JACK KILBORN ~ ENDURANCE (20 page)

No, what Letti felt was something closer to fear.

What am I afraid of? I’m alone.

Still, she opened her suitcase next to the bed, and quickly tugged on a tee shirt. After a quick look around the room, checking for leering boogeymen, she took her toiletry bag into the bathroom and began to brush her teeth.

The bathroom was also funky, both in odor and in decor. The large poster of Grover Cleveland facing the toilet seemed to stare right at her. Letti had an irrational urge to hang a towel over its eyes.

The water from the sink was off-
color, and tasted funny, so Letti brushed without swallowing any. She finished quickly and crawled into bed, wrapping herself up in Grover Cleveland sheets. Letti automatically reached for the remote control on the night stand next to the bed, but didn’t see it. And there was an obvious reason why; the room had no TV.

Annoyed, Letti wondered how she’d ever be able to fall asleep. Her normal ritual involved talk shows and infomercials until she couldn’t keep her eyes open anymore. The silence in this room was much too loud.

She thought about getting up, going to Kelly’s room. Maybe her daughter had a TV. Or maybe she’d let Letti borrow her iPod. YouTube was a sorry substitute for Leno, but it would have to do.

Letti was peeling back the covers when her eyes caught on something setting on the dresser.

A book.

Been a while since I read a book.

She padded over to it, and realized it wasn’t a regular book at all. It was a hardbound journal. On its cover, in
detailed script, were the words
The Rushmore Inn.

Letti immediately knew what it wa
s. She’d stayed in bed and breakfasts before. The proprietors often left journals in the rooms, so people could document their stay. Curious as to what guests would say about this odd little Inn, Letti picked up the journal and climbed back into bed.

The first page was written in deliberate, ornate cursive.

10/23/1975

The Inn is practically hidden out here in the woods, but Henry and I find the accommodations and the proprietor quite charming. Henry hasn’t returned from hunting yet. While I hope he had fun, I also hope he doesn’t bring any of those ghastly birds home. They’re such a mess to prepare. Our vows said nothing about “plucking.”

I hear someone downstairs. Maybe it’s him. Maybe I’ll surprise him by being naked when he comes to bed.

He’s walking up the hall now. I’m going take off my

The last sentence just ended there, without punctuation. Letti turned to the next page, and found it was ripped out. She began reading the next entry, done in a different hand.

May 19, 1979

My second night here. I don’t like it. There are strange smells, and right now I hear something moving in the walls. It’s another two days before Blake and the other men come back from their mountain climbing, and I almost wish I went with them. Marcus’s wife has come down with something. She’s slurring her speech like she’s drunk, but she swears she hasn’t touched any liquor, and her breath doesn’t smell. I hope Blake comes back soon.

Again, more missing pages.

This is pretty creepy stuff.

Letti listened, to see if she heard anything in the walls. There was nothing but silence. Though she knew the journal was getting to her, Letti moved on to the next entry.

July 24, 1984

I can’t believe we found this place. It’s so deep in the woods I don’t know how it stays in business. Especially since our room was free, and we seem to be the only ones here. My wife thinks it’s all incredibly kitschy. I think it’s just weird. If this new job pans out, I’ll make some real money and take her on a proper honeymoon. But I love her, so it doesn’t matter where we are, as long as there’s a bed. Though last night, I could have sworn I heard something UNDER the bed.

Feeling foolish, but also a bit freaked out, Letti peeked over the side of the bed. She grabbed the dust ruffle w
ith her hand, set her jaw, and lifted it up.

Nothing.

Florence w
ould find my paranoia amusing. I need to get a grip.

Letti considered putting the journal down, but that would h
ave proved it was scaring her. Instead, she skipped ahead, skimming bits and pieces. It stayed true to the theme. Brief, spooky paragraphs, followed by missing pages.

August 14, 1991

Paula is still upset about the “monster” she said she saw in the woods. Something with two heads. I think she’s seeing things. We both seem to have the flu, though neither of us has a fever. Can’t wait to get out of this place.

Two pages missing.

June 1998

Barry
hasn’t returned yet. I’m getting worried. I hear noises. I hope we get the car fixed soon so we can leave.

Page missing.

9/19/02

It’s the middle of nowhere. There’s no place to run. What am I supposed to do?

Another page torn out.

6/2005

This place is really fucked up. I think we’re gonna die here.

More missing pages. Letti turned to the most recent entry.

June 12, 2007

Exhausted. Iron Woman training is both the hardest and the most rewarding thing I’ve ever done. I wish I was at the event hotel, but this isn’t a bad substitute. And you can’t beat the price, even though this place is sort of scary. I___

The “I” trailed off, making a pen mark that went all the way down to the bottom of the page. Like someone bumped the writer. And on the bottom of the page...

Brown stains. Like blood drops.

Letti looked around the room, feeling goosebumps raise up on her arms. This had to be some sort of prank. A gag journal, to amuse the guests.

But Letti wasn’t amused. She was seriously weirded out.

I need to check on Kelly.

She was getting ready to toss the journal aside and hop out of bed when a mark on the page caught her eye. A black mark.

Letti turned the page past the final entry, and saw a child’s handwriting, written in black crayon.

Letti scratched at the printing with her fingernail, getting black wax underneath. The familiar smell of crayon wafted up at her, reminding Letti of when Kelly was younger. But Kelly’s childhood printing never looked so...
creepy.

Letti turned to the next page.

Letti’s head shot up. She scanned the room, listening for strange sounds, feeling like someone was indeed watching her, and at the same time knowing it was crazy to be thinking that.

It’s a joke. A dumb, sick joke. When I see Eleanor again, I’
m going to tell that crazy old hag what I think of her stupid little Inn.

Letti stared down at the journal again. She touched the top corner of the page, ready to turn it.

Do I really want to keep reading this BS?

No. I should go check on
my daughter.

Letti began to close the book, and stopped.

They’re only words on paper. I don’t need to be afraid of them.

So why am I?

Letti chewed her lower lip, undecided what to do next.

Florence would think I’m a real chicken. She was in a war
zone for four years, and I can’t even read a silly journal.

Letti turned the page, feeling her breath catch.

Letti sprang out of bed, backpedalling to the opposite side of the room, her eyes glued to the closet.

There’s no one in there.

But how do they know my name?

Letti wondered if Kelly somehow had fabricated this, had put the journal in her room. She loved scary movies.

But Kelly hasn’t been in this room.

Could she have snuck in while I was talking to Florence?

That seemed a lot more plausible than someone named Grover hiding in the closet.

And if Grover really is in the closet, why would he tell me?

Letti set her jaw.

It’s a joke. Stop being a baby.

She marched over to the closet, grabbed the knob, and with no hesitation pulled the door open, staring up at the tall, deformed man with the bloodshot eyes and the crazy smile on his face.

“
You’re pretty,” Grover said in a high voice. “Like Kelly.”

Letti froze in shock. As the scream welled up in her throat, Grover grabbed Letti around the back of the head with one huge hand and pressed a wet towel to her face with another.

Letti got over her surprise quickly, and her body went on autopilot, executing the self-defense moves Florence drilled into her head years ago. First came a fist to the throat, followed by a heel grind to the instep.

She hit fast and hard, holding her breath, waiting for him to stagger back.

Grover didn’t stagger. The punch to his neck missed his Adam’s apple, because it wasn’t where it should have been. Her hand sunk into doughy neck fat, and bounced off harmlessly. Letti’s kick was similarly ineffective. Her bare heel bounced off what seemed like steel-toed boots.

She quickly followed up with a knee to the groin, putting her weight behind it.

Her knee connected with... nothing.

Along with his other defects, Grover didn’t seem to have genitals.

Letti didn’t give up yet. Still refusing to breathe in, she cupped her hands and slapped them against Grover’s ears, trying to burst his eardrums.

This time Grover did react. He stuck his lower lip out and started to cry, the tears running down his misshapen face. But he didn’t let go. Instead, he pulled Letti tight to his body. She continued to punch and kick, but she didn’t have any room to swing, and her blows did little damage.