The Ghosts of Lakeforth Hotel

by Amy Cross

  “Beth!” he gasps, spraying blood from his mouth now too. “Help me. This isn't possible! How did you get the key?”

  Reaching up with bloodied hands, he checks the thread around his neck, and he seems shocked as he finds that the key is gone. A moment later, as if to show him how she escaped from the cage, Ruth holds up the key and then lets it drop to the floor.

  “Oh, you clever thing,” Steve continues, staring up at her rotten face. “And there I was, thinking you'd just tried to grab my throat so you could choke me. I should -”

  Before he can finish, the girl reaches down again and bites his cheek, causing him to scream as she tears away another strip of flesh. At the same time, she places a rotten hand on the other side of his face and starts digging her fingertips into his cheek, scraping the meat from the bone.

  “I'll let them go!” he shouts, his voice filled with panic. “I'll let all of you go! I'll bury you properly, in a proper graveyard. I'm not the one you should hate! I'm just trying to help you and -”

  He stops suddenly, staring at her ghostly face.

  “It wasn't Jobard Nash,” he whispers finally. “The voice, guiding me here all these years... It was you! But why would -”

  Letting out an ear-piercing scream, Ruth bites down hard on his neck once more, this time tearing away enough flesh to silence him. Although he manages a few more choking gasps, Steve seems unable to fight back now, and he keeps his eyes fixed on me as slowly his body falls still. Ruth doesn't stop yet, instead using her teeth and hands to rip more and more meat from his bones. She seems frantic, filled with pure anger.

  Steve's mouth shudders slightly, but Ruth's fingers are buried deep in the bloody pulp of his neck. She must know that he's dead now, but apparently even this isn't enough to satisfy her need for revenge. I watch, horrified but unable to pull away, as Ruth digs her bony fingers into his throat. At the same time, she lets out a snarl as she starts pushing her fingertips under the flesh around his jaw and then up onto his cheekbones. I can see the outline of her fingers bulging beneath the flesh of his face, followed by a horrific scratching sound as she digs her bony fingertips against his skull. Finally, she rips her hands out, tearing his face open and sending fresh blood dribbling down onto the marble floor.

  And still she lets out a faint, gurgled hissing sound, as she stares down at his corpse. Silhouetted against the flickering candles, she slowly starts dribbling some kind of pale brown liquid from her lips, and finally the hissing stops.

  I think she's done.

  I don't dare move. Not yet. I simply stay where I am, scared in case I attract her attention. She seems to be still watching Steve's body, looking for any hint that he might still be alive.

  Finally, I realize I have to get out of here.

  Turning, I crawl away on my elbows, struggling against the pain in my belly and chest. I don't know how much blood I've lost, but I know I feel weak and light-headed. As I crawl toward the door, I figure I'll have to find some way to force it open, and then a moment later I remember the key that Ruth Maywhistle stole from around Steve's neck. I glance over my shoulder and see the key resting on the blood-spattered floor, a few feet from where Ruth is still staring down at his dead, torn face.

  I watch for a moment, horrified by the sight, before turning and crawling to the door. Reaching up, I grab the handle and pull, hoping against hope that by some miracle I might be able to get out. When that doesn't work, I haul myself up and lean against the door, before trying the handle a couple more times.

  There has to be a way out of here.

  “Please,” I whisper, as I feel myself already losing consciousness. “I don't want to die here. Please...”

  I hesitate for a moment, and then suddenly I realize that my eyes have slipped shut. I force them open, but the lids feel so heavy and they immediately start closing again.

  “Hey loser,” Annie's voice whispers suddenly. “Are you gonna get that key, or what?”

  My eyes flick open and I look around, feeling a rush of hope at the thought that maybe – somehow, against all the odds – Annie is still alive.

  “Where are you?” I whisper, but there's no sign of her.

  Still, I know she'd hate to see me give up, so I turn and look over toward the key. Ruth Maywhistle is still picking flesh from Steve's dead body, and I think perhaps her rage has passed. I tell myself that she probably won't even notice if I go and take the key, so I force myself to start crawling across the floor. Every reach of my hands, even breath I take, is agony, but somehow I manage to keep going. Ruth Maywhistle still isn't looking at me, and finally I get close enough to reach out and take the key from where it's resting in a puddle of blood.

  And then, slowly, I become aware of a creaking, crunching sound from nearby.

  Looking up, I see to my horror that the rotten figure of Ruth Maywhistle has finally turned to look at me with those dead, decayed eyes.

  “I just want to get out of here,” I whisper, barely even daring to get the words out.

  I wait, but she's still just staring at me.

  “I'm sorry,” I add, closing my fist around the key. “If I could do anything for you, I would. I just want to leave this place and never come back. Why did you want to bring Steve back here, anyway? What did you want from him?”

  Again I wait, but her dark, soulless eyes are fixed on me. One of her eyeballs has partially decayed, but the crumbling mess still twitches in its socket. Pale, yellowish liquid is oozing from her mouth and running down her chin, and more is seeping from a hole in the side of her neck. The stench is unbearable, and after a moment I realize that small hook-headed worms seem to be burrowing through some exposed flesh just above the collar of her dress. Her gaze is penetrating, almost as if she's looking straight into my soul, and I don't even dare start crawling away.

  “I know you're not evil,” I say finally. “I know you just... You wanted revenge, and you got it. The people who hurt you are dead. That's all you wanted, isn't it? They're all dead!”

  When she still fails to reply, I realize that maybe it's okay for me to leave. I hesitate for a moment longer, and then I start struggling to my feet.

  “I'll tell people,” I stammer. “I'll make sure that everyone knows what was done to you.”

  Turning, I start limping across the lobby, with only the light from the candles to guide my way. The pain in my legs and chest is excruciating, but I can see the door ahead and I still have the key in my right hand. When I finally get to the lobby's far side, I reach out with a trembling hand and slide the key into the lock. To my relief, I find that it fits perfectly, which I guess means that Steve had one master-key for the whole place. My hand is shaking so hard, I struggle for a moment to turn the key, but finally -

  Suddenly I hear a faint clicking sound over my shoulder.

  I freeze, and then I hear the sound again.

  Slowly, I turn and find that Ruth Maywhistle's rotting corpse is standing right behind me, staring up at me with those rotten, dead eyes. I can see gray bones poking through putrid flesh, and she's dribbling more worms and foul water from several holes in her torso. Her dead eyes are still watching me, as some kind of black, bloodied liquid dribbles down her chin.

  “Please,” I stammer, feeling a rush of fear, “it's over. Just let me -”

  Before I can finish, she lunges at me, hissing loudly and biting down hard on my shoulder. I cry out in pain as I feel her rotten teeth digging deep, scraping against my collarbone. Desperately trying to get away, I reach for the door-handle, but Ruth places her cold, clammy hands on my face and keeps her teeth embedded in my flesh.

  “Please!” I gasp, as the pain shudders through my chest. “Don't do this! Everyone who hurt you is dead! You can't -”

  Suddenly an unseen force rips me from the floor and sends me clattering across the room until I slam into the wall. I feel a set of sharp snapping pains low down on the left side of my ribs, and by the time I slither to the floor I'm already struggling to breathe properly. />
  “No!” I gasp, feeling a ripping pain every time I try to inhale. I manage to force air into my lungs somehow, but the pain is so strong, I think I might be about to pass out. Looking around, I try to spot the little girl, but my vision is starting to become blurry. “Why are you doing this to me? I'm not the one who -”

  Before I can finish, the same unseen force sends me crashing over toward the stairs, slamming me into the bottom step. The pain in my chest is immense, and I take several deep, agonizing breaths as I roll away and look back across the dark lobby. The candles are flickering on the main desk, casting vast, dancing patterns of light and shadow, but I still can't see properly, not even after blinking several times. All I can really see is Steve's corpse over on the far side of the room, near the main door. The door's unlocked now, so I tell myself that all I have to do is get over there and run outside, and then get away from the hotel.

  “I'm not the one you're after,” I whisper, just in case the little girl can hear me. “The people who hurt you are all dead now. Please, let me go. You have no reason to hate me I can't do anything for you!”

  I hesitate for a moment longer, before starting to limp forward. Every step is agony, and I swear I can feel several broken ribs digging deep into my chest, but I know I have to keep going.

  “You're just a little girl,” I stammer. “You don't hate me. You're not a monster. You got your -”

  Suddenly something rushes past me, flashing inches from my face. All I really make out is a blur of darkness, but it's enough to make me stop for a moment. Swallowing hard, I figure I should just start walking again, but now I feel as if something is watching me. Staring ahead across the lobby, I can't see anyone, but I'm certain that there's a figure standing right in front of me. It's as if two dark, angry eyes are making a tunnel through the air to my own, and I feel almost paralyzed by a growing sense of fear. The candles Steve lit earlier are still flickering on the reception desk, but they don't bring much light.

  She's here.

  She's right in front of me.

  I can't see her, but I know I'm right.

  “Please,” I continue, my voice tense now with pain. “I didn't even want to be here. I was tricked. I just want to leave.”

  I wait, but there's no reply.

  “I'm going to go to the door,” I add, “and I'm going to leave. Is that okay with you? Will you let me do that?”

  Again, nothing.

  I take a deep breath, despite the pain in my chest, and then I step forward.

  Instantly, the ghost of Ruth Maywhistle appears in front of me and screams, lunging at me. I flinch, but I'm too late to pull away and a force lifts me from the floor, sending me crashing across the lobby until I slam hard into one of the cases that Steve put in place. I feel the glass cracking against my shoulder, and I drop to the floor just as a torrent of foul-smelling clear fluid comes rushing down all around me. Something large and heavy falls, too, hitting my arm and then slithering across the floor.

  Gasping for breath, I turn and see that I hit the tank containing Annie's body, which is now sprawled on the marble just a few feet away. There's a foul, almost overpowering stench in the air from whatever chemicals Steve was using to preserve my sister. Staggering to my feet, with my drenched clothes soaked in the noxious mixture, I look around the dark lobby but once again the little girl is gone.

  So I run.

  Almost slipping in the liquid, I race toward Steve's body, only for Ruth to suddenly slam into me from behind. I feel her teeth sinking into my shoulder once again, and this time I scream as she tears a strip of flesh away. Crashing to the ground, I try to reach back and force her away, but she's holding me too tight and she's already started biting into the side of my neck.

  Crawling forward, I let out a pained gasp.

  “What do you want from me?” I stammer, but deep down I already realize the truth. Whatever Ruth Maywhistle might have been like when she was alive, she's become a vengeful, monstrous creature in death. She wasn't just out to kill the people who wronged her, she was out to punish any living soul she encountered. She's become this thing and there's no way for her to turn back.

  I start dragging myself across the lobby yet again, but I can feel the girl's rotten little teeth chewing deeper and deeper into my neck and I'm already starting to slow. The door is so far away, and I know I'll never make it. For a moment, I stop and actually consider accepting my fate, but then I look up at the reception desk and I spot the candles that Steve lit earlier. Their flickering glow is strangely beautiful, although I figure that if I'm going to die here, then at least I'm going to make sure that nobody else ever has to enter this hotel and face the ghost of Ruth Maywhistle. All this horror and pain has to end.

  With the last of my strength, I haul myself off the floor and stagger to the desk. Taking care to keep clear of the candles, since I'm doused in whatever liquid was in the glass case, I limp around the table and look down at the flames. I can still feel Ruth biting into my neck, so I grip the table's edge and use the last of my strength to push it over, sending the candles crashing down until they land in the puddle that has spread across the floor.

  I don't even know if the liquid is flammable, but -

  Immediately, a roar of flames bursts through the room. Stumbling back, I'm startled to see that not only was the liquid flammable, but even the vapors have started burning. Within just a couple of seconds, the flames have run all the way over to the bottom of the stairs, and I slump down to the floor as I watch the inferno spreading. In fact, I'm so shocked by the sight of the fire, I don't notice at first that I can no longer feel Ruth's teeth in my neck. When I do notice that she's no longer attacking me, I feel a faint flutter of relief in my chest.

  Despite the pain that's ringing through my body, I start crawling toward the door. The flames are mostly on the other side of the lobby, but I know they'll spread to this side soon, and I'm soaked in the same highly flammable liquid that caused the fire in the first place. I don't have long, but pain and fear keep me going until finally I get close to the door. I can hear the flames burning through the hotel now, and when I look over my shoulder I see that the wallpaper is on fire.

  A moment later, I spot the figure of Ruth Maywhistle standing in the flames, watching me with the same dark expression I saw before. Nearby, the flames have already reached the cases that contain the various sets of bones that Steve gathered. I watch the destruction for a moment, with my hand still resting on the door's handle, before finally I slump down against the marble floor.

  I can't do this.

  I can't get out of here. Even if I got out the door, I'd still be miles from nowhere.

  Too weak to move, I stare up at the ceiling and watch as the flames come closer. The paper and plaster are burning away from the wall, revealing the hotel's brickwork, and a moment later the chandelier comes crashing to the floor, bringing half the ceiling with it and leaving a vast tangle of wires hanging down. Any second now, my body is going to burn, probably while I'm still alive. I can't move, though. I can't even cry out. Finally, as I see flames rippling through the air, and as I feel the immense heat getting closer and closer, I spot a figure stepping into view above me.

  It's Ruth Maywhistle, standing in the flames and watching me as I wait to die. A moment later, I feel a warm rushing sensation on the left side of my chest, and I scream as my body starts to burn.

  Please, let me not haunt this place once I'm dead. Let me not be like the little girl. Please, just let there be nothing after the pain ends.

  Epilogue

  One year later

  The bells of St. Martin's sound even louder in the winter air. It's a cold Tuesday morning as I hurry along the pavement and pass throngs of tourists. One or two of them glance at me, and I can see the expressions of shock and pity in their eyes. A child even wrinkles his nose, as if the sight of me is too hideous for him to comprehend, but he can't stop staring.

  I guess I don't blame any of them.

  Heading ar
ound the next corner, I figure that at least they can't see me anymore. Then again, the next street is just as busy. I should be used to the way people look at me by now, but I'm not. I guess that'll come later. It's not their job to get used to my appearance; it's my job to deal with their disgust. And I will get used to it, according to Doctor Wallace. I'll get past my injuries, and I'll stop feeling so sorry for myself. Taking a deep breath, and feeling a flicker of pain in my chest in the process, I force myself to start limping along the pavement again. I hate being out in public like this. I just want to reach the office and get back to work. But first, there's one place I need to see.

  Tucked away in a side-street, the old Mecklethorpe funeral home has been left largely untouched since going out of business. The building was apparently purchased by a company that planned to convert it to apartments, but they've struggled to get planning permission, so here it remains in all its glory while the details are sorted out. According to my research, this is where Maurice Mecklethorpe – aka Jobard Nash – was born and raised. This is the home he ran away from, a few years before he made his fortune and established the Lakeforth.

  I don't have permission to enter the site, of course, but I do have a pair of bolt-cutters. I check to make sure nobody is nearby, and then I cut the chain.

  Annie would be so proud of me.

  The funeral home looks so ordinary now, as I make my way across the yard. The main building is securely locked, and I don't fancy my padlock-picking skills too much, so all I can do is cup my hands around my eyes and peer through the window. There's some kind of workshop inside, although any equipment was removed a long time ago. Taking a step back, I realize that I don't exactly know why I made the trek out here, except that maybe I felt as if I was somehow coming full circle. After all, this is where the story of Jobard Nash began, and without him there would have been no Lakeforth Hotel. Without him, maybe Steve would never have lost his mind. In fact, he -