The Inn

by William Patterson

  She took another step and tripped. She had to grab ahold of the bannister to keep from falling down.

  “Neville?” she called in a small, whispery voice.

  The stairs were moving. The whole house seemed to be swaying. Priscilla clung to the bannister for fear she’d tumble down the stairs.

  “Neville?” she called again.

  He had gone upstairs. She thought she remembered him saying good night, that he’d had far too much to drink himself and was calling it a night.

  He had left her alone with Jack.

  Zeke was gone, too, and Annabel.

  It had just been Priscilla and Jack.

  She tried to button up her blouse, but her fingers wouldn’t work.

  She reached the top of the stairs and stumbled into the hallway. It was very dark and very quiet. Priscilla could hear herself breathing. At least the house had stopped spinning. She took a step down the corridor. Her room was only a few feet away.

  What had happened down there? She wished she could remember.

  Ahead of her, a figure approached.

  A figure in white.

  “Sally,” Priscilla said softly. “Sally, help me. . . .”

  Sally Brown approached her. She looked at Priscilla with eyes that seemed both sympathetic and accusatory. Priscilla reached out to her.

  Sally smiled, and grabbed hold of her hand. A glint of moonlight reflected off Priscilla’s opal ring. She followed the ghost down the hall, and then began climbing some stairs. At the top of the stairs was a door. Sally opened the door and they passed through.

  The attic. They were in the attic.

  But then Sally was gone and Priscilla was alone.

  She turned around a few times, got dizzy, and dropped down to sit on an old stuffed chair that smelled like dust and mold. She sat there for a while, breathing heavily, until her head stopped spinning again.

  It had started to rain outside. At least, Priscilla thought it had. She could hear a soft tap-tapping on the walls and roof of the attic.

  Priscilla looked around the room. A small lamp on the table provided a very dim light. “Sally,” she whispered. “Sally, where are you?”

  There was a small rumble of thunder off in the distance.

  At least, Priscilla thought it was thunder.

  The rain was hitting the house harder now. An icy rain, Priscilla thought. She imagined the long icy fingers that scratched the roof of the house. She shivered.

  “Sally!” she called again. “Where have you gone? What have you brought me here to see?”

  Despite her dizziness and confusion, Priscilla was excited. This was exactly why she’d come to the Blue Boy Inn. To see ghosts. And now Sally had brought her to a place where she’d see plenty of ghosts, Priscilla was sure.

  All at once, a huge thunderclap made her jump, and the lamp went out.

  “Oh, no,” Priscilla murmured. She loved her ghost adventures, but she’d prefer not to experience them in total darkness. That was just a little too creepy.

  She breathed a sigh of relief when the light flickered back on again.

  On the table in front of her, Priscilla spotted a candle and an old book of matches. The candle was little more than a stub. Priscilla considered lighting it, but seeing that it was so small, she didn’t want to waste the wax while the electricity was still on. Should the power go out again, she’d light it. She kept the book of matches near her hand so she could find it easily if the darkness returned.

  She smiled. Despite all she’d had to drink, she was still thinking clearly.

  The lamp flickered. Priscilla felt her heart flutter.

  She looked up. And she saw in the darkness a hand holding a knife.

  Priscilla screamed.

  It took her several minutes to calm herself. “Well, that was a good one, Sally,” she said out loud. “Who was that? The person who killed you? Does his ghost walk here, too?”

  She had learned that ghosts could only hurt the living in very rare circumstances. Priscilla wasn’t afraid of being hurt. She was afraid in a fun-house kind of way, the way she might feel watching a scary movie.

  Thunder again, the loudest yet, directly over the house.

  The light struggled to hold—

  —shivered—

  —and then went out.

  Darkness.

  Priscilla held her breath.

  “Come back on,” she whispered.

  But the darkness remained.

  “Oh, well,” she said, feeling for the matches.

  How terribly dark it was in the attic. Gripping the box of matches in her left hand, Priscilla felt around for the candle with her right. What if the power didn’t return? The little stub would never last.... She moved her hand over the tabletop. Where was the candle? It had been sitting right there! The darkness was absolute. Deep and thick. The rain kept up its pummeling of the roof. She prayed for a flash of lightning just to show her the candle. But all she got was a low rumble of thunder.

  There!

  She felt something in the dark. The candle—

  She moved her fingers to grip it.

  And whatever it was that she touched—moved!

  It was a hand! A human hand!

  Someone was in the dark with her!

  Priscilla gasped.

  “Who’s there?” she asked. “Who is it?”

  Oh, this was exciting!

  But she’d prefer it without the total darkness.

  Finally, a flash of lightning. The room lit up for an instant. Priscilla saw she was alone in the room.

  And there—there was the candle!

  She grabbed it as the darkness settled in again. Fumbling for the matches, Priscilla found that her hands were trembling. But still she managed to strike a flame and shakily light the wick of the candle. A small, flickering circle of light enveloped her. She sat back in the chair, awaiting whatever vision Sally had to show her next.

  The memory of the hand she had felt—

  It was small, she thought. Like a child’s.

  She lifted the candle and stood. She was far too anxious to stay seated. As she moved into the center of the room, Priscilla realized she was stepping in something sticky.

  Was rainwater dripping in from the walls?

  She lowered the candle.

  And she could see plainly that it wasn’t water.

  It was blood!

  She looked up. And there, in the candlelight, was Sally.

  “Oh, Sally,” Priscilla said. “I’m glad you’re back.”

  But then she saw that Sally was the one holding the knife.

  “Sally,” Priscilla said, “why are showing me this?

  Sally took a step closer to her, pointing the knife at her.

  “Sally! Please stop this!”

  The ghost swung the knife, nicking Priscilla’s arm. She drew blood.

  Suddenly, Priscilla was terrified.

  “Sally, no!”

  The ghost kept coming closer. Priscilla turned and ran.

  In her mind, still swimming from the wine, the small space of the attic suddenly seemed cavernous. She ran and ran, for many minutes it seemed, down an endless corridor that stretched farther and farther off into the distance. How could this be happening? How could she keep running for so long? What had happened to this room?

  Behind her, Sally’s footsteps echoed as she pursued her. Thunder clapped overhead. Priscilla just kept on running, down that impossibly long corridor.

  And then she stopped, her head spinning as if she were riding an out-of-control carousel. She turned around. Sally was right behind her, smiling sweetly.

  “Oh, Sally,” Priscilla said. “You gave me such a fright.”

  Then the knife came plunging down into Priscilla’s face.

  31

  “Wake up, you old fool.”

  Zeke opened his eyes. Sunlight was streaming into his room and Cordelia was standing over him, glowering at him, her arms akimbo.

  “What time is it?” Zeke aske
d, sitting up, just as a headache pushed him back down.

  “It’s past time, you miserable man,” Cordelia scolded.

  “Oh, no,” Zeke said, sitting up again, slower this time, rubbing his forehead.

  “I’ve taken care of things,” Cordelia said. “No thanks to you.”

  “Is everything all right?”

  Cordelia’s eyes darkened. “Everyone is sleeping off their hangovers in their rooms. After all that noise last night, I presume they’ll sleep well past noon.”

  The old man got up out of bed. He was still wearing the clothes he had on yesterday. He smelled of beer and sweat.

  “It’s been so long, Cordelia,” he told her. “So long since I just had a good time . . . unwound . . . had a few beers. Don’t be angry at me.”

  “You had more than a few beers, apparently. I came in here two hours ago and couldn’t get you to wake up for the life of me.” She folded her arms over her chest. “So I had to take care of things myself.”

  “And everything was all right?”

  Cordelia narrowed her old eyes at him. “I think she’s figured out how to deal with that lock.”

  “The door was locked, wasn’t it?” Zeke asked.

  “It was locked,” Cordelia said. “But I don’t think it was locked all night.”

  “What makes you think so?”

  She brushed her hand at him. “I don’t have time to stand here jabbering with you. We have things to do today.” She scowled. “Annabel has some people coming to see her.”

  “The mason,” Zeke said, nodding.

  “Make sure he stays far away from that fireplace,” Cordelia said, before hobbling out of Zeke’s room.

  32

  Annabel opened her eyes.

  For a moment she had absolutely no idea where she was. She looked up at the ceiling and didn’t recognize it. She sat up and looked around. The room made no sense to her.

  Then she realized she was at the Blue Boy Inn, and Jack was snoring beside her. They both were wearing the same clothes they had worn the day before.

  What had happened last night?

  She’d hallucinated, that was what had happened. She’d thought she’d been locked in a closet by Daddy Ron. It had been horrifying.

  You’re safe, Annabel, she heard her therapists telling her. You are completely safe.

  “I’m safe,” she whispered to herself.

  Annabel swung her legs off the bed and placed her feet—still in shoes—against the floor. Her hands covered her face and she felt as if she might cry. She hadn’t had a childhood flashback like that in a very long time. During her breakdown and her time in rehab, such flashbacks had come frequently. Many a night she had thought she was back in the closet, locked there by Daddy Ron. But recently Annabel had begun to hope that she was finally free of such nightmares, that she had finally moved past those terrible memories.

  Apparently not.

  Dr. Adler had warned her that the flashbacks might come back if she was stressed or experienced some sort of trauma.

  Annabel removed her hands from her face and looked over at Jack, snoring like a grizzly bear beside her.

  She remembered the trauma of last night.

  Jack had been flirting with Priscilla. He may have even had sex with her.

  Annabel stood and pushed herself over to the mirror. She looked into her eyes. They were puffy and bloodshot.

  What had she seen? Jack and Priscilla. What had they been doing?

  She turned to look at her husband.

  How she hated him.

  No, she told herself. You love Jack. He stayed with you through everything. You love Jack. You owe him so much.

  Annabel had to get out of that room. She felt boxed in. The air was stale and smelly.

  Out in the hallway, she breathed better.

  And suddenly she remembered the contractor and the mason were coming this morning. Yes! For some reason, the thought cheered her. She looked at her watch. They would be there in an hour. She hurried to the bathroom to get ready.

  33

  Chad Appleby was finishing up his breakfast at Deb’s Diner.

  “You want more coffee, Chad?” Tammy asked him.

  “Sure, Tam. Just a splash.”

  She refilled his cup.

  “You know, I can’t say I liked Roger,” Chad said, “but I’m sorry if what happened has left you upset.”

  Tammy gave him a wan smile. “I appreciate that, Chad. I suppose it’s good that he won’t be coming around anymore. Jessica was scared of him.” She sighed. “But nobody deserves to get stabbed to death and get his arm cut off.”

  “Cops have no idea who did it?”

  Tammy shook her head. “The chief has talked to all of Roger’s friends and all of his enemies, and nobody seems to have had anything to do with it, or figure out any motive. I mean, why cut off his arm?”

  Chad used his last piece of bacon to wipe up the egg yolk on his plate and then forked it into his mouth. “And they haven’t found the arm yet, have they?” he asked as he chewed.

  Again, Tammy shook her head. “The whole thing creeps me out,” she said, before moving on down the counter to refill the next customer’s cup.

  Chad looked at his watch. Paulie was supposed to meet him here fifteen minutes ago. But Paulie was always late. Back in high school, Paulie got more demerits for showing up late to class than any other kid in their class. He was a stoner, but Paulie was also a damn good builder and mason, and that was why Chad had asked him to come out with him this morning to the Blue Boy Inn.

  He couldn’t believe that was where he was going. Dad had asked him, “Hey, Chad, you want to take on one very weird job?”

  “And what would that be, Dad?”

  “The Blue Boy Inn wants its chimneys inspected,” his father had told him.

  The Blue Boy Inn. Everybody in town knew that old place was haunted. Or at least had so much creepy history that it should be haunted. There was the time that little girl went missing but blood was found all around the place. And a guy was found shot dead in the woods a stone’s throw from the place. Plus, there were stories that lots of people had died in the rooms over the last hundred years or had never been seen again after they’d gone inside. The Blue Boy was legendary in these parts.

  And the two old people who ran it, that guy Zeke and that ancient Mrs. Devlin, looked like they were cast members of The Addams Family, all wrinkled and hunched over and dressed in black.

  Chad had told his father that he was glad to take the job. He’d never been inside the Blue Boy, and he looked forward to finally getting a peek inside the spook house.

  “Sorry I’m late, my man,” came a voice behind him suddenly, a hand on his shoulder.

  Chad looked around. Paulie had arrived, and his red, glassy eyes revealed he’d been four-twentying in his truck on the drive over.

  “Sit down and have some coffee, Paulie,” Chad told him.

  Tammy brought him a cup.

  “So you anxious to get a look inside the Blue Boy?” Chad asked.

  Paulie grinned. He was a doughy-faced guy with floppy ears. They made an odd-looking pair, Paulie so soft and stout and Chad so chiseled, slender, and tall.

  “Sounds cool to me, man,” Paulie said, taking a sip of coffee. “Hope we don’t run into any ghosts.”

  “Remember that Halloween you and me and Nicky Malone went up there and threw rotten tomatoes until the old lady came out and scared us away?” Chad laughed. “Jesus Christ, we were bad kids. I’m surprised the old lady didn’t call the cops on us.”

  “Maybe she did,” Paulie said, his floppy ears wiggling. “Maybe we were just too fast.”

  “Well, we’re reformed now, aren’t we, Paulie? Model citizens.”

  Paulie laughed.

  In truth, antics like the one at the Blue Boy, tossing those tomatoes, bothered Chad to remember. He’d never been a bad kid, really, but there had been other pranks like that. Like the time he and Nicky had pointed a DETOUR sign down an
old dirt road and caused half a dozen cars to get stuck in ruts. And another time he’d rigged up a bucket of water over the front door of the high school and pulled a string so it doused stuffy old Mr. Hillcrest, the principal. Nobody could ever pin any of those things on Chad and his friends.

  Now he hated to remember them. He was twenty-four years old, and intended on doing Dad proud as his assistant in the family contracting business. His older brothers had no interest in taking over the company. They were lazy good-for-nothings. But Chad imagined a day when Dad retired and Appleby Contracting would be his own.

  Maybe he’d even hire old Paulie to work for him full-time. Providing the wacky weed wasn’t still a daily ritual.

  “Well, come on,” he said all of a sudden, getting up off his stool and plunking down a twenty and a couple of ones on the counter. It was a bigger tip than Chad was used to leaving, but he felt sorry for Tammy. “If we don’t get a move on,” he told Paulie, “we’ll be late getting to the Blue Boy. I told the new owner we’d be there at ten.”

  Paulie downed his coffee and stood, a little shakily, to follow his friend out of the diner. Chad waved good-bye to Tammy and placed his hand on the door, but suddenly Paulie stopped him.

  “You know,” Paulie said, looking up at him with those bloodshot eyes, “maybe we oughta smoke a little something before heading up to that haunted house.”

  “I’m fine, Paulie,” Chad told him. “And I think you’re already higher than the Blue Boy’s weathervane. In fact, why don’t you ride with me? Leave your truck here.”

  Paulie smiled. “All right, captain. You’re the boss.”

  34

  Cordelia watched from the window of her room. There were men coming to the Blue Boy. Men who intended to knock down walls and pry up bricks. She wouldn’t let them.

  They must be stopped.

  She remembered the day she and her husband had first sealed up the fireplace. Cordelia had laid many of the bricks herself. Then, years later, she’d had to lay those bricks again, this time with her son.

  She hoped that old fool Zeke wouldn’t fail her again, as he had failed her so often recently. Zeke’s infirmities were the reason she’d had to ask her grandson to come up and take over. Otherwise, she never would have involved Jack.