The Devil's Blue Eyes

by Chris Sanders

  “C’mon, Mr McGowan. I want you to get a real flavour for this story. Our ghost is a real bitch, you see, and I’m sure she’ll be pleased as punch to have a handsome young man like you to play with.”

  “Now take my arm, Mr McGowan, and follow me please.”

  Reluctantly, Luke allowed himself to be dragged from the bed. Claire was a small woman. She looked no taller than five foot three. She was slight in build too. She still managed to haul Luke onto the landing in no time. He put her unnatural strength down to alcohol and reasoned it was perhaps better to just go along with his new host and humour her as best he could. The sooner he could take down a few facts the quicker he could be back home.

  “I’ll take you into the dining hall, Luke. It’s my favourite room in all the hotel. You’ll see why. It’s the one room that doesn’t need a spring clean.”

  Claire led Luke back down the stairs, through the kitchen once again, and into the hallway. They took the second narrow corridor. The dining room lived at its end.

  “You like?”

  Luke paused. He couldn’t see what all the fuss was about. It looked like any other guesthouse dining room he’d ever frequented. Its broken chandeliers were perhaps the only distinguishing feature. They hung, dust encrusted and forgotten, above the dining table itself. A fruit bowl had been placed in the middle of the table. A small group of flies hovered greedily above the out-of-date pears and apples.

  “It’s very nice Mrs Chatterton. You’ve managed to maintain your standards.”

  “We used to eat here. All of us. We were a close family. I always looked after my kids, Mr McGowan. They mean the world to me. Do you have children, Mr McGowan?”

  Luke didn’t like the question and simply took out his notepad.

  “Shall we sit down, Mrs Chatterton? I think here will be a good a place as any to interview you.”

  “As long as they are fine I’m happy. Until you’ve had children you won’t understand.”

  She was close to tears now. Her eyes were already red.

  “I was a good mother, Mr McGowan. They always knew they were loved. I had my problems. Sure. But I always loved them.”

  “I’m sure you did, Mrs Chatterton. You’ve nothing to prove to me.”

  “Prove? You think I’m trying to prove something? Now you listen to me. I brought them up good. You hear? I’ve nothing to prove to anyone. Anyone!”

  Claire was on her feet within seconds. She pulled a bottle of gin from a cabinet and began to pour herself a glass.

  “Mrs Chatterton…”

  “Claire! Can you just call me Claire!”

  “Claire…Let’s just get this interview over with and then we can both go about our business.”

  “Are you a busy man, Mr McGowan? Places to go? People to see?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Then I won’t keep you.”

  She was looking intently at him again. This time Luke didn’t look away.

  “I still remind you of someone?”

  “A little.”

  “Well I hope it was good memories.”

  She smiled.

  “Have you written many pieces like this before?”

  “One or two. Let’s just say I have the experience.”

  “Must be fun. Writing about spooks and what not.”

  “Sure. It’s non-stop glamour all the way.”

  “You don’t sound very enthusiastic, Luke. Do I detect a little dissatisfaction with your chosen career?”

  “Writing ghost stories was never my first choice. Commissions like these come around once in a while. They pay the bills.”

  “That’s right Luke. It pays the bills. So, let’s see a bit more energy. What do you think?

  Luke grinned.

  “She have a name? This ghost?”

  “You’re the writer. Don’t you have any bright ideas?”

  “I was hoping you would have put a little thought into this. Makes my job a lot easier.”

  “Don’t you worry Luke. We’ll give you enough facts to spin your web. You’ll be in the bar before bedtime, sweetie…”

  “That’s all I needed to know…”

  “Are you sure you wouldn’t like a wee drink? Get those creative juices all flowing?”

  “My juices are fresh enough, Mrs Chatterton. But I appreciate the offer.”

  “Ha. You have an answer for everything. I’ll have to be careful around you. Too sharp for your own good. A bit like my ex in that regard. Didn’t do him much good.”

  “I think we should start with the back story. Put a little meat on the bones.”

  Claire was leaning against the dining room table now, her nightdress riding a little higher than was necessary. Luke was having trouble keeping his eyes on hers.

  “Sounds good to me Luke. You know what you want. I like that.”

  Luke swung one of the chairs out from beneath the table and seated himself. Brushing away a few rogue flies, he then took out a small note book from his jacket pocket and laid it flat across the table. Claire sat herself opposite crossing her long legs and making sure the hem of her dress didn’t fall an inch lower than acceptable.

  “Ready when you are, Mr Reporter…”

  “How many sightings on average? Once a week? Twice?”

  “Hmm. Let’s say once a week. Yes. That sounds about right. Old Edwin gets his bum pinched at least once a week. She’s a randy old bitch, is our ghost.”

  They both smiled.

  “Was she a guest? A previous owner?”

  “A guest. She was caught by her husband in the arms of her lover! 1895, Mr McGowan. She caused such a furore! Her husband was a politician, you see. Everyone knew it was going on. It was a terrible scandal!”

  “I can imagine. So, the husband killed her in a fit of rage?”

  “Stabbed them both dead, Mr McGowan. In the VIP suite. Just like that!”

  “That’s terrible Mrs Chatterton. Just terrible.”

  “Isn’t it just…”

  “A name Claire. We need a name if this is going to work for everyone.”

  Claire finished off her glass of gin and began to think.

  “Hmm. Isabel. We’ll call her Isabel Germaine. How does that sound?”

  “Sounds perfect. And which part of the hotel does Isobel prefer to haunt? The bedrooms?”

  Claire giggled. Luke grinned back.

  “Yes. That’s right. Our naughty ghost prefers the bedroom of course. Where else? The scene of the crime.”

  Luke scribbled a few notes.

  “Silly question. I should have known.”

  “Of course, she has been known to wander. I’m not saying the bedroom is her only haunt. Pardon the pun. Edwin tells me she’s visited the kitchen on a few occasions. We lost one of our cleaners on her account. Too afraid to return…”

  “Nice touch.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Well, I think that about covers everything Mrs Chatterton. I’ll get this typed up and sent off to the right people. Give it a few weeks and you should see yourself in print.”

  “Is that it? Is that all you’re going to ask? I thought it would last a little longer than that!”

  Luke was already standing and preparing to leave.

  “Don’t worry Mrs Chatterton. Once you’ve covered one haunting the others just sort of write themselves. I’ll do a good job. I know the magazine’s editor. Their readers lap this stuff up every month. She’s already sold on the idea. Everyone will come out smiling.”

  “You certainly talk a good game.”

  “Just leave it to me. I know what I’m doing. I have enough detail. I’ll add the spice…”

  Claire grabbed Luke’s jacket lapels and pulled them tightly together.

  “We’re due a storm later. You sure you want to leave so soon? I can have Edwin cook you up something to eat if you like. We have a full bar too. You’re more than welcome to stay for a while.”

  Luke began to button up his jacket. He had nowhere in particular
to go that evening. He’d planned a trip to the poker rooms later and maybe a few games of pool after to help him relax. He’d promised himself a catch up with Benny too at some point but figured it could wait. He didn’t have a lot of cash to play with at the moment and the thought of a free meal suddenly began to appeal.

  “Edwin will cook you up a good old-fashioned roast. All fresh and sweet to bite! What do you think?”

  Luke glanced towards the hotel’s bay window. It was approaching five already. The sun had set and thunderclouds were moving in. Already the hotel’s old window frames were being made to rattle in the building wind.

  “Can he throw in a cold beer with that meal?”

  “No problem. We know how to treat a guest in this hotel, Mr McGowan. Now, let’s just slip this old raincoat off and have you sit down once again? I’ll fetch you the beer and let Edwin know we have a dinner guest. Our chef is very good. You’ll be impressed!”

  “I’m sure I will.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Claire led Luke to a top-floor dining room. She’d given Edwin instructions and he’d promptly made his way back to the kitchen. They chatted while they waited. Claire talked mostly about her son, the break-up with her husband, the boy’s father, and how terrible the economy had become in recent years. She continued to top up her glass with gin until her speech had become so slurred Luke had switched off. He sat listening politely to his host’s ramble until Edwin and the Chef had appeared with a full roast dinner. Luke was relaxed. He’d taken his time with Claire’s Lager. She’d been right about the storm too. The rain had started to batter the hotel’s windows not long after all three had started the roast. By the time supper was over the storm was in full swing.

  “I should be leaving soon, Claire.”

  “What sort of host do you think I am? You think I’d let a guest leave my hotel in this weather?”

  “You already spoiled me with the roast.”

  “Chef does a pretty mean breakfast too, young man,” Edwin whipped in, beginning to collect the empty plates. “You have places to go this evening?”

  “I bet he has a sweetheart to see…” Claire teased.

  “Footloose and fancy free, Claire. Just the way I like it at the moment.”

  “Leave the boy alone Claire. You girls are bad news. He’s better off a bachelor!”

  “Well, I wouldn’t go that far, Edwin.”

  “He’ll meet the right one sure enough. Then it’ll be game over. He’s too cute to be a monk his whole life, Edwin.”

  “So, what do you say, son? We can put you up for the night. No charge. Just make sure you write a good tale in that magazine of yours.”

  “Oh, he will Edwin. Luke’s one of the good ones. Isn’t that right, Luke?”

  Luke smiled. The storm wasn’t showing any sign of abating. If anything the wind and rain were becoming stronger. The beer had gone to his head and Claire’s offer was beginning to sound sensible.

  “Well, I’m an early riser Edwin. I don’t usually stay in bed after eight.”

  “Eight! You should be ashamed. Young pup like yourself! I’m up at six every sun up. Have been since I was a child. I was out to work by eleven. My old man had a farm in Kent…”

  “Oh, Edwin. Give it a rest. Luke doesn’t want to hear your life story.”

  “He’s getting free board and grub. It’s the least he should put up with,” Edwin quipped, nudging Luke’s arm with his shoulder. “We all have tales to tell Claire. Some are more interesting than others. You don’t have the patience to listen, Miss. That was always your problem. Even as a young girl you were too busy to stop and listen. Stubborn as a mule and twice as mean.”

  “Are we finished now, Edwin dear? We know you like to show off in front of guests, but I think you’re taking it too far, and poor old Luke here needs his rest. Isn’t that right, Luke?”

  “I’m sure Edwin can spin a good yarn, Miss Chatterton.”

  “I know he can. The problem with sweet old Edwin here is that he never knows when to quit telling his yarns. Give him the slightest bit of encouragement and he’ll babble on all night.”

  “Mean as a mule…” Edwin retorted.

  “So, is that a yes, Luke? Are we going to have a new guest this evening?”

  “You’d be most welcome,” Edwin whispered.

  “Sure. Why not? It couldn’t do any harm. Help me to add a little flesh to the bones.”

  “Say what?” Edwin questioned. His left arm was piled with plates and Claire was looking a little concerned. “What did the boy just say? I didn’t catch it.”

  “He said…”

  “I said it could help put a little flesh on the bones. I’m talking about your article Edwin. The hotel article. Staying over can only help.”

  “Oh, sure. I see where you’re coming from now. Add a touch of realism, right?”

  “Right.”

  “I almost forgot you were a scribbler. Ha! You boys like to live and breathe your work I guess. It’s funny. I wouldn’t have had you down as a scribbler. You’re a big man, strong looking, I mean. You have a boxer’s nose!”

  “Now you’re sounding like my old man.”

  “It’s getting late Edwin. Can this not wait until breakfast?” Claire chipped in. She was already taking a few plates from Edwin’s load. Luke did the same. Together, the three of them headed back down to the kitchen. It was empty when they arrived. The Chef and his boy had gone. Luke helped load the cutlery into the washer and then followed his hosts to the guest rooms. Claire handed him the key to number eleven and wished him good night. Edwin offered to bring him more beer, but Luke, already weary from the earlier alcohol, only craved a soft mattress for the evening.

  “I’ll let you lie in until seven then, son,” Edwin quipped.

  “Sure. Good night Edwin.”

  Luke believed in ghosts. Not the kind that appeared from behind walls and sent cold shivers through your bones. He didn’t believe in those kinds of ghosts. He believed in those ghosts that followed you through life. The ghosts you couldn’t shake off however hard you might try. They were the ghosts that cut deep into your soul late at night when you couldn’t sleep and that appeared next to you first thing in the morning when you popped awake. They were memories, these ghosts, from childhood and other years that would never let you go. They stuck to your conscience and could never be washed out. They followed you day to day tapping you on the shoulder when you ate your lunch or as you stepped off the tube one sunny afternoon. They were reminders of how things could have turned out if only you’d taken the right path or done the right thing at the right moment.

  Luke couldn’t sleep. He’d lay on the bed with his eyes closed but had not been able to stop his thoughts from going around and around. He’d been trying to give his own ghosts the slip for many years. Some months they would fade into the background and almost vanish. Yet they would return, often more powerful, more vivid and more uncomfortable than when they left.

  “I’m sorry Elliot,” Luke whispered into the winter night as he stood by the open bay window of his room. “I’m sorry mate.”

  He could see the Crouch End clock tower from where he stood. The clock face itself was a blur and he was thinking of fishing out his mobile to see the time when a noise outside his room suddenly broke the evening silence. It was the sound of something heavy shattering. When the same noise came again a few seconds later Luke realised it was the sound of plates being smashed. He stepped out into the hallway and leaned himself against the bannisters. At first there was silence. A third smash then erupted. This time it was louder, closer and was followed quickly by the sound of raised voices and approaching footsteps. The other guests were beginning to stir as the commotion increased. One by one they began to appear bleary-eyed and confused from their bedrooms. Some, the bravest amongst them, stumbled over to the bannisters like Luke and peered over. They didn’t have to wait long for the main event to take place. The earlier commotion had, if anything, just been the warm up act. It seemed the real s
how was about to take place. Luke rested his elbows on the bannister and waited. A few seconds later Edwin, Claire and a second gentleman burst from the dining room doors far below and into the hallway.

  “You’ll get your money. Quit bitching!” Claire screamed at the stranger. “You screwed up the last job! You should be grateful I still use you!”

  “Now Claire. Please calm down, dear. You’re going to wake the guests!” Edwin pleaded, standing nervously between Claire and the second guy. “I’m sure Mr Dimitri is a reasonable man. Isn’t that right, Mr Dimitri?”

  Luke smiled. Mr Dimitri looked anything but reasonable. Luke recalled a Russian doorman he’d once known in Chancery Lane. He’d stood almost seven foot and just as wide. Mr Dimitri was maybe a few inches shorter but still built like an ox. His head was clean-shaven and from where Luke was positioned he could see several deep scars engraved across the man’s thick skull. No, Mr Dimitri didn’t look like a reasonable sort of guy at all.

  “I think you’re getting a little too old for this kind of game, Andre. Maybe you should go back to Russia and take up farming for a living. That’s what peasants do, isn’t it?” Claire continued, unimpressed by the giant before her.

  “Now Claire…”

  Before he had a chance to finish his sentence, Andre slowly and carefully took Edwin by the shoulders and lifted him gently to one side. In a slow, deep voice Andre then spoke, “You owe me money, Mrs Chatterton. I want payment. I want what you promised.”

  “You’ll do what I say? You hear? I’ve paid you well over the years.” Claire went on, now standing right under Andre’s giant chest. Occasionally she jabbed his pectorals with her middle finger. Andre grinned. He then whispered, “You have three days to pay me what you owe. If you do not you will know what real trouble is, Claire…”

  With that, Andre brushed Claire to one side and headed for the door.

  “You ungrateful beast of a man! If it wasn’t for me you’d still be washing dishes in Moscow!” she screamed once again. It was too late. Andre had already left the hotel.