The Story Collection: Volume One

by Matt Shaw

  “Maybe there’s a power-cut,” said Lisa.

  Her brain seeking the logical explanation whereas mine was simply seeing the ‘weird’.

  “Maybe,” I agreed.

  Not convinced. Even if there were a power-cut... in one of the windows.... somewhere.... I’d still expect to see a flicking candle-light.

  A few more minutes of walking passed by. The silence of the eerie night shattered only by our footsteps and the trundling sound of the wheels on our suitcases.

  “Look,” she said - pointing with her finger.

  I turned to look in the direction her finger indicated; a small alley-way with a building set back from the other houses. A sign outside of the property made it out to be a small, family-run bed and breakfast. A lit sign, under the main ‘bed and breakfast’ board showed them as having vacancies. And, better yet, there was a light on in the front window.

  “Maybe they’ll have a telephone we could borrow,” Lisa continued. “We could call a taxi....”

  I nodded in agreement but suspected I already knew the answer.

  Lisa’s pace quickened, as she turned towards the bed and breakfast - forcing me to quicken my own pace just to keep up. I wonder if she’s quickened her pace because she’s desperate to get to a phone or because she’s desperate to get off this quiet street. It has to be said, there is something decidedly spooky about, what appears to be, a ghost-town. Your mind can’t help but wonder as to what happened to everyone.

  7.

  The sound of Lisa’s hand knocking on the large, wooden door echoed around the alley-way. Hardly any time went by before she knocked, loudly, on the door again.

  “You could wake the dead,” I said... more to break the silence between us than for any other reason.

  She looked at me. When we first met, she seemed bright and cheerful but now, it seems her mood is changing. Probably stressing about missing the plane to her sister’s wedding.

  “She’ll understand,” I said.

  “Who?”

  “Your sister,” I continued, trying to be helpful. “These things happen....”

  “These things happen? You know of many other people who have fallen asleep on a train only to wake up hours later, at the train’s last stop, when they’re supposed to be catching a flight to their sister’s wedding?”

  “Well, now you’ve put it like that....”

  She knocked again, “They must be in there, the lights are on... Where is everyone?!”

  “In Indiana there’s a town called ‘New Amsterdam’,” I said....

  She just turned and looked at me.

  I continued, “They have a population of one.”

  Again, she didn’t say anything - just stared at me with her sparkling blue eyes.

  “Maybe this is the English equivalent,” I finished. “One person running around the town trying to get everything done....”

  Lisa responded by banging louder on the door.

  Strange, the harder she banged - the less of an echo. Seconds passed before she simply reached forward and turned the handle. Surprisingly the door creaked open.

  “Well, if they’ve popped out, I’m sure they won’t mind if we just borrow their phone,” she said.

  My mind was still thinking about the crazy murderer, living in the train-station, “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

  “Do you have any other ideas?”

  I shook my head.

  Ever the gentleman, I let her go first.

  Inside the bed and breakfast - a counter, built under the stairs with a room behind it - faced us. To the left was a living room and, to the right appeared to be a dining room. We both noticed the smell at the same time - musty.... damp...

  “No wonder they have vacancies,” said Lisa as she wheeled her suitcase to the counter. “Hello?”

  I left my case by the front door and went and stood by her side - both for comfort and to allow the sweet smell of her perfume to stifle some of the damp.

  Looking around the counter she said, “I can’t see a telephone...”

  “They have to have one,” I whispered. I pointed out a telephone book to her.

  “Hello?” she called out again. “Anyone home?”

  My attention turned to a guest book which sat on the counter, next to a small gold bell - no doubt to be used to signal the attention of someone.

  “Popular place,” I said, flicking through the blank pages of the guest book.

  “Hello?! Anyone home?!”

  “Maybe they got bored with waiting and went somewhere else.... probably a Ritz down the road, stealing the custom....”

  Lisa just looked at me, again, like I was a little strange. Given the circumstances, I’m surprised she’d think of me as the strange one. All I’m trying to go is alleviate some of the tension.

  I smiled at her and hit the gold bell with the palm of my hand.

  “Yes?” came a voice, almost directly behind us. We both jumped and span around to see a strange, little old lady looking at us. “Can I be of help?”

  Lisa took the lead. Not because I wouldn’t have. She just appeared more desperate to get out of here than me. “Sorry to bother you but we were wondering if you had a telephone we could borrow?”

  “No phone,” said the lady in a short tone.

  Lisa was too annoyed by the lack of supposed telephone to notice it but, there was something odd about the lady. Her blank, staring eyes seemed more vacant than her bed and breakfast.

  “No phone?” continued Lisa. “You must have.... you have a telephone book.... who has a telephone book if they don’t own a phone?”

  A valid point. One, to be fair, I probably wouldn’t have argued.

  “No phone,” the old lady said, again.

  She walked past us and stepped behind her counter.

  “Only rooms....”

  “Oh, I see what you’re trying to do....” said Lisa.

  She does?

  “Okay, what if I pay for a room.... would a telephone magically appear then?” she pulled her purse out, from her coat pocket, and opened it revealing a stack of notes - some English and some foreign. “So how much is a room anyway?”

  “Fifty...”

  Lisa froze, “Fifty? I can get a nice hotel for that...”

  “Fifty,” the old lady repeated.

  Lisa shook her head as she fumbled around in her purse for the right notes, “You’d better have a telephone...”

  She handed the money over. In turn, the old lady slid a small silver key over the counter towards Lisa.

  “Room six,” she muttered before turning away and disappearing into the back room.

  “This evening just gets better and better,” said Lisa.

  “I’ll pay for the taxi,” I offered. It seemed only fair if she had to pay fifty pounds for the use of a phone. Most expensive phone call ever.

  Lisa left her bag by the counter, and I left mine by the entrance still, and, together, we walked up the stairs.

  The general cramped-ness of the downstairs area made the upstairs come as a bit of a shock; a long landing stretching some distance before us.... doors lining the walls, on either side - the bedrooms. I guess the back area, behind the counter, must have been a hell of a sized-room if the upstairs was anything to go by. What a waste of space. Although, having said that, I guess they must have a kitchen somewhere down there too.

  “What room was it?” I asked.

  “Six,” said Lisa.

  The old lady had done nothing to calm Lisa’s fragile mood.

  Have to confess, this isn’t the best start to my final few weeks. At least things can only get better.

  Lisa, again, took the lead - stopping only when she was outside room six. She wasted no time in getting her key out and turning it in the gold lock, on the door. The door clicked open.

  She stepped in and I followed, unprompted.

  “I don’t believe it,” she said, after a quick look around. “There isn’t a fucking telephone...”

  I had
a quick look, for myself, and she was right.

  “What exactly did I pay for?!” she went on.

  “A room,” I said.

  “A room I didn’t want.... I thought she was just trying to get some money out of me to use her phone.”

  “In her defence, she did say there wasn’t a phone.”

  “Brilliant.” Lisa sat on the edge of the bed. “I don’t fucking believe this....”

  “Look, it’s not the end of the world... I’ll go downstairs and get my own room - clearly they have the space... we’ll stay here the night and, in the morning, when everything is open again - we’ll make our way to the airport. You might still be able to get a flight out for the same day...”

  “The wedding is tomorrow. I had already left it until last minute,” said Lisa - clearly upset, she started to cry. “Fucking work..... stupid deadline....”

  I’m no good when people show emotions around me. I never know what to do or say to make things better for them.

  “We’ll get you out there as quickly as possible.”

  I’m not sure how. Even if the money, which I did have, was enough.... I don’t think I know her well enough to charter her her very own flight.

  “She’ll hate me.”

  “She’ll understand... I’m sure she’ll just be grateful to see you when you do get there. And, in weeks to come... you’ll both probably be laughing about this.”

  “I doubt that,” she blew her nose.

  How can a lady blowing her nose still look so attractive - especially with red eyes and smudged make-up.

  “Look, freshen yourself up... I’ll go and get a room and then maybe you’d like to join me for dinner in a bit.”

  “If they’re still serving,” she said.

  Nearly as much of a pessimist as me.

  The perfect couple?

  “For the hundred pounds we would have just paid out - I’m sure they can rustle a sandwich up for us,” I said. “Failing that, I’ll break into the kitchen and do it myself when Mrs. Fawlty goes to bed...”

  Lisa laughed.

  I’m glad she realised it was a joke. I don’t want to be held to that.

  “I’ll be back in a bit,” I said. With that, I turned out of the bedroom and walked down the stairs, back towards the counter.

  I don’t know why, given what we had seen so far with regards to levels of service, but I was surprised to see our cases hadn’t moved from where we had left them. Part of me just presumed there’d be a member of staff to have moved them, at the very least. But then, I’m used to decent hotels where the staff offer to take your luggage to your room.

  “Hello?” I shouted through to the back, as I approached the counter.

  Nothing.

  “Ground control to Major Tom....” I sang.

  Still nothing.

  “You’re having a laugh,” I muttered.... “Lady,” no longer muttering, “I have another fifty pounds for you....”

  Still nothing.

  Weird, I thought that would have worked.

  A clock, hanging on the wall, behind the counter caught my eye.

  Strange.

  Exactly the same time on it as the one on the station.... and the one on my watch. What are the chances of that happening. I didn’t dwell on it - instead I simply craned my neck to try and see if I could spot the old lady in the back room. And then I remembered how big the place was upstairs...

  I hit the gold bell and waited.

  “Yes?”

  The old lady came out of the back room almost instantly. Was she out there, ignoring me, just to be awkward?

  “Yes, hello...” I said, choosing to give her the benefit of the doubt. “I’d like a room, please.”

  “Fifty.”

  She’s all about the customer service.

  I smiled at her as I reached into my jacket pocket, for my wallet. She didn’t smile back. Just stared at me.... through me. I’m half tempted to hang myself in the room.... just to be a nuisance to her, in the morning, when she has to struggle to get me from the rafters. It’s a good job I really want to get back out to Australia....

  .... That and the fact I don’t have a rope with me.

  She slid a key across the counter, after I handed her fifty pounds. Fifty pounds?! Lisa was right - you can get really nice hotel rooms for fifty pounds. No wonder the guest book was empty. People probably came here, found out how much the rooms were and promptly left again.

  I picked up the key and asked, “Do you have the time?”

  “No time,” she said before turning her back on me.

  “Could you at least tell me my room number?!”

  She was gone.

  At least there was a little number on the key. Hopefully it coincides with the door to my room. Otherwise I’ll be up there, for ages, trying all of the doors. On the plus side, at least I know it’s not room six.

  Maybe she’s foreign, I thought to myself as I ventured up the stairs, with my suitcase, and down the landing towards, according to the key, room four. That must be it. It would make sense.... she’s foreign and doesn’t understand us. Believable. Loads of foreigners are coming into the country these days - getting jobs despite their ignorant grasp of the English language. Maybe, if Lisa and I were to come back, in a year.... maybe she’d be politer then having learnt some more English words.

  The door’s lock clicked open with a single twist of the key.

  Bingo - room four.

  I wonder why Lisa wasn’t given this room.

  Mind you, thinking like that - why weren’t we both in room one and two? I think it’s safe to say those rooms were available too.

  Stepping inside the room, I could see it was identical to Lisa’s. A bed, a desk, a bedside cabinet and not a lot else. No telephone either, important to note that - I have a feeling Lisa will ask, when I go to her room in a bit.

  I threw my suitcase onto the bed.

  I’m glad I met Lisa and she ended up here with me. I’m pretty sure, if I was alone, I wouldn’t survive the night. There isn’t enough incentive for me to keep going, being stuck here. She gives me incentive.

  It’s weird - considering we’ve only just met.... considering the obvious stress she’s under.... I feel a connection to her. A connection I haven’t felt since the first time I met Mary. It’s probably just my overactive imagination working overtime again but, even so, it’s nice. No need to dwell on it and try and talk my mind out of the idea. The whole point of these last few weeks is to enjoy every last minute and, if that means enjoying the thought of a relationship with a stranger.... who am I to say no?

  * * * * *

  “Telephone?”

  I shook my head.

  “You tried the bath yet?”

  “I haven’t even seen the bathroom yet,” I replied.

  “Down the hallway, last door to the left but,” she said, “I wouldn’t bother looking - nothing works...”

  “Nothing works?”

  Her turn to shake her head.

  “Toilet?”

  “Nothing. Doesn’t flush. The bathtub - taps turn but no water... I went downstairs but the crazy lady just kept telling me fifty....”

  “Yeah, I’m not sure she’s all there,” I said.

  “And I still have no idea what time it is....”

  “There’s a clock downstairs but - dead.”

  “What is going on here?” she said again.

  She was getting herself worked up again. One of the things I’ve learnt, over the years living with my moods, is you really need to control your feelings... save from stressing over things you have no control over.

  “I’m really not tired,” I said. “When we turn in, I’ll stay up... knock on your door as soon the sun comes up and we can check out.”