The Ghosts of Lakeforth Hotel

by Amy Cross

  “You should flatten that forest,” I say finally, as another shudder passes through my chest. “You should put electric lights up, all the way to the lake.”

  “I should,” he whispers.

  “Well, why don't you?”

  “I don't know that it would be enough,” he replies. “Ten years ago, I acquired the last part of the lakeshore that was not already mine. I meant to make use of it, but some of the workmen flat out refuse to work in the forest.”

  “Why?”

  “I suppose they are too superstitious.”

  “What do they fear?”

  His lips move, but I don't quite hear what he says.

  “Well, then you should replace them,” I point out. “The only thing they're truly scared of is hard work, and there are plenty of others who would gladly take their jobs. Now that the war is over, we're all going to have to straighten up and focus on improving our lot in life. Jobard, it's most unlike you to accept anything other than the best. If I didn't know better, I'd be tempted to say that you're...”

  My voice trails off.

  Perhaps I should not finish that sentence.

  Perhaps, after only two weeks of marriage, I should refrain from accusing my husband of cowardice. I would be wrong, after all. Everybody in the whole of England knows that Jobard Nash is the bravest, fiercest and most admirable man who ever lived.

  “I'm sure you'll do what's best,” I tell him finally. “You are, after all, the man who built this place, so clearly you know exactly what you're doing. I should not even dare offer you advice.”

  He mutters something under his breath, but he's still staring out at the dark forest, almost as if he expects to suddenly spot something moving between the trees. A moment later, the door behind us creaks slightly, and Jobard turns so fast that he gives me a fright. I watch his face, marveling at the fear in his eyes, and then I turn and look back at the door, which has simply creaked open of its own accord. Such things happen, of course, yet evidently Jobard is very jumpy tonight.

  “Perhaps I should leave you to calm your thoughts,” I tell him, leaning closer and kissing him gently on the cheek before making my way around the desk and heading to the doorway. “Do come down when you feel better, though. I rather fear some of the guests might start to wonder why you so rarely make an appearance. And the Sawards are very influential, so it would be wise to get on their good side. Why, one decent write-up from them in their paper, and this place could be heaving with guests. That's what you want, isn't it?”

  “It's your job to socialize, my dear. It's one of your responsibilities here.”

  “You make it sound like a business deal,” I reply, “more than a marriage.”

  I wait for him to reply, but he is once again looking out the window. Sighing, I realize that there is precious little chance of him coming down to join the guests this evening, but at least I tried. I watch him for a moment longer, feeling a very faint tinge of disappointment in my chest, and then I head out of the room.

  By the time I'm at the far end of the corridor, I've managed to put the disappointment out of my mind.

  By the time I'm halfway down the stairs, I've remembered to ensure that my posture is perfect.

  By the time I'm in the reception hallway, I'm smiling the smile I practiced so carefully before I arrived at the Lakeforth.

  And by the time I'm at the door to the dining room, I feel utterly composed, and all my concerns about Jobard have been pushed aside.

  And then I spot her.

  Glancing toward the smaller staircase at the far end of the corridor, I see a young girl standing next to the door to the basement. She's staring at me with a very calm expression, and she seems to exhibit none of the usual exuberance one would expect from a child. She can't be more than eight or nine years old, yet there is something rather striking about her appearance, perhaps even mournful. The more she watches me, the more I feel extremely uncomfortable, as if tiny prickles are running beneath my flesh.

  I hesitate for a moment, before remembering that I should put on a good face and be kind to the child.

  Forcing a smile, I start walking toward her.

  “Are you lost?” I ask. “Can't you find Mummy and Daddy?”

  The girl doesn't respond. She simply stares at me as I get closer, and now I see that her eyes are dark and shadowed.

  “Whatever's the matter?” I continue. “Did you -”

  “Mrs. Nash!” a voice calls out suddenly from behind me. “There you are! We were starting to worry that we were going to be left all alone this evening!”

  Turning, I see that Mr. and Mrs. Basingstoke are coming over to greet me. I smile at them, before glancing back toward the door and seeing that the strange little girl has suddenly and quite inexplicably vanished. I suppose she must be here with her parents, staying at the hotel, but she seemed a rather strange child and I can't help hoping that I shall not chance upon her again.

  “Left alone?” I say with a smile, turning back to the Basingstokes. “Why, of course not! How could you contemplate such a ghastly thing? I'm afraid my husband is frightfully busy, but you simply must let me show you the view from the patio! Can I interest you in a glass of champagne?”

  With that, I sweep into the bright, candlelit room, and I join the throng of the crowd. I soon forget all about the strange little girl, and I feel that all is well with the world.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Dear Mother and Father,

  I am dreadfully sorry that I did not write to you last week. You must understand, however, that Jobard has given me a set of great responsibilities here at the hotel. He values my opinion on matters of fashion and decoration, and I have barely had time to sit down or take a cup of tea. Such is the life of a woman who is married to this whirlwind of energy and brilliance that we call Mr. Jobard Nash.

  The hotel is becoming more and more splendid with each passing day. My newest project is to renovate the basement, which is at present a rather dark and foreboding set of dusty rooms. I am spending a great deal of time down there, supervising the refurbishment of this part of the hotel, and I shall endeavor to send photographs with my next letter, showing you the improvements I have made.

  I am so excited, and so happy. Marrying Jobard was the most wonderful blessing, and I feel that the Lakeforth shall eventually stand as a testament to his strength. I am so lucky to be his wife. Give me best to Eve, and tell her I hope she will some day find such a man. Although, as I constantly tell the employees around here, Jobard is utterly without equal. Just between us, I am confident he will be Sir Jobard Nash before too long. What will that make me? Lady Nash? I do hope so!

  Yours as ever, with love,

  Mrs Ellen Nash

  August 10th, 1945

  ***

  “What's that smell?” I mutter, stepping across the dark, dimly-lit room. “You smell it, Mrs. Crandall, do you not? Whatever can be causing it?”

  “I can't say I have any idea, M'am,” she replies, sounding as useless and dull as ever. “I gave it a scrub last night, just like you told me to.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I was on my knees for hours.”

  “Well, clearly you didn't scrub hard enough,” I continue, turning to her. “Smell the air. Doesn't it seem fusty and dirty? Why, it's almost as if something died down here. I want you to come down again tonight and clean it for a second time, and make sure that you don't stop until the air is sweet and delightful. You must take pride in your work, woman. It's not enough to simply go through the motions. You should not stop until you're absolutely certain that you're done.”

  “Of course,” she replies, even though it's clear that she dreads such hard work. “Will that be all for now?”

  “Are you busy?” I ask, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

  “Well, I've got rooms to make up,” she explains, “and seeing as I don't have any help, it'll take me a while.”

  “Have you never spoken to my husband about hiring someone to assist yo
u?”

  “I've never spoken to your husband at all, M'am,” she continues. “Not directly. He's never seen fit to really look at me very often, but I understand that he's very busy. I don't expect him to notice me.”

  She hesitates for a moment, and I can't help noticing that she looks rather uncomfortable.

  “What?” I ask finally. “Spit it out, woman.”

  “It's nothing really. Just... I had some help once, briefly. A little girl. I think Mr. Nash put her to work with me personally. She only lasted a day, though. To be honest, I found her rather creepy. I think I'd prefer to work alone, rather than have the likes of her around again.”

  “Get on as best you can,” I tell her, “and I shall speak to Jobard personally about the matter this evening. Perhaps if you had some proper help, the hotel would be a little cleaner.”

  “Yes, M'am,” she replies through gritted teeth, turning and heading toward the stairs. “Thank you, M'am.”

  Once I'm left alone, with just a single electric light to break the darkness, I make my way to the far end of the room and try to open the metal door that I find in the corner. It's locked, of course, so I suppose I shall have to ask Jobard for a key when I see him later. Honestly, I don't know what he expects me to do with this place. The basement has no windows, precious few doors, and very little air. It does, however, possess a set of pipes running along the wall, and their heat is rather oppressive. On top of that, I can hear the sound of people in the dining room directly above this wretched little warren of rooms, and I'm starting to think that the basement is beyond salvation.

  Perhaps it ought to be used merely for storage, after all.

  “Fine,” I mutter with a sigh, turning to head back to the stairs, “I shall -”

  Stopping suddenly, I see a figure standing in the doorway. It takes a moment, but finally I realize that I have seen this particular individual before.

  It's the same little girl I first saw a few weeks ago. Even though that was our only encounter, her features have remained etched on my mind, and I have thought of her once or twice. Truth be told, until today I had noted several times how thankful I was not to have run into her again. I suppose I assumed she and her family had departed.

  “Who are you?” I ask. “What are you doing down here? This part of the building is not for guests.”

  She stares at me for a moment, before looking down at a bare patch on the floor.

  “Did you hear me?” I continue, feeling more than a little irked by her reappearance, while struggling to maintain an appearance of utter calm. “You're to run along at once.”

  “Have you seen her?” she replies, her voice sounding frail and scratched.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  She stares at the floor for a moment longer, before turning to me again.

  “Mary,” she continues.

  “What?”

  I wait for a reply, but now she's simply watching me with those dark, shadowed eyes.

  “Mary?” I continue. “Is that your name? Mary what?”

  “I...”

  She pauses.

  “I'm looking for my sister,” she continues finally, and now she sounds rather confused. “I thought she'd be here, but I can't find her anywhere. I thought she'd come back here.”

  “There's certainly nobody else in the basement,” I tell her. “You must run along now and go back to your parents.”

  “Parents?”

  “You've been here for a while now, have you not? When are you leaving? I thought most people only stayed a week.”

  She stares at me as if she doesn't understand at all. In fact, I'm starting to think that perhaps she is a little simple in the head.

  “Do you realize who I am?” I ask, stepping toward her. “My name is Ellen Nash. That's Mrs. Jobard Nash to you, my dear. Soon, one day, to be Lady Nash. I am the wife of this hotel's proprietor and I am not somebody to be trifled or fooled with. I demand that you go upstairs at once.”

  “Nash?” she whispers, still staring at me. “That name...”

  “Or would you like me to tell your parents that you've been poking about?” I continue. “If they're any kind of parents at all, they'll be thoroughly ashamed of you, and I imagine they'll punish you in some way. A smacked behind, perhaps, or the withholding of your allowance for a few weeks. Is that what you want?”

  “Nash?” she says again, as if the name means something to her. “Mr. Nash?”

  “My husband, and a great man. You should feel very lucky that your parents brought you to the Lakeforth. And now I think it's time for you to go and rejoin them.”

  I wait for her to obey my command, but she simply stares at me for a moment longer before turning and looking past me.

  “Is Mary here?” she asks finally. “I thought...”

  Her voice trails off for a moment, and frankly she seems a little confused. In fact, I'm starting to feel increasingly certain that the infernal child is damaged in the head. Really, if her parents insisted on bringing her to such a fine establishment, they should at least have had the good grace to keep her under control. It's simply not right to let her wander loose like this.

  “Mary was gone,” she continues, with a hint of shock in her voice. “Wait, I followed the man who had Mary. He was taking her to the lake. I remember now...”

  “Whatever are you talking about, child?” I ask, stepping closer to her. “This nonsense -”

  “He threw her into the water,” she stammers, taking a step back as if suddenly she's gripped by fear. “I tried to save her, but there was nothing I could do. I went down again and again and again, always searching for her, but I never found her! And then...”

  I wait for her to continue, but she seems genuinely shocked by some realization. After a moment, before I can tell her to get out of here, I see that a considerable amount of water seems to be seeping from one corner of her mouth, dribbling down onto the concrete floor.

  “What is that?” I whisper, peering closer.

  “I should have saved her!” the girl gasps, taking a step back and then turning away from me. At the same time, she places her hands over her face and starts weeping, as more and more water runs down over her wrists and dribbles to the floor.

  “Whatever is the matter with you?” I ask.

  When she fails to reply, I find myself torn as to what I should do next. On one hand, I would prefer to go upstairs and fetch somebody else to deal with this situation. On the other, I have very little experience with children, and I feel that perhaps I should test my maternal skills on this odd, unlikely girl. After all, I hope to have a first child of my own within the next year, so finally I take a deep breath and step up behind the girl, before reaching out and carefully placing a hand on her shuddering shoulder. I don't feel at all maternal, but perhaps I can force something to stir in my soul.

  Before I can say a word, however, I'm shocked to feel that the fabric of the girl's dress is both soaking wet and ice cold.

  “Perhaps we should find your parents,” I tell her, flinching but forcing myself to make an effort. “Let's go upstairs together. Do you know where your parents might be at this hour? Taking a walk, perhaps? Or enjoying some time by the lake?”

  “I should have saved Mary!” she sobs, as a veritable torrent of water starts running from her face, flowing down her neck and splattering against the floor. “If only I'd been quicker or smarter, she would have been alright!”

  “I'm sure you...”

  Taking a deep breath, I try to think of something I can say that might make the girl feel better. Before I can even try, however, something small, fat and glistening slips down from behind her hands and lands on her shoulder, and then it drops to the floor. Staring down in horror, I see that it appears to be some kind of bloated, yellowish maggot. I watch as the foul thing wriggles on the floor.

  “Child,” I whisper, “I think -”

  “Where's Mary?” she screams, suddenly turning to me and lowering her hands to reveal a discolored, rotte
n face. “What did you do to her?”

  Startled, I step back, but the girl lunges at me. I pull away, tripping at the last second, and I stumble across the concrete floor before falling and crashing against the bottom of the stairs. Feeling a sharp pain in my wrist, I nevertheless start forcing myself up, and then I turn to see that the girl is limping toward me with a furious expression on her face.

  “Where is she?” she groans, as thick, juicy maggots wriggle in the flesh of her rotten face. Worms are slipping out of her mouth, squirming with hooked tails as they rolls down her chin and fall to the floor, while some kind of tube-shaped creature appears to be curled in her left eye, having chewed a hole straight through the pupil. Finally, as she opens her mouth and tries to speak again, a rush of more worms, maggots and other creatures comes flooding out, splattering to the floor just inches from me.

  “Get away from me!” I shout. “Don't touch me!”

  “What did he do to me?” she gurgles, as a thick, bloody hole begins to open in her forehead. “Help me!”

  Screaming, I pull back and cover my face with my hands. A moment later, I feel a set of icy, wet fingers grabbing my wrist.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Dear Mother and Father,

  All is well here, and I am having the most marvelous time. In the week since I wrote to you last, I have been working mostly in the dining room, trying to ensure that our guests have an enjoyable experience while they eat. I have also been taking an interest in the kitchen, trying to encourage Chef to liven up the menu a little. Honestly, I have been so busy, I don't think I have been alone for even one moment.