The Ghosts of Lakeforth Hotel

by Amy Cross

  “Go to your sister!” she shrieks suddenly, as soon as she spots me. “Get out of here! Go!”

  I hesitate for a moment, and suddenly she steps toward me with a hand raised, as if she's about to strike me about the face. I turn and hurry through to the next room, and then to the next, and then I push open the door to Mary's room and slip inside, before slamming it shut again. For a moment, I stay completely still, in case Mamma comes after me, but now the house seems to have fallen silent again.

  And then I hear a faint creaking sound over my shoulder. Turning, I see that Mary is over on her bed, resting against a pillow. She looks paler than ever, almost waxy in the candlelight, and so very weak. Still, her eyes are fixed on me, and I know there's no point trying to keep the truth from her.

  “They're arguing again,” she groans, her voice sounding weak and damaged. “Why?”

  “It's about Mr. Nash,” I tell her, feeling a little breathless. Before I can continue, I hear more raised voices from elsewhere in the house, and it's clear that Mamma and Pappa's disagreement isn't over yet. “He wants to buy Pappa out of this land, but Pappa doesn't want to do it. I think Mamma wants him to reconsider.”

  “He never will,” Mary gasps. “He's too proud.”

  “I wish he would agree to sell,” I reply, making my way across the room and then sitting on the side of my sister's bed. “We could go and live in the city, or at least in a town. Anywhere would be better than this place, down at the bottom of the hill, next to the lake, with that horrible hotel so high up against the sky.”

  “I wouldn't let Pappa hear you say that.”

  “I won't. Don't worry.”

  “He'd take it as a betrayal, Ruthie.”

  I nod. “It's not, though. It's just being sensible about things.”

  She starts to say something in reply, but she quickly breaks into another coughing fit. She leans forward and I immediately step around behind her and start hitting her hard on the back, hoping to help her out a little by dislodging some phlegm from her chest. She coughs for several more seconds, and it sounds as if she's getting worse and worse, but finally she holds up a hand to let me know that she's okay. Stepping back around the bed, I watch as she leans once more against the pillow. She forces a smile, but I have to grab a cloth from the bowl and wipe the edges of her mouth, to take away the strings of yellow pus.

  “How are you feeling today?” I ask.

  Her smile falters slightly, and I can see that she doesn't want to answer, nor to lie.

  “Mamma says you'll be better soon,” I continue. “You have to be.”

  “Do I?”

  I nod.

  “And why's that?” she asks.

  “You just do, that's all. You're only young, Mary. I was your age a couple of years ago, and I didn't get sick. So why should you be suffering like this?”

  “Different bodies,” she groans, before letting out another brief, gurgling cough.

  “If we lived in the town,” I continue, “you could see a proper doctor. If only Pappa wasn't so stubborn, we could have left by now. Mr. Nash wants this land very badly, and the only thing stopping us is Pappa's insistence that the Maywhistle family should never leave the farm.” I pause for a moment, feeling a ripple of fear in my chest as I realize that Pappa will likely never change his mind. Or maybe it's not fear. Maybe it's anger. “It's not even a farm, anyway,” I add. “Not really, not anymore. It's just a house by the lake and a little patch of land that won't grow anything.”

  “It means the world to Pappa,” she gasps.

  “That doesn't mean we have to stay,” I point out. “If we voted equally, the four of us, we'd -”

  “He'll never allow that.”

  “I know.” Falling silent for a moment, I can't help noticing that Mary's eyes seems to have become a little sunken, almost as if they've started to retreat into the hollows of her skull. I don't want to see these things, but I can't help myself. Deep down, I don't believe Mamma is telling the truth when she says Mary will ever be well again.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” she asks suddenly.

  “Like what?”

  “Like you think I might die at any moment.”

  I shake my head. “I'm not.”

  “Yes you are,” she whispers, her voice almost fading to nothing. A moment later, she reaches out and takes my hand in hers, and I feel her cold flesh squeezing against mine. “When I'm gone, Ruthie, you must be strong. It'll just be you with Mamma and Pappa, and that won't be easy.”

  “You're not going anywhere,” I tell her.

  “We both know I am.”

  I open my mouth to tell her she's wrong, that she can't die, but something about the look in her eyes makes me realize that I can't lie to her. Instead, I feel as if I'm on the verge of bursting into tears. Forming a fist with my right hand, I dig my fingernail into my palm, hoping that the pain will keep me strong.

  Suddenly hearing the door starting to open, I turn just in time to see Mamma peering into the room. She has tears in her eyes, too, and she looks rather shaken.

  “Ruth,” she says, her voice faltering slightly, “I need you to fetch some water from the well.”

  “I fetched some earlier.”

  “I need you to fetch more. Please, don't argue with me. Just do it.”

  “But -”

  “There's a good girl. The sooner you get going, the sooner you'll be back. Remember what I told you the other day. You have to help out more.”

  With that, she steps away from the door, and it's clear that she expects no further argument from me.

  “You'd better go,” Mary tells me, letting go of my hand. “You know what'll happen if we run out tonight. Pappa will blame Mamma, and with the mood he's been in of late, I wouldn't be surprised if he wallops her good and hard.” She hesitates for a moment. “When you get back, we can read together. If you like, anyway. I think I'm strong enough for that. Not like last night.”

  “Are you sure?” I ask with a smile.

  “You must hurry,” she gasps, trying to offer a smile in return, even though I know she's in the most agonizing pain. “I won't want to stay up too late.”

  The well is a good couple of miles from our home, so once I'm outside I quickly grab a bucket and make my way along the edge of the lake. It'd be slightly shorter to go through the forest, but I don't much fancy climbing that wretched hill, so I stick to the low land. Glancing up toward the trees, I see the large, hulking shape of Mr. Nash's new hotel set against the skyline of the setting sun, and deep down I can't help but curse the day that place was first built. I'm sure that if Mr. Nash had placed his hotel elsewhere, Pappa would be much happier and perhaps Mary wouldn't be so ill. And we could be happy.

  By the time I get to the well, darkness has almost fallen, but I've done this job so many times that I don't really need light at all. I lower the bucket and collect some water, and then I turn and start making my way home. I hope Pappa will have calmed down by the time I get there, else this evening is liable to be tense and strange. Then again, Pappa has been angry very often of late, so I don't hold out much hope that everything will be okay. I shall simply have to sit with Mary and hope that I'm not called out to perform any further chores until morning.

  Fortunately, sitting with Mary is my favorite thing to do in the whole world. Sometimes I feel that I don't need Mamma and Pappa, not really. Mary and I would be quite alright on our own, although I suppose that's a wicked thing to think. Still, the only thing I'm looking forward to right now is the chance to sit on Mary's bed with her and read from one of our books. As long as I have Mary, I can put up with anything else.

  Stopping suddenly, I spot flickering flames in the distance, beyond the trees that line the curve of the lake. They seem to be coming from home, and I watch as thick black smoke rises into the darkening sky. Telling myself that something else must be burning, I take a couple of steps forward, but then I realize I can hear the sound of crackling, burning wood in the distance. And som
ething else, too.

  Cries and screams.

  And one of those screams is Mary.

  Dropping the bucket, I race along the lake-shore, desperately trying to get home before the entire house burns to the ground. By the time I get there, however, I'm shocked to see that the flames have really taken hold, roaring through the timbers with the roof having already partially collapsed. Struggling forward as I hear Mamma and Pappa and Mary screaming from within, I have to hold my arm up to protect my face from the heat, but I feel I shall burn to a cinder if I get too close.

  “Mary!” I shout. “Where are you?”

  Suddenly there's a crashing sound nearby, and I spot something moving in the flames. A moment later, a blackened figure stumbles out with flames rushing from its body. All the hair on its head has been burned away, and I don't recognize the figure at all until suddenly it turns toward me and lets out an agonized cry. As it drops to the ground and falls still, I realize the figure is Pappa, and now the fire is burning through his charred corpse.

  Mamma and Mary are still screaming inside, but a moment later I spot movement nearby and I turn to see that several men have run down from the hotel to help.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Bring her in here!” a voice shouts in the distance. “Let me see her!”

  Before I can react, a hand grabs the back of my dress and hauls me along the corridor so fast that I can barely keep up. I try to pull away, but the hand's grip is too tight, and a moment later I'm dragged through a doorway and shoved forward with such force that I trip and fall to the floor, landing hard on my knees. Letting out a cry of pain, I wipe tears from my eyes before sitting up, and then I let out a gasp as I find myself staring at Mr. Jobard Nash himself.

  He's sitting on the other side of the desk, watching me with a furrowed brow.

  “This is her?” he asks, sounding highly dubious. “She's rather smaller than I expected.”

  “She put up quite a fight,” the other man explains. “She was screaming while we put the flames out, and then she fought tooth and nail when we tried to bring her up here. I had to strike her a few times around the face, just to get some sense into her. If you ask me, the scrappy little thing is mostly feral.”

  “She certainly looks uncivilized,” Mr. Nash replies, tilting his head slightly while keeping his eyes fixed on me. “Then again, if she was raised by that brutish man and his wife, I suppose she hasn't had much of a chance at life. There is, perhaps, hope for her yet. Have you ascertained the fate of her family?”

  “Her parents and sister are dead. There's no doubt of that.”

  Sobbing, I try to get to my feet, only for the man to put his hand on my shoulder and force me back down. There are so many tears in my eyes, I can barely even see Mr. Nash properly as he continues to watch me with suspicion.

  “This one name is Ruth Maywhistle,” the man behind me continues. “She's the oldest daughter of that disagreeable bastard who refused to sell you his land.”

  “Mind your language, please,” Mr. Nash replies calmly. “This is a child, after all, and it would not do for her to hear such things. She's no longer in crude company. She must be given a chance to better herself.”

  The man behind me mutters something under his breath.

  “Well, get up,” Mr. Nash continues. “Come on, girl, you can't spend the rest of your life cowering on the floor in my office, can you? Somebody is liable to trip over you. You must stand and offer an account of yourself, and mind that it's good. This is going to be my first impression of you, young lady. First impressions are everything.”

  Not daring to move, yet not daring to break his gaze, I remain in place. After a moment, however, I realize that I'm trembling with fear.

  “What's wrong?” he asks. “Cat got your tongue?”

  “Answer Mr. Nash,” the other man says, kicking me slightly from behind.

  I flinch, but I'm still too scared to speak.

  “It was a nasty business,” Mr. Nash continues finally. “What happened to your family, I mean. I suppose we shall never know what caused that fire, but the house was burned to the ground and your parents perished, along with your sister. I suppose that means, Ms. Maywhistle, that you are the last member of your family left alive. That gives you a certain degree of responsibility.”

  “We really thought she'd died,” the man behind me adds. “She should have been in the house when it went up.”

  “Then we can only give thanks for this blessing,” Mr. Nash continues, getting to his feet and making his way around the desk. “Tell me, child, what do you think I should do with you? I have no need for a child here. I do not even like children. So in what manner am I expected to find you useful?”

  Still not daring to speak, I stare up at him with a dreadful feeling of fear in my chest.

  “Did your father not teach you to speak?” he adds, raising a skeptical eyebrow as a faint smile crosses his lips.

  “She was screaming enough when we cornered her,” the other man explains. “We caught her near the new pool area. Took three of us to get her down. She might be young, but she knows how to scratch and claw at a man.”

  “No doubt,” Mr. Nash mutters, before reaching toward me with a black-gloved hand. “You don't need to be afraid, child. I might have a reputation as a hard-nosed man when it comes to my empire, but I assure you that I am not in the business of causing harm to orphans. Please, get up off the floor and perhaps we can come to some kind of arrangement. After all, I can't leave you running around in the forest, can I? You'll scare my guests.”

  I stare at his gloved hand for a moment, before cautiously reaching out and accepting his help. As I get to my feet, however, I can't shake the feeling that this is a man I must never trust. Before I'm standing properly, I pull my hand free of his, and I regret taking his help in the first place.

  “You may leave us, Silas,” he says, chuckling as he turns to the other man. “I don't think I'm in any danger here.”

  Not even daring to turn around, I hear footsteps heading out of the office, followed by the sound of a door swinging shut and then silence. I can tell, even without looking at him, that Mr. Nash is staring down at me, and a moment later he starts walking slowly around me, as if he wishes to see me from all sides. I remember the way Pappa used to examine a pheasant or a rabbit he'd newly shot; he'd examine it physically, of course, but he'd also stare at it for a while, as if he was searching for some deeper truth. As Mr. Nash now continues to walk around me, I think I know how those dead pheasants or rabbits must have felt.

  “You have my sincere condolences,” he says finally, stopping next to me left elbow and staring down (I assume) at the top of my head. “I know what it's like to lose one's family at an early age. There is potential for great sorrow in such a predicament. Still, it doesn't do to let oneself slip into mawkish sentiment. You must seize the opportunity that has been presented to you, and move forward with determination. Obviously, you have no choice but to come to live and work here at the hotel. As I'm sure you're beginning to understand, I'm a very generous man to those who have not wronged me.”

  Suddenly he crouches down, and I turn to find his eyes peering at me.

  “Or would you prefer to be returned to the wild?” he asks.

  Too scared to speak, I wait for him to continue.

  “Should I send you out to the forest?” he whispers, as if he's lost in thought. “I could arrange to have scraps of food left out by the kitchen's rear door. You'd be able to forage, to come close to the building from time to time. I'd have my cooks try to chase you away, but I'm sure you'd grow inventive and resourceful over time. It might be instructive to observe your progress as you grow up, changing from a savage and primitive little girl to a savage and primitive young woman. Perhaps you'd barely even have a command of language. You'd communicate mostly by grunts, and you'd be wearing no clothes, and you'd come to see the hotel as a kind of temple or...”

  He pauses, and then he lets out a faint, moist trilling soun
d that seems half like a sigh, and half like a groan.

  “Light,” he mutters. “Tell me, from out there in the darkness, did you marvel at the lights of my hotel?”

  “I...” Pausing, I realize he wants an answer. “Not really.”

  “You didn't?”

  “I mean... I don't think so.”

  “Then again,” he replies with a sigh, “you're more or less savage already. To you, the corridors of the hotel are probably like a jungle, and you have the eyes of a wildling. Not everybody has the potential to rise above their station. I think I should ignore my baser urges and keep you closer. Domesticated. You might become something phenomenal.”

  Reaching out, he tucks a strand of hair behind my hear, as if he wants to see my face a little more clearly. The thought of working at the hotel sense a shiver through my chest, but I don't suppose I can turn him down. After all, where else am I to go?

  “One thing must be made clear right away, however,” he continues, suddenly getting to his feet and heading around his desk, where he stops and turns to peer at me once again. “You must not grow up to be in any way like your father. He was a most disagreeable man. Why, just the other day I made him the most generous offer for his land, and for my trouble I had him screaming the most frightful things at me, right here in this room. To say that I was unimpressed would be an understatement. I am not sorry that the man is dead, but obviously I extend my sympathies for the loss of your mother and sister. They were awful, awful collateral damage.”

  He picks up a piece of paper from the desk and reads it for a moment, before setting it back down and holding a pen out toward me.

  “Come here, child.”

  I hesitate, not wanting to get any closer to him. He smells of tobacco.

  “I told you to come here,” he continues. “Don't make me say it again.”

  Realizing that I have no choice, I step forward and take the pen.

  “I want you to sign this document,” he tells me. “It's nothing important, it simply relates to some land. Since you're the only surviving member of your father's family, I shall need you to write your name at the bottom, in the spot that I have indicated.”