by Amy Cross
“I'm scaring myself,” I murmur.
“What was that?”
“Nothing.” Pulling myself together, I take a deep breath. I feel as if this whole day has been going around in circles, and I have to find a way to keep pushing forward instead. “Humor me, Dad. As soon as Mum gets home, get her to call me. Even if she just leaves a message at reception, at least I'll know that she's okay. That'll be enough.”
“And you're not going to tell me what's wrong?”
“Nothing's wrong,” I tell him firmly. “I just need to prove that to myself.”
Chapter Eight
The chess game has moved on.
Standing in reception, looking down at the pieces on the board, I see that each side has made another move. White's position looks a little better, although there are still dangers, while black seems to be in some kind of holding pattern. I swear, it's almost as if black is deliberately toying with white and trying to prolong the game, while white can't quite force a decisive move. I think most players would have conceded by now and just accepted a draw, but evidently the people involved in this game are determined to fight to the bitter death.
I pause for a moment, before reaching out to one of the pieces.
“Feeling better?”
Startled, I turn and see the girl watching me from nearby. She's standing next to the main reception desk, and I guess she must have come through from the dining room without making a noise.
“I'm fine, thanks,” I murmur. “I was just looking at your game, that's all. I didn't touch anything, I swear.”
“It's a killer,” she replies as she comes over to join me. “Do you play?”
“Not really.”
“But you understand the rules.”
“I do, but...” Staring at the pieces, I realize I still can't make sense of the play. “This particular game is something else. It's beyond me.”
“It's a crazy one,” she replies, sounding a little drained now. “I'm playing white. It started out quite tame, but over time this game has started to twist and twist. I'm struggling to keep up. Does it show?”
“You have good defense here,” I suggest, pointing at a bishop and a trio of pawns, “but it could open you up to an attack later on this file here, if you're not careful.”
“I'm hanging on by the skin of my teeth. Every time I think I've finally found a way through his ranks, he manages to cut me off.” She pauses. “Or she. My opponent might be a woman.”
I turn to her. “You don't know?”
“That's the problem,” she replies. “I make a move, and I sit here and wait, and nothing happens. And then I go away, even if it's only for a couple of minutes, and when I come back my opponent has made his or her next move. And then it just goes on like that, apparently forever.”
“So someone sneaks in and makes black's moves while you're not looking.”
“Yep.” She smiles. “You haven't seen anyone loitering around here, have you?”
“No,” I reply, “well, not apart from...”
My voice trails off.
“Apart from me?” she suggests, with a glint in her eye. “Fair point.” She looks back down at the board. “I see black's made another move, so it's time for me to respond. Any suggestions?”
“Me?” Shocked by the idea that she'd want my help, I hesitate for a moment before stepping back. “No, I wouldn't... I mean, I don't have a clue.”
“Me neither.” She bites her bottom lip for a moment as she continues to stare at the board. “The annoying part is, no matter how long I spend figuring out my next move, I know my opponent will respond at lightning speed. I'm definitely outgunned here. I'm playing someone who's way smarter and way more experience than me.” She looks over toward the staircase. “Someone in this hotel must be a real genius.”
“I should go and help prepare for lunch,” I explain, taking another step back. “I'm sorry I fainted earlier.”
“Fainted?” She furrows her brow.
“Outside one of the rooms,” I remind her. “I kinda spilled a tray of breakfast all over myself.”
“You did?” She seems confused, and then she nods slowly. “Right. Was that this morning?”
“About an hour ago,” I point out.
“It was, was it?” She stares at me as if something's not right, and then she looks at something on the front of my uniform. “Nice badge.”
“Thanks,” I reply, feeling a little uneasy. I look down at the badge, but I already have a strong suspicion that the shape will have changed. Sure enough, this time I see that it's in the form of a colorful red and orange bird. Maybe a phoenix.
“Something wrong with it?” the girl asks.
I glance at her.
“Where did you get it?” she continues.
“It was on the floor, outside my room,” I explain. “I'm a live-in staff-member here at the hotel. This badge was on the carpet, just outside my door, although I swear...”
For a moment, I think back to earlier today, when I crouched down and picked the badge up from the floor. Even now, I swear I remember it being in the shape of a butterfly, but I can't deny that it's a bird right now. I blink, half-expecting the badge to change again, but fortunately it remains a bird.
“I should get back to work,” I say, trying not to let my sense of discomfort show. “I'm sorry, I...”
And then, before I can finish, I realize there's a strange smell here in this part of the reception area. Looking around, I try to work out what's happening, but I swear I can smell...
Straw?
No, it's more than that.
Manure.
I can smell animal manure, the kind you smell at a zoo.
“What's wrong?” the girl asks. “You look like something's got your attention.”
“It's probably just drifted in from outside,” I say, turning back to her. “You smell it too, right?”
“All I smell right now is furniture polish,” she tells me. “Sometimes smells can trigger memories. Or sometimes it's the other way round, and memories trigger smells.”
“I don't think it's anything like that,” I tell her. “I'm just -”
And then it hits me.
I know exactly where this smell is coming from. It's coming from a memory of a day long ago, back when I was a kid. It must be fifteen years back, when I was about six or seven, and my parents took me to the zoo. I haven't thought about that day for a long time, but now it's incredibly vivid in my mind and it's as if the entire day is flooding back into my thoughts. For a few seconds, all I can think about is that day when I got lost – for a short while – at the local zoo near our house.
I was wondering around for ages, and I saw animals that shouldn't have been there. There was a crow, and an elephant, and -
Suddenly realizing that I'm getting lost in thought, I turn and see that the girl is watching me intently.
“An important memory?” she asks.
“I have to go and check on some things,” I reply, hurrying past her. “Enjoy your game.”
“What was the memory?” she calls after me.
I don't reply, and I don't look back. Instead, I hurry past the desk and through to one of the storage rooms, and then I head down a set of stairs that leads to the basement laundry area. To be honest, I'm glad to get away from that strange girl, and I've already made a mental note to look at the hotel's records and try to figure out when she's leaving. Of course, it'd be useful to know her name or her room number, but I can probably figure those things out.
By the time I reach the main laundry room, I'm starting to feel really flustered, so I stop for a moment and lean against one of the washers. Closing my eyes, I tell myself that everything will be okay if I just get on with my job and try to stop worrying. Mum'll call later and let me know that she's fine, and then I'll be able to relax. I just need to hold my head together and grow up a little, and stay focused.
As I try to reorder my thoughts, however, I begin to sense something right behind me.
No.
I refuse to let this happen.
I can hear a faint hissing sound, or perhaps a kind of gurgle, just beyond my left shoulder. It's as if someone's standing here in the room with me, but I know that this is just another dumb illusion. I need to keep my head straight, so I simply stand completely still with my eyes still shut and I wait for the sound to fade away, for it to go back where it came from. To the depths of my mind.
There's nothing behind me.
There's nothing behind me.
There's -
Suddenly something touches my shoulder. Gasping, I open my eyes and turn to look, but there's nothing there. I glance around the room, still seeing nothing, but I swear I can sense a presence. I step forward, watching the shadows, and then slowly the sensation starts to build. It's as if I can feel a pair of eyes staring straight at me, burning into the back of my neck, and instinctively I turn to look.
Behind me, a naked, headless man stands covered in blood, with chunks of meat surrounding the exposed top of his spine. And then, slowly, he raises his hands toward me and takes a step forward.
Chapter Nine
“Stephanie?”
As I run out of the laundry room, I bump straight into Manfred. I bump away from him and hit the wall, and then I turn to see that the headless figure is still lumbering toward me. I blink, convinced that this terrible but impossible sight is about to vanish; instead, the figure merely gets closer and closer.
“Are you okay?” Manfred asks, sounding a little concerned. “What's wrong?”
“Do you...”
My voice trails off for a moment as I watch blood dribbling from the dead man's stumpy neck.
“Do you see that?” I ask finally, my voice trembling with fear.
He looks around, but I know what his answer will be, even before he says anything.
“See what, Stephanie? What's going on with you today?”
“Nothing,” I blurt out, before turning and hurrying along the corridor, trying not to let it show that I'm having some kind of meltdown. If I can just keep my head together and ignore impossible things, I'll snap back to sanity and everything will be okay. I know it. I just have to stay strong. “I'm fine.”
“Do you want me to call someone?” he asks.
Stopping, I look back just in time to see the headless man stumbling past Manfred and coming after me. Manfred, of course, shows no sign that he's aware of the man's presence. I know I'm losing my mind, but I don't understand how to force this hideous image from my mind. As he takes another step toward me, my eyes widen with horror, and the headless figure leans forward slightly to let more blood dribble from its severed neck.
“I have to check something,” I stammer, turning and hurrying around the corner, making my way into the pantry storage room.
This is crazy.
I'm crazy.
No, I'm not crazy.
Not anymore.
I was a troubled kid, but that's behind me now.
My name is Stephanie Lawson and I'm completely sane.
Stopping, I lean back against the wall and grit my teeth, trying to force the illusion from my mind. For a fraction of a second I feel myself becoming a little calmer, but then I realize I can hear faint footsteps out in the corridor, coming closer. I tell myself that maybe this is just Manfred coming to check up on me, but somehow I can tell that these footsteps are bare on the cold concrete floor. Opening my eyes, I see to my horror that there's a shadow edging across the floor, looming toward me from the open door.
It can't be him.
It can't be him.
It can't be him.
I turn, and I immediately see the headless figure silhouetted in the doorway.
“You're not real,” I say firmly, stepping back. “I know you're not.”
The figure doesn't react. It's simply standing there, with blood running down its naked body. There are thick cuts and other wounds all over the figure's chest and thighs, as if somebody has attacked it with an ax. The wounds are glistening in the low light, and blood is dripping down onto the floor. No matter how hard I try to persuade myself that none of this is real, the figure is starting to seem more real with each passing second, and a moment later it takes another slow step toward me.
“Go away,” I tell it, hoping that it'll simply pop out of existence. “I'm not crazy. I know you're not real.”
The figure sways for a moment, and then it steps closer again. Can it even see me? Can it hear me? It has no eyes and no ears, but it's managed to follow me this far. Isn't that another clue that it only exists in my head?
“I won't let you win,” I continue, clenching my fists. “I won't let myself go insane.”
I stare at the figure, refusing to look away. Now that it's closer, I can see a thick cut that's been sliced straight down through the neck and into the chest area, with sections of broken bone exposed on either side. It looks like this guy has been hacked to death with an ax, and after a moment I look down and see smaller cuts criss-crossing its belly and groin regions, extending even as far down as its legs. I know that none of this can be real, that someone with these injuries would be dead, but I can't help looking back at the severed neck and wondering whether maybe, somehow, this figure might actually be real.
I open my mouth to call out, hoping that Manfred might still be here, but then I remember that he didn't even see the figure earlier. Which only confirms, then, that it's all in my mind.
“Leave me alone,” I say firmly. “I don't want you here.”
I wait.
The figure continues to sway.
I hesitate, ready to run.
And then, suddenly, the figure lunges forward and reaches out to grab me. I pull back, but the figure's hands grab my shoulders and force me down. Gasping, I slam onto my knees and try to pull away, but now wet, bloodied hands are pressing against my face, smothering me as more blood dribbles down onto my forehead. I stumble up, surprised by the figure's strength, and then I force my way around and hurry toward the door. Before I can get there, however, hands grab the back of my neck and push me against the wall.
“No!” I yell, turning and kicking the figure hard, then rushing out into the corridor.
I race toward the corridor's far end, before stopping as I realize that I've come the wrong way. I turn to go back, but then the headless figure steps out from the pantry and turns toward me.
Suddenly it starts running.
I turn and race around the corner, but I already know that there's only going to be a dead-end ahead. There are a few doors, sure, but those only lead into storage rooms. Reaching the first door, I stop and look back, but the figure is already right behind me.
I push the door open and step through, before slamming it shut and pushing all my weight against the door in an attempt to hold it shut.
In the darkness, I can hear a faint gurgling sound coming from the door's other side. If the figure has no head, it definitely shouldn't be able to see, and after a moment I realize that maybe it doesn't -
The door slams open, shoving me back against the wall. I slump down onto the floor, and then I look up just in time to see the figure stumbling into the room. Holding my breath, too scared to move, I watch the figure as it steps over to the middle of the space, and then it hesitates as if it's trying to figure out where I'm hiding. There are tears in my eyes and I'm trembling with fear, but so far my hiding place hasn't been discovered.
Slowly, the figure starts to turn this way, although it stops again after a moment.
Please.
Just go away.
I take a short, snatched breath.
The figure turns a little more.
This can't be real.
This can't be happening.
And then, slowly, the figure reaches out and stumbles toward me.
“No,” I whimper, as tears start streaming down my face, “please...”
Suddenly a set of shelves topples forward, slamming against the figure and knocking it down.<
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“Run!” a voice shouts, and I feel someone grabbing my arm.
Too terrified to even think, I stumble to my feet and allow myself to be pulled out of the room. I stop and look back, and to my horror I see that the headless figure is already crawling out from beneath the shelves. Rising up, it stumbles toward me, but then the door is slammed shut and I turn to see the strange girl from reception.
“It's not real,” she says firmly. “Tell yourself that.”
“I -”
Before I can finish, something slams into the door from the other side.
“It's not real!” the girl continues. “But it won't stop coming until you believe that!”
“I don't know what's happening!” I sob. “It's like -”
“Listen to me!” She grabs the tops of my arms and shakes me, as the headless figure continues to thud against the door, trying to break out of the room. “It's not real, but you have to make it go away! It'll drive you insane if you don't. Concentrate, and tell yourself that there's nothing on the other side of that door!”
“But -”
“Concentrate!” she yells, as the door thuds again.
Squeezing my eyes tight shut, I try to do as I'm told. I tell myself that this whole thing is impossible, but the door is shaking louder than ever and I can hear the wood starting to splinter. Any moment now, that headless figure is going to come bursting through, but the girl is holding my arms tight and I can hear her still telling me – over and over – that I have to stay focused. I'm starting to really sob now, and the thudding sound is burning into my mind, but finally I have no option other than to start whispering to myself over and over again:
“It's not real. It's not real. It's not real. It's not -”
Suddenly the sound stops.
For a moment, I don't dare open my eyes. When I do, I see the girl staring at me. She hesitates, and then – cautiously – she opens the door and lets it swing open. To my immense relief, I see that the headless figure is gone, but a moment later I notice that there are still cracks in the door. And then, slowly, I turn back to look at the girl.
