Black Hotel

by Renee Wakefield

  ‘Get the key! Now!’ Jack bellowed at Hector.

  ‘Oh, God!!’ Hector ran for the stairs.

  Jack pounded on the door again, even more desperate now.

  BANG! BANG! BANG!

  ‘Amanda!!

  It seemed to take forever for Hector to return with the key. What couldn’t have been more than a few seconds stretched out like an eternity. Agony. Helpless, powerless agony.

  Room 8 was all quiet. Too quiet. The door swung open.

  Jack and Hector burst in.

  Amanda’s Dad rocked back and forth in the armchair, head in hands. They were too late.

  ‘Oh, no!’ Jack spluttered. ‘How could you? How could you?!’ Hector had to physically restrain Jack once again.

  Every instinct told Jack not to, but he knew he must do.

  ‘She’s … she’s in the bath.’

  Jack and Hector crossed to the en suite.

  Trails of blood splattered everywhere, pointing towards the bath.

  Poor little Amanda lay dead in the tub, her throat slit. Her lifeless eyes staring straight up at nothing.

  Jack and Hector stared at her in shock. The bitter taste of bile collected in Jack’s throat, trying to force its way out his mouth.

  SMASH!

  From the other room came the sound of glass shattering. Jack and Hector hurried out.

  Room 8 was empty. The window smashed.

  Down on the concrete below lay Amanda’s Dad. Very still. His body strewn in the same contorted position in which Jack had seen him lying on the floor that night. A pool of blood slowly expanded out from the body.

  Everything became quiet. Hector and Jack glanced at one another, shock setting in.

  In the middle of the floor sat Amanda’s toy car.

  35

  Aftermath

  ‘We’ve been looking for this guy all day,’ the detective explained, his voice appropriately soft. Seemingly well practised at conveying sombre news. ‘He’s been going through a messy divorce.’

  Two detectives were seated on the lobby couches opposite Hector and Miss Daniels. Jack loitered nearby, taking in every word.

  ‘He just found out his estranged wife is getting remarried. Guess he didn’t take the news too good. Rang her this morning. Threatened to kill himself. And the little girl. The Ex said he was trying to punish her.’ The detective’s words hung in the air. ‘He was on the phone to her when he did it. Poor woman heard the whole thing.’

  A soul-crushing emptiness weighed down on Jack. Involuntarily he glanced at the Grand Staircase. Amanda was there once again, although not playing with a toy car. She was standing, staring accusingly at Jack. The little girl was covered in blood. A huge gash in her neck. Jack couldn’t look at her.

  ‘Don’t scare Daddy!’

  ‘Why here?’ Hector asked.

  ‘Why not?’ said the other detective. ‘He just needed a place. Somewhere out of the way. Somewhere to hide.’

  ‘He had this on him.’

  The detective handed something to Hector. Jack jumped over and snatched it. The hotel brochure. The one Jack had taken on his first day. The brochure he dropped on the train. His hand-drawn happy, smiling sun stared back at him.

  Not long after, Jack and Hector sat in the hotel’s dining area. They were each nursing a beer. The police were still in and out of the hotel, making a bit of noise, but not here in the dining area. In the dining area, all was quiet.

  There was probably a sizeable amount of logistical work. The police would have to do their thing. The room would be cleaned. And Black Hotel would go back to its quiet ways. Who would clean the room? Were there special cleaning crews? Jack vaguely recalled seeing a film once about people who specialised in cleaning up crime scenes. He had no idea whether the film was accurate. Maybe police had their own crews. Special clean-up crews. All of this occupied Jack’s mind, distracting him from contemplating the alternative - Amanda and her evil father.

  Eventually Hector stood. He placed a sympathetic hand on Jack’s shoulder, then wandered away without a word.

  The train ride home was uneventful. The carriage gently buffeted Jack from side to side as the train rumbled along.

  ‘Don’t scare Daddy!!’ Amanda screamed at Jack from the recesses of his memory. ‘You must not scare Daddy!!’

  Jack cut a forlorn figure on the couch. Merch sat beside him.

  ‘What a sick bastard.’

  ‘Apparently it’s reasonably common, the detectives said. Men threatening to hurt their children to get back at their ex-wives or partners.’ He released a lengthy sigh. ‘I shouldn’t have attacked the situation. I should have…’ His voice trailed away.

  ‘I understand you feel bad, but there is no way this is your fault, Jack. This is one hundred percent on him.’

  Jack shook his head. ‘Amanda tried to warn me. Don’t scare daddy. That’s exactly what I did. I forced him into a corner. I should have…’ But again he had no end to that sentence.

  The two friends sat in silence for a while. Something was bugging Jack. Gnawing at the corner of his mind. Something other than the horror of Amanda’s death.

  ‘I need to see Charlotte,’ he announced.

  Merch pulled a face. ‘Not sure that’s such a good idea.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Ummm.’ He struggled for the right words. ‘I don’t think she wants to see you after last night.’

  ‘Too bad,’ Jack replied forcefully. ‘This changes everything.’ Merch didn’t respond. ‘Merch, I have to see her.’

  Merch sighed, reluctant. ‘All right. I’ll see what I can do.’ He didn’t sound confident.

  ‘Don’t scare Daddy!’ Amanda screamed in Jack’s head. ‘You must not scare Daddy! You must not scare Daddy!!’

  36

  Targ Manor

  Jack and Merch loitered out the front of a large Gothic mansion. Jack focused on breathing calmly. He needed to see Charlotte. It was imperative. Jack was pretty sure Madam Targ wouldn’t be home fortunately. But Nicolette was still around and he had no desire to see her. Merch had been vague about the details of how their night had panned out, either at the hotel or afterwards.

  ‘Okay. Let’s go…’

  Merch raised a hand to Jack’s shoulder. ‘Wait.’ He pulled out his phone.

  Jack glanced up at the spooky old house as they waited. Finally, someone picked up. Jack listened in on Merch’s half of the conversation.

  ‘Hey, Nicolette. It’s Merch……… Yes, you too……… No, now……… Can I meet you somewhere?……… Ah, yep. Yeah, I know where that is………’

  Jack waited for his friend, unsure.

  ‘I’ll see you soon……… Yes, me too, poodle.’ Merch hit the button to hang up.

  ‘Poodle?’

  ‘Don’t ask.’

  ‘Why — ?’

  Merch cut him off quickly before he could finish. ‘You want to see Charlotte or not?’

  There was movement at the house. The front door swung open. A figure exited, their shape silhouetted in the doorway. The figure shifted into a car.

  ‘Hide,’ Merch hissed. They ducked down as the car zoomed out of the driveway. Merch blew out a loud breath. ‘Are you really sure you want to do this?’

  ‘Yes. That’s why we are here.’

  ‘Okay.’

  Jack and Merch strode quietly up to the shadowy mansion. It towered over them menacingly. The place remained dark. No lights or signs of life.

  ‘Are you sure Charlotte is here?’

  ‘Yeah, she’s here, all by herself. Madam Targ is away at a convention.’ Hector explained. ‘We should have at least an hour before Nicolette gets back.’

  ‘Won’t Nicolette be mad at you for lying to her?’

  ‘I imagine so. But it doesn’t really matter too much at this point.’

  ‘Not working out with you too?’

  ‘She’s crazy.’

  ‘Thought you liked crazy.’

  ‘Some crazy can be fun. Nicolette is too c
razy even for me.’

  Jack moved to the front door. Merch pulled him up. ‘She won’t answer the door.’

  Jack looked at his friend, increasingly perplexed. He followed Merch down the side of the house and to the back door. Also locked. Merch cursed under his breath and gazed about. A drainpipe led to a low part of the roof.

  ‘Up there.’

  Jack glared in astonishment. He wasn’t sure why he was surprised. This sort of thing wasn’t uncommon for Merch-led adventures. ‘Dude. I’m not breaking in.’

  ‘Oh, thank God.’ There was genuine relief in Merch’s voice. ‘Right. Let’s go home then.’

  He hurried back the way they’d come. Jack gazed upwards, assessing his options. Damn you, Merch.

  ‘Okay, okay.’

  Merch’s shoulders slumped but he came back.

  Neither Jack nor Merch was particularly fit or agile. They were never the ones picked first for any type of sporting activities back in school days and that pattern had continued into adulthood. Merch at least had the advantage of being skinny, Jack thought as he watched his friend uncoordinatedly scale the pipe.

  Jack was concerned his weight might be too much for the old pipe, but evidently it was attached to the mansion quite well. The climb required upper body strength of which Jack had little but after much huffing and puffing and swinging and pulling and stretching and reaching he finally made it to the roof’s ledge. They reconvened awkwardly in half squatting positions, panting heavily and planning their next move.

  The window appeared to be locked. Merch bashed the frame forcefully. ‘A little help here.’

  Between the two of them, they were able to force the window open. It creaked noisily, cracked paint spilling from its edges.

  The kitchen was quiet until Merch fell inside with a loud crash, knocking over a mop and bucket. Jack followed quickly, in an equally ungainly and noisy fashion.

  The house was suffocatingly silent.

  ‘Are you sure she’s here?’

  ‘Where else would she be?’

  Jack furrowed his brow. Sometimes with Merch it wasn’t worth asking too many questions. Answers weren’t forthcoming and generally posed more questions. The two of them snuck from dark room to dark room, each more creepy than the last. Ancient portraits stared down them from the walls above.

  Jack turned a corner and froze, having almost walked straight into the clutches of the full-size male black bear, its claws and teeth bared aggressively. The first of many taxidermy creatures they would come across. All types of animals and birds littered the mansion. Cats and dogs standing frozen in attack poses as though frozen in place by magic mid-attack. Ever ready to strike at Merch and Jack.

  ‘Do you think Madam Targ can bring these creatures to life?’ Merch asked, examining a sharp-toothed Rottweiler.

  Did this explain the twins’ unusual personas? Did they grow up as they were because of living in a house like this? How could you not? The house must simply be one piece of the puzzle.

  More of an issue was Charlotte. Where was she? The house seemed empty and silent. Devoid of life. The stairs squeaked as Jack followed Merch to the top level.

  Merch froze. ‘What was that?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I thought I heard something.’ The two stood in silence, listening intently. There was nothing.

  At the landing, they were greeted by a long corridor with many doors. Lots of options. ‘Guess we open doors until we find her,’ Merch offered.

  ‘Merch. She’s not here.’

  ‘She’s here.’

  They found sitting rooms, sewing rooms and strange indeterminable rooms before eventually stumbling across the bedrooms. The first two were empty. The third was Charlotte’s.

  Charlotte’s room maintained an odd mix of styles. A time capsule of various stages of her life. A couple of boyband posters suggested teen. They looked oddly out of place alongside the creepy collection of dolls and toys which indicated someone much younger. The furniture was in keeping with the majority of the house - Gothic and antique.

  And right in the middle of the large room a four-poster bed.

  Charlotte lay in the middle of the bed, very still. Jack approached with trepidation.

  ‘Charlotte?’

  He recoiled at what he saw.

  ‘Nicolette tried to warn you,’ Merch’s voice came from close behind.

  Charlotte wasn’t well. Her skin wrinkly, her hair grey, she looked as though she had aged 100 years since Jack last had seen her.

  37

  Charlotte

  The moon shone through the window, bathing the sick Charlotte in white light and shadow.

  ‘What the… How…’ Jack spluttered. ‘Why… Why didn’t you take her somewhere?’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Hospital! A doctor!’

  ‘Not my call. Besides hospitals don’t fix voodoo, amigo.’

  Charlotte’s eyes were wedged tight. Jack looked down at the sickly old figure. Suddenly she croaked a loud intake of breath, making them both jump. Her eyes drifted open. She started to mumble.

  ‘What’s she saying?’ Jack put his ear close to her mouth. The mutterings were so soft he could barely make them out.

  ‘It’s you……… It’s you……… It’s you……… ‘

  Jack repeated what he was hearing, not understanding. ‘It’s you…’

  ‘That’s was all she kept saying last night too.’

  ‘It’s you,’ Jack pondered to himself.

  ‘It’s you,’ Charlotte mumbled.

  Jack moved a chair over and settled himself beside to the frail Charlotte. He clasped her hand, recoiling slightly at how cold and brittle it was. What happened to the warm, soft hand from Room 8? ‘Charlotte… You have to help me…’

  Merch shook his head. ‘You’re wasting your time.’

  Jack ignored him. ‘I saw one. One of the ghosts. Alive. The little girl.’ Charlotte gave no response or indication she was listening. ‘I need to know what it means.’

  Her watery eyes drifted about, unfocused.

  ‘They’re not ghosts, are they? It is all in my head.’

  Charlotte’s eyes rested on Jack. He searched them with his own. Somewhere in there he saw the old Charlotte. A hint of her former self.

  ‘Charlotte? What’s going on?’ He leaned forward with a tinge of expectation.

  ‘Dude, haven’t you done enough? You did this to her. Remember how I told you not to beat yourself up over Amanda? Well, this one is pretty much all on you. Nicolette warned you. You made the call. All that nonsense at Black Hotel, that’s what did this to her.’

  Charlotte began to move. She raised a weak hand, pointing at Jack.

  ‘Me? Jack said, alert and excited. ‘Me?’

  ‘Yes, you,’ interjected Merch glancing about with a shudder. ‘She’s babbling. Can we go home now, please?’

  Charlotte shook her head very slowly. The movements slight, the effort extreme. Taking its toll. Her breathing became heavier and more distressed.

  Jack followed her outstretched hand. She definitely appeared to be pointing. He moved slightly, gazing over his shoulder. Maybe not him? Something else? Something across the room?

  ‘Over there?’ Jack asked, peering behind. Charlotte managed a nod.

  Across the room sat a baroque wooden bookcase, stacked with books. Jack backed over. The books were old hardcovers. ‘I think she wants me to find something.’

  ‘Sure she does,’ Merch said gruffly. He paced. Jack examined the books, searching for something… But what exactly?

  While Jack searched, Merch wandered over to the window and peered out. The night stretched out before him in the moonlight. All quiet. Until … ‘Oh, crap!’

  Headlights lit up the driveway.

  ‘Umm, buddy? Someone is coming. We gotta get out of here.’

  Jack bought an ornate book over to Charlotte. ‘This?’ He asked, showing her his selection. Charlotte shook her head, panting. She pointed again.
r />   ‘Seriously. Jack!’

  ‘Just a sec.’ He scurried back to the bookshelf, searching the ornate books as best he could in the shadowy light. Charlotte writhed on the bed, a mix of over-exertion and low-energy.

  ‘Jack!’

  ‘Just wait, Merch. She wants me to find something.’

  ‘It won’t matter what you find if we don’t make it out of here alive.’

  Jack’s search increased in urgency. Through the window Merch watched the car pull to a stop. Not the same car as before. A figure got out. Merch couldn’t make out her face, but he recognised Madam Targ’s long, lean silhouette. ‘Jack…’

  The books were indistinguishable from one another. Taking them over one by one would take too long. Jack snatched up a pile of books and ran at Charlotte. He held up each book in turn.

  ‘This one? This one?’ He dropped the discarded books to the floor. Charlotte shook her head, increasingly distressed. ‘This one? This one?’ The heavy books thudded onto the carpet.

  ‘Jack, we have to go now!’ Merch implored. ‘You know all those stuffed animals downstairs? Madam Targ is going to do that to us if she catches us in here.’

  ‘This one?! This one?!’

  Madam Targ disappeared from Merch’s view. She was in the house. ‘Jack!’

  Downstairs a door slammed. Footsteps approached.

  ‘Jack!’

  ‘I have to find this!’ He dashed back to the bookshelf grabbing more books.

  Merch glanced about the room. On the far wall was a built-in wardrobe.

  Charlotte’s breathing became short and sharp. Failing her.

  Merch hurried over to the doorway. He opened the door a tiny bit and peered out the crack. No movement. Yet.

  ‘This one?’ Jack whispered, making an effort to place the books down a touch more quietly. Charlotte shook her head.

  Merch spotted a figure ascending the stairs. ‘Ummm, Jack,’ he hissed.

  Jack held the next book and stopped. Instinctively he knew. This was it. This was what had been looking for. ‘It’s this one, isn’t it?’ He held the book out to Charlotte who nodded. But the effort was too much. Charlotte slumped to one side, dying right before Jack’s eyes.