by Amy Cross
Still staring at me, she shows no sign that she might actually answer.
I open my mouth to ask again, but suddenly I realize that there's a really kinda foul smell here. Sniffing slightly, I can't help noticing a scent of... I don't know what it is, exactly, but it reminds me a girl from school who used to stink of pee all the time, although there's something else added to this particular mix, like something damp and rotten. The girl's clothes look old and pale, with a few rips in the fabric around her left shoulder, and I'm starting to think she must be from some family of hicks who live in the area. She's probably never seen someone like me before, someone well-dressed and wearing properly-applied make-up. For a little girl who lives in a shack, I must be just way more beautiful than anyone she usually bumps into.
Poor little thing. She probably thinks I'm, like, some kinda god or something.
“Okay then,” I say finally, getting to my feet and taking a step back. “I'm gonna leave you alone, and me and my friends are gonna head off. I'm sorry if we disturbed you in any way.”
I hesitate, just in case she might actually reply, and then I turn and start walking away, back toward the pool area.
“Not that you're not disturbing on a whole different level, kid,” I mutter under my breath. “Rude little piece of -”
Suddenly hearing a rustling sound over my shoulder, I turn and find that the girl has actually started following me. I've got to admit, I let out a faint gasp of surprise as I take another step back, and this little prick has actually managed to properly get my heart racing.
“I don't have anything for you,” I tell her. “Okay? I don't have any money on me, if that's what you're after. Just go back to your inbred family and leave me alone.”
I wait, but now she's just staring at me again.
Reaching into my pockets, I feel my apartment keys and a bottle of nail-polish I must have forgotten to put back into my make-up kit. I hesitate for a moment, feeling a little bad for the kid, and then finally I take the bottle out and hold it up for her to see.
“Did you ever see anything like this before?” I ask, forcing a smile. “It's a real pretty red color, huh? I bet you don't get quality items like this out here in the sticks.”
I watch her face carefully, searching for any sign that she's impressed. At least she's looking at the nail-polish bottle now, instead of continually gawping at me, so I guess the color has caught her attention.
“You can have it, if you want,” I tell her, figuring that I might as well be generous. “I'm sure the color'll really suit you.”
I wait for her to take the bottle, but after a moment she raises her gaze and looks at me again.
“Don't you want it?” I ask. “What's wrong? Too fancy for you? You don't wanna show it off to your friends?”
Her stare is really starting to piss me off now.
“Don't you have any friends?”
Again, the prissy little princess doesn't even bother to reply.
“Fine,” I mutter, shoving the bottle back into my pocket. “You wanna be ungrateful? Go for it. At least I tried to be nice, but then again I guess there's no point. I mean, what would you do with one bottle of the stuff, anyway? You could play dress-up, but you'd never be able to look really nice.” I hesitate for a moment, giving her one final chance to show some frickin' emotion, and then I turn to walk away. “Whatever you -”
Suddenly I gasp as I feel an ice-cold grip on my left wrist.
Stopping, I look down and see the girl's pale hand holding me tight, and then I slowly turn and look at the girl's dark, staring eyes.
“Seriously?” I continue, flinching a little as I realize that her skin feels really cold. “That's actually uncomfortable. Also, for your information, in some states grabbing someone like that can be classed as assault, so I really think you'd better let go of me right now.”
I wait for her to respond, but she's still staring at me. Before I can tell her again to let go, however, I notice that there seems to be a little color coming to her cheeks, as if the hint of yellow is being joined by a greenish patch. The effect is very subtle, but it seems to be spreading down onto her arm and hand, too, and I quickly start trying to pull myself free of her grip. After all, if she's sick, I really don't want to catch whatever's left her looking so awful.
“Seriously, kid,” I mutter, twisting my hand in an attempt to get loose. “I've tried being nice to you, but you're going too far now. You have to let go of me right now or I'm going to be officially pissed off.”
The little prick doesn't respond at all, so I reach down and start trying to force her icy fingers away from my wrist. She's holding me pretty tight, and after a moment I realize that maybe I'm going to have to be a little tougher. I mean, sure, she's a kid and all, but that doesn't mean she gets a free ride to jerk me around.
“Okay,” I says firmly, grabbing her wrist and squeezing tight, hoping to make her realize she has to let go, “two can play at that game.”
I start twisting her wrist, figuring that she has to get the message, but she doesn't respond at all.
“Come on, kid,” I grumble, “this is literally too much!”
Her hand feels colder than ever, cold enough to start hurting a little, and her fingers remain wrapped around my wrist as I try to wriggle free. I really don't want to be a bitch, but she's starting to get seriously annoying, so finally I apply more pressure to her wrist, in an attempt to make her let go.
“Seriously!” I hiss. “Enough's enough! Stop -”
Suddenly I hear a loud cracking sound coming from her wrist, and at the same time I feel a crunching sensation as the flesh around the base of her hand ruptures. Startled, I let go and take a step back, and I'm shocked to see that her wrist has begun to break away, leaving her hand still clutching me. I pull back a little further, and her hand comes completely away from her own wrist, leaving a black, rotten stump.
Looking down, I see her severed hand still holding me tight.
“What the...”
Something wriggles in the fleshy stump, and to my horror I see that there are a couple of thick, juicy white maggots poking their way out from the meat.
“What the hell?” I stammer, taking a couple more steps back with the girl's icy hand still gripping my wrist.
Turning to look at her again, I see that she's calmly watching me, apparently completely untroubled by the fact that her goddamn hand just tore away. The stump around her wrist is glistening but not bleeding, and after a moment I see that there are maggots in that patch of flesh too.
“Get it off me!” I shout, trying again to pull the hand loose before finally turning and starting to run back to the hotel. “Don't -”
Before I manage another step, however, I feel the ground give way beneath my feet. Looking down, I see that I've run past the edge of the pool and onto the pale gray cover. Before I even have a chance to react, however, the loose covering crumples beneath my feet and I fall forward, slamming against the side of the pool with enough force to shatter several teeth before I bump down and slip into the gap between the pool covering and the edge itself. Plunging into the icy water, I quickly start sinking into the darkness, and I turn and look up through the dirty water just in time to see the pool covering slipping back into place.
A thick cloud of blood is rising from my mouth.
Trying to scream, I let out a mass of bubbles as I swim back up and try to push the covering aside. I can see a thin sliver of daylight running along the pool's edge, but for some reason I can't seem to make the covering open again. Desperately trying not to swallow any water, I slip my fingertips around the covering's edge and try to push it up, and then I try to pull it down, and then I try to scream again as I realize I can't get out.
The little girl's rotten hand is still clinging to my wrist as I struggle furiously to make a gap, but I'm already running out of breath.
And then I freeze as I realize another hand just grabbed my ankle from below.
Looking down into the depths,
I can just about make out my own legs treading water, but it takes a moment longer before I see that a pale, rotten hand is reaching up from the darkness and holding my ankle tight. I try frantically to kick the hand away, but its hold is firm and suddenly I feel myself being pulled down.
I turn and reach up, trying to grab the pool's edge, but I'm sinking faster and faster and finally the side of the pool is simply a long, thin light line that's too far above for me to reach.
Turning, I look down into the darkness as I feel something grabbing my waist. This time, when I try to scream, icy water comes flooding in through my open mouth.
Part Two
Beth Hayes - Today
Chapter Two
“Where's Annie?” I mutter, peering out the window and looking at the hotel's barren, overgrown garden. The place clearly hasn't been tended for years, and there's no sign of my sister anywhere.
Still, I guess I shouldn't be too keen for her to join us inside. After all, she can be annoying at the best of times and she's really been on top form during this trip.
I could definitely do with a break from her.
Hearing a clanking sound nearby, I turn and look back across the deserted dining room, toward the door at the far end and the corridor a little further off. The sound continues, echoing slightly, and I can't help thinking that this is how a haunted house would sound, if a house could be haunted. A moment later, however, I hear Steve muttering something under his breath, and finally he steps into view.
“Find anything?” I ask.
“Nope. What about you?”
Stepping toward him, I make my way between the old chairs and tables. There's something very old-fashioned about this place, and I can't help feeling that the furnishings must have been a little faded even when the hotel was open for business. There's dust everywhere, of course, and a table at the far end of the room bears a set of crystal decanters. Evidently the Lakeforth was a little stuck in a rut, although I guess the place has a certain charm. It's probably the kind of place where the owners had a very high opinion of themselves, despite the small cracks that run through the plaster on the walls.
Looking up, I see a huge chandelier hanging high above us.
“I think we have to face facts, honey,” I tell Steve as I reach him and puts my arms around his waist. “The Lakeforth isn't taking reservations anymore.”
Sighing, he looks past me as if he expects to see some sign of life in the dining room, but I can tell he's begun to accept the inevitable.
“I can't imagine what happened,” he mutters. “I know the Lakeforth wasn't exactly the most modern hotel, but it was always popular. Not everybody wants flashy decorations and state-of-the-art facilities. The Lakeforth was dependable, there were people who came back year after year. Hell, there were even people who lived here. I don't get why anyone would just shut the place down and leave it like this.”
“Maybe the regular guests just died off,” I reply. “If they were pretty old anyway, it makes sense that there'd be fewer and fewer people coming each year. If the hotel's management team didn't manage to attract new clients, maybe the place went into a spiral and became unprofitable. Things do change, you know. Over time.”
“Still, they should have been able to keep going.”
Slipping away from me, he makes his way across the dining room. I swear, his inability to face the truth is kind of charming, and I've got to admit that I feel bad for him. I know those childhood vacations at the Lakeforth are among his most treasured memories of his parents, and he's been talking for so long about one day coming back here. At the same time, he seemed reluctant, and I really had to talk him into finally biting the bullet and making the journey. Even when he failed to get through to the hotel and book a room, I suggested we should just pack our bags and drive out anyway. And now that we're here, I'm honestly not sure whether this was a good idea or not. Is he finding closure, or just reopening old wounds?
“We used to sit over there,” he says suddenly, pointing toward the far corner. “The same table, three times a day for breakfast, lunch and dinner. It was that kind of hotel.”
“It must have been really grand,” I reply, heading slowly over to join him beneath the chandelier. “I really wish I could've seen it when it was still up and running. Do you have any photos?”
“There was a piano at the head of the room,” he continues, turning and pointing past me. “They used to have this guy who impersonated a different famous musician each evening. On Mondays he was always Elton John, on another night he was Liberace, and I remember he was Billy Joel once too.”
“Sounds... interesting,” I say as I reach him.
“I know it was kitsch,” he admits, “but it had a certain kind of charm. The people who stayed here weren't worried about being cool. They just wanted to relax and -”
Suddenly there's a loud bang somewhere in the distance, as if a door was slammed in another part of the hotel. We both turn and look out toward the corridor, but now the entire building has fallen silent again.
“It's probably just Annie,” I say, turning back to Steve. “Would you rather she was here in this room instead? Going on and on, complaining about everything?”
“I guess it was dumb to think things would have stayed the same,” he replies, and I can see a hint of sadness in his eyes as he looks around at all the empty chairs and abandoned tables. “That's not how the world works, is it? Things change, people leave, and all that's left behind is a bunch of ghosts. We should have gone somewhere fun instead, somewhere near the beach. I should have listened to the guys.”
“Steve -”
“Let's do it!” he continues, turning to me with a sudden flush of enthusiasm. “Screw memory lane! Let's get back in the car and head south. We can be at the beach this time tomorrow, and we can spend almost a whole week in the sun.”
“But you really wanted to come here,” I point out.
“I came here and it's dead. We can't exactly check in when the place isn't even a hotel anymore. Maybe this is a sign from the gods, maybe it's fate or destiny telling me that I need to stop thinking about the past and start looking to the future.” He hesitates, before placing a hand on the side of my face and running his thumb against my chin. “I should never have dragged you here. Come on, there's one more thing I want to check out while we're in this dump, and then we should hit the road. Go tell your sister the plans have changed. I doubt she'll complain too much.”
“Are you sure?” I ask.
He nods, before leaning closer and planting a brief kiss on my lips.
“I did pack my bikini,” I say with a smile, “and frankly, the pool here looks a little unwelcoming.”
“I'll meet you out front in twenty minutes,” he replies, stepping past me and heading out into the corridor.
“Where are you going?”
“It's nothing big!” he yells back to me, as I hear him hurrying up a flight of stairs. “There's just one thing I really want to check, to see if it's still here! See you out front!”
“See you out front,” I mutter, turning and looking around at the large, deserted dining room. To be honest, it's hard to see a plus-side to this place, and finally I head over to the door. As I walk, I run a fingertip across the surface of a nearby table, quickly gathering a thick crown of dust. “Beach, here we come.”
***
“Annie!” I yell, raising my voice louder than ever, with my hands cupped around my hands. Turning, I look back across the garden and toward the main building. “This isn't funny! Where the hell are you?”
Hearing a creaking sound, I glance at the front door and spot Steve hurrying down the steps, carrying what looks suspiciously like a large framed photo.
“What have you got there?” I ask, raising a skeptical eyebrow.
He turns the photo around, revealing an old, faded photo of a man and a woman. They look very formal, as if they're taking their portrait very seriously.
“I used to see this thing every time we came,”
he explains as he reaches me, “and I figured, if nobody wants it anymore, I might as well take it. Don't you think it'll look good in my room at school?”
“Sure,” I mutter, even though the faded, sepia-colored photo gives me the chills. Taking the photo for a moment, I see some text at the bottom, in sloping, old-fashioned handwriting. “Jobard and Ellen Nash,” I read out loud. “Were they the owners?”
“I think that's the guy who founded the hotel. This photo was hidden away next to the elevators on one of the upper floors. I always wondered about it, but I never got around to asking anyone. I guess they look like a pair of stuck-up aristocrats, huh?”
Staring at the woman in the photograph, I can't help noting a hint of real sadness in her eyes.
“Pair of freaks,” Steve mutters. Taking the photo back, he pauses for a moment as he stares down at the two faces. “Or is it morbid for me to take this? Am I being a bit weird?”
“You should take it if you like it,” I tell him, amused by his eclectic taste, while secretly resolving to hide the photo when he and I eventually get our first apartment together. “First, though, we have to actually get out of here, which is gonna be difficult until my idiot sister shows up.”
“I heard you calling her. What's wrong, did she flounce off after an argument again?”
“I can't find her,” I explain with a sigh, looking toward the garden and still hoping that she'll suddenly make an appearance. “I checked inside, I checked outside, I checked by the pool, and I can't figure out where the hell she went.”
“Damn,” he replies, before hesitating for a moment and then grinning. “Oh well, I guess we'll just have to abandon her here. Shame, but if that's how it has to be, I can live with the peace and quiet. She'll be fine, she'll just live out the rest of her days here, living off the land and eventually marrying some passing yokel. Quick, let's hit the road before she comes back.”
