The Haunting of Steely Woods

by Bonnie Elizabeth

  I went to the bathroom to wash my face and pull a comb through my hair. No skulls appeared in the mirror nor did the faucet drip, just once. I could even use the toilet there without worrying about what was around. The large glass door of the shower let me see everything. I said a short prayer of thanks to any god who might be listening.

  If creatures could come back from the dead to murder the living, then there must be gods too, right? Or perhaps the dead creatures murdering the living was a sign there were no gods. I preferred to believe the former.

  I grabbed my purse, made sure I had the keycard and opened the door to go out to the hall. Behind me I heard the faucet drip.

  Once.

  I froze.

  The decision to run out to the hallway and leave everything was tempting, but I knew if I did that, I’d never go back to the room again.

  I turned slowly.

  The room remained brightly lit. Nothing moved.

  The light glowed from the bathroom.

  The faucet dripped once more. Twice.

  Just a faulty faucet washer. I went back into the bathroom. Played with the faucet until I was certain it was off.

  I felt a light breeze on my neck, as if someone breathed on me.

  I looked up in the mirror, not wanting to.

  The room was darker than I thought.

  I whirled around but no monsters waited behind me. Bright white lights gleamed around me. The angle meant that when I stood flush in front of the faucet the room appeared darker, because I caused a shadow.

  I breathed out, letting the tension go.

  I left the bathroom and went to the door.

  I waited, listening.

  Someone walked down the hall. Distantly I heard the elevator chime.

  Still I waited.

  I heard nothing from the faucet. The person above me walked around their room, pounding against the ceiling of my room as only someone on an upper floor can. Were they dancing? Skipping? Or just a heavy walker?

  I didn’t know. Didn’t care. I was glad they were there because that meant I wasn’t completely alone.

  I turned the knob and left the room to go downstairs.

  8

  Lucy: Summer Then

  Clyde came by several more times, always for Lucy, never for Alma. Lucy no longer cried. Instead, she planned. How she’d get back at her sister who had betrayed her. Clyde never paid Lucy. He paid Alma, leaving Lucy with nothing but pain in her body and anguish in her soul.

  “Get used to it,” Alma said at the breakfast table. They had cereal, low in the bowls because there wasn’t much left. Milk was equally stingy. Lucy didn’t care. She didn’t have much appetite.

  “Why?” Lucy snapped.

  “You’re a woman. It’s what we do,” Alma said.

  Lucy wanted to scream that it wasn’t what all women did, not like that. If so, why was Clyde with them and not with his wife? She wanted to say a lot of things, but Alma wouldn’t listen.

  Alma would go off and party like she wanted, acting freer than she had in a long time.

  “If it’s so easy,” Lucy said, aiming her barb carefully, “why are you forcing me to do it instead of you?”

  “Because Clyde wanted you. He wanted someone fresh. I’ve got a couple of other men who are interested, too. They’ll pay more than Clyde. He thinks I owe him for the job.” Alma sneered a bit. “Don’t know that I’ll have to work there for too much longer though, will I?”

  “Why not?” Lucy asked.

  Alma just smiled.

  The tiny flame of Lucy’s appetite dwindled to nothing, guttering in that smile. Her sister was going to sell her body off to whatever man wanted it. She was going to make her money selling Lucy night by night until Lucy was worn out and useless with no will of her own.

  Alma ate her cereal quickly and with gusto. Lucy toyed with the stainless steel spoon in the chipped white bowl in front of her. She didn’t care if she ate. Didn’t care about anything because her life wasn’t her own any more.

  Girls in school were all having fun, giggling about boys, perhaps getting their first kiss and Lucy worried about pregnancy. She knew then that she’d never marry. Never have her own family. This trailer would be all she knew for the rest of her life, which stretched before her for longer than she wanted it to. What would Alma do if she died?

  Lucy toyed with that idea.

  Discarded it when she realized she wouldn’t be around to cheer for Alma’s disappointment when she found Lucy’s cold, lifeless body.

  She shivered as if someone walked over her grave.

  Alma got up, putting her dish in the sink. “I got to work,” she said, not turning back to the tiny table where they sat for breakfast.

  Lucy would wash the dish later, taking it to the campground and using their sink, which actually had running water. She sighed. Another walk. She hadn’t been for the mail in a long time, not that it mattered. But she missed seeing people.

  The door banged behind Alma. Lucy didn’t look up. She played with her spoon and spun stories about something happening to her sister until she realized not having Alma would leave her alone. Then she wouldn’t have any income or food and she wouldn’t know how to get an income.

  It was then that Lucy began to sob, watering down the cereal in her tiny portion of milk.

  She was trapped and there was no good way out of it. Not unless she could figure something out. Some way of making Alma pay.

  9

  Traci: September Now

  Bar food normally isn’t my favorite but this was nice, like being back home in Portland where you could get a huge salad or a pizza with artichokes and goat cheese. The pizza had me. Such fare was unusual in the South so I had to try it.

  Anson had a burger that was taller than he could open his mouth and he ended up eating it with a fork and knife. Nils had a steak and Deborah had a huge salad that dwarfed my pizza and Anson’s burger. She looked shocked when it came in on platter that could have served a full turkey at Thanksgiving.

  Everything smelled heavenly, the seasonings of the beef mixing with my pizza, which also had a turkey sausage on it, and the aroma of onions from Deborah’s salad. I drank club soda, although Deborah and Nils had beer and Anson had a glass of red wine. I rarely drink because that lowers my guard and it’s easier to imagine things.

  If my hands shook as I bit into the pizza perhaps it was just hunger. I’d eaten little all day, picking at the Chinese food, dreading the need to use the restroom.

  There were other patrons around leaving only three of the two dozen tables empty. A large group sat in a corner, clearly a business outing like ours, but much rowdier. A few tables had couples, two of them men and women and one of two men, who were clearly there on a romantic date, although Monday seemed an odd time for a date to me. But perhaps they were on vacation, traveling through or visiting family.

  The dim lights made it feel later than it was and only the noise of so many voices allowed me to eat without fear. I wouldn’t have chosen the bar, though there were plenty of people around and easy sight lines to the lobby, which was more well-lit, but it wasn’t my choice. I could have gone out, all on my own, and walked some place for a meal but that would have left me to my own devices walking on a dark road lit only by pools of light from street lights. I had no desire to force myself through that. At least in the hotel bar I was surrounded by people I knew and I had found some level of safety in numbers.

  Besides, the food tasted amazing.

  Deborah held the conversation, as she always did. She expounded on the good points of one of the actors and talked about who she liked for the other voice, though Nils hadn’t liked anyone. I hoped he found someone tomorrow morning. Having worked with Nils, I had a feeling he’d call back one of the people and decide they were it. He’d then go on to hate it later, but the commercial would work and, if we submitted, we’d probably get awards. Nils was like that.

  Anson managed to finish his burger but there was still a mound of fries
on his plate. “I’m not sure I’ve ever seen so many fries.”

  “Letting this bar come into the lobby was a great idea,” Nils said. He’d finished his steak, which he’d described as being perfect, although a little bit more well done than he preferred.

  “I didn’t realize it wasn’t always here,” Deborah said, as if she was intimately familiar with Raleigh hotels.

  “Only for a year or so, when they remodeled,” Nils told her.

  “What made them remodel?” Anson asked. Anson loved hearing stories about buildings changing. It often gave him inspiration for his graphics. I knew that outside of work he illustrated his own small line of comics. One day he hoped to sell it to a publisher or perhaps become his own publisher. For now, his comic was mostly online or for his personal enjoyment.

  “I heard that someone had a heart attack and died as they were going through the lobby. Naturally, the hotel tried to keep it quiet, but some cameras had showed the person being wheeled out through the lobby. The hotel wasn’t named in the images but the company decided to remodel so people wouldn’t be reminded of the incident. Of course, it also gave them an excuse for being closed while reservations were down.” Nils leaned back in his chair. He thought it was a good move. He’d have loved to have thought of something like that.

  Banks, of course, can’t close, no matter who dies in them. Well, a branch could if there were a major crime and a shooting, but the other branches would remain open.

  Deborah shuddered and then she smiled. “I seem to be a walking magnet for dead people.” She launched into the story of the dead woman at the Steely Woods Rest Stop. She acted like she had been there and witnessed the place.

  “Traci would know it too. It’s on I-5,” Deborah finished, letting everyone look to me.

  I shrugged. “I rarely stop at rest stops.”

  “Still, you were there,” Anson said. “That must be scary to think about.”

  I nodded, agreeing with him.

  “Oh poo,” Deborah said. “It’s creepy but not really scary. It’s not like either of us were there to see the killer.”

  Deborah had never been more wrong. It was on the edge of my tongue to say something, but what exactly could I say? If I spoke about what had happened, people would think I was crazy or imaging things.

  “I think it’s in poor taste,” Nils said. “You act like someone didn’t just die, but they did. I can appreciate what the hotel did to cover up a death here but at least they were understanding. You’re acting as if the death at the rest stop were some fictional tale.”

  At that moment I sort of wanted to kiss Nils. It was the sort of thing I wished I could say to Deborah and have her look nonplussed as if she were shocked that someone would say that to her.

  “I guess it does seem rather unreal,” she finally said. “It’s so far away. Maybe if it were closer, I’d feel closer to it. Now, it’s like Steely Woods is something in my past, something I can’t believe would happen there. It’s a nice rest stop.”

  She looked to me for confirmation.

  “As rest stops go,” I said. I didn’t smile or say anything else.

  No one else did until Nils changed the subject. Still, Deborah’s heart wasn’t in carrying on the conversation. Anson stayed engrossed in illustrating his napkin and I’m a poor talker at best so the evening wound down.

  I left first, pushing my chair away and setting my napkin on the table. We had long ago signed our checks and the black folders lay in wait for the staff to pick up. Others had begun leaving and now there were more empty tables than full. I was glad to go.

  Anson followed me, although Deborah stayed seated with Nils, reluctant to go or perhaps hoping to make him see that she wasn’t a monster for thinking so much about the murder at the rest stop.

  Anson and I were alone in the elevator, heading to our floor. “I hate hotels,” he confessed.

  I smiled, a genuine smile, finding a kindred spirit. No doubt his hatred was different from mine, perhaps the zombie-like impersonality of them, or the smells or whatever, but I could understand his dislike.

  “Me too.”

  Anson said nothing else and we road silently on the elevator the mirror above us minimizing the shadows that lingered in the corners behind us like silent partner on our ride as we listened to 1980s pop music gone instrumental.

  I got off, not looking back, not wanting to spend too much time staring at the shadows. If I had been a target and the spirit had found a new one, why was it still after me? Why from so far away?

  Now that it was night, the lights had been slightly dimmed in the hallway. It wasn’t dark and it wasn’t hard to see, but larger puddles of shadow fell from the walls. The carpet looked lest festive, an autumn evening rather than a summer afternoon. No doubt the softening of the light was some psychological thing that the hotel had learned of or perhaps it just used less energy and they were saving money.

  I found my room and opened the door.

  I had left the lights on. I looked around. I waited, my door open, standing halfway out in the hallway. Anson was well on his way to his room and would be unlikely to stand and stare, wondering why I didn’t go right in.

  I heard a television, probably the elephant person upstairs. I smiled and took a step in.

  There were shadows around the room but not too many. I looked in the bathroom. It appeared safe enough.

  I let the door latch behind me.

  10

  Traci: September Now

  I am a restless sleeper at best, and the hotel made things worse. The strange smells, mostly of cleansers brought to mind the Steely Woods Rest Stop and the last time I’d been there. Maybe I should have confronted my fears and gone back, but I’d never been able to make myself do it. The fact that another person had been killed there suggested that the haunting I had experienced there was real. I wasn’t crazy.

  Although, in my darkest moments, the worst of my nightmares, the ones that started with a single faucet drip followed by skeletal fingers, hard and cold against my head, those made me wish for insanity.

  I heard every guest who got up to use the toilet and flushed. I heard a few people pass particularly bad gas. I heard the ping of the elevator throughout the night, my ears straining, even in sleep, to hear everything around me, and particularly for that stray faucet drip that came only once.

  I was fortunate in that I did not hear it. I was careful when I’d washed up in the sink to make sure the faucet was tight and no water dripped. I did the same for the shower, which had had good water pressure and wonderful warmth that was almost enough to relax me, though I am never fully relaxed.

  In the morning, I was the first up, my bag at my ankle, having a cup of hot water, not coffee, lest I be forced to use the communal bathroom in the studio too often. I ate a decent breakfast paid for by the bank and was finishing when Anson and Nils came down. Deborah arrived last, looking a little bit the worse for wear.

  “All that salad,” she said seating herself at our table and gesturing to the waitress for coffee. “It just ruined me. I don’t know, maybe there was something in it. You know, salmonella or something. I don’t know how I’ll get through today.”

  From the way Anson grimaced as he ate his eggs, I knew he thought she could have kept some of that particular information to herself.

  “I hope you’ll be fine working,” Nils said. “I believe I’ve decided between two of the voice actors and I’d like to get this wrapped up today.”

  Which meant we’d be leaving for Charlotte that night. I was thankful I’d not have to spend another night at the hotel. While pleasant enough, it wasn’t home. I might not have as many neighbors in my condominium complex as I did in the hotel but I knew their routines, knew the common noises, and those rarely scared me.

  Anson and Nils ate quickly while Deborah sipped her coffee. I finished my hot water. I had ascertained that the ladies room downstairs was a room with only a toilet and sink. I could use that. I wouldn’t be hearing something from
two stalls down, walking towards me, slowly gaining on me while I was trapped inside the stall with nowhere to go.

  Anything to put off having to use a stall at the radio. I was good about holding it at work, though I’m sure doctors would be horrified. Nils had a private bath in his office and at lunch I could go in there, usually. Sandy was aware that I hated public bathrooms and she said nothing to me when I slipped in. Her kindness was probably the only thing that allowed me to keep working.

  Ridiculous, I know, but that was the way the horror had wrapped itself around me, dug in its skeletal fingers, kept me from having a real life, a normal life.

  The day went quickly. I had no reason to use the stalls in the studio because this time we went out to lunch, things moving along more quickly than expected. And small restaurants often have a single toilet. Those small favors let me get through the main part of the day without fear or raising my heart rate too much, except for the time a stray shadow seemed to follow me into the conference room, though there was no body to join it. But Anson sat in there, sketching, and the shadow melted away, shy in front of someone unknown.

  On the car ride back, I sat in back with Anson again. Deborah claimed the front having been under the weather all day from her salad. I was beginning to wonder if there really had been something in it.

  We left late enough that we hit only the tail end of rush hour in Raleigh. Between Charlotte and Raleigh we made good time, although Deborah had us stop at a gas station for a pit stop. And then we stopped at a rest area just off of I-85 outside of Salisbury.

  Rest stops in the East are different from those in the west. Although it rains in Washington, most have several buildings joined by covered walkways. In the east, rest stops are usually buildings with a men’s room on one side and women’s room on the other. Some have a general information desk in the center and others are joined to a fast food restaurant.