The Ghosts of Lakeforth Hotel

by Amy Cross

  And then, suddenly, I open my eyes and let out a gasp, and I stumble forward before dropping to my knees on the hard pebbles that line the lakeshore.

  A breeze blows past, chilling my flesh, and I look down to see that I am wearing only my nightgown.

  Turning, I glance both ways and see that somehow I am at the edge of the lake. A moment ago I was in bed with my husband, but now I turn and see the hotel high up on the hill. I have no idea how I ended up down here, but I can only suppose that I must have somehow walked in my sleep. I have heard of such things happening to other people, although I never expected that I might one day become a victim. Still, shivering here all alone in the moonlight, I cannot pretend that this is a dream.

  Getting to my feet, I instinctively reach down to take the crucifix from my gown pocket, before realizing that in my daze I must have left it next to the bed. Feeling a flutter of panic in my chest, I look around, hoping against hope that I might simply have dropped the crucifix, but it is nowhere to be seen. I look out across the lake, then along the shore, and finally I realize that I simply must get back to the hotel immediately. After all, this is the first time I have been without the crucifix since I returned, and I feel utterly exposed.

  I turn to head back to the path that runs through the forest, but then I freeze as soon as I see the silhouette of the little girl standing about twenty feet away.

  “No!” I stammer immediately, taking a step back. “No, you're not real! You were never real!”

  I wait, but the silhouette remains in place, and I am certain I can feel her eyes staring at me.

  “You're not real!” I shout again, my voice trembling with fear. “Go away! Get out of my sight! I know you're not real, so leave me alone!”

  Squeezing my eyes tight shut, I place my hands on either side of my head and focus on forcing this awful apparition from my mind.

  “Be gone!” I hiss. “I refuse to imagine you! You don't exist!”

  I hesitate for a moment longer, and then I open my eyes again.

  She's still there.

  Still staring at me.

  There are already tears in my eyes, and I daren't go anywhere near the girl. As another gust of cold air blows past me, ruffling my nightgown, I take a step back. I'm shivering, and I keep instinctively reaching for the crucifix, only to be reminded again and again that I don't have it with me.

  “What do you want from me?” I ask. “What -”

  Suddenly she takes a couple of steps forward, until I can just about make out her face in the darkness.

  “I know who you are!” I gasp. “I know your name! You're Ruth Maywhistle, aren't you? I've seen your photograph! I know who you are and...”

  My voice trails off, as I wait for her to say something. She's still coming toward me, walking calmly across the pebbles.

  “Tell me what you want?” I add finally, my voice trembling with fear. “Please, just tell me what you want me to do for you, and I'll do it if I can. Anything! Just tell me!”

  Again, I wait for her to speak.

  Again, the only sound is the wind blowing through the nearby trees.

  “Mary,” she says suddenly, her voice sounding so weak and frail as she edges closer.

  “Is that your sister?” I ask, stumbling back. “I know you had a sister. Is Mary her name? Do you want me to find her for you?”

  “I know where she is,” she replies. “She's behind you.”

  I open my mouth to ask what she means, before suddenly spinning around. All I see, however, is the wooden jetty and the lake. After a moment, I turn back to the silhouette of Ruth Maywhistle and find that she has taken a few more steps toward me.

  “Keep back!” I gasp, stepping away from her again, almost tripping over the uneven ground beneath my bare feet. “I don't understand what you want from me!”

  “Mary,” she whispers. “She's behind you. She's in the water. I come to her night after night, but she stays down there. I don't understand why.”

  “You're dead!” I tell her. “You're both dead! There's nothing I can do for you!”

  “Dead?” She sounds concerned now, perhaps a little confused. “Mary's dead,” she continues finally. “I know that. I'm not dead, though. I can't be, I'm still here, I...”

  Her voice trails off.

  “Sometimes it's difficult to remember how long I've been at the hotel,” she adds. “I try to keep track, but my thoughts fade away and don't always come back until...”

  Again, her voice trails off, and this time she stays silent as she continues to walk toward me.

  “Your name is Ruth Maywhistle,” I say finally, still backing away from her, “and you're dead. You died ten years ago. I don't know how, I can try to find out if you want, but all I know right now is that you died. I don't know what you want, but if you can't find your sister's ghost, maybe she's moved on. Maybe she went to a better place, and you should follow her.”

  “Follow her?” she replies. “How?”

  “I don't know,” I continue, “but I'm sure you can find a way. Mary probably misses you very much, Ruth. I'm sure she'd be very happy if you went to her. And then the people here at the hotel wouldn't have to worry about seeing you around, and things could go back to how they're supposed to be. Wouldn't you like that? I'm sure your spirit isn't supposed to spend the rest of eternity haunting this hotel. You should move on, Ruth. Find your sister.”

  I wait for her to reply, for her to admit that I'm right, but still she simply comes closer and closer.

  As I continue to back away, I stumble against the entrance to the wooden jetty. Stepping a little further back, I watch as the girl comes closer, and I realize that she seems to be forcing me toward the jetty's farthest end.

  “What do you want from me?” I shout, with tears streaming down my face. I don't want to go where she wants, but as she gets closer I have no choice but to step back a little further until I'm halfway along the jetty.

  Ruth is at the start of the jetty now, blocking my only way back onto the shore.

  “What do you want?” I scream, as I start breaking down into a series of convulsive sobs. “What do you want from me?”

  “I want my sister back,” she says calmly. “I want Mary to come back up from the water.”

  “I can't do that for you?” I shout, before looking toward the darkened hotel. “Help!” I scream, as loud as I can possibly manage. “Somebody help me!”

  I wait, and a moment later I see a couple of lights flicker to life in different rooms.

  “Help!” I shout again. “I'm down by the lake!”

  “Bring her back to me!” the girl hisses, stepping toward me again.

  “Don't come any closer!” I screech, holding out a hand and imagining that I have the crucifix with me. Perhaps faith alone will be enough to ward her off. “Please, I'm begging you,” I sob. “I have never, in all my life, done anything to hurt you. I'm a good person, I promise, yet you have tormented me endlessly. I don't deserve this! All I want is to be a good wife to Jobard Nash, and to -”

  “Jobard Nash did this to me,” she replies, stepping closer

  “No!” I scream, moving back until I'm at the very end of the jetty.

  There are more lights on at the hotel now, but even at full pelt it will take several minutes before help arrives.

  “I'm at the lake!” I shout. “Somebody save me from this girl!”

  “I want my sister back,” she says again. “I don't understand why she hasn't come to me yet, but I can't wait forever. I need somebody to bring her up for me.”

  “I can't help you!” I whimper, dropping to my knees and putting my face in my hands. “I don't know anything about this! I'm just an ordinary woman, and I don't want anything to do with ghosts! Can't you leave me alone? Can't you have pity on me and end this constant torment?”

  My whole body is shaking now, and I feel certain that I shall never be set free from this madness. Perhaps it is my fate to have this child plaguing me for the rest of my life. I do n
ot deserve such horrors. Truly, I have always done my best to be a decent and kind person, yet evidently I am to be granted no peace. For a moment, the only sound I hear is my own breathless, gasping sobs, but finally I slip my hands down and look back toward the girl.

  She's gone.

  I'm all alone on the jetty.

  I look around, unable to believe my luck, but there's truly no sign of her. A moment later, I realize I can hear voices shouting in the distance, and I spot figures running this way from the hotel. I feel a rush of relief in my chest as I realize that I am saved. Tears of relief now flow down my face, but I am far too weak to stand, so I remain on my knees as I listen to the sound of men shouting as they get closer and closer.

  “Thank God,” I whisper, shivering as a cold wind blows down from the hills. “Thank you, thank you, thank -”

  Suddenly a hand grabs my left ankle from behind, and I'm quickly dragged off the end of the jetty and down into the depths of the ice-cold lake. By the time I'm able to scream, I'm already underwater.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  To Mr. Alvin Carpenter,

  My client, Mr. Jobard Nash esq, has asked me to write to you, in order that I might convey some information concerning your daughter, Mrs. Ellen Nash, nee Carpenter.

  Mr. Nash had cause, on December 1st of this year, to commit Ellen to the Mornington Psychiatric Institute in Wimbledon, London. The details of the case are not a matter for discussion here, but suffice it to say that Ellen suffered an incident in which she almost drowned, after which she was quite insensible. Acting on medical advice, Mr. Nash had her committed in the hope that a short stay would clear her head and bring her back to her senses.

  Sadly, this has not happened and the doctors have decided to keep Ellen at the Mornington indefinitely. For this reason, my client has had no option but to institute divorce proceedings, which should be complete early in the new year. He very much regrets this course of action, but it must be emphasized that a man of his considerable standing requires a wife who can play her part in the development of Mr. Nash's business. He trusts that you will understand his predicament in this matter.

  A generous sum has been paid to the Mornington, to cover Ellen's expenses, and further treatment will be subsidized provided all concerned have the good sense to keep this sorry tale out of the newspapers. Should news become public, however, Mr. Nash will have no choice but to end his payments.

  You will find Ellen on the acute ward of the Mornington Psychiatric Institute, under the care of Dr. Philip Squire. Please do not contact Mr. Nash about this matter. If there are any matters you really must discuss, they should be directed to my office.

  Yours faithfully,

  Mr. Clement Ballantyne,

  Ballantyne and Sourby Solicitors, London,

  Acting on behalf of Mr. Jobard Nash esq

  December 23rd, 1945

  Part Six

  Jobard Nash - 1950

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “And why would I want to go to the funeral?” I ask, watching from my window as the workers finish putting the final touches to the new swimming pool. “I paid for Ellen's treatment at that infernal hospital over the past five years. If she has finally hung herself in one of their rooms, I am sorry, but...”

  My voice trails off for a moment, as I watch one of the workmen carrying a slab from a barrow. I have been planning the installation of this new pool for so long, and I cannot help but feel irritated now that Ellen has seen fit to interrupt my work. She probably put the noose around her neck with the express intention of causing me trouble, and to some extent she has succeeded. Even from hundreds of miles away, that woman has found a way to cause me trouble. I should never have married her in the first place.

  Turning, I see that Silas is still waiting on the other side of my desk.

  “Tell Mr. Ballantyne that I am done with the matter,” I mutter. “I am paying not one more penny to that family. Have him write a letter, informing him that I shall sue if any mention of Ellen's illness is made public. That should shut them up. I am willing to pay for a burial plot, and for a modest headstone of the cheaper variety. But if I extend these further generosities, it is on the condition that I never want to hear the name of those parasites mentioned again. Is that clear?”

  “Of course,” he replies, before hesitating for a moment. “There is one other matter, Sir, that I feel I should bring to your attention.”

  Sighing, I realize that I am not to be left in peace and quiet just yet.

  “What is it, man?” I mutter, unable to hide my displeasure. “Can't you see that I'm too busy to deal with all these trifling problems? I'm trying to focus on the bigger picture!”

  ***

  “It was quite horrid,” the wretched woman whimpers, dabbing at her eyes with tissue paper as she looks along the corridor that leads from her room on the upper floor. “I just stepped out and there she was, up at the far end, watching me and...”

  Her voice trails off for a moment, before she collapses in a shuddering mess.

  “It's okay, Lizzie,” her husband says, placing a hand on her shoulder. “I'm sure it was all in your head. I hardly think Mr. Nash is in the business of letting strange little girls wander the corridors of his hotel.” He turns to me. “Are you, Mr. Nash?”

  “Of course not,” I mutter through gritted teeth, unable to stop watching the pathetic woman as she sobs and wails. I want to march over to her, lift her face so that she's looking at me, and beat some sense into her head. While I'm at it, I'd also like to give her foolish husband a good talking to, since he sees fit to let his wife act in such an unrestrained manner. A man who does not control his wife should not, in my opinion, bring her out in public.

  Still, I know I must stay calm.

  “It's likely just a trick of the light,” the husband continues, crouching next to his wife and handing her another tissue, as if he means to encourage this silliness. “There was no -”

  “I saw her!” she hisses, staring at him with anger before turning to me. Evidently she thinks it's quite acceptable to talk to a man in such a dreadful tone. Her own husband, no less. “There was a little girl at the end of that corridor, and she was staring at me with the most awful look in her eyes, and I could tell even from this distance that something was horribly wrong with her! And then she asked me to help her! She said she was looking for somebody named Mary!”

  I flinch as soon as I hear that name. Glancing over my shoulder, I briefly make eye contact with Silas, and I can see that he too recognizes the coincidence.

  But that is all it is.

  A coincidence.

  “She said it over and over,” the woman continues as I turn back to her. “Where's Mary? Can you held me find Mary? And her voice was getting more garbled each time, as if her mouth was filling with water. And then she started coming this way, walking along the corridor, so I stepped back into the room and locked the door, and she...”

  Again, her voice trails off, as if she's lost in whatever fantasy fills her head.

  “And then what, Lizzie?” her husband asks. “What did the -”

  “Don't encourage her!” I spit.

  Ignoring me, the husband hands her yet another tissue. It's almost as if he wants her to make a show of herself.

  “What happened after you shut the door?” he continues. “Did that end it? Did that make the girl go away?”

  “I heard her coming up on the other side,” she replies, her eyes widening with horror as she continues to stare along the corridor. “Slow footsteps, and then they stopped as if she meant to come into the room. And that's when I heard her voice again, asking me about someone named Mary. She said she'd been looking for her, but that she couldn't find her anywhere. I made sure the door was locked, and then I retreated to the other side of the bed. Then I turned to the telephone, but suddenly I saw a flash of movement in the corner of my eye. I turned back and somehow she was in the room with me!”

  She breaks down sobbing again, her whole bod
y shuddering violently.

  “That's when I came back up,” her husband says, turning to me. “I stepped out of the elevator and immediately heard poor Lizzie shouting at somebody to stay back. Of course, I hurried to the room, but the door was locked and the key was in the hole from the other side, so I had to bang and bang until finally Lizzie managed to get it open.” He pauses for a moment. “There was nobody in here with her. I checked thoroughly. She insists there was a little girl, but evidently this apparition had vanished by the time I got here.”

  He stares at me, as his wife continues to sob on the chair.

  “Does that name mean anything to you, Mr. Nash?” he adds.

  “What name?”

  “Mary.”

  He continues to stare at me, as if he expects me to add fuel to this ridiculous fire.

  “Nothing at all,” I tell him sternly. “Of course not.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I am not in the habit of being unsure about anything!”

  “Where's Mary?” the woman whimpers. “That's what she kept saying. Over and over again! The more she said it, the more she sounded... I don't know, less like a scared little girl, and more like someone rather angry.”

  She looks up at me, and now I have the pair of them staring at me as if they expect me to tell them that I believe their story.

  “Well,” I say finally, turning to the husband, “I can't imagine what you want me to do about the matter. If your wife is prone to delusions, that is very much your problem.”