Black Hotel

by Renee Wakefield

  Jack returned home. Unable to drift off he found himself forced to ponder what the nightshift was doing to his sleeping patterns and what effect that could be having on his mental state. He attempted to logically assess all the possible options for what could be happening at Black Hotel. He took out a pen and paper and compiled a list.

  1 — There were no ghosts and he was crazy.

  This depressing option appeared increasingly likely.

  2 — The staff at the hotel were playing tricks on him. Like that pretend ghost they set up except even more elaborate.

  The problem with this was it meant Hector was involved somehow, which didn’t seem at all likely. It also didn’t explain the more random events such as the ghosts appearing and disappearing. There was no way the hotel staff could pull off magic like that and if they could, they were wasting their talents merely trying to scare some nightshift worker at a hotel.

  3 — There were ghosts, but only Jack could see them.

  This seemed a possibility, although it made little sense. Why would he suddenly start seeing ghosts? He had no psychic abilities before. From everything Jack had read or watched, admittedly all fiction, but in quite sizeable amounts, psychic abilities tended to be something you were born with, rather than something that suddenly appeared when you got a job working in a hotel at 38 years of age.

  4 — He wasn’t crazy but he was letting his own active imagination run away with him.

  As his Mum had pointed out, it certainly would not be the first time.

  The day staff were increasingly friendly to Jack on the occasions when they crossed paths. Like the ghost prank was some kind of hazing and now they accepted him as one of their own. Jack didn’t know any of their names, but he was happy to smile and nod back at them when they greeted him.

  During the night Jack heard the familiar squeaking and soon Amanda was playing on the stairs once again. He was quite content having her play up there. He much preferred her to the demented magician.

  This time however he decided he was not going to engage with her in any way. She could play and he’d leave her. See how that panned out. Amanda played happily. Jack remained where he was, watching her out of the corner of his eye.

  After a time she disappeared, replaced by yelling and screaming from upstairs. Something about the noise unsettled Jack. He quickly abandoned his post and any ideas of not engaging and jumped up the stairs. Much as he wanted to leave things, he felt compelled to check this out. The screams subsided as he climbed the stairs.

  Room 8 was open again, its door ajar. Jack crept slowly into the room, expecting nothing. There was little reason to expect this wouldn’t play out exactly as it had the previous times. The room would be empty as always.

  He crept in and froze.

  Amanda was sitting in the middle of the floor playing with her toy car. So, she had been coming in here. Seeing her in a new location was jolting. This was the first place he’d seen her other than the stairs.

  After observing her for a few moments he spoke in the softest voice he could muster. ‘Amanda?’

  The little girl turned and smiled right at him. An army of goosebumps attacked Jack’s body, matching the set of butterflies flying loose in his stomach. Jack struggled to decide what to do next. He edged nearer and sat on the floor as close as he dared, expecting the little girl to disappear at any moment.

  The little car tracked about in little circles under the little girl’s guidance.

  ‘Amanda, are you really here?’ Jack enquired softly. ‘Or am I crazy?’

  Amanda continued to play. Jack observed her for a while longer before trying again.

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘I’m here with Daddy.’ the little girl replied.

  Jack flinched. They weren’t alone.

  A sad middle-aged man sat in the armchair behind Amanda. He looked like some kind of refugee from the 80s. Not ridiculous fluoro colours or shoulder pads, but sensible haircut and old-fashioned glasses. An early computer programmer maybe. A man out of time.

  Amanda’s Dad rocked back and forward gently in his chair, his head hidden in his hands. Jack tried to observe him without staring. He was a weedy looking fellow. Very skinny. There was something scary about him, while at the same time he cut an incredibly forlorn figure. Lost and desperately sad. A man on the brink of utter despair.

  Amanda appeared to be able to see Jack, could her Dad too? What would happen if —

  BANG! BANG! BANG!

  Jack’s head spun. The door to Room 8 had shut itself and the person was on the other side again, pounding on it. Hard. Like whoever it was was trying to break the door down.

  ‘Amanda!’

  Jack turned back to gauge Amanda and her Dad’s reaction. They had gone. Disappeared.

  BANG! BANG! BANG!

  The pounding on the door repeated, shaking the door to its hinges. Jack stood, a cold sweat breaking out across his brow. The muffled voices rang out from the corridor. Agitated voices.

  CRASH!

  "The key! We have to get in there!’ the voice yelled from outside the door, followed by footsteps and more banging.

  There’s no one out there. I know there’s no one out there, Jack told himself. Even so, he braced himself, ready for whoever it was to burst inside.

  CRASH!

  The door rattled on its hinges.

  He waited and waited. No one made it in. Jack edged closer. He threw open the door. No-one there. No-one in Room 8 either. All alone again.

  Jack trod down the Grand Staircase, lost in thought. This changed everything. It was like a bolt of energy. How could he think he couldn’t engage with the ghosts? They were here in this hotel just like he was. He had no doubt. But what did it mean? Who was Amanda’s Dad? Had something happened to him too?

  BRRRRR!

  The night bell blared loudly, compounding his nerves. Was this it? A walk-in guest finally? Uncertainty swallowed him, having not yet calmed from the Room 8 experience. He had no idea what to do if it was a guest…

  BRRRRR!

  Jack approached the door with light steps and trepidation. He was able to make out four figures outside. One waved happily when he spotted Jack.

  Merch.

  But who were the three women?

  24

  The Targs

  Jack let Merch and his companions in. The three women were an odd looking trio. An older lady and her two identical twin daughters. One of the daughters thrust out a hand towards the mystified Jack.

  ‘Hi, Jack? Please to meet you. I am Charlotte. This is my sister Nicolette.’

  Nicolette shared none of Charlotte’s friendly demeanour. She and her mother sniffed about the lobby as though even setting foot in a place like this was beneath them.

  ‘And this is my mother —’ Charlotte continued.

  ‘Our mother.’

  Charlotte rolled her eyes at her twin’s interruption. ‘This is our mother, Madam Targ.’

  Madam Targ made no effort to acknowledge Jack. She was a tall, imposing witch-like woman in her 50s, wearing numerous flowing layers of dark clothing. Her daughters, Nicolette and Charlotte, gave off the appearance of new age hippies by way of a polygamist compound. Everything about Madam Targ and Nicolette screamed bored and unimpressed.

  ‘That will be $100, please. Upfront.’ Charlotte continued.

  Jack struggled to keep up. He shot a bewildered look at Merch.

  ‘Surprise! Present for you. They’re ghost hunters.’

  ‘Paranormal specialists,’ corrected Madam Targ in a cold, unfriendly voice, not helped by her strong Eastern European accent. ‘And I vouldn’t get my hopes up if I vere you. I very much doubt ve vill find anything paranormal here.’ The word here stressed with the utmost contempt.

  They reconvened to the lounge area of the lobby. Charlotte produced a small recorder. ‘Are you okay if we record this?’

  ‘Ummm, sure. I guess.’ Jack was very much on his guard.

  ‘So, Merch here
tells us you believe the hotel is haunted.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Can you tell us about any paranormal activity you may have witnessed?’

  ‘Well, we saw the first one,’ Merch interjected. ‘But the sequels were pretty trash.’ He grinned, looking for someone to share in his amusement. No one did. ‘You know, Paranormal Activity? The movies? There was like six of them?’

  Madam Targ shut him down with an absolutely withering stare. ‘You, shut up.’ She pointed a bony finger in Jack’s direction. ‘You, tell us about these things you think you’ve been seeing.’

  ‘It’s not think. I have been seeing.’

  Madam Targ waved impatiently for him to continue.

  ‘There’s been a little girl. And an old guy.’

  ‘Jack calls him the demented magician.’ Merch offered helpfully

  ‘And somebody on fire.’

  One of the twins, Nicolette, scoffed loudly, making no effort to stifle a laugh.

  ‘Oh, and today there was a new guy. The little girl’s Dad.’

  ‘Whoa,’ said Merch. ‘When did this happen?’

  ‘Oh, like literally a minute ago.’

  Madam Targ cleared her throat loudly. ‘And these… things. They just appear? Valking about like regular people?’

  ‘Well, yes,’ said Jack. ‘Look, I don’t know much about this paranormal stuff —’

  ‘Clearly.’

  ‘But I know what I’ve been seeing. They can’t be regular people, because they appear and disappear and… yeah.’ Jack’s argument ran out of steam and disappeared into itself. It made sense in his mind. ‘I’ve seen the little girl the most.’ He went on, battling to sound convincing. ‘Amanda.’

  ‘Amanda? You know her name?’ Mirroring her mother, Nicolette’s voice was full of derision.

  ‘I think so. Someone yelled out her name and she seemed to respond to that.’

  ‘She seems to respond to that?’ repeated Madam Targ, arching one eyebrow. ‘How does this little ghost girl respond to that?’

  ‘Well, when I talk to her.’

  Nicolette couldn’t contain a fit of giggles. Madam Targ held up a hand to stop Jack. ‘You talk to this apparition, my friend?’

  Jack glanced across at Charlotte who smiled and nodded encouragingly. ‘Well, not any of the others, but Amanda, yes.’

  ‘And this apparition, she talks back?’

  Jack doubted Madam Targ could inject more contempt into her voice if she tried. ‘She told me she was here with her Dad.’

  ‘Oh, she’s here vith her Dad. Vell then,’ Madam Targ commented meanly. Nicolette sniggered again.

  ‘What’s wrong with that?’ Jack asked.

  ‘Vhat’s vrong with you talking to apparitions? One does not talk to apparitions. One talks to delusions.’

  ‘There’s smoke too,’ Jack said, fighting a losing battle. ‘I mean, sometimes I see smoke. With the man on fire.’

  Madam Targ rolled her eyes. ‘Ooh, maybe your hotel is haunted by the ghost of a fire…’

  Nicolette broke out in more giggles, as though her mother was the funniest person in the world.

  ‘Okay, so what do you think is going on here?’ Jack asked.

  ‘Vhat do I think?’ Madam Targ raised a hand to her chest. ‘Television.’

  ‘Television?’

  ‘Yes. You like your television, yes?’

  ‘Yeah, I like TV.’

  Madam Targ turned her nose up at him. ‘Television and movies have these ridiculous apparitions that yell ‘Boo!’ and pull you hair vhen you are asleep and vhat not. And everybody thinks they know vhat an apparition is vhen they have no idea. It is utterly ridiculous. This is vhat you are describing.’

  ‘What?! No, it’s not. Look, whatever you say, something is going here. I’ve got no idea what. but something. Sometimes I hear whistling, clear as a bell —’

  Madam Targ talked right over the top of him.

  ‘Vhat ve do, vhat ve deal vith every day is very serious —’

  Jack continued regardless, getting louder and louder.

  ‘ — Sometimes I hear a voice, a female voice, calling my name. The door to Room 8 keeps opening and closing even by itself —’

  ‘— Vhat you are describing is utter nonsense. You speak about these things like they are —’

  ‘ — I don’t know if they’re all connected or what but there’s something though. And it’s nothing to do with television or whatever you think. So you can sit here, making your sarcastic little comments —’

  Merch cut them off. ‘Whoa, whoa. Let’s all just calm down a bit, ‘ey? How about we take a look about? Jack, you want to give these lovely ladies the tour?’

  25

  Other People’s Eyes

  Much of his life Jack had been conscious of how things appeared through other people’s eyes. It didn’t matter how strongly you saw something, it could easily look very different to someone else. Like if you buy a new shirt or something you feel is particularly cool. All it takes is the slightest look or nasty comment from someone else to know they don’t feel the same way. Or if you tell someone a TV show is especially funny and when you watch it with them they don’t laugh once. It can be infectious. Somehow you never look at that thing the same way again either. Walking around the hotel that night with Madam Targ and her two daughters Black Hotel had never felt less haunted. Infected by their eyes, all Jack saw was empty rooms and quiet corridors. And while Charlotte maintained a happy smile, her mother and sister remained decidedly unimpressed with every single thing they laid eyes upon.

  ‘Where did you find these ladies?’ Jack whispered to Merch as they followed a short distance behind.

  ‘Internet.’

  Madam Targ sighed and looked at her watch, a fact not lost on Jack.

  With all of downstairs explored and sneered at, Jack led the party up the Grand Staircase and into the corridor. He waited for someone to notice about how it felt outside Room 8. When no-one said anything he unlocked the door and the group shuffled in.

  ‘This is vhere you claim to have had the most contact?’ Madam Targ’s voice maintained its decidedly tired and cynical tone.

  Jack bit his tongue, speaking through gritted teeth. ‘This is where I talked to the little girl, yes…’

  Madam Targ rolled her eyes. Nicolette sniggered yet again. ‘And vhen did you last talk to her?’

  ‘Like five minutes before you arrived.’

  ‘Yet she’s gone now? How convenient.’ After a cursory glance about Room 8 the ladies huddled together. They whispered quietly, deciding on a course of action.

  ‘Okay.’ Madam Targ relented. ‘I suppose ve could do a reading.’ As though she was making a tremendous effort. Nicolette and Charlotte removed some equipment from a bag.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Jack inquired.

  ‘You vouldn’t understand.’

  ‘Try me.’

  ‘Ve’re checking for apparitions,’ she replied through a forced smile.

  Jack took a step back. Leaving them to it. Merch elbowed Jack lightly in the ribs. He indicated towards the twins as they set up the equipment. ‘She’s gorgeous.’

  ‘Which one?’ Other than Charlotte’s smile and Nicolette’s scowl, there was no discernible difference between the twin girls.

  ‘Which one,’ Merch scoffed.

  ‘I assume you don’t mean Madam Targ.’

  ‘Not in her… current vintage, no.’

  ‘The daughters are identical, Merch.’

  ‘No way.’

  The young ladies set up a small box with a hand-sized satellite dish on top. Charlotte fiddled with a reader that had a long microphone attached. Nicolette cradled a laser projector.

  ‘Are ve ready?’ Madam Targ asked.

  The twins nodded. Merch grinned in anticipation. Despite himself, Jack felt a twinge of excitement. As little as he thought of these ghost hunters or their methods, all would be swiftly forgiven if they found proof. And Room 8 was the room to fin
d it.

  ‘Lights!’ Madam Targ commanded enigmatically. Charlotte flicked the light switch plunging the room into darkness. The reader omitted a pulsing hum.

  A sharp red beam cut through the darkness as the laser crackled to life. The laser flickered across the room, lighting up the bed… The wall… The floor…

  Jack held his breath. What would happen when Amanda’s Dad appeared in the chair? Bathed in the red light? Or Amanda herself? Sitting on the floor, playing with her car. Evidently Merch was having similar thoughts.

  ‘How freaky would it be if the little girl was just sitting right there?’ he said to Jack.

  Suddenly the laser light disappeared and the room light switched back on. The ladies glared at Merch.

  ‘Are you quite right?’ Madam Targ asked.

  Jack and Merch looked at the floor, saying nothing.

  ‘Sorry, chaps. We need quiet…’ Charlotte added.

  The lights clicked off again. The reader hummed. The laser resumed its slow crawl. Over the floor… Towards the chair… Jack unwittingly balled his hands into tight fists, fingernails digging into his palms.

  ‘Better not talk again, ‘ey?’ whispered Merch.

  In a flash the room lights were back on.

  ‘Are you two little schoolgirls?’ Madam Targ asked.

  ‘What?’ replied Jack.

  ‘In my experience little schoolgirls like to natter away and gossip and can’t keep their mouths shut. So I ask you again, are you little schoolgirls?’

  Jack stared angrily at the carpet. It was like getting in trouble at school from a teacher you absolutely loathed.

  ‘No,’ he mumbled.

  ‘Then please control yourselves or ve vill have to tell you to leave.’

  Tell us to leave? Jack whacked Merch in the ribs to try and shut him up once and for all. The lights went out again. The reader hummed. The laser began… Searching… Searching…

  The door flew open with a bang. A figure appeared silhouetted in the doorway.