The Haunting of Lake Manor Hotel

by Gwendolyn Kiste

  ~

  …to touch flesh again. To taste another’s lust. It fills me with joy. She’s desperate and weak too. She, too, might be susceptible, for taking. But just now to touch flesh again…

  It was a hot and stuffy room that woke Tony in the mid-afternoon. Head’s a little fuzzy and sore, but a few cold beers at the hotel bar will take the edge off. Tony fixed himself to look presentable and then headed downstairs.

  The lounge saloon was as decrepit as the rest of the hotel and, even during the day, dark and full of murky shadows. It was a converted old-style parlor, with only a couple of modern appliances. A glass-fronted drinks fridge, filled with bottles, and an old coffee machine sat behind the worn bar. At the far end, placed on a sturdy shelf at head height, was a television set. There was a young barman, battered book in his hand, when Tony walked in. Tony ordered a beer and, ignoring the glass tumbler he’d been offered, necked a big swig straight from the bottle. The cold beer on his tongue was a blessed relief. He took another gulp before noticing that there was a strange glint in the eye of the barman. A smirk, as if he was the butt of some joke.

  “Can you switch on the television?” Tony asked. Anything to stop that punk from giving me that uncomfortable look.

  “No can do. That thing has been here since I arrived, and I’ve never seen it work.” The barman gave him a smile and a shrug.

  “I’ve noticed there’s not much in the way of modern entertainment at this place.”

  “Plenty to do here if you have the inclination, big man.” Now the barman beamed him a big, broad smile. And to Tony’s surprise, followed that up with a wink. What is he on about?

  Tony swallowed another mouthful of beer slowly before saying, “What?”

  “You know, plenty to do… in the biblical sense.” The barman must have seen the confusion on Tony’s face. “Ah. I thought you saw me. I was down by the lakeside earlier. Hank asked me to check up on you, just to make sure you hadn’t fallen in or anything, and I saw you with one of the other guests. In flagrante delicto, as they say.”

  “I’m… I’m a married man.” Tony surprised himself with how shocked he sounded. It was the barman’s turn to look unsure now. He picked up a glass to clean.

  “You and the businesswoman, Diane, I think her name is, from room—”

  “Who?” Tony snapped back.

  The barman’s temporary confusion evaporated and a knowing smile returned.

  “Of course, I understand. Who indeed! Another beer there? On the house, of course.” Tony quickly drained the bottle in his hand. That feeling of unease, of something malicious, returned.

  Tony left after the second beer. He had brought plenty of alcohol with him, a couple of cases packed with spirits. He’d really just planned to drink all day in his room, anyway.

  He worked through a great deal of his supply to calm himself down and make himself forget everything.

  ~

  …I need your blood. To sustain. To breathe. This old thing is barely alive, but will have to do. Bark all you want, we are too far away from your master. I need your blood. To sustain. To breathe…

  When Tony woke, he felt that he had not slept at all. The room was in gloom, as the curtains were drawn, but there were slivers of light dazzling him from outside. Tomorrow already! Tony, finding his arms and legs sore, slowly rose and tapped the room’s main light switch on. The bright-but-dirty yellow light revealed nasty-looking scratches, skin punctures and a few big bruises lower down on his forearm.

  “I’ve had one of those nights,” he told himself. Sometimes when he drank, he could get energetic and aggressive. Probably paced up and down the room, bumping into everything. His clothes were scattered about the room. Passing through to the small en suite bathroom, though, he could feel damp heat, and the dirty shower curtain was clearly wet. Little splatters of dirt were all over the cracked tiling. But he didn’t feel as if he had showered. Don’t feel clean. He put that puzzle to one side. What I really need now is a proper coffee, just to get my brain going again. He found some fresh clothes, then headed out.

  At the reception, the bellhop was there, almost in the same position he’d tried to ignore him in before, but as he passed, there came a cough.

  “Sir, I have the information you requested.”

  Tony stopped and tried his best to focus. What was he talking about?

  “About gardening supplies? You were asking for a retail place you could acquire some equipment. To prepare for a viewing? We didn’t have any spades…”

  “Oh, yes. Of course.” Best to go along with it for the moment.

  “This is not the closest gardening center. But really not far, with a car. Local family run it. Guaranteed to give you a good service.”

  “Yes, yes. Thank you,” said Tony, grasping the little piece of paper that the bellhop had in his hand.

  “Oh, and another thing, just before you leave. It’s a personal thing, but I’ve noticed you out and about on the grounds for walks. It’s just that my dog, Caesar, has gone missing. Sometimes he goes out and chases squirrels in the woods, but… well, I haven’t seen him in a while, and that’s not like old Caesar.” The smile on the bellhop’s face evaporated as he studied Tony’s reaction.

  “No, I haven’t seen anything,” Tony said. The bellhop just sadly nodded and let Tony escape to the bar.

  To Tony’s surprise, there was another person there. Another guest. A woman in her forties, well-groomed, and even in his foggy state he could see she was attractive. She was sitting at a small bar table with a large cup of coffee in front of her, and was checking her phone. Tony could not help but let his eyes linger over her long, auburn hair and pretty face. Nothing like my cheating, bottle-blonde bitch of a wife. If I could marry again, it’d be someone like her; she looks so classy and successful. She looked up and caught his gaze. A little embarrassed, he turned away and went to the coffee machine. He was surprised when he felt a touch on his arm and found her standing, with a smile, right next to him.

  “Good morning, Mr. Zwilling… Tony,” she said, before gently running her fingers down his arm, causing a little, sharp, needle-like pain when she passed over his bruises. He didn’t know what to do or say. “You definitely need some coffee to keep you awake, after yesterday and last night,” she told him with a little musical laugh.

  “I’m sorry, who are you?” Tony asked.

  She looked nonplussed, hurt even. “Tony?” she whispered. “You do remember… I’m Diane!?”

  Yesterday was really a blank, a vodka-fueled, black hole of nothingness. Had he even left his room? No, he was adamant. I’ve never seen this woman before in my life.

  “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

  “Tony, you told me all about your domestic situation, but we’re here alone together. No one is going to make a fuss about two business people in a hotel. They probably expect us to be here for an affair, anyway.” There was a note of pleading in her voice.

  “I haven’t seen you before.” Tony left his coffee behind and walked out of the lounge before Diane could say anything else.

  Back in the room, he felt a rush of paranoia that made the walls of his room seem to tighten a little around him. She was a private investigator sent to check up on him, he told himself, sent to gather evidence for a divorce. Or even —he remembered her touch and her attractive, made-up face— one of those honey traps, sent to test me. He vacillated between anger and feeling sorry for himself as he steadily poured bottles of liquor to quench the hurt inside.

  ~

  …This is much better; I feel strong now. The children were easy, sleeping. Their hot, vibrant blood. Such a sweet taste. Now her. She is older and tougher, closer to death. But his emotions for her… ah, it adds more to the moment. She deserves it, does she not? I cut like an avenging angel. This is much better, much better…

  Tony woke to a painful and sharp headache and throbbing guts. The disheveled bed sheets and dank, cloying atmosphere of his room were overwhelming. Afte
r that encounter in the lounge, he just wanted to get out and avoid everyone. Unfortunately, he knew that he was in no state to drive. He’d have to get away on foot. Not that damn lake, though. The windows of his room were full of the woodlands that constituted what seemed to be the rest of the hotel’s estate. There should be no one out there. He carefully dressed himself and, before leaving, pulled out a small half-bottle of vodka from one of his trunks.

  “Not forgetting you,” he told it. Slipping it inside his coat and starting to turn to go out, he noticed a pen on a piece of paper on the desk, placed as if to bring it to his attention. Picking up the slip of paper, he saw that on one side, in neat handwriting, was the name of a garden center. The one that bellhop gave me. But on the other side, “I’ll teach the wife and sucklings a lesson.”

  It was scrawled in an unkempt and wild manner. Had he written that out? Picking up the pen, Tony wrote the same sentence below it, in his own hand. There were similarities, but there were flourishes and shapes that, to Tony’s eye, were just not his. Someone else trying to impersonate him? He made his way to the reception area.

  The front of the hotel was a little homier at this time of the day. There was a radio playing in the background, some old-fashioned crooner’s music, the occasional chink of glass coming from the bar, and the ever-present ticking of the clock. Thankfully, he didn’t see anyone, and it was with relief that he quickly passed outside onto the gravel of the drive, darting across to the edge of the woods and onto what seemed to be a likely path into the woodland.

  The earth track that Tony had chosen quickly vanished. But the leaf, bark and mossy ground under the canopy of trees was flat and easy to traverse. He picked a direction at random and wandered amongst the old trees. After a short time, Tony got out his vodka bottle, broke off and threw the top into a thick bit of undergrowth, taking time to savor a long swig from the bottle. He felt calm. The air was cool and fresh, and the smell of woodland humus clean and good.

  He meandered for some time, until a patch of light up ahead caught his eye. He could make out a thick trunk of some massive tree lying on its side, covered in bright green new growth and smaller plants. An old tree that had been blown over in a storm? Headaches and worries gone for the moment, he ambled over to see this fallen giant.

  Something changed when he got to the threshold of the opening. A silence clung to him intently. Not the sound of a single bird, not even the low murmur of tree tops being jostled by the wind. The patches of sky that streamed light from above were too bright and hurt his eyes; the small clearing became sickly vibrant in shades of fluorescent green. Tony, feeling panic rise inside him, gulped most of the vodka and tried to work out what was wrong. The trunk was glistening and slick with rot; alien-looking mushrooms of all shapes and sizes sprouting on every crevice and damp surface. That smell came back to him. It was the smell of death, of decay. But there were fresh, new notes. Of something animal, of rotting meat and shit, and of something far more disturbing. Finding himself panting, Tony spotted that some of the fungi looked strange. What are they, why do they look different? He pushed in closer, brushing aside some foliage around the trunk, but his stomach sank as he revealed what he quickly worked out was a trail of butchered entrails. A detached, yellow-toothed head, with glassy dead eyes, stared at him from under the trunk. It’s the bellhop’s dog. The jaw was open, and its large, wet tongue lolled out into the dirt, a mass of black flies gorging on this meat. The dog had been ripped apart. Dropping his bottle, Tony vomited bile and vodka. Then he turned and crashed through the undergrowth, desperate to get away from this place.

  ~

  The flight back through the woodland had been a blur. Back in his room, Tony found a bottle of dark rum from his supply and washed away the acid taste of bile in his mouth, trying to get rid of the stench of the eviscerated dog in his nostrils.

  To his horror, there was almost immediately a knock on his door, followed by the handle turning.

  “Tony,” a soft female voice cooed, “I saw you come in….” Diane slipped into the room. She stopped, open-mouthed. Tony shook and heaved a sob. “What’s happened?” she managed, then a soft plea. “Are you all right?”

  “Get out,” he whispered, painfully aware that he was crying.

  She either didn’t hear or chose not to. “I’m sorry about earlier.” She looked at him, then around the room, wide-eyed. “It’s just that I thought we had a connection. You were wonderful… but what’s happened? You look terrible.”

  “Get out,” he managed with a more controlled voice.

  She glanced down at the large pile of empty bottles. “I’m sorry. I am so sorry. I didn’t know you had problems. I’ll leave you alone.”

  “GET OUT,” he screamed. As she stepped into the hall, Tony threw the full bottle of rum at the door, where it shattered in a burst of sticky brown liquid.

  Tony tried to calm down and get rid of the memory of the dog. Thankfully, he still had a plentiful supply of liquid to drown and soothe his mind. Very soon he was in a state of stupor, and with relief he let himself go.

  ~

  …come and make me. You had your fun, Diane, now I need to end it. Zwilling needs you to end it. I will continue to breathe and walk. Come and make me…

  Tony sputtered into life, surprised to find himself lying on the floor. He first spotted the broken shards of glass. Then the dark rum–stained door came into focus.

  “Time to get my act together,” he said to the room. With a grunting effort, Tony got to his feet and shuffled through to the en suite, pulling off his clothes for a long shower. Then he gave himself a shaky shave. It made him feel a little better. After that he searched around for fresh clothes, pulling on whatever he could find. But I could really do with a drink. Just enough to take away the shakes and calm my mind. Unfortunately, despite his ever more frantic efforts, he found nothing but empty bottles. He’d have to go to the bar.

  The young barman got him a beer without asking, when Tony arrived. He then said something about having to go off to the cellar, and that Tony could just help himself to another beer if he wasn’t back. Tony nodded, seating himself on a bar stool. It was peaceful, only the tick-tock of the clock in the reception area and the murmur of that old radio off in the distance. Definitely time to lay off the sauce. Dry out for a few days and re-assess the situation. He drifted along, perched on the stool, sipping beer and contemplating this more positive approach.

  The feeling of wrongness engulfed him again.

  The lights seemed to dim as if a miasma had flooded the room. It brought that thick, deep stench of dead marsh. Again that silence. Even the grandfather clock stopped.

  The television screen flickered into life: a white dot flattened out into a line which slowly expanded and grew into a sickly dayglow picture. Frightened, but compelled to find out, he moved closer to the screen. It was showing a news report, a policeman in front of a barrier, aerial shots of a house from a distance. A banner along the bottom of the screen had the title of the story:

  HORRIFIC FAMILY SLAYING

  Tony recognized it all: the neighborhood, the house, his house. Tony turned up the volume.

  “…The bodies of Mrs. Abbot and her two children were discovered this morning by a friend of the family...” A picture of his wife and kids flashed up. “…police have described the murders as extremely brutal. What is not clear is the whereabouts of the fourth member of the family, Anthony Abbot. Police are asking for any information regarding his location…” A smiling picture of himself appeared and was held on the screen. They’ll think it’s me. But I’ve been here all this time, in the hotel.

  Then he started to piece it together. That malevolent shape in the fog that had knocked him out; then there were the people that said he’d spoken to them when he clearly hadn’t; and the note with the handwriting that wasn’t his, with that incriminating sentence. I’m being framed, that’s what it is. They’re trying to trick me, befuddle me. Set me up for murder!

  A sudden, sh
arp clink made Tony jump. The barman was back, holding a couple of bottles in his arms.

  He looked at Tony, a little puzzled. “I told you, it won’t work.”

  Tony stared at the barman, then, with mounting fear, turned to see if the news report was still on. The television screen was now dead. Chiming in the hallway and Frank Sinatra warbling in the distance completed the return to normality.

  Tony mumbled an embarrassed “sorry”, then walked out of the lounge, but found his way was blocked.

  “Mr. Zwilling?” The bellhop stood there with sad eyes, a package in hand. “Is everything okay, sir?”

  “I’m fine,” Tony managed.

  “The parcel, sir.” The name Zwilling had been scrawled on the old brown paper of the parcel, written as if it had been scraped on with a knife. “You gave it to us for safekeeping, but said you’d want it, at the latest, this afternoon.”

  The feeling of dread tightly gripped his stomach. Unwilling to argue, Tony took the package with trembling hands. He could feel objects inside shifting as he headed up the stairs to his room.

  ~

  Tony placed the package on the floor to one side; it seemed to radiate malign energy. He tried to ignore it and take a moment to think, to plan ahead. But he was confused. Everything spilled over into his thoughts: ‘I should teach the wife and kids a lesson’; the news report; the ripped-up dog; and the woman — what was her name? The shape in the fog…

  Doppelganger.

  The idea came to him clearly. There was a clarity, a truthfulness in that one word that made total sense. Another thing out there, impersonating me, doing all these horrible things. He brushed it aside, only for it to be replaced by another dark thought. Perhaps it is me. I’ve been unconscious or asleep for half the time; in the other half perhaps I have been doing these things. I mean, I wake up dog-tired, with bruises and cuts…