?”

  “Johnson.”

  “I see.”

  I wait, but she seems strangely fixated on these little details, as if they really matter to her.

  A moment later, hearing voices in the distance, I realize that Jason is coming back from the manager's office. I have to admit, that's a huge relief; it's almost as if he's saving me from this strange conversation.

  “I shouldn't disturb you,” Michelle says, taking a step back but keeping her eyes fixed on me. “Have a nice day out there. Maybe I'll see you tonight.”

  “Sure,” I reply as she turns and walks away. “Thank you.”

  “Are you okay?” Jason asks, coming over to me. He turns and watches as Michelle disappears up the main staircase. “What did that woman want?”

  “Nothing,” I reply. “She's just a little odd, that's all. What was up with the manager?”

  “Oh, it was just some nonsense about a promotion they're running,” he replies, taking my hand and leading me toward the main door. “You know what they're like. They want you to sign up for another stay before you've even left. I told him we'd love to come back, but that we're not in a position to book anything right now.”

  “Sounds pushy,” I mutter. “Do you want to know something weird? I swear I've met that Michelle woman somewhere before, but I just can't place where.”

  “She didn't look familiar to me,” he replies as we step out into the sunshine. “Now come on, let's focus on having a great day.”

  Eighteen

  “And this,” the tour guide says as we follow her into yet another of the castle's gloomy rooms, “is said to be where Baron Carfolle tortured his most important guests.”

  “Nice,” I whisper under my breath as I look around and see thick metal rings attached to the walls.

  “Now,” the guide continues, “remember what I said earlier. In the eighteenth century, a man like Baron Carfolle could effectively get away with whatever he wanted. There was no real oversight. People in the city could hear the screams of his victims, but what could they do about it? Nobody wanted to actually cross Carfolle, so they just had to let him get on with it.”

  “Can I ask a question?” a woman says. “Who were his victims, usually? Did he just kidnap people from the local area? Like, peasants and people like that?”

  “He tortured anyone he could get his hands on,” the guide explains, as we fan out across the room and look at the various chains and grim-looking devices. “Men, women, even children. No-one was safe. It's even said that he once had a group of nuns kidnapped and brought here, and that their screams and anguished prayers could be heard every night for a month.”

  “I guess a guy has to keep himself entertained somehow,” Jason whispers to me with a smile.

  “The gutters beneath your feet were designed to let the blood drain away,” the guide continues. “Baron Carfolle actually employed people to go through the remains of his victims and remove anything that might possibly be valuable. In fact, the whole castle was designed to make it easier for the bodies to be removed. That's why, even today, Baron Carfolle is generally regarded as one of the most depraved torturers in all of European history.”

  I reach out and touch one of the metal rings.

  “Other visitors to the castle were few and far between,” the guide says. “As you can probably imagine, nobody really wanted to be a guest of a -”

  Suddenly I hear an agonized scream, accompanied by a sickly splitting sound, as if bones are slowly being broken. I keep my hand on the ring, overcome by a powerful stench of death, and a moment later there's the sound of some kind of saw starting up and beginning to grind through something dense. Closing my eyes, I try to force these horrible sounds from my head. I hear the scream continue, however, and now it's joined by a kind of guttural choking sound. The grinding noise continues, and now I'm certain that I can hear something cutting through bone. At the same time, someone in the distance is laughing.

  I squeeze my eyes shut tighter.

  “Honey?”

  I let out a startled cry as I open my eyes and spin around, and I find that Jason is right behind me.

  Everyone else has stopped to stare at me, and even the guide has fallen silent.

  “Are you okay?” Jason asks with a faint smile on his lips. “Katie?”

  “I'm fine,” I say, feeling distinctly uneasy as everyone continues to stare at me. “Just... getting drawn into the history of the place, I guess.”

  “That's understandable,” the guide replies, before turning to the others. She's a real pro. “In fact, a lot of people have reported a sense of dread here in this part of the castle. Now, I'm not one for ghost stories or anything like that, but even I have to admit that I sometimes feel a little unsettled if I'm here alone. And some of the other staff... Well, they refuse to work here at night. Some of them have reported hearing faint groans, and even seeing figures moving in the darkness.”

  As she continues to talk, I take a deep breath and try to pull myself together. There's a kind of cold, prickly sweat on my forehead, and I can't shake the feeling that I'm missing something. Or that I've forgotten something.

  “Should I be worried?” Jason asks.

  I shake my head.

  “Maybe we should skip the second half of the tour,” he continues, placing a hand on my shoulder. “It's a lot to take in. How about we go take a look at the gardens instead?”

  I open my mouth to tell him that, no, I want to stay on the tour. Suddenly, however, I realize that I desperately want to get outside and breathe some fresh air. I never thought of myself as a particularly sensitive soul, but right now I can't handle the thought of hearing more about this disgusting Baron Carfolle guy.

  “Come on,” Jason says, taking my hand and leading me back across the room, as the guide continues to tell stories about the castle's past. “This was probably a bad idea. Who wants to hear all about some long-dead sadist, anyway?”

  Nineteen

  “I don't know,” I say to Jason as we sit on a bench in the castle's garden area, “I just feel... off.”

  “The way you felt before we came away?”

  “No, it's different. It started after we arrived.”

  “Well, that's not supposed to happen,” he replies. “Not on a relaxing vacation.” He pauses. “Are you still thinking about the attack?”

  “No,” I reply, suddenly feeling self-conscious again about my scar. “Yes. Maybe. I don't know.”

  “You've been downplaying what happened,” he continues, “but it must have been traumatizing. And then for that girl to try mugging you once we got here... That's two nasty incidents in the space of six months, Katie. It's no surprise that you're feeling a little troubled.”

  “I should be fine,” I say as I look up at the castle's high walls. “I want to be fine. I want to be resilient.”

  “You are resilient,” he tells me, placing a hand on my knee, “but no-one's completely immune to these things, honey. You're not a robot. Maybe it was a mistake to come here, maybe it was too much stress. We could have just had a relaxing weekend at home. Just the two of us.”

  “No, I love that we came away,” I reply. “Damn it, this is all coming out totally wrong. I just -”

  I blink, and in an instant I suddenly have a very strong image in my head. I see Michelle, the woman from the hotel, standing completely naked and covered in blood. She's grinning at me, but my attention is drawn to little white chunks that are trapped in the blood as it runs down over her large, teardrop-shaped breasts. As some of the chunks glint in the low light, I realize that they're fragments of bone. And Michelle's laughing, as if she's really enjoying herself.

  “Katie?”

  I turn to Jason, and now the image is fading.

  “You look kinda pale there,” he says, touching my forehead. “Ar
e you sure you're not coming down with something?”

  For a moment, I can't answer. All I can do is think about the image of Michelle, and about the smile on her face. There was so much blood on her, it was flowing down her body, carrying the little bone chunks over all her contours and curves. And then, as I stare into space, I realize that Michelle is holding something in her right hand, some kind of grinder with large, serrated teeth. Behind her, meanwhile, there's a bloodied body strapped to a chair, shaking violently in slow motion as blood sprays from its torn throat.

  It's as if Michelle has been torturing someone.

  “Katie?”

  I blink and see Jason again.

  “Okay,” he says, “I really think we should head back to the hotel and relax.” He hesitates. “I know I keep asking you about this, and I'm sorry, but... You are taking your pills, aren't you?”

  “What?” I feel momentarily confused, as if I don't know what he's talking about. “Yes. I mean, of course. I wouldn't dream of not doing that. You really can trust me, you know.”

  The truth, however, is that I haven't felt the same since I skipped that pill last night. I can't believe I was so stupid, missing a pill just so that I could be better in bed with Jason. I guess I just have to make sure that I never do anything like that again, and I have to wait for my mind and my body to get back to normal. I knew there'd be some small side effects from what I did last night, but I never expected crazy dreams and actual hallucinations. Maybe I just underestimated how much I need that medication.

  “Let's take a nice stroll back to the hotel,” Jason says, as he gets to his feet. “In fact, I've got a great idea about what we can do with our afternoon.”

  Twenty

  “Isn't this amazing?” he asks as he swims over to me in the hotel's indoor pool. “I'm so glad there aren't many guests here at the moment, it means we get this place all to ourselves.”

  “It's lovely,” I reply, standing in the shallow end and trying to find some way to make myself relax. “I hadn't even realized that they have a pool here. Then again, I knew basically nothing about the place before we arrived. That's what happens when your husband wants to surprise you.”