by Katie Berry
Lively climbed into the SUV with a grunt and sat with his legs facing out. To the glowing map screen of his waiting cell phone, he said, “You know, nothing starts off an investigation quite like almost getting crushed while freezing your cojones off in a snowstorm.” After a pause, he added with a small smile, “Then again, it’s stuff like this that gets me out of bed in the morning, isn’t that right, Emily?” The AI remained mute, declining to comment on the veracity of his observation.
The heater inside the 4Runner was running full bore, just like he’d left it. A contented sigh escaped Lively’s lips as his butt cheeks reaffirmed their continuing friendship with the heated leather seat. He slapped the remaining snow off of his shoes and pant legs with his gloved hands before bringing his legs all the way into the cab. He didn’t particularly relish the thought of walking around the resort with wet pants for the next several hours while he got settled in.
But even slightly damp, at least he wouldn’t be freezing up here tonight since the electricity was supposedly still on at the resort. According to his information, the resort had remained connected to its own personal power grid for the last forty years, thanks to some forward-thinking on the part of wealthy venture capitalist, Thomas Sinclair.
Before construction, the business magnate had ensured a steady supply of electricity would make it to his mountaintop retreat and its high-paying guests. Sinclair had been the driving force behind having a hydroelectric dam constructed at the base of Overseer Mountain outside the small town of Entwistle, BC. Some of its design was supposedly based on that of Nikola Tesla’s early work in New York. Sinclair had been a lifelong fan of the man, who was an immigrant, like himself.
Thomas Sinclair’s fascination with all things electrical continued and he’d made sure the entire resort was powered by his dam. And that had included the use of electric heat, as opposed to the traditional boiler and radiators popular at the time for such large structures. After the original investigation had stagnated, the hotel had been boarded up. Hopefully, it was still warm and dry inside as well. He figured that due to it’s castle-based origins, the building’s solidity probably helped greatly in repelling the elements for all these decades.
When it opened in 1946, The Sinclair Resort Hotel had played host to a glittering panoply of stars, royalty, and the odd figure from the criminal underworld. Touted as the crown jewel of the Pacific Rim Countries, the hotel had been deemed worthy of the world’s elite. As a getaway from the incessant pressures of fame and fortune, the resort had been wildly successful. Never developed as a ski hill, the local mountains surrounding the property were far too steep, their jagged grey peaks constantly battered by biting wind and sweeping storms. Instead, it had been designed as a place where one could kick back and relax, the outside world kept safely at bay on the other side of the resort’s exclusive gates.
Inevitably, some of the people doing the getting away had an issue with drugs, alcohol, or both, which unfortunately created problems that needed to be cleaned up quickly. Lively had read quite extensively on this resort, trying to understand if there was something in the hotel’s history that had somehow influenced what had happened in 1981.
Unlike the main highway, the laneway leading up to the resort appeared currently unplowed, with at least a foot and a half of fresh snow covering it. Putting the 4Runner in low gear, Lively started up the lane toward the resort, the SUV gaining easy purchase thanks to a set of studs installed in its tires.
The Toyota rounded a corner, and the Sinclair Resort Hotel loomed into view. It hulked, monolithic, its imposing stone facade giving it solidity and presence, hardly bothered by the brutal storm surrounding it, just another one of thousands the building had weathered during its reign on its frigid mountaintop throne.
“Nice to see I’m expected.” Up ahead, a single, dim light burned overtop of the resort’s massive front doors. Lively pulled the 4Runner to a stop under a porte-cochere entrance which partially protected things from the elements. He killed the engine and stepped down from the SUV onto relatively snow-free cobblestones. A trio of low marble steps led up to the main doors. Dead leaves from Octobers past skittered along the base of these steps, dancing briefly with the swirling snow. Something colourful lay in the corner of the top step, slightly covered by windblown leaves.
Lively crouched down and brushed the detritus aside, then froze in place, saying, “Okay, then, this is an interesting start.”
A colourful party hat, noisemaker and balloon rested in the corner of the steps, looking as if they’d just been laid out on a tabletop for an upcoming event here at the hotel. Recovering from the surprise, Lively stood, but left the party favours where he’d found them.
“Looks like the fun has begun.”
With a click and a creak, one of the front doors popped open slightly, revealing a small sliver of darkened lobby beyond.
“And it looks like I’m invited.”
CHAPTER FIVE
January 1st, 1982, 1601 hours
A single chandelier illuminated one darkened corner of the grand ballroom. Looking over a small notebook, Inspector John Harder sat alone at a large, round table. A frown of concentration creased his brow as he attempted to decipher the chicken scrawl inside the notebook. It was his own, unfortunately. Pulling an always-ready HB pencil from behind his right ear, he scribbled away for a moment in the little black book.
In the distant lobby, a massive grandfather clock chimed five times, its sound muted by the heavy oak doors leading to the ballroom, both currently standing closed. Harder’s stomach growled at the sound of the bell, and he realised he didn’t remember the last time he’d eaten. He looked toward the tall plate-glass windows lining the far wall. Night had fallen, and the darkness outside caught him off-guard, so focused as he was on trying to make sense of it all. After almost twelve hours, he was no closer to understanding what had happened here than he was when he’d walked through the doors to this ballroom earlier this morning.
John’s brow softened; his frown of concentration replaced with a look of sadness. Helen would be standing at the counter back at home right now, wrapping his dinner in numerous layers of tinfoil when she saw he wasn’t coming home by six. With the day he’d had so far, he hadn’t yet had a chance to let her know how long he was going to be. He would have to call her when he’d finished his current task and give her an update. His ‘second brain’ snarled, still contemplating the thought of the sweet and salty ham and cheesy scalloped potatoes just now being slid into the warm oven at home, begging to be eaten before it dried out.
Though he wasn’t home with his wife for dinner, he was somewhat comforted by the thought that Helen knew in her heart that he would have been there for their meal by now, if it were at all possible. For the last twenty-five years of their marriage, he’d succeeded being there most nights, except when duty called. But still, it was on holidays he wanted to be with her most. Tonight, especially so, since it was also the anniversary of Danny’s death.
Following in his father’s footsteps, Danny, their only child, had joined the force as soon as he was out of college. One New Year’s Eve while out on patrol, Danny had been in the process of checking an automobile for a suspected DUI. The driver had pulled over at a lookout located on a bluff high above the valley’s ice-clogged river. While Danny stood next to the vehicle questioning the driver, another drunk had come along behind them and plowed into Danny and the DUI at full speed. The resulting fireball and explosion had killed the occupants of both vehicles and sent Danny hurtling into the river far below. His body had never been found. John and Helen were devastated. Since that day, the holidays had been something that held little joy for either of them.
John was preparing to listen to an interview of the ballroom’s bartender, a man who had miraculously survived. After a few more minutes with his notebook, he removed his micro-cassette recorder from his briefcase and laid it on the tabletop. A cassette labelled ‘J. O’Malley, 1st Interview’ was already loaded, vis
ible through the plastic viewing window on the recorder’s front. John wanted to listen to what the bartender had to say in his own words, once again, while comparing it to his notebook.
This was the first of two separate interviews he’d done with the barman today. When interviewing in general, John liked to let a person ramble without too much prompting and just record them as they naturally recounted their experience, in order to see what spilt out. And in the case of bartender James O’Malley, it was more like a confessional.
Already suspiciously absent during the ballroom incident, it seemed James O’Malley might also be complicit in some of the events leading up to the disappearance, albeit in a small way. Harder pressed play, and a slight hiss could be heard from the recorder’s single, small speaker as the tape began.
***
“This is a transcript of Bartender James O’Malley, conducted by Inspector John Harder of the Entwistle Detachment of the RCMP. Mr. O’Malley, could you please tell me, in your own words, about your experience here last night. Leading up to the event, was there anything different that happened that seemed out of the ordinary?”
“Well, the shift started out normally enough, I guess. As normal as anything can be around this place, I suppose. I tell you, in the five years I’ve been here, I’ve heard and seen things that seemed kinda weird, you know? As I said, this hotel is strange. There’re these cold patches all over the resort. And it’s usually never cold in the same spot twice, although there are a couple of places where it does happen pretty regularly. Must be that electric heat they use around here, kinda spotty, I guess.
Anyway, I’ve had a few occasions where I’ve come to work, everything seems fine, and then something just plain weird happens out of the blue. Like just after I first started working here and I needed to go somewhere in this creepy old place. Well, I ended up coming out in a different part of the hotel than I should have! I’m not a guy that gets easily lost, so I still don’t understand that. One time, it was an entirely different floor. I swear, I feel like I’m going off my rocker with some of the bat-shit crazy stuff that happens around here. Oops, sorry for the expletive.
It was just before midnight last night, and I knew I was going to be here for another couple of hours, including cleanup time. They don’t let us smoke on duty here just so you know. So, I thought since everyone is dancing and getting ready to kiss, this would be a great time to go out for a smoke; otherwise, I’d be lucky to get another chance for at least a couple of hours until my shift ended. I have to say, in light of everything that happened, now I’m glad that I hadn’t quit smoking just yet, since one of my New Year’s resolutions had been to give it up. Good thing I waited until after midnight, eh? Problem is, after this, I just don’t know if I’m going to be able to quit again. At least, not for a while.
So, after I made sure nobody is approaching the bar, and everyone seems happy and dancy, I slipped out the fire exit in the corner of the room near the bar. I made sure to wedge a napkin in the door latch mechanism so I could pop back in and not get locked out. That had happened one time at a previous dance. I had a real hard time explaining to the front desk manager how I was supposed to be tending the bar in the ballroom, and yet there I was, sneaking back in the front door to get to my station. Doesn’t look good, let me tell you.
Anyway, with the door almost shut behind me, I heard the countdown begin. I tell you, by the time I finally got my smoke lit the in the wind I was almost getting ready to come in anyway since I was freezing my ass off out there. It must have been minus thirty at least last night.
Inside, a huge ‘Happy New Year!’ shout goes up and then the band begins to play Auld Lang Syne. There was clapping and shouting and laughter, for a second or so, then all of a sudden, the power goes out, and everything just stopped. Everything; all the sounds, all at once — like everyone just ‘wasn’t there’ all of a sudden.
So, I snuffed out my smoke and headed back. I tell you, I had to grope my way along the wall to find the fire exit it was so dark outside, especially with the wind whipping the snow around like it was. The whole time, I kept listening for someone inside shouting about the power being out or needing a drink, but there was nothing at all.
When I got to the door, I stood there for a second, peeking through the gap. It was pitch black inside. And the cold! I swear the cold coming from inside that room seemed worse than outside, and it was pushing minus thirty like I said. But I just sort of stood there, despite the cold and the snow, not wanting to go in for a few seconds, and feeling very freaked out about everything. But it was strange, I also felt sort of electrified. Like I’d been touching one of those static generating balls they have at some of the science fairs. You know, makes your hair stand on end? Course that never works on me cause I don’t have any!
Anyway, I’d had enough, and I pulled the door open all the way. Just then, the lights started to flicker back on.
And then I see the room was empty! I mean, what in the name of God happened to them? At first, I thought maybe everyone went to complain. But how could every last one of them leave the room in such a short time? One or two of them might go, I figured, but almost a hundred of them? It couldn’t be. Someone would have stayed behind, I was sure. And yet the room was empty! Over on the other side of the ballroom, I see the kitchen manager and the new room service girl standing in one of the service doorways, staring back at me and looking as scared as I felt.
And the last thing I keep thinking of is the dance floor. You know? How the balloons and streamers that released at midnight weren’t disturbed by anyone. Like they dropped into a room that was empty all along — as if there had never been anybody in there in the first place. But that wasn’t possible because I was just serving them drinks! I mean, where the hell did they all go?”
“Thank you, Mr. O’Malley.”
***
John stopped the tape and sat in thought for a moment. A little while after the first recording had been completed, the man had returned to tell him of another salient detail he’d neglected the first time through. Harder wanted to listen to that interview once more as well, since it concerned one of the strangest things in the ballroom, the ebony box.
It stood at the end of the bar, about one foot tall and black as midnight. The doors had at one time been sealed shut with black wax around all of its crevices. But most of it had been removed, with chunks of it lying on top of the bar. A heavy, ornate padlock ran through the two door handles on its front, however, keeping whatever secrets it still contained safely hidden away inside. It was strange, just like the rest of the box, its opening irregular, unlike the shape of any key John had ever seen. Intricate hieroglyphic designs were carved into the sides of its dark wood, with what looked to be pearl inlays running around the edges. Further markings were stamped into the black wax, one appearing to be the Star of David. After he’d cursorily examined the box this morning, it had been left undisturbed during the ensuing forensic sweep of the ballroom and hotel.
The wind kicked up outside and rattled at the windows. He looked out into the darkness, half-expecting to see the pale faces of the missing partygoers pressed against the glass, pleading to come in from the cold, or wherever they were now.
A sudden noise drew his attention toward the ballroom’s huge mahogany bar, ending his contemplative glance out the window. In the silent room, the sound had seemed amplified. Only lasting for a moment, it sounded like dry leaves scraping across the ground in a gust of cold November wind. And it had come from the direction of the ebony box.
And then he heard it again — something was definitely moving about on the bar.
Harder rose quickly, cracking his kneecap against the table’s underside. With a curse and a limp, he approached the lengthy bar. He reached for the Maglite on his belt, finding his pencil still in hand. He stuffed the short stub behind one ear absentmindedly and grabbed his light, turning it on as he did. It was much darker over here. When he’d seen the day growing long, he’d only turned on one
set of lights this afternoon when he’d sat down at the table.
His beam flashed along the bar’s highly polished surface, kicking up reflections and shadows on the snacks and beverages that covered it, making everything seem alive.
Several full drinks sat near bowls of peanuts, Hawkins Cheezies and other snacks scattered along the bar’s length. Samples had been taken of everything here, including the entire smorgasbord and each drink and plate of food on the dining tables. John couldn’t rule out that the missing persons may have been drugged, then kidnapped, even if there was no possible way they could have gone anywhere. He suspected a mouse had found some of this food irresistible. Sweeping the light back and forth rapidly, he couldn’t see anything small, grey, or furry scuttling anywhere about.
John stood at the end of the bar studying the box. Somehow, it seemed different. Was it larger? In the shifting flashlight’s beam, the delicate carvings on its sides seemed to coil and writhe with a life of their own.
The flashlight’s beam quivered slightly in his hand, but it was not from fright, it was from cold. It felt as if the room’s ambient temperature had dropped about thirty degrees over the last few seconds. His breath steamed from his nostrils as he reached out to touch the exterior of the box with one latex-gloved hand.
